Hence, Lucia had turned to her old friend Chet Stryker and his international-security team. But Stryker International needed a few more female operatives on its team, because its only official female member had a severe bout of morning sickness.
Although, Mae, Chet’s wife, had nearly gotten on the plane with Luke this morning anyway. Even when Chet told her he’d brought in an accomplished freelancer to partner with Luke. A real pro, no problem. Stacey Meyer.
A pro who preferred to work solo, according to her file. Her description, however, hadn’t quite done her justice. Sure, the woman beside him didn’t exactly qualify as striking, but she had a prettiness about her, something simple and muted that could probably get her in and out of countries unnoticed. She wore her brown hair in a messy ponytail, some of it waterfalling around her face, and her intense green eyes suggested she could turn a person cold with a look. The way she seemed to scrutinize everything, from the driver to the landscape to Luke, as if taking in every detail…yes, he had no doubt she knew how to do her job alone. But too bad. “Listen, I know this isn’t your first choice. Frankly, it’s not mine, either—”
“What, there were other choices? A lottery?”
“No. I mean, I volunteered. But I was also the only one available.”
“Nice. I didn’t realize you guys were in such demand.”
What had Chet gotten him into? “I stay pretty busy.”
She widened her eyes a moment, a flare of something he might normally peg as panic.
“Please, just stay away from me.” She looked down at the space between them, then scooted more toward the window and crossed her arms and legs. A knot of offended female pride.
Or…maybe this was about the job. She probably feared that he’d take advantage of his role as her fiancé.
Staying away might be a little difficult if they hoped to pull off this charade. Yet, because she was still staring out the window, still shaking her head in a sort of disbelief, he lowered his voice. “Listen, I’m a good guy, really, and I won’t take advantage. And I know I’m not who you expected, but I’m not interested in anything but doing my job. We’ll just get it done and go home.”
She turned, and just for a moment she looked as if she might slap him. “How can I thank you for that ever-so-sweet warning, and for being willing to do this oh-so-offensive job? What would the world do without heroes like you?”
Ow.
But that’s what did it. The last thing he needed was a hotshot agent who had to run her own show. “Listen, I’m not just here to watch,” he said, slipping into his navy SEAL bark. “I’m here for a reason, same as you, which will probably include not only being near you, but probably even touching you.” He spent a little extra time on the word touching, just because of the priceless expression on her face. He probably shouldn’t have smiled, though.
“You’d better just be watching. I can give you my deathbed word that there won’t be anything but watching going on, buddy.” She shot a look at his hands as if they’d wandered somewhere. “Touch me once and you’ll pull away a nub.”
Oh! Uh. No, he hadn’t meant—now he felt like a letch.
Which made all the anger dissolve. He wasn’t that guy. She actually looked as if he’d offended her, her eyes reddening just a bit. So much for the iceberg agent.
“Look, I’m sorry—”
“Let’s just get to the wedding and try to stay out of each other’s way.”
“Yeah, that’s going to work.”
She took a breath, and it trembled on exhale. “I really, really don’t need an escort, you know. No matter what anyone says.”
Oh, he wanted to punch something, hard. “I’m not sure you quite cleared that up for me.”
“Jerk.”
Just swell. They’d have to start acting like a couple soon, because the moment they got on the island, Sanchez’s men were sure to be watching. “You could try to cooperate.”
“Cooperate. You want me to cooperate. Okay, this is me, cooperating. I’m the queen of cooperating.” She drew in a long breath, then bit her lip and, if he wasn’t mistaken, she tried not to…cry?
And right then, he had the strangest urge to push that errant dark caramel curl of hair away from her face, turn her toward him. Look right into her eyes.
Look who wasn’t as tough as she thought.
Interesting. He wasn’t sure what buttons he’d pushed, but something had her rattled.
He and Chet were going to have a long chat when he got to the resort. But he’d come a long way since the navy had discharged him for his temper, and he now had a let’s-play-nicely-with-others voice. “We both know what’s expected, and I promise, I’m going to watch your back if you watch mine. So let’s make the best of it, try to get along. How about we start over?” He put out his hand. “Nice to meet you, Scarlett.”
She glanced over at him and sighed. “Fine. Nice to meet you, Luke.”
That was a start. “Aren’t you hot?”
Her eyes darted to her turtleneck then over to him and his cotton Oxford.
Finally, she said, “Okay, yes, I’m boiling. I should have layered, so I could have shed as I came south, but I was in a hurry. I didn’t even get the call that I was coming here until…I guess almost two days ago now, and I had so much to do that, well, I forgot to dress for the weather.” She lifted one of her feet, probably marinating inside her blue fuzzy boots.
“Yeah, I only found out yesterday. Good thing we could put this together so fast.”
“So, you didn’t know you were coming, either? Aren’t you in the wedding party?” She regathered her hair into its ponytail, then fanned her face with a business card she held in her hand. For an operative, she had a small-town look about her—a sprinkle of freckles on a small nose, a little extra padding on her—instead of the hard-edged, lean-bodied look of a woman who could flip him in hand-to-hand combat. She looked just normal enough that they might pull this thing off.
“No. I’m just here for you.” He winked at her, and again, she gave him the oddest look, one that made him lose his smile.
“I thought you were a groomsman.”
“No, that’s not part of the plan. But you’re a bridesmaid, right?”
She nodded, staring again out the window. “Except my maid-of-honor dress fits someone else. I probably won’t eat for three days. If it even gets here.” She sighed and leaned back. “I can’t take any more glitches.” She shook her head.
Glitches?
A mariachi band from the driver’s radio filled the silence.
What glitches? “Is it something I should be worried about?”
“I think we’ll live through it.”
Good. Because survival always topped his priority list.
She closed her eyes, as if she weren’t worried, either.
Fine. Okay. He stared out the window as the cabbie drove them through the city.
At least she had stopped calling him names.
The driver let them off at the ferry entrance, and as she wrestled her carry-on out of the car—Luke offered to do it, but she’d rebuffed him—he bought their