I was wrong. Oh, sure, she could imagine him writing those words. Please marry me tomorrow. Uh-huh.
Please don’t let him have had a gun to his head while he wrote that. The thought turned her body to ice.
Lucia got up, sitting beside her on the bed. “I’m so sorry about your terrible fight. Maybe he’s trying to make up.”
“You know it’s just for show, right? We didn’t really fight because we aren’t really engaged. We don’t really love each other.”
Lucia said nothing, her dark eyes on her, and Scarlett got up, walking away from her stare.
Yes, Lucia could probably see the truth. But it didn’t matter.
“Luke didn’t send this. I know it. Not after we disentangled ourselves from the entire mess and left him on duty to protect you. No, he wouldn’t drag me back in.”
“Then who did?”
She stared at the letter, at the tight, messy handwriting. She didn’t know Luke’s, but she imagined that his would be neat and crisp.
“I don’t know. Maybe the person who is trying to hurt you. Maybe they figured out that we aren’t really a couple.”
“You look like a couple. Especially tonight on the dance floor.”
“When we had our spectacular fight? Oh, yes, he certainly didn’t pull any punches—”
“No, when you were dancing. You had your eyes closed and you looked…happy. You looked as if you belonged in each other’s arms.”
Scarlett shook her head. “I think this fairy tale has played out long enough. We don’t belong together, even if I’d like to think so. He’s some sort of secret agent, and I’m just a temp. It would never work.”
Even if she longed to believe what she’d seen in his eyes.
Lucia opened her mouth, as if to speak, and Scarlett held up a finger to stop her.
“No. What matters is that someone else, not Luke, sent this note. Which means that…”
“Luke is in trouble.”
Lucia said the words in a whisper that made Scarlett sink back onto the bed. Luke, in trouble. She should have expected that, but the words grabbed her breath.
“Did you knock at his stateroom door?”
“Yes, but he wasn’t there.”
“Did you check his villa?”
“I came right here.”
Scarlett folded up the letter, stood and shoved it into her pocket. “C’mon.”
Luke’s villa remained dark after she’d pounded on the door. She glanced at Lucia, then made an executive decision. “We’re going in the back.”
Cutting between the villas, she ditched her flip-flops and ventured out onto the rocky shore that edged the cottages. The sea sprinkled cold breath upon her skin. She smelled a storm in the air.
“I think this is a terrible idea,” Lucia said, holding on to the railing that edged his deck. “He’s probably asleep.”
“Then he’s fine, and I can ask him why he sent me this weird note.”
“True love.”
“Stop that. He’s not in love with me. Be careful.” She picked her way along the coral, wincing as it cut into her toes. The terrain dipped into craggy holes, crannies of briny water. Her shirt stuck to her body, seawater dripping down her back. Gooseflesh raised at the raw lick of the wind.
“I’m going to get Benito,” Lucia said, hanging on to the edge of the balcony.
“Have you lost your mind? Just go back to the front door. I’ll go through and let you in.”
“You’re the one who’s lost her mind.” But Lucia crept back to safety as Scarlett stood on the edge of the balcony rail, then reached up and gripped the lower edge of Luke’s balcony. She hoisted herself up.
The last time she’d done pull-ups had been in eleventh grade, for her health class graduation requirements. Now, she held herself long enough to hook her toe, then her foot on the edge, working herself onto the ledge.
A very thin ledge. But enough to grip the top of the railing and pull herself to a standing position. Then she threw her leg over the top and tumbled over.
Her shirt caught, ripping as she fell. She bumped a metal chair with her chin, the pain making her see gray dots as she hit the cement. Her foot caught a pot of geraniums. The flowers crashed to the cement, the sound harsh in the night. She stilled, listening.
Nothing except the roar of the waves, the thunder of her own heartbeat.
And, if Luke had been sleeping, he’d already be out here in his skivvies.
The sliding door opened easily, and that, too, had her stomach clenching.
She entered, clinging to the slim hope—and yes, praying—that he might be asleep in his bed.
No. The room remained empty, and just in case he might be hurt, on the floor in a pool of blood—thank you, romantic-suspense-novel imagination—she flicked on the light.
Nothing. No Luke, sleeping like a baby in the middle of his king-size bed. In fact, the bedsheets weren’t even mussed.
And, because her overactive imagination still saw a scuffle here, saw Luke being outmanned and wrestled into submission, she checked for evidence. Nothing on the side tables, the floor…
Except there, under the desk, lay his cell phone. Strange place for a cell phone.
She picked it up. Luke, where are you?
A knock at the door reminded her that Lucia waited outside. She opened it.
Lucia snuck in, her head ducked. “I don’t like this.”
Scarlett closed the door behind her. “He’s not here.”
“Told you. He’s probably at the cabana.”
“What, drinking his sorrows away? Luke doesn’t drink, remember?” She opened the phone. The last number dialed had been an international number.
Lucia began to nose around the room. “A broken heart can make a man betray himself.”
“Luke doesn’t have a broken heart. Look around, see if you can find—”
“Oh, no.”
Scarlett turned. Lucia held what looked like a cigarette butt between her fingers. “This is bad. This brand is from Panama. Benito’s father smokes them.”
Benito’s father?
“I think Claudio was here.”
Claudio. The man who’d suspected them on the yacht, who’d made them kiss, who—
“This note is from Claudio.” Scarlett said it more as a fact than a question.
“Yes. He must think you and Luke are lying.” Lucia sank onto the bed. “I wonder if he thinks I am lying.”
“Don’t jump to conclusions.” Scarlett sat next to Lucia. “You’ve come this far. Don’t give up. We’re so close.”
“This is such a bad idea. I should just tell Benito the truth, make him elope with me. Who cares about—”
“Your murdered best friend? Justice? The thousands of other victims of the Sanchez drug and trafficking operation?”
Lucia drew in a breath and whisked the moisture from under her eyes. Her hands trembled. “Okay. Yes. But why would Claudio want you to come to the wedding?”
“Maybe to test me? An agent would follow orders, right? If Luke told me to stay away, a good agent would stick to the plan. Because if she didn’t, people would get hurt.”
“Right. And a true love would meet her man at the altar.”
“It’s a test to see if it’s safe.” She drew in a breath. Of course. She looked at the phone. “If I show up, then all is well, and Augusto shows up, too. If I don’t, then he’s a no-show.”
“And all this is in vain.”
“Right. I need to show up for Augusto to arrive. But if I show up, then Luke has to protect both of us. One of us could get hurt. The mission could be in jeopardy. And Augusto could get away.”
She let the words die as the scent of the oncoming storm filled the room.
Finally, Lucia asked, “What are you going to do?”
She stared at the phone. “I don’t know.” She looked at herself in the mirror.
Her hair had fallen from her ponytail, her chin was scraped where she’d hit the chair, her shirt torn from
the balcony railing. A raccoon sunburn covered her face, the tops of her shoulders. She appeared a mess, at best. At worst, a liability.
“I am the wrong person for this job. I don’t know what I was thinking. That I was some sort of superheroine or something? I’ve read one too many novels.”
Lucia met her gaze in the mirror. The woman always seemed so beautiful, so poised. Now, she, too, appeared bedraggled, her hair in snarls, her eyes reddened. She took Scarlett’s hand. “When Juliet showed up murdered, I was so angry. I hatched a plan to bring the Sanchez family to justice. But I was just a law student at Columbia—what was I going to do? I knew Spanish, and I knew my way around the elite society of Panama, thanks to my father’s job, so I just ignored the voices in my head and flung myself into fate, praying it wouldn’t betray me.”
She sighed. “I’ve done a lot of things because of this crusade that I regret. Starting with tricking Benito, to leaving a trail of lies until I found myself ready to betray him. I am a Judas, and I thought for sure I was lost, forgotten—and then you and Luke showed up. You have been a better friend to me than I deserve. And now, even though it will cost me Benito, Juliet’s murderer will be brought to justice. Not only that, but a major cartel will be taken down.”
“Oh, Lucia, I am nothing like you. You’re beautiful and smart and brave. I’m just a girl who got in the wrong cab and found herself in over her head.”
“My mother used to say that we don’t know who we are until we are pushed beyond ourselves. You are more than you think. You’re the heroine who stepped in to keep me sane during the last few days. You’re the one who didn’t let me down. You’re exactly who I needed. And now you’re going to be who Luke needs, too.”
“Who is that?”
Lucia looked at the cell phone. “Let’s find out.”
Even God had conspired against him. The storm over the sea last night, resulting in a change of wedding venue and thus destroying the Stryker team’s plans could only be considered divine payback.
And why not? Luke had made nothing but mistakes since he’d arrived in Mexico, flying by the seat of his pants—again, on instincts.
Pretty much the way he’d always gotten himself into trouble.
Like when he’d punched out his commanding officer and been neatly discharged from his career as navy SEAL.
Or when he’d let his emptiness deliver him into the arms of a married woman.
And when he’d hijacked Scarlett from her safe life into his crazy, dangerous world and let his heart find healing in her smile.
Yes, that might be the worst part of this entire debacle, the fact that he’d let himself feel again. Let himself wonder what it might be like to trust someone with his heart again.
Please, Scarlett, be on a plane over the ocean right now.
But probably, her flight had been grounded, just another check mark on the list of things that could go wrong on this mission.
And, as if God had a sense of humor, Luke would die dressed like a cruise lounge singer.
Luke stood next to Benito, smiling for fifty of their closest underworld friends, gun sights traced to his head. Beyond the cabana, the debris from last night’s storm littered the shore. Luke’s stomach still roiled. Years in the military had turned his stomach to steel, but now his nausea had little to do with seasickness. Locking him in his stateroom bathroom might have been a good idea after all.
Claudio had at least let him clean up for his big day, although Luke’s bright idea to turn his disposable razor into a sort of weapon died under the scrutiny of his guards, whom he’d decided to call Juan and Paulo.
Juan didn’t go down easily, as Luke discovered as they’d wrestled him onto the boat, and Paulo had a killer right hook. The way he looked, the wedding guests might actually think Luke had tracked down Duncan and gone a couple of rounds.
Winner gets the girl.
Luke had lost, though he now stood at the altar with the other groom. Looking resplendent in his white suit, despite his licks, as if he’d won back the bride. He was probably the only groom in history, however, who prayed his bride wouldn’t show.
Because that would only add another layer of disaster to this day’s events.
He hadn’t seen Lucia or Scarlett yet, but that hardly mattered, because Chet and his merry band of commandos were probably scaling the cliffs at the other end of the resort, unaware that Lucia and Benito wouldn’t be tying the knot under the pavilion, but in the cabana next to the beach. Where the clear view of the sea prevented any stealth attack.
Perfect.
And had Luke been able to alert Chet? Not unless the man had developed telepathic abilities.
No, this entire mission was about to go into the drink, and Lucia would end up married to Benito, and then what? Betrayal would get extra messy.
“Are you sure Scarlett’s going to change her mind?” Benito said. Not a little surprise had crossed his face when Luke arrived, gun pressed to his back, dressed for matrimony. Which gave Luke a small rise of hope that the man hadn’t been involved in Lucia’s death attempts after all. Maybe he did love her.
Criminals fell in love, too, right? After all, look at Luke.
No. He couldn’t let himself love Scarlett. Couldn’t love the way she smiled at him, the way she looked at him as if he might be some sort of action hero. Couldn’t love the trust in her eyes, the way she kissed him—
Oh, boy. He managed a smile for Benito. “I hope so.”
Benito gave him a wink as the music started.
Luke scanned the crowd. The guests sat in chairs, draped white for the event, two rows with a center aisle. A blood-red carpet led up to the floral arch under which the priest waited. Two Lost Breezes staff members stood outside the cabana, ushering the noninvited guests to other parts of the resort. In the corner, the bartender tried to look unobtrusive, restocking the bar. A white-gloved usher stood with his back turned, as if waiting for the bride.
Not brides. Please, not brides, plural. Because, really, why would Scarlett risk her life again for him? After the way he’d treated her? After the things he’d said that reopened her wounds?
No, she wouldn’t—shouldn’t—show up. Because he didn’t deserve her.
He glanced at Claudio sitting in the front row, smiling as guests congratulated him.
Would they shoot him right off, or would they wait until the end of the ceremony? Probably it would be something private, and as Claudio said, it would involve sharks.
As for Augusto, well, Luke had pegged that right. So far, no Scarlett, thus, no Augusto.
If Luke had been working with Stacey, he would have expected her to show. Expected her even to know how to line up help protecting Lucia. But Scarlett—
I’m sorry, God. I let You down. I let us all down.
The music started. A flautist stepped up and, accompanied by the keyboardist, began an aria that, had it been his own wedding, might have made him start to tremble.
He, like Benito, turned to look at the end of the aisle, to admire the bride as she stepped up to—
Scarlett was lined up right behind Lucia, and while Lucia appeared a radiant beauty, Scarlett could stop his heart in his chest.
And right then, he actually wanted it to be true. Wanted to be standing at the altar, a groom waiting for his bride. This bride.
Scarlett had swept up her hair, ringlets hanging down to frame her face. A splash of sunshine warmed her nose. He couldn’t meet her eyes. He didn’t want to see the hope in them.
He didn’t want her to see his fear.
No, God, this wasn’t—
Luke had made his peace with God, sitting in that bathroom all night. Made peace with the fact that he’d screwed up, and that while he’d slink into heaven, perhaps, it would only be out of a divine contract of redemption, not because God actually wanted him there. Still, he was ready to face up to his betrayals, to his mistakes.
He was ready to die.
But Scarlett was not.
“Oh, no.�
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Benito looked at him and he realized he’d spoken out loud. He flashed Benito a quick, hard smile.
“Getting cold feet?”
Freezing. But then, he let himself look at Scarlett, finally meet her eyes.
Instead of a bright, love-struck shine, he read calm. She didn’t even flinch as she looked at him, confidence on her face, as if she might be saying “Trust me.”
Trust me.
Oh, God, he wanted to. And even as he thought it, he realized that yes, yes, he did trust her. Did believe in her.
Trust me.
Except, now he heard a whisper inside, something other than his own voice. Trust Me.
Yes.
Please, yes. I want to trust You, God.
Because, despite his betrayals, despite his mistakes, God had sent him Scarlett. To heal his heart. To show him that no, not all women lie.
Some of them, in fact, surprise you with their loyalty.
And that’s when a man appeared behind Lucia. Six feet of nasty slicked up for the day. He edged up behind her, grinning to his nephew as he slipped past both brides and into the cabana.
And Lucia met his eyes and nodded.
Augusto.
Leaner than Claudio, Augusto bore the Sanchezes’ dark looks, although a scar ran along his cheekbone, as if he, too, understood betrayal. From the front row, Claudio stood, and for a moment, the crowd watched what might have been, in a different time and place, with a different family, a heartwarming embrace.
Two brothers, reunited.
Two murderers, sharing a moment.
Yes, Luke might be ill again, right on Benito’s shiny white shoes.
Then, chaos erupted.
The flautist dropped to her knees, abandoning her instrument and pulling from her case a handgun while the bartender turned and—hello, Chet!—produced a Glock he’d clearly smuggled in with the rum.
“Freeze, Augusto!” called one of the resort staff who suddenly appeared armed and advancing on Augusto. Vicktor Shubuikov, Stryker operative who’d shed his Russian accent and added a tan.
Then he spotted his pal Brody, who had—thank You God—moved in front of Lucia, as if that’s what all resort employees did when weapons appeared.
Every man in the wedding party, save Luke, produced weapons, including Claudio, who backed up in front of his brother. “Stay back!”
Undercover Pursuit Page 15