Chapter 7
CHAPTER 7
G host led the way to the pickup point. Carlos would be here any moment. It was a busy street and the traffic whizzed by in a motion blur. He could feel the heat of the engines on his legs.
“Becca.” He turned to face her.
She glanced up at him. “Yes?”
“Your bag.” He suddenly remembered he was still carrying it.
She took it with a little nod. “Thanks.”
He hesitated. Today had not gone according to plan. The explosion had thrown him off kilter, but at the same time, it had given him the perfect opportunity to take her for a drink. But being alone with her, getting to know her, had given him something else to worry about.
Her .
She was in way over her head. Either she had no idea what Markov was up to, in which case she was unknowingly putting herself at risk, or she did know, and she was in danger of being dragged down with him when the shit hit the fan.
She was still looking at him, her head tilted to the side. Waiting for him to say something. Sensing that he had something to say.
Spit it out, man.
“Hey, Becca. I just want you to know… If anything happens to you, or you need my help, you just have to call.” Now he wished he could take it back. She was staring at him like he’d declared his undying love for her.
“Why do you think something’s going to happen to me?” she whispered. Fear tickled the edges of her eyes.
When he didn’t immediately reply, she said, “Dom, is something going to happen?”
He averted his gaze. “No, of course not.”
Yes. Eventually.
When we take down your crooked boss.
He tried to brush it off. “It’s just in case, that’s all. This isn’t the safest country in the world, and we live in a complex surrounded by armed guards. I wanted you to know you could count on me.”
“Like you took care of me today?” Her voice was soft.
The way she was looking at him made him want to kiss her so bad it hurt. His gaze dropped to her lips. “I did what anyone in my position would have done.”
She moved closer to him, and his heart skipped a beat. “I think you went way beyond what a gun for hire would do.”
His breath caught in his throat. Those eyes. Those lips. He was about to lift his hand to her face when Markov’s black SUV with Carlos in the passenger seat swooped down the street.
She hurriedly stepped back.
“I haven’t got your number,” she whispered, as reality came to a halt beside them and Carlos gestured for them to get in.
“I’ve got yours,” he murmured, before opening the back door for her. “I’ll call you tonight, then you’ll have mine.”
“Okay.” She climbed into the car.
He got in beside her.
This time they sat a little closer together than they had on the way here. Along with her intoxicating scent, he could feel the heat from her body. Her legs were crossed towards his and her arm was only an inch or so away, resting on the canvas bag she’d placed between them. The car turned a corner causing her to tilt over and her arm touched his. She turned and smiled at him. He smiled back.
This hadn’t been the plan, but something was happening here. He’d won her trust, that was a big step forward. The problem was, he very much feared he might be losing something in the process, something he couldn’t afford to give away.
His heart.
Back at the hacienda, Ghost sat on his deck in the late afternoon sun and thought about Becca.
What did she mean when she’d said she’d gone off the rails? You wouldn’t think it to look at her. With those sharp features, those deep, honey-colored eyes, and her cool, efficient manner, she seemed born to be an executive assistant. So damn organized and put-together, it was hard to imagine her as some restless gypsy who wandered the world and couldn’t settle down—or the young woman who’d gone off the rails in Europe.
Yet here she was, working for one of the biggest crooks in Latin America. Maybe she was a danger junkie. She had to know the risks, but by her own admission, she was willfully ignoring what Markov was up to.
He wondered if Pat had dug up any intel on her.
At least Markov wasn’t screwing her. Ghost was sure of that. Not that he should care, but somehow, he did. The arms dealer’s wife and mistress probably kept him busy enough. Still, the thought gnawed at him—what if Markov made a move?
Would Becca be able to say no?
A rejection like that would bruise Markov’s ego, and bruises like that usually led to one thing: getting rid of the problem. Ghost scowled at the horizon, then got up to grab another beer.
He hadn’t missed how Markov watched her. The guy might not want her in his bed, but he still owned her, and he made sure she knew it. Like the way she had to ask permission before heading into town. She called him Alek earlier, too. Ghost could see the writing on the wall. Markov was twice her age, but he’d make his move eventually.
Ghost pulled out his burner—the one Markov had the number for, along with his contacts and now Becca. His other phone, the one he used to contact Pat, stayed hidden in a secret compartment in his backpack. No numbers saved on it. Calls were quick and dirty—straight to the point, then deleted. Nobody had found that one.
He ignored the strange twist in his gut and called her. It rang a few times before she picked up.
“Hello?”
“It’s Mr. Dominguez,” he said, keeping it formal. Just in case anyone was listening.
“Hi.” She sounded breathless. “What can I do for you?”
There was an awkward pause that made him feel like a high school kid calling a girl for the first time. He cleared his throat. “You said to call if I needed anything.”
“What do you need, Mr. Dominguez?” She was playing along. That confirmed what he thought, that their calls might be monitored.
“Some fresh towels.”
“Sure, I’ll have someone bring them down.”
He hung up. The shortness of the call might raise a brow, but he had to stick to his cover. A hired gun didn’t waste time on small talk.
When they’d been together, he’d been himself, —or mostly himself—so she could see what he was really like. He wasn’t going to win her over if he acted like a prick. But for the sake of the mission, and any listening ears, he had to keep up appearances.
The sun was still hot, so he hit the water for a quick swim. The ocean was refreshing and helped cool more than his overheated skin.
Twenty minutes later, back on the deck, he spotted Becca walking down the path toward his cabin, towels in hand, the sun catching in her hair. He was at the door by the time she got there.
“You came yourself?”
“Maria has left for the day.” Her gaze dipped to his bare chest and stayed there a second too long.
He’d seen the woman cleaning earlier, a local from the nearby village. The woman, like most of the casual staff, didn’t know what Markov did. Hell, she probably thought she was cleaning for some rich businessman, which is how she could come and go with just a light search at the gates.
Anyone in the know got the bag treatment, with an escort.
“Thanks. Come in.” He stepped back, letting her pass.
She’d changed out of the skirt and blouse and was now in a flowing, white cotton dress, buttons running all the way down the front. It floated around her, barely touching her skin, and Ghost felt a wave of heat wash over him.
“Can I get you a drink?” His voice came out rougher than he intended. “I don’t have much—just beer.”
She set the towels down and faced him. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.” But her eyes said something different.
He stepped closer, catching that soft scent again, the one that messed with his head. “Didn’t stop you before. You knocked back that saco like a pro.”
She grinned. “That was in town, and I had a good excuse. My nerves were fried from the explosion. This is different. My boss would kill me if he knew I was fraternizing with his associates .”
“ Associates ?” He smirked. “I thought I was a dangerous mercenary.”
She smiled back. “Even worse.”
He forced himself to stop grinning like a fool and touched her arm. “Come on, just one drink. I won’t tell if you don’t.”
She hesitated, then took a step back. “Fine, just one.”
Had she also felt that jolt of electricity that had passed between them?
“And beer’s fine.”
She walked out onto the deck while he grabbed a couple from the fridge.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” she said when he joined her. The sun was starting to sink, painting the sky with streaks of pink and gold. He handed her a beer, his eyes tracing the way the light danced off her skin, her hair, her eyes.
“Yeah, it is.” His voice came out low, his gaze locked on her.
She didn’t notice. “Could be in a damn travel brochure.”
He glanced at the horizon, forcing his eyes off her. “It’s perfect for photographs.”
She gave him a curious look. “You’re a photographer too? Another one of Dom’s hidden talents?”
He shrugged. “A bit. I’ve got a camera, but I don’t carry anything fancy. It’d get wrecked where I go.”
“Where’s that?”
“The jungle, mostly.” He didn’t elaborate. “After I got kicked out of Special Forces, I thought about photography, but other opportunities came up. Besides, it’s better as a hobby. If it was a job, it’d lose the appeal.”
“What other opportunities?” she asked, leaning back against the railing.
“The training facility. But then, like you, I got poached.”
“By the bad guys?”
He smirked. “You could say that. But they pay well.”
“They always do.” She studied him a moment, then said, “Guess we’ve got more in common than I thought. We’re both easily led astray.”
His eyes locked on hers. Photography would’ve been the safer option. “I was trained for this. You weren’t.”
“I did a secretarial course.” Her eyes twinkled.
He snorted. “Not what I meant.”
“I know, but I’m safe here as long as I do my job and stay out of Mr. Markov’s business. And he pays me a hell of a lot more than I got at the embassy. When I leave, I’ll be able to afford a place of my own. Start fresh.”
“Is that what you want? A fresh start?”
Her gaze drifted out to the horizon. “Yeah. I think it’s time I put down some roots. I’ve been bouncing around too long.”
“I thought you liked the gypsy life.”
She frowned. “It’s complicated.”
“It always is.”
He raised his beer, taking a long drink.
They watched as the sun dipped below the treeline.
A short time later she said, “I should get back before it’s dark—or someone notices I’m not there.”
“I can walk you.”
“That’s okay.”
He followed her to the door. That scent—magnolia and something softer—wrapped around him. She hesitated before stepping out.
“Is it drugs or weapons?” she asked quietly, her eyes searching his. “Or both?”
“Weapons,” he said after a pause.
“From Eastern Europe?”
“Probably.”
“And you smuggle them across the border for him?”
He nodded.
Her eyes narrowed, like she was trying to read him. “So, you’re an arms trafficker, mercenary, and soldier.” It wasn’t really a question.
He didn’t respond. She wasn’t wrong.
She reached out, her hand resting on his chest, and he sucked in a breath.
Shit .
“Yet tonight, you’re still the gentleman. Or is that just for me?”
She was sharp, he’d give her that. The truth was, he was into her. Badly. All he wanted was to pick her up, carry her upstairs, and peel that dress off one button at a time.
Damn.
He was losing it.
Somehow, he managed to keep his cool. “What can I say? You bring out the best in me.”
She smiled. “That’s a new one.” Her fingers traced up his chest, her breath catching like she was waiting for something to break.
And break it did.
The tension coiled tight inside him snapped, and he cupped her neck, pulling her into a kiss.