“Barrett,” Cruce calls, his voice coming from the front door. It startles me so badly I jump, wondering if he’s been inside the apartment listening to us. I didn’t hear the door open.
“Back here,” I force out, my voice squeaking. Joslyn furrows her brows, but I shake my head.
Cruce walks in… and why is it he seems a thousand times more attractive now that I know how he kisses?
Ugh.
“You about done?” he asks, raising an eyebrow at my suitcase.
“Yeah,” I reply flatly, placing the last stack in and zipping the case up.
“Well, come on into the kitchen,” he says as he pivots away from us. “Bebe’s going to demonstrate how to work the satellite phone, and I want you to know how to do that.”
Joslyn and I follow Cruce into the communal living area. Kynan, Saint, and Bebe surround the long kitchen counter. Bebe punches buttons on a rectangular phone.
When I come in, Saint gives me a slow once over. He grins, then gives an appreciative whistle. “Looking mighty beautiful this morning, Dr. Alexander.”
I’m shocked by his brazen flirting. I look no different than I do any other day, except my hair is maybe a little tamer. Even though I feel my cheeks start to pinken, I flash him a return smile, lifting my chin a little. I hadn’t realized how badly Cruce stopping that kiss last night had bruised my ego until Saint’s obvious admiration washed over me.
I peek at Cruce, who is not even trying to hide the glare he has leveled on the other man. Saint pays no mind, grin only widening as he deliberately winks at me.
Cruce takes my hand, pulling me with him to the opposite side of the counter. It puts me opposite Bebe, so we’ll have a good view of her demonstration. Cruce stands ridiculously close—our arms brushing every time either of us even minutely shifts—yet I can’t find it in me to complain.
“Okay,” Bebe says as she twists the satellite phone toward us so we can see the face. It looks surprisingly normal—only a bit thicker than a regular smartphone. Other than that, it’s quite compact. It has a stubby antenna on top. The phone’s surface has a small digital screen with four icons—SOS, Messages, GPS, and Tracking.
Bebe quickly but efficiently explains the phone’s functions, making sure to stress the most important. SOS. “If you hit that button, we’ll immediately send in a strike force hard and fast.”
“And if we need to call someone, we just dial it like we would a regular number?” I ask.
Cruce answers my question by taking the phone, then punching in a number. When he hands it to me, I eye him questioningly.
He mimes for me to put it up to my ear, and I’m surprised when my uncle Jon’s voice echoes through. “Cruce?” he says with worry.
“No, it’s Barrett,” I say as my eyes stay locked on Cruce. He’s letting me say goodbye to my uncle before we leave for the island. I flash him a grateful smile. “We’re just testing out the new satellite phone we’re taking with us.”
This morning, Cruce said my uncle had been notified about us going off-the-grid, but he hadn’t been told where. He is not in the sacred loop—the sole members being the people in this kitchen.
“You’re going to be just fine, Barrie,” Uncle Jon says in a deep, gruff voice. “I have every faith Cruce will keep you safe while the rest of Jameson discovers who is behind this and puts a stop to it.”
“I know,” I reply, voice shaking slightly with emotion. While I’m confident Jameson will do their best by me, there’s still a chance the lurking danger will end up crashing into my reality in more than an abstract way. That fact tends to sit at the forefront of my mind, especially since I lost my mom to a violent crime.
I’d be a fool to deny I’m a bit scared.
I am scared, and I’m going to let caution guide my actions. Following Cruce’s orders quickly and to the tee will be my only priorities until they can find these guys.
As if he knows exactly what I need, Cruce presses his hand to my lower back as a means of support. Silently, his gesture tells me he has my back.
“It’ll be just like a vacation,” I tell my uncle with a short laugh, which comes off sounding fake and forced. He knows I don’t do vacations, and that sitting around doing nothing will drive me crazy. I have to hold myself back from leaning into Cruce, wanting more than just the calming presence of his hand.
Uncle Jon snorts. “You relaxing is hilarious. But without the distractions you have at your office and lab—with nothing but time and quiet—I predict you’re going to finish that formula in no time at all.”
I sure hope he’s right. The sooner I can get it done and into other people’s hands—to where it’s no longer a secret—the sooner I can return to my regular life.
“I’ll do you proud,” I assure him.
He’s silent a moment before he says, “Honey… you’ve always done me proud. There’s nothing more you need to do. Just stay safe and know your aunt and I love you very much.”
“I love you both, too,” I say, my voice choking.
Eyes concerned, Cruce pulls the phone from me. He brings it to his ear, then says, “Sir… we’re getting ready to leave. Kynan will keep you up to speed, but you won’t be hearing directly from us until the threat has been neutralized.”
I can’t hear what my uncle says in return, but whatever it is, it’s long winded. I imagine it might involve pleas to keep me safe or maybe even threats. He’s the president of the United States and has power in his words, so it could be anything.
Whatever it is, Cruce gives a tight smile as he replies, “You have my word, sir.”
And then he disconnects.
Bebe holds her hand out, and Cruce places the satellite phone in it. She puts it in a black, waterproof case, then holds up a small black box with a USB plug on the end. “This is a high speed, satellite Wi-Fi hotspot. It’s encrypted but, as you all know, nothing is guaranteed.”
“We’ll only be using it if she finishes the formula, then we’ll send it to multiple recipients for redundancy,” Cruce says, placing it in the box. He turns to me. “Otherwise, we stay offline.”
“But it’s encrypted,” I point out.
“We take no chances, Barrett. We’re laying low, and you’ll do what you can without access to the outside world. With luck, Kynan will figure out who this is, and we won’t be there long, okay?”
“Okay,” I answer reluctantly. While most of my work comes from my own brain, I often need to look stuff up. I was able to download all the reference materials I might need to a hard drive, but something could come up that stumps me. If that’s the case, then this could turn into a long, boring vacation.
Although, I can think of worse ways to spend down time than on a beautiful, private tropical island with a gorgeous man. And I wonder if Joslyn is right.
Is there something there?
After all this is over, should I look at it closer?
I’ve never had a meaningful relationship before. Nothing more than casual, meaningless sex.
I immediately dismiss that notion about Cruce.
The man is anything but casual and meaningless, but I can’t tell if I’m observing him through a filter. Our meeting is anything but normal. We’re getting ready to go on the run, and we’ll be looking over our shoulders constantly. Under those circumstances, how can I even trust anything at all?
CHAPTER 11
Cruce
Marjorie Island is just over four nautical miles northwest of Virgin Gorda, and it takes us only about fifteen minutes to make the trip by a boat Saint had waiting. We could have chartered someone to take us the short distance over water, but I don’t like being trapped and Brad Murdock apparently isn’t a boat man, so one isn’t available at his private island.
I’ve got plenty of boating experience so it was the best choice to rent this twenty-five-foot May-Craft, which would also lessen the amount of people who would know exactly where we were heading.
Admittedly, I’m carrying a bit of tension as I wait for the Jam
eson team to find the root of all this trouble—that being the exact person or organization that wants Barrett. The longer it takes, the greater the chances said person or organization is going to make a better play for her.
The first grab-and-go plan was very unsophisticated. Whoever was behind it had no clue Barrett had private security protecting her.
But that doesn’t mean this group is unsophisticated as a whole. It might only mean they tried the easiest plan possible. However, now they are aware she’s being protected, they could easily come after her with more firepower, so to speak.
It’s not unreasonable to expect this. Barrett’s knowledge is worth a lot of money.
As in billions.
It stands to reason anyone determined enough to perpetrate a kidnapping that could result in untold riches would spend a great deal of money on a better plan to snatch her.
Which is another reason I’m glad I’m in charge of getting us from Virgin Gorda to Marjorie Island. By not chartering a boat, it ensures one less person who knows where we’re going.
It’s not fool proof, though. It would be nothing to bribe the pilot at the private Pittsburgh terminal we flew out of. He brought us first to Miami, where we re-fueled, then to Virgin Gorda. He had fake names for us, but I’m sure someone could offer him an amount of money that could prompt him to identify Barrett and me by the way we looked. Back in Virgin Gorda, plenty of people saw us getting on this boat, and there are only so many islands in the British Virgin Islands.
We can be found by determined people, and that’s why I can’t let my guard down for a single second.
My anxiety is even more increased because of the woman sitting beside me as I navigate the blue waters. She’s wearing jeans, a tank top, and a ball cap on her head. Her hair is in a ponytail while dark sunglasses hide her eyes. A pale effort to make it hard for people to identify her.
She’s scared, and I know it.
Lost.
Out of place.
I want to give her more than protection. I want to reassure her. Take away her fears. Give her confidence this will all be over soon—that she’ll be completely safe.
It would be my preference—so very weirdly—to give those things to her in the form of physical touch.
A hug, that’s all.
Which is so fucking odd as I’m not a hugger. Plus, that’s also way too dangerous because a hug can lead to a kiss.
Another punch-to-the-gut kiss that will electrify me. Fry my fucking brains out like it did last night.
Christ, how the hell am I supposed to be in close confines with her? Complete seclusion, actually.
How can I do that and control myself around her? Especially now, when I know without a doubt, how easily she came into my arms and begged me to kiss her that she wants the same thing?
So goddamn unprofessional, Cruce. Get a fucking hold of yourself.
Marjorie Island looms closer, and I study it critically as far as how easy it would be to breech. The island is smallish, but it has two prominent hills that rise up significantly from the beach. The main house is built on top of the tallest one. I’ve been told it’s only seven acres total, which doesn’t sound like a lot until I think about having to patrol it, but I’d still take it over Pittsburgh. I’ve been told the back side of the island is surrounded by shallows and reefs, making it too dangerous to approach by boat, so that helps at least.
The sprawling one-story main house faces toward Virgin Gorda. It’s surrounded by trees and lush greenery and I’m sure somewhere in all that vegetation is a path leading upward from the beach. There are a few smaller buildings off to the western side, which I assume is for staff and perhaps maintenance. I can’t see them, but supposedly there are three small guesthouses on the eastern side.
For our stay, we’ll be in the main house, which was necessary for our cover. We’re supposed to be rich, well-connected honeymooners who want the entire island to ourselves.
More importantly, the main house is on the most elevated part of the island. It has three hundred-and-sixty-degree views, so we can see if anything or anyone is coming our way. Luckily, if it’s by boat, they’d have to come straight at us by taking the same path I’m on now as I start to throttle down as the dock comes into view. In the cover of darkness, an extremely determined person could breach security by parachuting in or anchoring a boat and swimming to shore. Good thing two of the bags we brought are full of equipment Bebe put together, including trip wires and thermal-imaging cameras. One of the first things I’ll take care of is a satellite call back to Bebe so she can walk me through the security setup.
As I cut speed, letting the boat coast, I take in the two men on the dock. They’re expected—the island’s manager and a staff person to help move all the bags. I’m okay with this, but only because the specialty equipment and weapons are in locked and padded duffels that won’t arouse any suspicion. But I’m also going to make sure I boot them and anyone else still on the island as quickly as possible.
Both men are dark skinned, wearing crisp, pressed khaki pants and tropical shirts in reds, yellows, and oranges. The younger one steps forward, then takes the rope I toss him to tie off the boat to the dock. When it’s secure and I cut the engine, I let Barrett precede me off. The young man takes her hand and helps her across onto the wooden boards. I hop up next to her.
The other man—older by about twenty years—is holding a small, round tray with two coconut drinks bearing festive umbrellas.
“Welcome to Marjorie Island, Mr. and Mrs. Belton,” he says in a lilting Caribbean accent as he offers the tray. “I’m the manager, Samuel. This young man is my son, Thomas.”
I take a coconut drink and hand it to Barrett, then grab the other. Because we’re honeymooners, I put my arm around her waist and pull her in close to my side as I smile at the man and his son.
Barrett, knowing we have to play the part of an in love and recently married couple, slides her arm around my waist in return before saying, “Thank you. We’re so excited to be here.”
Samuel nods, tucking the tray under his arm. “Now, if you’ll follow me… I’ll take you up to the main house and show you around. Thomas will bring up all your luggage.”
“You were told we wanted absolute privacy, correct?” I ask.
Eyes flashing with amusement, he grins broadly. “Of course. We’ll be leaving as soon as we get you settled in.”
“And just how will you be leaving?” I ask curiously.
“My other son, William, will swing by and get us. He’s a fisherman. In fact, he’s more than willing to drop off any fresh catches to you any day you wish. You only need to let me know.”
“That’s very kind.” Barrett flashes a smile.
“But we’ll most likely catch plenty of our own fish, honey,” I say pointedly, giving her a squeeze.
Samuel tips his head back and laughs, waving a playful finger. “I understand completely, Mr. Belton. You want privacy on your honeymoon. For this, I cannot fault you.”
With a wink at the man, I motion at Barrett with the hand holding the coconut cocktail. “I mean, look at this woman… Can you blame me?”
I want to laugh when I see Barrett blush, because she should know this is necessary banter for our ruse. Yet, it’s clear she’s affected all the same. Of course, I wasn’t lying about my appreciation of her looks. She’s a stunning woman, so it only made sense to point it out.
Barrett curves her body into mine, then slaps me playfully on the chest, deciding to add her own flare. “Baby… stop. You’re embarrassing me.”
Chuckling, I lean down—being completely spontaneous and a little self-serving—to give her a quick but soft kiss on the mouth. When she almost jerks away from me in surprise, I hold her tighter in warning.
As I return my attention to Samuel, I see him watching us with twinkling eyes, clearly a romantic at heart.
“Let’s head up to the house,” he slyly suggests. “Get you settled so we can get out of your hair.”
; He glances at his son, who is carefully pulling out each bag and setting them gently on the dock. “You have this under control, Thomas?”
“Yes, sir,” he replies in the same carefree accent.
Barrett and I follow Samuel onto a covered winding path that leads up to the main house. The trees and foliage are so dense it provides almost complete shade as we traverse the walkway lined by tropical bushes laden with fragrant flowers.
The path comes out into a small open courtyard with a wide porch. The house was built with a dark wood, but it has so many large, un-paned windows and an open design, which will allow a clear view through to the rear of the house and the blue waters on the other side of the island.
We follow Samuel in, and Barrett gasps over the opulent beauty. Gleaming blond wooden floors—probably maple—and plush teak furniture with overstuffed linen cushions first catch my eye. When I spot a rectangular gas firepit in the room’s center, I feel my brow crinkle as I wonder why anyone would want to start a fire in the tropics.
Samuel points to the walls along the perimeter, which are basically framed floor-to-ceiling glass. “All the walls slide to open to the outside. I highly recommend opening them in the morning and evening hours as the breeze is spectacular.”
We follow him around a corner into a huge kitchen of chrome and glass. “The refrigerator and pantries are well stocked. The phone on the counter reaches me directly. I can bring you groceries as often as you need.”
Glancing at Barrett, I see her slowly taking it all in with wide eyes and a gaping mouth, her expression portraying this might be the most wondrous place she’s ever seen.
Traversing up a short staircase, we follow Samuel into another wing. The master bedroom dominates, and it’s a wonder for sure. It’s massive with a four-poster king-sized bed smack in the center, which is covered with mosquito netting.
To the right is the master bath, but there are no walls closing it off. An open shower and tub are on a slightly raised dais with a beautiful double vanity along the wall. There’s a small door, which I assume is the water closet.
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