Savage Beauty (The Arrow Tactical Series Book 5)

Chapter 15

On my phone, I see the dot moving steadily in my direction. The second she left, I turned my phone on and watched the dot. Throughout the call reviewing schematics and floor plans, I watched the dot.

In theory, no one knows we’re here. We flew in on a private plane and our identities weren’t run through any database. We’ve been here for four days and have seen nothing remotely suspicious.

Still, when she left, my stomach twisted. I told myself to calm the fuck down. We’re on a vacation island loaded with tourists. It didn’t help that, as she was leaving, Erik asked if it was a good idea for her to go out on her own. Erik, the tech guy who lives behind a keyboard and monitors. The guy who has a team monitoring the handful of intersections and parking lots with surveillance cameras connected to hackable servers.

They haven’t seen a damn thing. Nothing suspicious. Also, no Dr. Kallio, which is concerning.

The last time we came here, a mere six weeks ago, when Sloane first went missing, it had been a waste of time. The kinds of crimes that take place on this vacation paradise aren’t the violent type. They’re the type that forensic accountants find. This is one of the world’s safe spaces to hoard the monetary rewards from crimes that take place in other countries. It’s not a place known for crime.

Still, someone abducted Sloane once from this very island. I told Knox I’d keep her safe. Hell, not just Knox. The Arrow team is counting on me. Sure, it’s easy to let your guard down when you spend the day out snorkeling. What the hell am I doing? I’m not here on vacation. I’m here on a job.

I scan the street, looking to my right, in the direction of the dot. She should be coming up at any moment.

And there she is. My breath comes a little easier.

Letting her go out on her own was a bad idea. A very bad idea. But she’s okay. She’s fine. I got all worked up for nothing. Damn Erik and his paranoia.

She’s bent over the handlebars and pumping her legs like she’s getting in max reps on a sprint.

Her mouth opens and she yells. I step closer, unsure what she yelled.

“Get. In…” The word gets muffled. She’s out of breath. “Get. In. Side.”

What the hell?

My hand automatically goes to my waist. I’m not carrying. That’s something I will fix the moment we get inside.

I’m running to greet her. The two-lane road is empty. Far off in the distance, I see a van that looks like one of the resort shuttle vans. I scan the skies for a drone.

The bike hits the ground, and she charges into the house, the whole time chanting, “Get inside. Get inside. Get inside.”

One wheel spins slowly, the bike flat on the ground on the path to the front door.

If someone’s looking for that bike, it’s a crumb trail right to our door.

She screeches from the doorway, “Get inside!”

“Close the door.” It’s a stern command.

I’m not leaving a calling sign to whoever spooked her.

Out of my peripheral vision, I see the front door close and lift the bike.

I could hide it below the deck. There’s a gap on the sides, as the entire villa is raised off the ground in case of flooding. But it wouldn’t take much investigation to find a bike stashed below the deck.

In six strides, I’m pushing through the door, the bike held in one hand, a trail of sand grains scattering behind me.

“Who’d you see?” She’s standing in the hallway, eyes wide. She’s fucking terrified. “What happened?”

I lean the rusted beach cruiser against the wall. It’s not a suitable permanent location, as someone looking in through windows might see it. But it’ll work for now.

My guns are upstairs.

“He’s here.”

“Who?”

“Anton Solonov. He’s here. I saw him. I don’t think he saw me. But he’s here. He’s here!”

“Okay. I need you to take some deep breaths.”

“He’s here!”

I move to the door and glance down the street again. There’s nothing. No movement at all. Nothing in the sky except a commercial jet plane flying in the upper atmosphere.

“All right. Head upstairs.” I flick the deadbolt on the door.

I’ll get my guns and come back down, double-check all the locks. We got careless. Things felt too safe. Too easy.

She pauses on the stairs, looking down at me. “You’re bringing the bike?”

“Yeah. If anyone’s searching for this bike, I don’t want it where a passerby might see.”

It’s a pretty standard beach bike, but it’s bright pink with identifiable stickers and a brown wicker basket on the front.

“Go.”

She resumes climbing the stairs. My facial muscles tense as I run through action items.

Get weapons. Secure the place. Call Erik. How did he get on the island without us knowing? Probably the same way we got on. How does he know we’re here? He’s a hired gun. Someone has him coming after her. But why?

I set the bike against the wall in the hallway between the two bedrooms and enter my room. The gear Jack packed for us is in carrying cases and duffels on the floor along one wall. I unzip one bag. Locate my Glock. Check the chamber. Load it.

“What happened?”

“What do you mean?” She’s standing in the doorway, hands twisting around each other like she’s warming them.

“Tell me exactly what happened.”

“I rode my bike to the market, like I said. Just down the street. Where they’re selling coconuts and papaya. And as I was leaving, I saw him. He was talking to another man near the small building that’s on that road.”

“You’re positive it was him?”

“He was wearing a white tank. You know, what they call a wife beater. His tattoo. Over his shoulder. On the boat, when he took me, he walked around with his shirt off almost all the time. I’ll never forget his tattoos.”

“Lots of people have tattoos.”

“It was him.”

“Did he turn around?”

“No.”

I stare at her, studying her. She’s too scared to be telling me anything other than the truth. Christ. If he’d turned around, I’d be chasing a dot right now. Anything could’ve happened.

“Okay. This is what you’re going to do.” Her gaze locks on my gun as I tuck it inside my waistband. She’s frightened. Focusing on a gun won’t calm her. “You’re going to sit down on the bed and breathe. Do you do yoga?” I can’t decipher from her glazed look if that’s a yes or a no. “Stretch. Breathe. Do whatever you do to calm down. I’m going downstairs and taking care of a few things. I just need you to know you’re safe. We don’t even know for sure he was here for you.” That statement sounds as false to my ears as it probably does to hers.

“You’re leaving?”

“I’m not leaving the house, okay? I’ll be downstairs.”

This villa has an alarm system. If glass breaks, it sends a silent alert to the alarm company, who sends the police. I check all the locks, including the sliding doors, and set the alarm. I flip several of the plantation shutters to block incoming views, careful to avoid looking suspiciously closed off.

This place isn’t a safe house. It’s simply safer than her apartment would have been. And it’s located away from the more popular resorts on a high-net-worth street.

If he saw her, he’s not chasing her. Either he felt he would make a scene during broad daylight if he did so, or he didn’t see her.

I dial Erik. He answers on the first ring.

“Anton Solonov is here. Or at least, Sloane believes she saw him.”

“Provocative.” The sound of keys tapping fills the line.

“Does this mean he flew private? He hasn’t popped up on any of your surveillance networks, right?”

“No. But he could’ve come in by boat, too. That’s what Sloane said, right? How he left?”

“How would he know we’re here? Who could he be working for?”

“I’m not sure. The guy’s circulating with a Red Notice on him. He’s got to be good at it to go years without getting caught. It’s good we’ve got those cameras up on the Origins property. If he goes there, we might gain some insight.”

“And if he doesn’t?”

There’s more key tapping. Erik has no more answers than I do.

“After you get what you need, plan on leaving. Whoever is after her has resources, and they don’t seem to be backing down.”

She said he was in a wife beater talking to a guy. Based on my experience, that doesn’t sound like he was working, unless he’s doing a little undercover work and thought dressing down would get more people to open up to him. But there’s a significant segment on this island who would be less likely to talk to him dressed like that. “Is there a chance he lives here? Like, we’re assuming he came here to get her, but is this where he hangs his hat when he’s not working?”

The clacking of keys slows. “Let me check some sources. If he did the right people favors, they’d make a home for him there for sure.”

“I’m not sure if this possibility helps us or hurts us.”

“Me neither,” Erik says under his breath. “I’m running all known aliases through for any connections. In the meantime, stay in the villa.”

He’s not wrong to be annoyed. We got lucky as fuck. He could’ve seen her. We could’ve run into him earlier today. The dial tone sounds, letting me know Erik ended the call.

Upstairs, I set out my guns and ammo, taking stock. Two SIGs, two Glocks, three rifles, two scopes, ammo, a NOD in case I need night vision, vests. I’ve got more than I need.

Across the hall, her bedroom door is cracked open. I push it wide.

She’s leaning back on a stack of pillows, one leg straight, one bent, one palm flat on the mattress, the other hand holding something pink. Her cheeks are flushed, but the color is as likely from the sun as fear.

“You doing okay?”

“I don’t know yoga. The best way I know to calm down is to have an orgasm, but I’m not sure I can get myself to do that right now.”

“Did I just walk in on you—is that lube?”

“The vagina is not a rainforest.”

I swear I never know what is going to come out of her mouth. She’s not playing me. There’s not an ounce of embarrassment. No attempt at seduction. Clearly. The description “straight shooter” comes to mind.

“What’re we supposed to do now?” Her question holds a hint of a whine. She’s still worked up.

“Hang tight. Rest. We’ve got big plans for tonight.”

She nods and sets what I suspect is a small pink vibrator on the bedside table. Her shorts are on, so whatever she was doing to herself she was doing above her clothes. I like that she’s not embarrassed at all. After my ex, I freaking love that she’s a straight shooter. And I have to admit, I agree with her. Orgasms are a great way to relax, but right now doesn’t feel like the time.

The mattress sinks under my weight as I join her, pressing my back to the headboard since she’s using all the pillows, and stretch an arm around her shoulders to pull her into my side. She’s so thin. Too thin.

“Why don’t I go downstairs and slice those papayas and some cheese? Eating can also calm you down.”

She nestles into me. The top of her head rubs my neck, and the side of her face grazes my collarbone. Her silky strands are smooth, and the tension that’s been as tight as a rappel line ever since she yelled from her bike, maybe since the moment she left the villa, eases. Her slender form fits snugly against me, and I close my eyes, giving myself a moment to relax into this, to enjoy having someone close to me. I’m a snuggler by nature, and it’s been a long time since I gave in to this desire.

“Why are you being so good to me?”

Her question rouses me from the temporary reprieve. “Believe it or not, I like you.” Hell, she’s right. She’s all kinds of different. But it’s refreshing. I mean, sure, I’m also attracted to her. Any guy would be. But I like her too.

“No. You like Sage. You’re doing this as a favor to her.”

I take a minute to think that one through. I mean, I volunteered to be here as a favor to Knox, but that has nothing to do with why I’m here now. Yes, I’m here because that’s my job. But I wouldn’t have climbed onto a bed to hold any other client. And until this moment, I’ve never thought of her as a client. Maybe because I’m well aware Arrow took this case on with no payment.

“It’s okay. Many people are nice to me as a favor to Sage. Or Sam. Back when he was alive. Mainly in high school.”

I nudge her chin up so she’s forced to really look at me when I correct her. “Sloane, I’m here for you. You got that?”

She’s not looking at me. My view is of her eyelids and long black lashes, her nose and a dusting of too much pink from the sun earlier today, and freshly licked pink lips.

The damnedest things come out of those lips. Lips I really want to taste. And so I do.

Once. Twice. So fast, so soft.

What I want to do is push her back onto the bed. I want to give her that orgasm to both calm her and to rock her world. I want to lose myself in her. Forget about our fuckups earlier today by immersing ourselves in the physical. Sink into her over and over again.

The tips of her fingers brush over my ear and along my neck. I’m so fucking hard. So ready to pound into her. Make her see the real thing is far better than any little plastic gadget. Better than her fingers.

That’s what I want to do. But that wouldn’t be smart. Not just because we’re out of here tomorrow, but because this woman needs more than that. She may not realize it, but she needs someone to show her that sex can be more than just the physical act. And yeah, she may respond to the world a little differently, but she deserves to be treated like a queen.

I push up off the bed, ignoring the uncomfortable pressure against my zipper. “You stay here. I’ll be right back with food.”