Code Name: Sentinel

by Sawyer Bennett

  No, I wasn’t thinking straight when I packed for Barrett. I just threw as much shit in the suitcase as I could. Yes, I’d known I was pulling handfuls of stuff out of her lingerie drawer without really paying attention to it.

  And no… I didn’t know she’d need a swimsuit. Had no clue we’d be hiding out on a tropical island.

  But as I watch her saunter my way, I’m thankful as fuck I didn’t grab a bathing suit or two and that Barrett apparently has an appreciation for fine lingerie. Also, incredibly grateful she doesn’t seem to be shy.

  It’s only after I focus on Barrett’s face that I realize my eyes spent a little too much time on her body parts. Her cheeks are flushed, her arms coming almost protectively over her stomach as if she’s trying to hide from me.

  I play it off, giving a dismissive wave. “See… not much different from a bathing suit.”

  Without waiting for her to reply, I pivot toward the door, snagging two beach towels I’d gotten out of the linen closet while she was changing. I open the front door, motioning for her to precede me out.

  She does, and I follow.

  Big mistake… because I almost trip a few times since I’m not watching the cobbled stone path as much as I should as we descend toward the beach. That’s because my eyes are pinned to her ass, much of which is not covered by the thin blue satin.

  And weirdly… the thing that makes her the sexiest—the most attractive to my senses—is she still comes off as the nerdy scientist. Maybe it’s because her hair has been pulled back in a rough ponytail since this morning, pins holding her bangs out of her way while she bent over her laptop.

  Or maybe it’s the way she sometimes talks to herself, low and under her breath, about formulas and hypotheses. Or better yet, the corny, scientific jokes she makes and snorts over that I don’t get at all.

  Or perhaps it’s the total package. More brilliant than most people on this planet, the body of a goddess, the face of an angel, and a certain amount of dorkiness to round it all out.

  Whatever it is, I’m coming to the realization I’m not sure I’m going to be able to handle this.

  Protect her? Fuck yes… got that covered.

  Being in her presence, alone, with no good reason why I shouldn’t kiss her?

  That’s becoming more difficult to fight against.

  This morning, waking up with her snuggled into my side—her hand innocently resting on my stomach—was an instant fucking hard-on. I’d laid there trying to get myself under control for I don’t know how many minutes, but all I could think about—fantasize, really—was that I wanted to roll over on top of her, spread those pretty legs, and drive in deep.

  Yeah… might be one of the most difficult things I’ve ever been faced with.

  Barrett Alexander.

  “Your eyes are on my ass, aren’t they?” Barrett’s voice penetrates my thoughts, and I stumble again.

  I right myself, guiltily lowering my gaze down to the path so I can walk straight, but I mutter an admission, “Just a man, Barrett. Not a saint.”

  She snorts in reply, so I defiantly look at her ass again, the whole way down.

  The beach area is a swath of silky, fine, white sand that runs about thirty yards from the dock, curving inward to make a tiny, shallow cay. It’s set up with several Adirondack-style chaise lounges with large yellow umbrellas to provide shade if wanted. At the end of the sandy beach, there are a line of flowering bushes that lead into more trees and vines, giving way to a thick jungle of native plants. Earlier this morning, I’d pushed my way through it armed with a machete I’d found in the maintenance building to navigate the exterior of the island.

  I walk over to one of the chaise loungers, then lower the top half so it lies flat. Placing one of the beach towels over it, I ignore the umbrella beside it. Barrett needs some sun, which is good for the soul.

  “On your stomach,” I order.

  She doesn’t hesitate. First, though, she holds out a can of spray sunscreen. I hadn’t noticed it before, but why would I have?

  “I already did my front,” she says before turning away.

  Her knee goes to the chaise, palms to the top, and she lowers herself down. Barrett turns her head, stretches out, then nestles her hands under her cheek.

  For a moment, I let my gaze swing out across the blue water. I scan the horizon where I can make out the hazy outline of Virgin Gorda. No boats in the water near us. Nothing in the sky.

  No threats at the moment.

  Taking a deep breath, I focus on the gorgeous woman before me. Bending, I use a hand to shield her face and start to spray her shoulders and back. I have no clue if she managed to get any part of her backside, but I liberally shower the exposed parts of her ass and legs.

  When I’m done, I push the can under the chaise to shield it from the hot sun.

  “You want that massage I promised?” I ask, hesitant to actually touch her body without explicit permission.

  “Mmm,” she replies lazily, her eyes closed against the brightness of the late afternoon sun.

  I take that as a yes, but I don’t have any intention of doing anything other than relieving her muscle tightness. Her upper back and shoulders have to be a mess based on the long hours hunched over a computer.

  “Scoot a little,” I murmur as I sit on the edge of the wide wooden platform near her hip.

  Barrett complies, and I twist at the hip, placing my hands on her skin. It’s already warmed by the sun. The spray is oily but not thick, making it easy to glide my hands over her. A few light strokes before I start digging my fingers and thumbs into her muscles, eliciting groans from her. I don’t go heavy with my pressure because she’s a delicate woman. I don’t want to bruise her.

  But I do try to make my moves therapeutic, concentrating on her shoulders for the time being.

  I try not to think about other parts of her body I’d like to stroke. Because it’s way too easy for my mind to go there when my hands are on her, I strike up a conversation.

  “You a beach person?” I ask.

  She shrugs, never once opening her eyes as I continue to massage her. “I’m not sure. I’ve not been enough to really know. My mom tended to take me on educational vacations… like a week touring the Smithsonian or something like that.”

  “So, no Disney vacations, huh?” I ask.

  Barrett chuckles. “Honestly, it’s not somewhere I ever wanted to go. I was happy going to the Smithsonian or hitting up art museums in New York. Stuff like that.”

  I don’t say anything because I find it a little sad. Kids should want to go to Disney, right?

  “Well, you don’t know what you’re missing,” I say, moving to her mid-back. I don’t hesitate to push my fingers under her bra strap to massage the muscles there. After giving the water a quick scan, I move my gaze back to her skin. “Disney is the best place on earth.”

  Barrett laughs. “Pardon my skepticism seeing as that recommendation comes from a bad ass, former Secret Service agent who is now a private mercenary.”

  “First,” I reply in an over-exaggeratedly offended tone. “I’m not a mercenary. I’m a paid protector.”

  “Semantics,” she replies.

  I ignore her. “Second, you imply my love of Disney somehow lessens my masculinity, and those are just fighting words. In fact, when this is all over, I’m dragging you there and taking you on Mission Space at Epcot. When you’re screaming and crying like a little girl and hanging onto my manly muscles because of your fears, I’m going to demand an apology.”

  The full-bellied laugh I get from Barrett makes me smile, but it dies all too swiftly. “So, you went on a lot of vacations like that growing up?”

  “Yeah,” I reply, a fond smile on my face. “My dad played poker with his cop buddies on Thursday nights, and he was really good. His winnings let us go on vacations like that every year.”

  “Where else would you go?”

  I scoot down the chair a bit, so I can move to her lower back. “We’d do stuff like
travel to national parks or rent a cottage at a beach. One year, Dad made enough to take us to London for a week.”

  “That sounds nice,” she admits, her eyes finally opening. “Your whole family seems nice.”

  It’s not the first time we’ve talked about our families. We’ve spent a lot of time filling voids over the last several days—usually at meals—by casual talk. Family is always an easy topic.

  Or, at least, mine is.

  Barrett is a little thinner on happy family memories as her parents were taken away from her. By the time President Alexander took over her guardianship, she was already leading an “adult” life at MIT, despite only being sixteen. She’d had to grow up way too soon.

  I withdraw my hands, having given adequate attention to her muscles. Anything more would just be to satisfy my desire to touch her. “Want to get in the water for a bit?”

  “Sure,” she replies lazily as she starts to push up.

  But then I hear a vague “thwapping” sound, and I snap my gaze outward over the water. Way in the distance, I see a helicopter flying this way.

  I’m not too alarmed as there are choppers that fly out of Virgin Gorda daily to do scenic tours for tourists. I saw two this morning.

  But I’d rather be safe than sorry when I can, so instead, I take her by the hand and pull her up. Nabbing the towels and the sunscreen, I pull her backward toward the path that leads to the house, far enough up the foliage completely shields us.

  We wait, hand in hand. Within a few minutes, the helicopter zooms right over us. I can’t see any details, just a flash of it through the leaves, but it flies by without any decrease in speed.

  “Is that necessary?” Barrett asks, her head tipped up and her eyes heavy with worry.

  “Just don’t want to take any chances,” I tell her.

  Her mouth draws downward, and she shakes her head with despondency. “I thought I’d be able to forget all this stuff for just a few minutes.”

  Fuck, that gets me. I don’t think twice, because apparently when Barrett feels heartache, the best thing I know how to do is wrap her in my arms.

  She comes easily, letting me wrap her in an embrace, and I give her a reassuring squeeze. “It’s not forever. You can do this. You’re strong and brave.”

  “You don’t know I’m brave,” she murmurs.

  I pull away, glancing down. She refuses to meet my eyes, so I call her name. “Barrett.”

  Finally, she tips her head back.

  “From the beginning, you’ve been brave about all of this. Never complaining. Pushing forward with your research with focus and determination. Hell, you watched me shoot a guy. When he fell at your feet, you didn’t even freak out. So yeah… you’re one of the bravest women I know.”

  I get a wan smile. For her effort, I take her by the hand again. “Come on. Let’s go play in the water a bit.”

  Smile brightening, she lets me lead her to the sand, back into the bright sun. Right up to the warm water’s edge. When we step in, she doesn’t let go of my hand.

  I don’t let go of hers, either.

  CHAPTER 14

  Cruce

  Leaning my forearms on the wooden rail, I look out over the water. It’s a super bright and sunny day, bringing Virgin Gorda into focus a bit more. I’ve already done my morning perimeter check of the island, and I’ve been hanging out on the balcony that runs the width of the front part of the house.

  The satellite phone rings, and I pull it from my pocket. It’s only the second time Kynan has called in the last five days we’ve been here. The first was just to make sure we were all settled in and to see if there was anything we needed.

  No clue why he’s calling now.

  “What’s up?” I ask as I connect the call, glancing over my shoulder into the open glass wall. Barrett sits at the dining room table, so engrossed in her work she doesn’t even react over the phone ringing.

  “How are things going?” he asks.

  “Good. Same. All secure.”

  “That’s good,” he replies, but I can hear the anxiety in his voice. “Listen… we’re going to go ahead and send a team after the arms dealers. Keith Spire is tapped out. He doesn’t know anything, so we’re turning him over to the police. President Alexander is arranging it.”

  “Any luck on finding the arms dealers?” I ask, my eyes scanning the water.

  “Yeah… still in Oman, which is weird. We haven’t had time to set up a workplace there or anything, but we think it’s best we just go in quick and hard. I’m sending in August, Sal, Benji, and Kara.”

  He doesn’t need to explain what he means by “quick and hard”. I can read between the lines. Most likely, they’re going to take these guys into a rural area and do some hardcore “encouragement” tactics to get them to talk. I’ve read that a water-boarding plank can be set up in the back of a work van, allowing your torture to go mobile.

  Details like that should turn my stomach, but I can’t seem to care what they need to do to get more information.

  “I expect it’s going to take a few days to get there, set up some recon, then make the plan to snatch them,” he explains, so as to keep my expectations in check. “But hopefully once we get them, we can get some quick information.”

  No holding in my slight sigh of frustration. “Okay, man… thanks for the update. I’ll let Barrett know.”

  “Sure you two don’t need anything?” he asks again.

  “We’re good. Just keep us updated.”

  “Okay. Later, bro.”

  “Later.”

  I disconnect the call, then put the phone back in my pocket. Turning toward the house, I study Barrett. She’s bent over her laptop, hands scrunched in her hair, while she reads something on her screen. I let my gaze move over to the whiteboard she often writes on. It’s crammed with frenzied scribbles I think might be formulas.

  She works so fucking hard she completely tunes out the rest of the world. If I weren’t here to make her eat, drink, and take bathroom breaks once in a blue moon, she’d perish.

  Shoring up my resolve, I leave the balcony, stepping into the dining room. She doesn’t acknowledge me, probably hasn’t even noticed I’m here.

  “Time to take a break,” I say as I walk down the length of the table.

  Barrett doesn’t even hear me. When I reach her chair, I stick my arm out and wave my hand between her face and the laptop.

  She jumps, then looks up with a dopey smile. “Sorry… guess I was zoned out, huh?”

  Chuckling, I reply, “Zoned in, more like it. When you get involved in your work, I genuinely believe the world could burn down around you and you wouldn’t even notice.”

  “I’m sure that’s an exaggeration.” She sniffs primly, but then tilts her head in curiosity. “What’s up? You never interrupt my work.”

  “Kynan just called. They’re sending a team after the arms dealers who are still in Oman.”

  “The man who tried to kidnap me still isn’t talking?”

  I shake my head. “I think they’re pretty convinced he doesn’t really know anything. At any rate, they’re turning him over to the cops.”

  Barrett’s gaze slides off to stare blankly at the wall. Her voice is flat when she says, “So we’re going to be stuck here a while, right?”

  “Probably,” I say, then I take her upper arm and force her to stand from her chair. “Which is why, every afternoon—right around this time each day—you are going to take a break. You work at that table for too long, and it’s not good for you. I demand at least half an hour, but I’d be happier if you committed to at least an hour break.”

  “Cruce,” she whines, trying to flop back down in the chair. “I can’t. I’m getting close to something.”

  “And you’ll continue getting closer after your break,” I say staunchly, bending to physically pick her up in my arms. Pivoting, I carry her straight to the master suite. Once inside, I set her down.

  “Now, go put on your finest set of panties that will pass as
a bathing suit, and let’s go.”

  “I don’t want to just go lay on the beach. That’s not relaxing to me when I want to work.”

  “Which is why we’re taking the boat out and doing some snorkeling,” I cut in, enjoying the way her mouth snaps shut. I nod toward the dresser, where we’d unpacked all of our clothing. “Now… get changed.”

  ♦

  Barrett climbs out of the water in her raspberry-colored bra and panties. I’m not about to tell her the material is now slightly transparent. I can’t help scanning her body, but I quickly avert my eyes as I help her back into the boat.

  It turns out the woman who spent her vacations in museums as a child has a serious case of snorkel love. I had to make her get out of the water as the sun was starting to set because I wanted to head back around the island soon.

  We hadn’t gone far on our adventure, just to the other side of the island where I couldn’t get within a few hundred yards of the shore because of the reefs, but the snorkeling there was fantastic. I lost track of the amount of times Barrett grinned at me around her snorkel.

  Now, she flops onto one of the cabin seats at the rear of the boat. She removes her mask first, then her fins. I do the same before pulling out a couple of bottles of water from a cooler I’d packed, handing one over to her.

  Grinning, she settles against the cushion. “That was freaking awesome.”

  “Glad you enjoyed it,” I murmur, holding my bottle of water up to her in a silent toast.

  “Can we come back out tomorrow?” she asks with excitement.

  “I told you… you’re getting up from that table to take a break every damn day, so if you want to snorkel each day, that works for me.”

  “The colors down there are so vibrant and amazing,” she murmurs with a slightly disbelieving shake of her head.

  “Australia,” I say. “You need to snorkel there. Their reefs are amazing.”

  “Consider it now officially on my bucket list,” she replies with a laugh. Pausing and seeming to consider something, she then starts laughing harder.

  “What’s so funny?” I ask.