Breathless Encounter: Breathless EncounterThe Dark Side of Night

by Cindy Dees

  “Did you get away clean?”

  “Nope. The bastards followed me. Stole a boat and came after us.”

  “Us?” Hathaway asked sharply.

  “Uhh, yeah. Small complication to Plan C. When I got to the Baby Doll, Hollingsworth’s daughter was already aboard her. Which worked out pretty slick, by the way. She already had the boat untied and fired up when I got there. I jumped aboard and she took off. Probably saved my life.”

  “Then what?” Hathaway asked grimly.

  “I exchanged fire with the hostiles while we fled.”

  “How’s Hollingsworth’s daughter?”

  “Not a hair on her pretty little head out of place. She’s a hell of a driver, by the way.”

  Hathaway replied wryly, “I’ll be sure to pass your compliments on to the congressman. Status of the shooters?”

  “One down. Probably dead but not confirmed. The other’s still up.”

  “Any idea who they were?”

  “I got a half-decent look at the one who’s still alive. He’s a Cuban player. Guy by the name of Camarillo.”

  Hathaway whistled between his teeth. “Camarillo’s a heavy hitter. Rumor has it he used to work directly for Fidel himself.”

  Mitch retorted in mock shock, “Why, sir! Fidel was a peace-loving guy. He would never stoop to violence to gain an end.”

  Hathaway laughed. “Save the politically correct bull for the media. You and I have both operated in Cuba and know exactly what the Old Man was capable of.”

  “And to think, the new regime has exponentially less scruples than he had.”

  Silence fell between them for a moment. Then Hathaway said, “Any idea who sent Camarillo after you? He could be freelancing these days.”

  Mitch turned over the concept. Fidel Castro’s personal assassin cut loose to sell his skills and knowledge to anyone willing to pay? Nah. The regime in Cuba was smarter than that. They’d keep the guy on retainer. “He’s not freelancing. The Cuban government had to have sent Camarillo after me.”

  “How did they find out about your meeting?”

  Mitch sighed. Aye, and there was the rub. “How well do you know Zaragosa, sir?”

  Startled silence echoed in Mitch’s ear. Finally, Hathaway answered, “I’ve never worked with him personally. Supposedly, he’s one of the CIA’s best sources in Cuba. And you’ve got to admit, we couldn’t place a mole in a much higher position if we tried.”

  No kidding. Zaragosa was the deputy prime minister of Cuba and widely expected to be the next presidente of that tiny but pesky nation.

  A shadow crossed the hatch, and Mitch’s eyes narrowed. Was Kinsey eavesdropping or harmlessly moving around the deck?

  He switched to rapid Spanish. Even if she spoke the tongue, she probably wouldn’t catch it at first. “Talk to me about the congressman’s daughter, sir.”

  Hathaway didn’t miss a beat. Mitch registered yet again how good it was to work with active field operators. It cut out so much red tape and bureaucratic hemming and hawing. The navy man answered evenly, “Miss Hollingsworth has had a tough year. She caught her fiancé humping her best friend a couple weeks back and dumped him. The tabloids have had a field day with it.”

  That was a switch. In his experience, it was the stunning blonde who screwed around.

  Hathaway continued, “Apparently the ex wasn’t appreciative of the negative media coverage. To divert attention from himself, he published a series of, uhh, explicit photos of Miss Hollingsworth on the internet.”

  Ouch. What a scumbag. Even spoiled little rich girls didn’t deserve that.

  “I expect she’s looking to lie low. Blend in with the locals.”

  “On a hot-pink cigarette boat with her looks?” Mitch exclaimed.

  Hathaway chuckled. “Any port in a storm, my friend.”

  Mitch thought fast. His job was to make contact with Zaragosa, infiltrate Cuba with identity papers the guy provided, then once in the country, spot any conspiracies against the guy and protect Zaragosa’s back.

  Of course, having now missed the meeting with Zaragosa, that plan was shot to hell. The Cuban politician was due to return to Havana later this evening and there would be no time to arrange for a second meeting. Mitch wasn’t going to get his papers today. Which meant his easy-as-pie, walk-through-the-front-door entry into Cuba was blown. Now he had to find his own way into that closed country. Illegally. Not that sneaking into Cuba posed any great challenge at the end of the day. He’d infiltrated a hell of a lot more difficult places to penetrate than Cuba in his career. But it was still a pain in the rear. Not to mention any change of plans represented a risk to the mission.

  Mitch asked, “Can you guys contact Zaragosa and set up an alternate meeting with him in Cuba? Not Havana. Something on the south coast in a day or two. Maybe Cienfuegos. That’s close to Zaragosa’s old stomping grounds. He ought to be able to come up with an excuse to go there.”

  “What about you? Are you gonna be able to get there and blend in with the locals?”

  “I’ve spent a fair bit of time operating in that neck of the woods. I’ll be fine. Just tell Zaragosa to press on to Cuba without me and I’ll hook up with him there.”

  Kinsey’s shadow passed the porthole as she did some chore outside. Probably trying to keep busy to stave off the panic he’d seen lurking at the back of her baby blues. Odd how fate had thrust this woman into his path. Not being one to look gift horses in the mouth, however, an interesting thought struck him. He could just possibly use her looks to his advantage.

  Mitch said thoughtfully, “I may have an idea of how to get into Cuba fast. Can you scrounge up a catamaran for me? Something berthed close to Cuba.”

  “I’ll see what I can do. I show you sailing toward the U.S. Virgin Islands right now. Is that correct?”

  He glanced out the porthole. “If that means we’re heading south by southwest in the middle of a whole bunch of water, that would be correct.”

  “I’ll get the gang working on a catamaran for you.”

  “Not pink.”

  Hathaway laughed. “Roger that.”

  Mitch disconnected the call and pocketed the phone. He ducked through the hatch and squinted at the blazing wedge of red melting across the black water to their feet. It shrunk quickly to a narrow slash of red pulsing on the horizon.

  Kinsey was already squinting at the fiery sunset. She commented over her shoulder, “Conditions are good to see the Green Flash tonight.”

  “The Green Flash?”

  “When the sun dips below the horizon, there’s an instant when its light refracts through the maximum thickness of the Earth’s atmosphere and throws off the different colors of the spectrum. Sometimes you can see a flash of green. Legend says it’s good luck to spot it.”

  Her enthusiasm was contagious. And hell, he’d take any luck he could get right about now. He squinted into the last vestiges of the setting sun. For just a second, its final rays turned a brilliant emerald-green. And then they winked out. “Hey! There it was!”

  She smiled over at him. “I guess that means you’re gonna have good luck on this trip.”

  Aww, hell. The princess had dimples. They added a little-girl charm to her bombshell looks that blew him clean away. Damn, damn, damn. He hated blondes. He didn’t trust beautiful women. And he was not attracted to Kinsey Pierpont Hollingsworth!

  Thankfully, his brain kicked back in before too many more seconds passed. Time to talk her into helping him. He forcibly relaxed his shoulders and shrugged, packing as much casual friendliness into his expression as he could. “For what it’s worth, I work in law enforcement. I can’t go into a lot of details, though.”

  “Do you have a badge?”

  He reached for his wallet. “Sort of.” He pulled out his brand-spanking-new Alcohol, Tobac
co and Firearms agent ID card in the name of one Mitch Perovski, and handed it to her.

  She examined it carefully, looking from the picture to him a couple times. She held the ID card out to him. “Nice picture. You’re a photogenic guy.”

  Unaccountably, the back of his neck heated up. Every now and then someone made a comment that pierced his current legend and went all the way to the real man. It never failed to catch him off guard.

  Into the suddenly awkward silence, she asked, “What brings you to the sunny Caribbean? You’re a long way from home, sailor.”

  “Cigars.”

  She blinked. Frowned.

  He elaborated. “Cuban cigars.” The papers Zaragosa was supposed to deliver declared him to be a tobacco importer looking for new sources of fine cigars.

  “Ahh. I hear they can be lucrative.”

  He shrugged. “A good box of Cohibas runs six hundred bucks. If your father would like a box, I’ll send him some when I get home.”

  “He doesn’t smoke,” she murmured.

  The conversation lagged. He didn’t know what to talk about with a socialite like her. Finally, he said, “Thanks again for saving my life.”

  “No problem.”

  “I’m serious. Thank you.”

  “Anytime,” she mumbled, turning away to stare down at the navigation instruments.

  The line of her neck arrested him. It was graceful. Slender. Sensuous. Wisps of hair curled at her nape underneath her short ponytail. What would happen if he breathed warmth across her skin just there? Would she cross her arms to rub away the goose bumps? Turn and melt into his arms? Kiss him into last week?

  She’d kiss him right up to the part where she buried a knife in his back. He had places to go and things to do. A future president to protect. A few assassinations to commit along the way if he had to guess. Nothing out of the ordinary. He did not need a pampered princess like Kinsey Hollingsworth flitting around in his universe, fouling up the works and making him think thoughts he distinctly didn’t want to think. First order of business: use the pretty lady to get into Cuba.

  Next order of business: get rid of her.

  Chapter 3

  Kinsey was almost glad when darkness settled around the two of them. The rhythmic rumble of the two remaining engines soothed her—number three was running hot, and unable to find the source of the problem, she’d shut it down. The familiar salt-and-seaweed scent of the ocean was strong tonight. Everything about the night was magnified by the man’s brooding presence beside her. Or maybe it was just her reaction to him heightening her senses to a near-painful pitch. She registered his slightest movement, even a change in the depth of his breathing, every blink of his eyes, every shift in his wary gaze.

  The black sky and blacker sea merged into a single great expanse, a beast that had swallowed them whole. Normally, she loved this magnificent solitude. But tonight her soul was turbulent, disturbed by the leashed energy of the stranger beside her.

  Reluctantly, she turned on the instrument backlighting. Its red glow intruded into the sensual mystery of the dark, breaking the spell.

  “Head for the nearest inhabited island at our best forward speed.”

  He was back to orders and demands, this hard man. Nothing compromising or yielding about him.

  She scanned the horizon and made out a faint black hump in the distance, a few lights twinkling along its spine. “There’s the north coast of St. Thomas now,” she replied.

  “Find us somewhere to put ashore where we can hide this garish boat. Whatever possessed your father to paint it peppermint-pink, anyway?”

  Kinsey rolled her eyes. “The trophy wife.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “My father traded in my mother when she hit fifty for a new model. Giselle is twenty-eight now.”

  “Isn’t that about how old you are?”

  “Yeah. How creepy is that? But hey, she’s gotten three Vogue covers and looks great on television.”

  Mitch sounded almost bitter when he commented, “I learned a long time ago not to put any stock in a woman’s looks.”

  Wow. Definite raw nerve there. She changed the subject quickly. “If you want to hide this monster, we’ll need to get her under a roof. There’s a big marina near Frenchtown with some covered slips, but it’s right by where the cruise ships come in. People crawl all over that area. Maybe something private...” She ran through the list of who she knew on the island. “I’ve got it. A sorority sister of mine and her husband have a place in Magen’s Bay. And I think they have a boathouse.”

  A cynical look passed across his features. “Of course they do.”

  What was his problem? She shrugged and pointed the Baby Doll toward Magen’s Bay. Only about half the estates lining its very exclusive, very private shores were lit tonight. Summer wasn’t prime season for Caribbean vacation homes. She had a little trouble finding the right mansion, but eventually spotted it high above the water. Its windows were dark.

  “Looks like nobody’s home,” she commented.

  “Think they’ll mind if we help ourselves to the boathouse?” Mitch murmured.

  “No. We go way back. They’ll understand.”

  “How do you know these people’s boathouse will have an empty slip?”

  She shrugged. “They always move their yacht up to Hyannis for the summer.”

  “Right. Hyannis.”

  She glanced over at him. “Look, I can’t help it if I know some rich people. Mitzi and her husband are actually very nice.”

  “It’s not the rich part I object to. It’s the spoiled part.”

  She cut the engine and let the Baby Doll drift toward the boathouse. “Are you calling me spoiled?”

  “If the shoe fits.”

  “The shoe does not fit. I can’t help being born into a wealthy family.” He was doing the same thing everyone else did. They took one look at her, labeled her a spoiled little rich girl and completely wrote her off as a waste of oxygen on the planet. What was it going to take for someone to take her seriously?

  Gritting her teeth in frustration, she guided the Baby Doll to the dock and Mitch jumped ashore. He made his way to the locked boathouse doors and did something to them that didn’t take more than a few seconds. And then they swung open. She eased the Baby Doll into the empty slip and tossed him a line. While he tied off the prow, she shut down the engines and tied off the aft line.

  In the abrupt silence inside the barnlike structure, a thick blanket of darkness wrapped around them, as warm and sultry as the night without.

  “What jobs have you ever held?” he challenged.

  Still grinding that ax, was he? “I graduated with honors in English from Vassar and was an intern in my father’s law firm. And I was a darned good one, too.”

  He shook his head, a sharp movement in the dark. “Not a paying job, and you were working for Daddy. Nobody was going to bust your chops or fire you from that place. Name me one real job you’ve ever had.”

  She huffed in irritation.

  “I rest my case,” he stated archly.

  Annoyed, she replied, “How many charity balls for thousands of guests have you organized from scratch? How many millions of dollars have you raised for worthy causes and given away? How many scholarships have you interviewed a hundred people for and then granted? How many press conferences have you endured? How many political campaigns have you spent a year working on around the clock, road-tripping and stumping and getting by on two and three hours of sleep a night for months on end?”

  He threw up his hands in mock surrender. “All right, all right. So you don’t sit around on Daddy’s fancy boat every day working on your perfect tan.” But he still didn’t sound convinced.

  She wasn’t quite sure why, but it was tremendously important to her that this
supremely competent man perceive her as being able to do something worthwhile. Maybe she was sick of being compared to tabloid princesses. Or maybe it was because she’d felt so helpless in the face of being shot at. He, on the other hand, had taken action. He shot back. He took out his enemies. And she...she splashed some water at them with her cute pink boat.

  Chad slept with her best friend and then posted those damned pictures of her on the internet when she dared to be mad about him sleeping with her maid of honor two weeks before their wedding. And all she’d managed to do was tuck her tail and run away. She wished she had a gun like Mitch’s. She’d have blown off both their heads with it. Okay. Maybe not shot them. But she’d have scared them both to death. But no. She’d been as weak and spineless, as useless, as Mitch thought she was. Her face burned with the humiliation of it all.

  She was useful, dammit! Just because her entire family and everyone she knew thought she was supposed to spend her life doing nothing more than being attractive fluff to decorate the arm of some powerful, successful man didn’t mean it was true.

  She finished buttoning up the Baby Doll for the night, her movements a little too jerky. Mitch prowled a circuit around both the outside and inside of the boathouse and finally came to a halt beside the boat. His gaze was black. Inscrutable in the near-total darkness.

  “Now what?” she grumbled, still miffed.

  “Now I make a phone call. And we sit tight until the cavalry comes for us.”

  She watched as he pulled out his cell phone.

  “It’s me,” he muttered into it. “St. Thomas. In a boathouse at some private estate on Magen’s Bay. Heh, swanky doesn’t quite cover it. Any luck on a catamaran?”

  A short pause while he listened to whomever he was talking with. She could swear his eyes glowed in the dark, gold and dangerous. It must be a trick of the faint moonlight creeping in through the boathouse windows, but the effect was eerie.

  Without warning, his gaze speared into her, pinning her in place. “I’m telling you, she can do it. She’s perfect for it.” A short pause. “Yes, I know the risks. And yes, I’m sure.”