Navajo Echoes
Cassie Miles

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

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Cheers to the fantastic city of Denver, my home.

And, as always, to Rick.

Special thanks and acknowledgment are given to

Cassie Miles for her contribution to the

BODYGUARDS UNLIMITED, DENVER, CO

miniseries.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter One

Their single-engine Cessna had been sabotaged. Both fuel tanks were empty. They were going down.

Through the cockpit window, John Pinto stared down at the turquoise expanse of the Caribbean Sea. His Navajo forefathers would be amazed to find their son facing death in this place so far from home.

The Cessna bucked and the water came closer, welcoming them into a cold, lethal embrace. He never should have deviated from the original plan….

LESS THAN AN HOUR AGO, JOHN HAD passed through customs in the Kingston, Jamaica, airport. Pulling their several suitcases on a dolly, he’d followed Lily Clark, his coworker at Prescott Personal Securities, through the glass doors to the curb.

Though John had never visited the Caribbean before, he’d been in subtropical climates and was prepared for the humidity. Some people called it sultry. To him, the moist air felt like a wet washcloth being slapped against his face. His research into the area told him that that median temperatures in July were in the mid-eighties.

He checked his wristwatch, already readjusted to the new time zone. Five twenty-seven in the afternoon. Not bad timing. They’d left Denver at dawn and made all their connections.

Lily spread her arms wide as if she intended to fly without a plane, soaring off into these milky blue skies on an errant breeze. “Glorious,” she said. “Absolutely glorious.”

Yes, she was. Lily was a tiny, blond package of pure energy. Only five feet, two inches tall, she looked like a pixie with her short hair and wide, whiskey-brown eyes. He’d been attracted to her since the first day she started work at Prescott Personal Securities, the premier bodyguard agency in the Rocky Mountain West. John found it hard to believe that Lily had once been a Denver cop.

She twirled once on her toes. Her sleeveless, tangerine-colored T-shirt outlined high breasts. Her knee-length khaki shorts revealed the tanned, well-shaped legs of an athlete. “Can you smell it?” she asked.

He sniffed. The airport stank of exhaust fumes from cars and taxis that hadn’t been properly serviced. “What am I supposed to be smelling?”

“The sea. The fabulous Caribbean Sea.”

Yeah, sure. Smell the orchids. Listen to the breezes though the silver thatch palms. Taste the rum. He wasn’t in the mood. “We should check in with Inter-Island Transport. Our flight for Cuerva leaves in fifty-two minutes.”

“Is there enough time to grab a cab, race to the beach and stick my feet in the water?”

“No.”

She bounced toward him. During this assignment, she was playing the undercover role of his girlfriend. They were supposed to be going to Cuerva for a romantic weekend. In her guise as his lover, she adjusted the collar on his black knit shirt and winked. Her fake flirtation was adorable and maddening at the same time. “Come on, John. Let’s have some fun.”

“I don’t want to miss our flight.”

She went up on tiptoe to whisper in his ear. “Nobody is going to believe you’re my lover if you don’t touch me.”

Undercover identities weren’t his favorite thing. Pretending to be someone else always felt like lying, which was probably why he and Lily had been paired for this assignment. John would handle the technical aspects. Lily would guard their identities and deflect suspicion.

She pointed to the dimple in her cheek with a shell-pink fingernail. “Give me a little peck right here.”

“Fine.” He wrapped an arm around her slender waist and leaned down, intending to kiss her cheek. Instead, his mouth found hers. A sizzling electricity shot through him, stirring passions he shouldn’t be feeling for a coworker. The scent of her perfume tantalized him. How could she still smell like roses after a full day of travel? The taste of her soft lips surprised him. She was delicious. And this kiss was a big mistake.

She quickly pulled back. Her eyes narrowed as she whispered, “A little too enthusiastic, John.”

He hadn’t meant to kiss her. What the hell had he been thinking? “Sorry.”

The corner of her mouth quirked up in a smile. “Are you really sorry?”

On a professional level, he regretted the kiss. But on a personal level? Being close to Lily was a constant temptation. She seemed to sparkle. Holding her in his arms was like catching a sunbeam.

“Hey, mon.” A Rastafarian shuffled toward them in floppy sandals, moving to a musical beat that nobody else heard. Long dreadlocks flopped around his shoulders. A necklace of white shells contrasted with his ebony skin. “Are you John Pinto?”

“That’s right.”

“Well now, Mister John. I hear you and this pretty lady are looking for a ride to Cuerva.”

“You heard wrong,” John said. “We’ve already booked our flight.”

The Rasta raised both hands and shrugged. His baggy Hawaiian shirt flapped around his narrow chest like the wings of an exotic bird. “I can give you the grand tour on my Cessna. She’s named Martina after a fine lady with red hair like the sunset. Martina the Cessna. I can show you where the sea turtles go to mate.”

“Wonderful,” Lily said. “Let’s go with him. It’ll be much more interesting than a commercial flight.”

Interesting? Taking off in a plane named after a redhead? With a pilot in dreadlocks who looked like he was having trouble standing up? Stiffly, John said, “Our arrangements are already made.”

“My name is Edgar.” The Rasta stuck out his hand. When John shook the long fingers, he felt a firmness and strength that caused him to take a second look. The Rasta’s black eyes showed a seriousness that didn’t fit with the costume. Quietly, Edgar said, “Miss Evangeline recommends my services, mon.”

Evangeline Prescott was in charge at Prescott Personal Securities. She’d sent John and Lily on this trip to make contact with her husband, Robert, a former MI6 agent who was presumed dead and had been missing for two years.

Robert Prescott had founded PPS, and he was more than a boss. John had been one of the first agents hired, and he considered Robert to be his mentor and his friend.

“All right, Edgar,” John said. “Do you mind if I make a phone call first?”

“Sure thing, mon.”

They went back inside the air-conditioned terminal. While Lily chatted with Edgar, John opened the suitcase that held his computer and electronic equipment, including a satellite phone with a secure line. All communication with their office needed to be untraceable and indecipherable. Over the past several months, PPS had been investigating a series of murders back in Denver that might have roots on Cuerva.

With the three-hour time difference, he figured Evangeline would still be at the office. He got through on her private line. “Who’s Edgar? And why does he want to show us where the sea turtles mate?”

“You can trust Edgar MacAllister. He’s a friend.” Evangeline’s breathy tone betrayed her excitement at the prospect of being reunited with her husband. “Have you heard from Robert yet? Have you seen him?”

“We’re still in Jamaica.”

“Right. Of course, you are.”

It was unlike Evangeline—a former FBI agent—to be so rattled. He asked, “Is there some reason why you kept Edgar a secret?”

“He contacted me this morning. The threat level on this assignment has gone from amber to bright red. Someone on Cuerva is after Robert.”

“Who?”

“I don’t have a name for you, John.”

He’d expected complications. Otherwise, Robert Prescott could have hopped on a commercial flight and come directly to Denver.

“There’s more bad news,” she continued. “We’ve uncovered information that a Denver businessman with mob connections is involved in our murder investigations. His name is Drew Kirshner, and he arrived on Cuerva yesterday.”

John put two and two together. Someone on Cuerva was after Robert. Drew Kirshner came here. “Is Kirshner the person who’s after Robert?”

“I don’t know.” She exhaled a nervous sigh. “Be careful, John. Bring my husband back to me.”

“Count on it,” he said.

After he disconnected the call, he sat for a moment, assessing this new information. There were too many unknowns on this assignment, and the potential for lethal danger. It might be wise to pick up a couple of guns on Jamaica before heading to Cuerva.

As soon as he joined Edgar and Lily, he mentioned the need for additional weaponry.

“All taken care of, mon.” Edgar pointed them toward the exit to the runways.

“Hold on,” John said. “I need to cancel our other flight and see if I can get a refund.”

The Inter-Island Transport representative was an intense brunette with a bun so tight that it lifted her eyebrows. She responded to John’s request in icy tones. Their policy was to never issue refunds.

For a moment, he considered convincing her otherwise. John was an expert negotiator who learned to haggle when he was a skinny kid on the Navajo reservation selling crafts to tourists. But that was a long time ago, and he had more pressing concerns.

Lily popped up beside him. “What’s wrong?”

“Wasting money goes against my grain.”

“But this isn’t really your money. The unused tickets can go on your company expense account.”

“It’s still a waste.”

Her eyes were wide and curious, searching for answers. “Is there something you want to tell me?”

As if he would ever discuss what it was like to grow up dirt-poor, squeezing every nickel, going without dinner so his brothers and sisters could eat.

He’d never been a man who readily shared his life secrets. The less people knew about him, the better. Besides, he’d overcome his past. He was thirty-seven years old, respected in his field and financially successful. His family would never go hungry again. “We can talk later.”

Her eyebrows pinched in a scowl. “That’s the third time you’ve said that to me.”

“And you still haven’t taken the hint.”

“Figuring you out is a challenge. And I’m very persistent.”

“Like a migraine?”

“Like a thousand stinging wasps.” Her innocent expression turned shrewd. “I already know a few things about you. You were in the Marines. You majored in physics in college, which led to your training and expertise in security systems.”

“That’s my résumé.”

“I’ll figure you out,” she teased. “You didn’t fool me at all when you pretended to be napping on the plane.”

“I was sleeping. And so were you.”

Edgar shuffled up beside them. “Let’s go, mon.”

Hoisting their luggage, he followed Lily and Edgar through the small terminal to the tarmac, where Edgar commandeered a modified golf cart and drove them to nearby hangars.

Apart from a painted picture of the glamorous redhaired Martina on the nose, the small, single-engine Cessna looked like a standard issue aircraft with a fixed undercarriage. Inside the cramped interior, John gave Lily the copilot seat and settled in behind them. As soon as they were airborne, he eased forward and took a position between the two cockpit seats.

The view was breathtaking. At the edge of sunset, the skies to the west had taken on a soft pink glow. From horizon to horizon, there was nothing but sparkling water as far as the eye could see. John soaked it all in. The beauty of Mother Earth never failed to amaze him.

He spoke loudly over the whir of the propeller. “Tell us about yourself, Edgar. How do you know Evangeline?”

Edgar’s shoulders straightened. With quick, precise movements, he removed his earphones, then he unfastened a few clips and took off his hair.

Lily laughed out loud. “Great disguise.”

“Thank you very much.” Without the dreadlocks and the easygoing Rasta manner, he had the air of a gentleman. “I met Robert Prescott while we were both employed at MI6.”

The British Secret Intelligence Service. Edgar had dropped the Bob Marley accent. He sounded British through and through.

“You’re not with MI6 anymore?” John asked.

“Quite happily retired.” His gaze fixed on the instrument panel. “I do, however, stay in touch with my former colleagues. When Robert requested my help, I was delighted to be of service.”

“You’ve spoken to Robert,” John said. “Is he well?”

“Very well, indeed. I’m not precisely certain about his plans, but I should inform you that this visit to Cuerva will be much more than a simple extrication.”

John had feared as much. No one at PPS, not even Evangeline, knew what Robert had been investigating for the past two years, but it had to be huge. “You said the weapons were taken care of.”

“In the rear empennage,” Edgar said. “Remove the panel behind the fire extinguisher.”

Hidden behind the panel was a beat-up Army-green backpack. Inside, John found two handguns and holsters. He immediately fastened on the ankle holster.

Returning to the cockpit, he handed the other weapon to Lily, who checked the clip and the balance before she tucked the gun and two extra clips into the carry-on bag at her feet. Her expertise in handling the Glock automatic reassured him. She might look like a pixie, but this lady knew how to behave in dangerous situations. He had heard that she was expert in several forms of martial arts.

“When do we meet with Robert?” she asked.

“Tonight at midnight,” Edgar said. “In a place called Pirate Cove. You are instructed to wait for only one hour. If Robert does not appear, it means he’s been detained and will contact you on the following evening at the same location.”

Edgar leaned forward and tapped a dial on the control panel.

“Problem?” John asked.

“A malfunction with the fuel gauge. I filled up in Kingston, but the gauge shows we’re almost empty.” He pointed through the cockpit window at a speck in the midst of the vast turquoise sea. “Cuerva is dead ahead.”

Dead ahead? That sounded ominous. John’s gaze focused on the fuel gauge. The indicator edged closer to Empty.

“Rather a fascinating island,” Edgar said. “A British protectorate, like the Caymans and Jamaica. The population is small, approximately eight thousand, and the residents claim to be descended from the infamous Caribbean pirates and escaped slaves from the sugar plantations in Jamaica. Cuerva was slow to develop its tourist trade.”

“There are hotels now,” John said. He and Lily were registered at the Grand Cuerva.

“The island’s governor, Ramon St. George, has done much to encourage visitors. You’ll probably meet him. He’s a very visible presence on the island. Quite charming.”

The engine coughed. John was beginning to think that the malfunction might be more serious than a gauge that needed adjusting.

“However,” Edgar continued, “you should be advised that Governor St. George is a powerful and very dangerous man. His real interest lies in the establishment of offshore banking and financial institutions. He might be involved in money laundering or smuggling.”

“Your plane isn’t equipped to make a water landing,” John said. He’d seen the wheels on the fixed undercarriage when they boarded.

“Ocean landings are notoriously choppy.”

“I suggest you cut the speed to conserve fuel.”

“I’ve already done so.”

They were flying low. The island was close enough that John could see the outline of tall trees and a cliff above a white beach.

“Can you bring her down?” John said.

“I fully intend to try.”

The engine sputtered and died. The propeller stopped. The reassuring whir was replaced with silence as the plane dipped lower. Out of fuel. They were going down.

THE CESSNA SHUDDERED SO violently that Lily couldn’t tell if she was trembling or not. She was scared. That was for sure. They were going into a dive.

Beside her, Edgar pulled back on the yoke. His feet danced on the rudder pedals.

John yanked her out of the cockpit seat. “Back here,” he said. “You’ll be safer.”

“We’re going to crash.”

“Yes.” His dark eyes peered into hers as he fastened a seat belt across her lap. “Cover your head and hold on tight.”

They plummeted lower. Her stomach lurched. There was nothing she could do but bend down and kiss her life goodbye.

The only mercy was that she didn’t have much time to think about what was happening. Within seconds, they hit the water. Her world turned upside down. A tremendous impact. A fierce jolt that rattled her bones.

She was aware of the wind and the water as the plane broke apart. Her shoulder crashed against something, and she recoiled. She felt a sharp pain in her head. Thrown free from the seat belt, she was falling.

The sea surged over her. Barely conscious, she tried to swim, but her arms and legs wouldn’t respond properly. Had she been injured? Was she paralyzed? A wave splashed in her face, and she gulped salt water.

Her mind froze at the edge of consciousness, unable to process the most simple commands. She’d forgotten how to move, how to react, how to breathe. Helplessly, she felt herself sinking into the sea, and she knew this was the end of her life. She was going to die before she’d even had a chance to live. Only twenty-six years old. Still a virgin. Too damned young to die.

She felt herself being lifted, dragged back to the surface. John was holding her. “Lily, wake up.”

Through a churning haze she saw him. His wet black hair plastered to his head like a seal. “Lily!” he shouted.

She blinked wildly. Her eyes stung. But she wasn’t dead. The realization gave her strength. Her arms reached for him, clung to him. She gulped down air. Gasped. Coughed. “I’m okay.”

Beneath the surface, his legs were moving, treading water and keeping them both afloat. Holding her with one arm, he pulled her toward a flat section of wing that floated like a raft on the water. “I want you to get up on this. Lie across it.”

She struggled, fighting the numbness that threatened to overwhelm her. With John’s help, she hauled her torso onto the wing and lay flat.

“Stay there,” he said.

“What are you going to do?”

“Rescue our luggage.”

His arms cut through the waves as he swam toward the tail of the plane that was gradually sinking beneath the waves. She saw Edgar helping him. They had all survived.

The two men swam toward her, dragging luggage that they threw onto the wing beside her. They aimed the section of wing toward the shore and began to kick.

“That was one hell of a belly flop,” John said.

“Quite spectacular,” Edgar agreed.

“We skipped across the water like a flat stone. Wish I had it on film.”

“Indeed.”

They were both laughing and grinning like idiots. She’d seen this reaction before when she was a police officer. Relief after intense danger affected different people in different ways. Some collapsed in shock. Some wept. Others screamed. Still others, like John and Edgar, made jokes and slapped each other on the back.

Edgar glanced over his shoulder. “I rather wish I could have saved the painting of Martina. She was quite a wonderful woman. I’ve lost her four times.”

“How?” Lily asked. Her voice was a hoarse croak.

“Once in real life. Twice before in plane crashes. This will be the fourth.”

Lily wasn’t sure she’d heard correctly. “You’ve crashed three times?”

“Once on land in Costa Rica. That was bad. Almost lost my leg.” He took a breath. “Once on water near the Florida Keys. Now this.” Another breath. “I’m getting rather good at crash landing.”

“Lucky for us,” John said.

“Luck?” Edgar’s voice struck a high, disbelieving note. “This crash had nothing to do with chance, dear boy.”

“How so?”

“We were sabotaged,” Edgar said. “We were meant to die.”

Chapter Two

When they were close to shore, Lily slid off the section of wing into a rolling surf. She staggered toward the deserted beach that wasn’t nearly as pretty as it had seemed from a distance. A thin strip of whitish-gray sand covered a jagged, rocky shoreline littered with bits of shell, rock and sharp coral from the nearby reefs. Untamed tropical forest reached almost to the edge of the water.

Not paradise, but she wasn’t complaining. She was thankful to be on dry land, to still be alive. The crusty sand crunched beneath her feet as she staggered toward a thick log that had washed ashore, and she sat on it. Holding her head in her hands, she closed her eyes and exhaled a deep breath. Apart from an ache in her left shoulder and a ringing in her ears, she was physically okay. Her mental state was a whole different matter.

Behind her eyelids, she replayed the terror of sinking into the ocean, helpless to react, trapped in death’s cold embrace. Never before had she felt so close to her own mortality. Shake it off.

She couldn’t appear devastated. And definitely couldn’t whine. Being chosen to accompany John to Cuerva represented a major upgrade in her work at PPS. She’d been given a chance to prove herself and didn’t want to mess it up.

Opening her eyes, she saw him striding toward her with a bottled water in each hand. His black knit shirt outlined his muscular chest and broad shoulders. His wet khaki trousers clung to his thighs. He usually wore a suit in the office. This water-logged outfit was a whole lot better…sexier. Without even trying, John Pinto was hot. When he’d kissed her on the mouth at the Kingston airport? Wow! Her fingers reached up to touch her lips. Not even a plane crash could erase the memory of that kiss.

He squatted in front of her and held out the bottled water. “You’re probably dehydrated.”

“I almost drowned.” But she knew what he meant, and the water tasted good going down. “Where did you get this?”

“I always have a couple bottles in my carry-on. Just in case.”

“Always thinking ahead.”

“Let’s check you out.” Holding her face in his large hands, he peered into her eyes. “Look to the right. Then the left.”

She glanced both ways. “Like this?”

“Very good. Now look directly at me.”

She focused on his deep-set dark brown eyes above high cheekbones and a strong, straight nose. God, he was handsome. Gratitude welled up inside her. This man—this incredibly brave, good-looking man—had saved her life. If he hadn’t pulled her out of the water when she was sinking, Lily wouldn’t have made it.

As she was about to thank him, his fingers probed the sore spot behind her temple and she reacted. “Ow. Am I bleeding? Will I need stitches?”

“The skin isn’t broken, but you’re going to have a hell of a lump.”

His low baritone struck exactly the right note of gentle concern. He had a bedside manner that her parents—both doctors—would have applauded. “You know, John, I wanted to tell you how much I appreciate—”

“Have you ever had a concussion before?”

“I’ve knocked my head a couple of times but never completely lost consciousness. I must have a thick skull.”

“Must have.” He sat back on his heels and grinned. “You’re tough for such a little thing.”

A little thing? She swallowed the “thank you” that poised on the tip of her tongue. Her size had always been an issue for her. When she was a cop, half the guys in her precinct had called her Tinkerbell behind her back.

He touched the tender spot again, and she pushed his hands away. “Stop it.”

“I know something about head injuries.”

“If it’s all the same to you, I’ll wait for a real doctor.”

She should have been kissing his feet and showering him with praise for rescuing her. Instead, she was irritated. Though he was great to look at, there was something about him that brought out the worst in her.

Masculine arrogance, she thought. In any given situation, he had to be the alpha dog, the leader of the pack. And she had never been a docile follower; she hated being told what to do.

However, if she was going to survive this assignment, she needed to start acting like a professional. Wrapping herself in poise, she said, “Thank you for saving my life.”

“Anytime, rookie.”

She glanced toward the tropical forest. “Shouldn’t we be hearing an ambulance siren?”

“It’s possible. Cuerva has a hospital and a few neighborhood clinics.”

“How do you know that?”

“I studied up on the island. Memorized the topography and the major landmarks.”

That was so like him. John was, by nature, a planner who prepared for every contingency. He’d probably made mental notes on what to do in case of a plane crash. “What’s our current location?”

“We’re on the far side of the island. Away from the hotels and the town. Cuerva is only about four miles wide, but there’s a high bluff running down the center like a backbone. I doubt anybody saw our plane go down.”

“So there probably won’t be an ambulance?”

He frowned. “Do you need a doctor?”

The clanging inside her head had already subsided to a small tinkling bell. The worst part of the crash had been the panic, the shattering certainty that she was going to die. But here she was, alive and kicking. “I’ll be all right.”

“Then let’s get moving.” He stood up straight and glanced over his shoulder toward Edgar. “We should assess the damage.”

Following him, she marched clumsily across the beach. The wet soles of her sandals slapped with each step. Even with the ankle straps, it was amazing that they’d stayed on her feet.

He pointed to two soggy pieces of luggage. “I could only save our carry-on bags.”

Swell. Things just kept getting worse. “Most of my clothes were in the bigger bag.”

“They’re gone.”

She was going to miss that yellow sundress she’d bought especially for this trip. And her favorite running shoes. “It’s a good thing that you grabbed the carry-on. My wallet and passport are in there.”

“And the Glock.”

She remembered tucking the weapon into her bag before the crash. “Do you still have your gun?”

He tapped his ankle holster. “It got in the way when I was swimming, but I’m glad to be armed.”

As soon as they got to the hotel, she needed to check and clean their weapons. A dip in salt water couldn’t be good for the firing mechanism. “We can always buy new clothes. It doesn’t seem like anything important was lost.”

He shot her a dark, disbelieving glare. “We’ve lost the computer, the satellite phone and all the other electronics I brought along.”

Lily shrugged. She had little use for gadgetry. “I guess we’ll have to rely on our natural instincts.”

“Instinct won’t provide a secure phone line for contacting Evangeline.”

And, of course, the computer would have been handy for researching the island and doing background checks on potential suspects. “Maybe Edgar can help us out.”

She looked toward the surf where Edgar stood watching as the tail section disappeared under the waves. All that was left of Martina the Cessna was the chunk of wing they used to get to shore.

He straightened his shoulders, made a sharp pivot and walked back toward them. “Rather an inauspicious start to your assignment. Have you reconsidered your plans?”

“For now,” John said, “we’ll proceed to the hotel and act as if nothing unusual happened. We won’t report the plane crash.”

“What?” she questioned. Not tell anybody? “That isn’t even legal.”

“I don’t want to attract undue attention. We’ll stick to the original plan, go to the hotel and check in.”

“Very well,” Edgar said as he gestured toward the forest. “Shall we locate transportation?”

“Wait a minute.” Lily wasn’t sure that she liked this plan. At the very least, John should have discussed it with her. “Somebody tried to kill us.”

“And failed,” John said.

“Well, it doesn’t seem smart to pretend it didn’t happen. Even if we don’t report the sabotage, maybe we should go into hiding. Did you think of that?”

“I did,” John said. “And I rejected the idea.”

“Why?”

“Number one,” he said as he held up a forefinger.

Lily groaned. “It’s really annoying when you do the logic thing. The number one and two. Part A and Part B.”

“Number one,” he repeated, “this is a small island and we’re obviously outsiders. We can’t blend in.”

“Speak for yourself. I’m good at disguises.”

“Number two, if we’re a visible presence, we might smoke out our attacker. Next time, we’ll be ready for him.”

That made a certain amount of sense. She and John were both well-trained and able to defend themselves. Still, she said, “If the bad guys think we’re dead, we could use that to our advantage.”

“Until we’re discovered,” he said. “Then what? We have no authority on this island. We can’t arrest anybody.”

“All right,” she conceded. “We’ll do it your way.”

“Number three, we meet with Robert tonight. Then we can get this assignment planned down to the last detail.”

Of course, that was what he really wanted. A detailed plan. Very rational. Very logical. She hated when John made sense.

BY THE TIME THEY REACHED THE Grand Cuerva Hotel, night had fallen. John tipped the bellman with a damp five-dollar bill and escorted Lily into the elevator, then headed to their prebooked suite on the top floor—the sixth. The Grand Cuerva wasn’t the biggest hotel on the island nor the best. Obviously.

The “honeymoon” decor looked like Valentine’s Day gone terribly wrong. The king-sized, canopy bed was draped in filmy red sheers that matched the curtains across the sliding doors to the balcony. Hearts loomed everywhere. A heart-shaped mirror over the dresser. Little heart vases. A red glass candy dish filled with—of course—hearts. There was even a red, heart-shaped Jacuzzi tub in the corner by the windows.

Lily stood in the center of the room, glaring. “There’s only one bed.”

“Honeymoon suite.”

“We’re not sleeping together. I want my own room.”

Though the thought of seducing her had crossed his mind a few thousand times, he had no intention of acting on that desire. Still, he couldn’t help teasing, “But we’re supposed to be lovers.”

“That was before somebody sabotaged our plane. The bad guys know who we are. There’s no need to maintain undercover roles.”

“Stop right there, rookie. It’s dangerous to make assumptions without all the facts.”

“The sabotaged plane is a fact.”

“But we don’t know the motivation. It’s possible that we weren’t the target. Somebody might have been after Edgar. I’ll bet he’s got a few enemies.”

“Safe bet,” she said. “But why would they choose this moment to attack him? When we were in the plane?”

“Coincidence.”

She scoffed. “I don’t believe in coincidence.”

With one hand fisted on her hip, her sharp little chin lifted, and her glare intensified. Clearly, she was moving into a confrontational posture.

And he didn’t have patience to deal with an argument. In the crash, he’d been tossed around like a sock in a washing machine. His body ached, and his muscles were stiffening up.

Ignoring her, he strolled toward the Jacuzzi. Steaming jets of water seemed like good therapy.

“When I was a cop,” she said, “I learned one important thing. The most obvious solution is usually the correct solution. Because we were in the plane, the sabotage was meant for us.”

“You’re not a cop anymore. The work we do is more subtle. There aren’t as many hard-and-fast rules.”

“I know. That’s one of the reasons I wanted to work at PPS.”

“Keep your mind open to the possibilities. All the possibilities. You’re smart enough to figure things out, and I want to hear what you’re thinking. But I have one hard-and-fast rule.”

“What’s that?”

“I’m in charge.”

“Yes, sir.”

Her tone was clipped, and he could tell that he was making her angry. Too bad. He was too worn out to be subtle with his explanations. “Here’s what’s going to happen. We make no assumptions until we talk to Robert and find out what his plan is. Tonight, we will parade around like a couple of dewy-eyed newlyweds. At midnight, we go to Pirate’s Cove and meet Robert. Is that clear?”

Her full lips pinched together. A pink flush crept up her throat. “Perfectly clear.”

John leaned across the Jacuzzi and turned on the faucets. The gush of water into the red, heart-shaped tub looked like a giant mouth gargling. “And now, I’m going to take a soak.”

“Here?”

“Right here. Right now.”

He pulled his knit shirt over his head, revealing the waterproof money belt fastened around his waist. She’d teased him when he’d first put it on, called him a nerd. But this handy belt had kept his passport, his company credit card and his money relatively dry. He peeled it off and glanced in her direction.

The pink in her cheeks had deepened to a bright scarlet. Through tight lips, she said, “You know, this might count as sexual harassment.”

“Sue me.” He tossed his shirt into a puddle on the floor. “I’m tired and sore. And the dried salt water on my skin itches like hell. If you don’t want to watch, turn your head.”

She darted forward and grabbed the money belt. “I need your credit card. I’m going downstairs to the lobby and, um, getting something.”

He unfastened the top button on his trousers. “If it’s food you’re looking for, we can call room service.”

“Clothes,” she said. “I need something to wear. There was a shop downstairs.”

“Good thinking, rookie.”

As she fled from the room, he dropped his trousers, kicked them aside and stepped into the hot water. He positioned himself so the pulsating jets massaged his left hip, where a large bruise was already turning black and blue. The heat penetrated his body, easing the stiffness. Oh yeah, this was good. The only thing better would be if Lily agreed to give him a rubdown, which he assumed, from her rapid retreat, wasn’t likely to happen.

His gaze flicked around the room, resting on one heart-shaped object to another. This sure as hell wasn’t the way he’d pictured an idyllic island weekend with a lover.

AFTER SHOPPING AND DOING SOME serious damage on the company credit card, Lily returned to the ridiculous honeymoon suite to find that John had ordered room service. She took her own quick shower and changed before joining him at the table. Still irritated, she was giving him the silent treatment.

As the senior agent, he had the right to issue orders and decide the agenda, but his striptease went far outside the boundaries of acceptable behavior. And the worst part? He wasn’t even trying to turn her on. All he wanted was a soak in the Jacuzzi.

To be honest, she was angrier at herself than at him. She was the one who’d gotten all hot and bothered. When he’d taken off his shirt, her pulse had raced to a hundred miles an hour. Though she’d tried to avert her gaze, she couldn’t help staring at his bronzed skin and the defined muscles in his arms and chest. To see him naked? Oh, lord, she didn’t think she could stand it. And yet, she’d felt the urge to stand and watch, to climb into the Jacuzzi with him, to rake her fingers through his thick, black hair.

Primly eating the room service burger and fries, she retreated behind her familiar boundaries of self-restraint. Not that Lily was a prude. Far from it. But sex hadn’t been an issue during her college rebellion when she was mostly traveling and didn’t want to be tied down with a relationship. Then, she’d been a cop and spent most of her time hanging around with other cops. Any hint of vulnerability would have made her life a living hell. It was safer not to get involved.

And now? Maybe it was time to lose her virginity, to wave the white flag of surrender and succumb. But not with John Pinto. He was her coworker—a senior agent who probably wasn’t attracted to her the way she was to him.

Though she’d had enough time to calm down, she still couldn’t look at him without drooling. Not even the garish flamingo-patterned Hawaiian shirt she’d bought for him in the hotel shop dampened his outrageous sex appeal.

She forced herself to concentrate on revenge. Oh, yes, she was going to get even. She didn’t know how or when, but sometime—sooner or later—she’d get him all hot and bothered and then walk away. A dangerous game of sexual one-upsmanship. But he’d made the first move.

Apparently unconcerned by her silence, he took the last bite of his hamburger and checked his wristwatch, which was, miraculously, still ticking after the crash. “Nine-thirty,” he said.

Which was two-and-a-half hours before they were scheduled to meet Robert at Pirate Cove. She chose her words carefully; John had already warned her that their room might be bugged. “How long will it take to get there?”

“It’s about three miles from here. A forty-five-minute to an hour walk. Less if we jog.”

She groaned. Though she regularly ran a five-mile workout in the morning, today had been strenuous. Surviving a plane crash wasn’t part of her daily regimen.

She stood and stretched. “I need to keep moving around. If I sit too long, I’m going to stiffen up.”

“I recommend the Jacuzzi.”

“I’ll bet you do.”

She stepped through the sliding glass doors onto the balcony. The sound of calypso music rose from the beach where the hotel was sponsoring a party. A sea-scented breeze teased her senses. Though misty clouds drifted across the night sky, she could still see the shimmer of moonlight on the rolling waves.

John stepped up to the wrought-iron railing beside her. He had designated the balcony as a bug-free area where they could talk more freely. Still, he kept his voice low. “Have you checked the guns?”

“They’ll work.” The Glock automatic tucked into an ankle holster under her loose-fitting beige linen slacks was a reassuring weight. On top she wore a gauzy orange halter—a scrap of material that cost a fortune in the hotel shop.

“You look good,” he said.

Despite her vows of revenge, she responded to his sexy baritone with a shiver of excitement. “Thank you.”

“I hardly notice the bump on your head. You look almost normal.”

“So glad that I’m not too freakishly grotesque.”

Saying she looked “good” wasn’t a compliment on her appearance; he was merely assessing her condition.

“We should join the beach party,” he suggested. “Do some mingling. See if we can pick up any leads.”

“Like finding out who wants to kill us?”

“Could be useful information.”

Though she wasn’t in a party mood, mingling sounded better than spending the next two-and-a-half hours alone with John, imagining what he’d look like in that cheesy red-curtained bed. “I’m ready if you are.”

When they got off the elevator in the hotel lobby, her senses went on high alert. In her prior bodyguard assignments, she’d learned observation techniques, which meant keeping her gaze mobile and watching for anything out of the ordinary. She linked her arm with John’s and turned her head toward the right. The hotel shop where she’d bought their clothing was closed, but the drugstore was still open. A bored-looking clerk rang up a sale and handed a pack of chewing gum to a husky tourist in baggy shorts and a Hawaiian-print shirt. He ran a hand through his short-cropped brown hair. The back of his thick neck was sunburned a dark red.

Even from the back, Lily noticed something familiar about that guy. His posture? The gesture of massaging his scalp? He reminded her of someone she knew in Denver, but she couldn’t quite place him.

She heard a crash from the opposite direction and turned to see a waiter scrambling to pick up the scattered remnants from a room service tray. The reservation clerk at the front desk snapped angrily at the clumsy young man, and he responded with an insult about the clerk’s mother.

When she looked back toward the shop, the husky tourist was gone.

TED HAWLEY PEEKED OUT FROM behind the rack of magazines in the hotel drugstore where he’d taken cover when Lily had glanced in his direction. He was pretty sure that she hadn’t recognized him.

As she strolled out the door, arm-in-arm with that tall Navajo, she made some comment and laughed. If he hadn’t known better, he would have believed that they were lovers on vacation instead of interfering agents of PPS.

It was his job to make sure they didn’t hook up with Robert Prescott—his real target. Prescott needed to die here on Cuerva. The killing of Lily and her boyfriend was a bonus. When he saw them with the Rasta pilot, he came up with a quick way to handle this assignment. Sabotage the plane. It was easy—too easy. They’d survived.

Cute, spunky little Lily Clark led a charmed life, always came out on top. Sure, she was a pretty little thing with her high breasts and her round ass. She’d even looked good in a cop uniform. Not many women could pull that off.

But he knew she wasn’t so sweet and innocent. She’d humiliated him, made him a laughingstock at the precinct. He knew her for the gold-plated bitch she really was.

He was almost glad she’d gotten out of the plane crash alive. He wanted her death to be more personal. He smiled as he adjusted the collar on his black-and-yellow patterned shirt. There were so many slow, painful ways she could die.

Chapter Three

After his years as a bodyguard for celebrities, captains of industry and politicians, John was accustomed to finding himself in spectacular surroundings. Fancy-dress balls. The ski resorts in Aspen. Yachts the size of cruise ships. Custom-designed jets with full bedrooms.

He had trained himself to ignore the ambiance and concentrate on watching and listening for signs of trouble. With Lily at his side, he circled the lit swimming pool on the patio and descended a few stairs to the beach—a long stretch of white sand bordered by silver thatch palms, leafy shrubs and a profusion of exotic flowers that, even in the moonlight, were colorful.

Near the bar, dozens of tourists had gathered. Mostly couples, they danced to the lazy calypso beat. John should have been studying these people, some of whom might want him dead. He should have been looking for hidden weapons, furtive glances and other subtle signals of guilt. Instead, his gaze drifted toward the luminescent waves. The sea breeze kissed his skin, and the exhaustion he should have been experiencing faded away. The music of the steel drums and stringed instruments made him want to dance. He wanted to order a sweet rum drink with an umbrella from the bar in a tiki shack, to kick back and revel in this Caribbean night.

Beside him, Lily’s wispy blond hair framed her upturned face. She’d been angry at him before, but now her smile seemed friendly. Or maybe she was a good actress playing her part as his lover.

“I know we shouldn’t dance,” she said.

She was right. One of the keys to keeping visual surveillance was to avoid participating in distracting activities. They should be standing to the side and observing the crowd. But sometimes a man had to go with his instincts. “One dance won’t hurt.”

When he grasped her small hand and pulled her toward the other couples who were barefoot on the sand, she frowned. “Are you sure about this?”

“When is the next time I’m going to be on a Caribbean island with a beautiful woman?”

She slipped off her sandals, and he did the same. The sand was soft beneath his feet. It had been a long time since he’d been dancing and that had been in a country-western bar with boot heels stomping on a hardwood floor. This exotic calypso music was different, more sensual. He allowed the drum beat to resonate inside him, stirring his blood.

Lily’s movements were supple and graceful. A ripple started at her hips and rose through her torso and shoulders. Definitely sensual.

When the guitar player took over with a slow ballad, Lily drifted into John’s arms. Her upturned face in the glow of moonlight and tiki torches was ethereal. The face of an angel.

“One more dance?” she asked.

“At least one more.”

Her body molded against him. Despite the thirteen-inch difference in their heights, they fit together well. Her head rested below his shoulder. Her breasts rubbed against him. As they shuffled together in the sand, her thighs touched his, and he felt himself becoming aroused. Not the reaction he wanted, but he couldn’t help it. She was too enticing, too delicious.

He tried to concentrate on other things, mentally dissecting the music into individual numeric tones, trying to remember the names of the surrounding flora. Orchid. Hibiscus. Periwinkle.

But Lily was pressing more tightly against him. No matter how much he wanted to control himself, it wasn’t going to happen. He was erect and hard as stone.

Leaning back in his arms, she gave him a sly smile and lifted one eyebrow. She knew exactly what kind of effect her nearness was having on him. “Payback,” she said.

“For what?”

“Your little striptease in the honeymoon suite.”

But he hadn’t been trying to seduce her. All he wanted was to wash off the sea scum. So what was her message? If anybody was going to be sexually intimidating, it was her? “I don’t want to play this game.”

“Do I win?” she asked.

“Hell, no.”

“Game on.”

When the ballad ended, they separated. Trying to regain his composure, John scanned the crowd. A group of new arrivals seemed out of place. They were dressed in silk business suits instead of casual beach clothes, and they didn’t look like they’d come to party. The tallest was a heavyset black man with a goatee, clearly the leader. His gaze focused on John. When their eyes met, he didn’t look away.

Beside him, Lily was alert to the potential threat. In a whisper, she asked, “Do you recognize him?”

John leaned down, pretending to kiss her ear. “He sure as hell seems to know me.”

As they danced closer to the well-dressed group, John overheard an introduction. The tall, barrel-chested man was the appointed governor of Cuerva, Ramon St. George.

Edgar had warned them about the governor’s possible involvement in smuggling and money-laundering through the offshore banks. He and his entourage of four—two who were obviously body-guards—seemed to be at this party to meet and greet, encouraging the tourist trade.

John approached the group. He introduced himself and Lily. “Cuerva is a beautiful island. We’re going to tell all our friends to come here.”

Ramon’s lips spread wide in a voracious smile. “John Pinto is an unusual name. May I ask your heritage?”

“I’m Navajo. I grew up on the reservation in Arizona.”

“An American Indian.” His accent was part British and part local, and he sounded thrilled, as though John had told him that he’d arrived from Mars. “Well, John Pinto, you might be the first Navajo to visit our little island. Do you still live in Arizona?”

“Denver,” John said.

“A grand coincidence,” Ramon said.

Lily dug her elbow into John’s ribs, reminding him that she didn’t believe in coincidence.

The governor continued, “We have another visitor from Denver. His name is Drew Kirshner.”

“Small world.” One in which a governor of a Caribbean island was linked with a businessman connected to the Russian mob in Denver. Why would Kirshner be here? Several possibilities presented themselves. All were negative.

Lily kept the conversation going. “We’d really like to try some of the local foods. Do you recommend any restaurants?”

He waggled a forefinger at her. “I cannot choose just one. The others would be insulted. But I can warn you that many of our dishes are very spicy.”

“I love hot food. And all these wonderful fruits. Mangos and guava.”

She played the role of innocent tourist to the hilt, leading the governor and his entourage through a litany of small talk, even soliciting a recipe for curried goat that was used by the governor’s housekeeper.

John wasn’t sure where she was headed with this chat until she slipped in a casual question. “I’d really like to know how to make that dish. May I stop by and talk with your housekeeper? If it’s not too much of an imposition.”

“I have a better idea,” Ramon said. “Tomorrow afternoon at four, I am hosting a cocktail party at the governor’s mansion, where many of our local specialties will be served as appetizers. I would be pleased to have you join us.”

“Thank you, Governor,” Lily said. “You’re so gracious. We’ll be there.”

After a few more words, they rejoined the throng of dancers on the sand. John leaned close to her ear. “Nice work on wrangling that invite.”

“Like Sun Tzu said—keep your friends close and your enemies closer.”

“You think the governor is an enemy?”

“He’s suspicious, especially since he knows Kirshner.”

John agreed. When Lily put her mind to the task, she had the makings of a damned good agent. Not that he intended to tell her so. She had plenty of ego without his compliments.

AT ELEVEN O’CLOCK, THE NIGHT was still warm, but Lily was glad that she’d purchased a couple of black sweatshirts to cover their colorful island clothes. They needed to be subtle and careful as they headed out for their midnight meeting with Robert Prescott.

As soon as they left the hotel, John pointed out the small, dark man who followed them at a consistent twenty-foot distance, stopping when they stopped and starting up again when they moved on. They meandered along the main road in town, crossing from one side of the street to the other. Most of the storefront shops were closed, but the restaurants and taverns were still open for the tourists. She paused to look in a window and turned her gaze toward the street behind them. For a moment, she thought they’d shaken their silent pursuer. But no. “He’s still there. Who sent him?”

“Your new best friend. The governor.”

“Because I wanted the recipe for curried goat?”

“You know why we’re being followed,” John said.

Because they might lead the way to Robert Prescott. In spite of the easygoing Caribbean atmosphere, she was aware of the long grasp of danger that reached all the way from Denver to Cuerva. Other agents at PPS had been threatened. They had lost one of their own.

The reappearance and return of Robert Prescott signaled the end game. The final solution. And someone wanted to stop them.

John checked his wristwatch. “We’re running out of time.”

“How far to Pirate Cove?”

“Three miles. We can follow the road that runs along the perimeter of the island and then cut down to the beach.”

“Why not start on the beach? We could swim.”

“Bad idea.”

She resented the way he dismissed her suggestion without even considering it. “Why?”

“On the beach, there’s no cover. We’d be too obvious. And if somebody wanted to shoot us—”

“No way. If this guy intended to gun us down, he’s had plenty of opportunities.”

“Not really. I’ve kept to populated areas.”

“It’s a long walk.” She shuffled along beside him. After the freedom of dancing on the sand, her sandals felt like bricks strapped to her feet and the idea of another cross-island trek almost brought tears to her eyes.

He pointed to a colorfully painted bench beside a beige stucco wall. “Wait here.”

Splitting up seemed like a terrible plan, but she did as John ordered, sinking onto the bench, bending down to massage her calf and putting her ankle holster within easy reach.

John didn’t go far. He approached a young man sitting on a beat-up motor scooter. After a quick negotiation and an exchange of cash from John’s money belt, they had transportation.

“Did you rent this?” she asked.

“Bought it.”

His extravagance surprised her. “What about the expense account?”

“I’ll resell when we’re done. Maybe even turn a profit.”

She perched behind John on the scooter, which was only slightly larger than a moped and not much faster. Top speed was probably about thirty miles per hour, but it was better than walking.

On the scooter, they doubled back, passing the man who had been following them. He jogged after them. John whipped onto a side street, then took a couple more zigzags. Then, they were on an unlit two-lane asphalt road, bordered by thick vegetation on either side.

Despite the crowds in town, there were no cars out here. She held on to John’s waist for balance, but her gaze fastened on the road behind them. If the man who had been following them gave pursuit, her backside presented an obvious target. She saw no one. No headlights. No light at all except for the full moon. No sounds but the putt-putt of the scooter and the squawks of island parrots.

The entire island was only sixteen miles from end to end, and it didn’t take long to get to the far end, where John turned right onto a road that was little more than a bike path. At a rocky strip of beach, he stopped. “This must be it. Pirate Cove.”

“How are we doing for time?”

He checked his watch. “Six minutes to midnight.”

While John hid the scooter in the lush under-growth, she found a shadowed hiding place near the shore. She sat with her knees pulled up and her back leaning against the limestone.

She could see how Pirate Cove had gotten its name. Jagged rocks thrust into the sea, creating a natural barrier where smugglers could hide. Blackbeard and his crew of buccaneers might have rowed ashore to this very place and buried their treasure of gold doubloons.

John joined her and stretched his long legs out straight in front of him.

They sat quietly. Exhaustion rolled over her like waves from the sea, but her mind was still active. “I’ve been thinking about what you said earlier.”

“About what?”

“You reminded me that I’m not a cop anymore.”

“Right.”

“That badge comes in handy,” she said. “If I were a cop, I wouldn’t have spent the past hour dodging through town, evading a tail. I’d arrest the creep and move on.”

“Simple,” he said.

And nothing about PPS was simple. “Our work is way more complicated than regular law enforcement. We don’t have the authority to lock up the bad guys. On the other hand, we’re not limited by a need for search warrants and chain-of-evidence procedure.”

“For someone like you, someone who acts on instinct, that ought to make a positive difference.”

She liked the freedom of thinking outside the box, but some of the things their job required bordered on being illegal. Like not reporting the plane crash. “It’s a little confusing.”

“How so?”

“Have you ever been asked to do something you thought was wrong? Like being a bodyguard for somebody who wasn’t a good person.”

“That’s happened,” he said. “But I didn’t think it was morally wrong. Even scumbags deserve protection.”

“How do you know you’re doing the right thing?”

When he turned toward her, the moonlight cast an intriguing shadow below his high cheekbones. “I trust in what I’m doing because I trust the vision of Robert Prescott, who founded PPS. He’s a good man. No matter what he asked me to do, I’d do it. Without questions.”

She’d heard so many stories about Robert Prescott, the former agent for the British secret service who was involved in dozens of international conspiracies. After he supposedly was killed in a fiery plane crash in Europe, the legends got bigger. Robert Prescott came off sounding like a combination of a superhero and James Bond. “You’ve been with him a long time. What’s he really like?”

“He has the qualities I respect. A sense of honor. Courage. Loyalty. He loves his wife, Evangeline, with all his heart.”

And yet, he’d stayed away for two years. There must have been compelling reasons. Soon Lily would know. Soon she would meet the legend himself. Excitement stirred her senses. Here she was on a Caribbean island in a place called Pirate’s Cove, waiting for a former MI6 agent. Life didn’t get more exotic than this.

John checked his wristwatch. “He’s late.”

“Edgar said we should wait only an hour.”

She hoped they hadn’t come all this way to find a dead end. In spite of her sweatshirt, a shiver went through her.

“Cold?” John asked.

“A bit.”

“Lean against me.” He slung an arm around her shoulder and pulled her close. “I’ll keep you warm.”

“I’m fine.” Right now she had the advantage in their game of sexual one-upsmanship, and she wanted to keep it that way. Shrugging off his arm, she repeated, “Just fine.”

“I’m not coming on to you, Lily.”

The hell he wasn’t. “Of course not.”

“Think of me as a big brother.”

“Can’t do it. I was an only child.”

“That explains a lot.”

He folded his arms across his chest and stared out to sea. As always, his attitude was calm, controlled and absolutely maddening.

She peered around his shoulder. “What does my being an only child have to do with anything?”

“No siblings,” he said. “You never had to learn to compromise.”

“Oh, please.” She got along well with other people. “Spare me the cut-rate psychology. Both my parents were doctors, and I was sent to a shrink at the first sign of rebellion.”

“And how did that work out?” he asked drily.

“What are you hinting at?”

“You’re still a rebel.”

“Maybe so,” she admitted. Definitely so. The more people told her that she shouldn’t do something, the more she wanted to give it a whirl. “I like to go my own way. What’s the point in following the predictable path of college and career, marriage and kids?”

“Security.”

He answered so quickly that she knew this was an issue he had considered. Doing what was expected. Being like everybody else. And yet that description didn’t fit John at all. For one thing, he was thirty-seven and not settled down with wife and kids. “Have you ever been married?”

He gave a quick shake of his head. “You?”

“No.” She hadn’t even lost her virginity yet—a detail she didn’t intend to share with him.

“How did you end up at PPS?” he asked.

“Long story.”

He grinned. “You don’t seem to mind telling long stories.”

“I’ve got nothing to hide. What you see is what you get.”

“We’ve got an hour to kill,” he said. “Tell me all about yourself.”

“I stepped off the predictable path when I dropped out of college in Ann Arbor.”

She told him about backpacking through Europe, working as a waitress when she could and picking up the languages.

After seeing injustice on a global scale, she’d felt the need for order. That was when she’d moved to Denver and entered the police academy. “Then I joined PPS. It feels like this is where I belong. I love the people in the office. Former FBI agents like Evangeline and Melissa. Jack Sanders was an Army Ranger. Cameron Morgan, the cowboy.” Her gaze bounced into his eyes. “Then, of course, there’s you.”

“What about me?” he asked suspiciously.

“You’re very secretive. The strong, silent type. All I know about you is your work. You’re an electronics genius and an expert in security systems.”

“I like detail work.”

No surprise there. He was a master of precision and planning. “Tell me about growing up. Did you have a big family? Were you good in school?”

John checked his wristwatch again. “We’ve waited an hour. Robert isn’t coming tonight.”

How typical of John to divert the subject as soon as it shifted to him. She followed him across the sand to the bushes where he’d hidden their transportation. Climbing onto the back of the motor scooter, she wrapped her arms around him and rested her cheek against John’s broad back.

In a moment, they were back on the road, headed back to the hotel. She snuggled closer. Hanging on tightly wasn’t really necessary; they were only going about twenty-five miles an hour. But she liked holding him. Her attraction to John was far from sisterly fondness. He was much too sexy to ever be thought of as a brother.

She heard him curse, sat up straighter and peeked around his shoulder. Headlights. A big vehicle. A Hummer. And he was coming right at them.

As the motor scooter skidded off the narrow road, she heard herself scream.

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