Chapter 1 #2
Harper and the CIA officer accompanying her didn’t have comms, but as their bodyguards, Roman and Finn had chosen to use comms with the typical wire one might see on Secret Service agents or in the movies.
It fit with their cover stories. Normally, they’d use a nearly invisible wireless earpiece designed by both Harper and Jessica that had excellent range and even worked a few feet underground.
“I don’t like that Yankee’s so out in the open.” Roman did his best to ignore the fact Zack’s hand was now an inch lower than where it’d been before.
“Yankee?” Finn smirked at the use of Roman’s code name for Harper. “She’s herself tonight, remember?”
The guys recently began using the name “Yankee” for Harper when she joined Echo Team on ops, mostly to annoy Chris, a diehard Red Sox fan.
Harper loved to wear a Yankees ball cap around the office to drive Chris nuts, even though she didn’t actually support the team.
But that was Harper. Fun, energetic, and a bit of a tease.
“Habits.” Roman stood. “Going to do a perimeter sweep. Check the terrace.”
There was still a chance Harper’s old source was bogus and baiting her for a reason, and that meant he had to assume the worst, prepare for it, but hope for the best.
Roman walked a lap around the restaurant and bar, which had three walls of floor-to-ceiling windows, offering great views of the city.
He committed to memory every person and their position in the room, checking for any threats. There was enough light to see facial expressions and hand gestures by the guests, even though the lamps were on the dim side to create a romantic effect.
The two bartenders positioned at the circular bar in the middle of the room, wearing matching red bow ties, were busy making drinks, but one paid far too much attention to Harper’s cleavage. Not a threat. Just a douchebag.
So far, everything was normal. No signs of weapons hidden beneath men’s jackets. The most suspicious people in the area were most likely him and Finn.
When a new song began to play softly over the speakers, he found himself glad Spanish wasn’t one of Harper’s more fluent languages. If she understood the lyrics to the current song, it might resonate with her as much as it impacted him.
The Spanish song, Díganle, had him reminiscing about his time with Harper last year. And the lyrics had him wishing there was a way he could make things work between them, but he’d calculated the possibilities in his head, and they all ended badly.
He peered at Harper on his final lap, and the slightest shake of her head was a signal the target hadn’t yet texted her. It was also a reminder they were on an op, and he needed to focus. It wasn’t like him to get so thrown off.
Roman gave her a slight nod, but at the same time, his stomach squeezed as if he’d fastened a sailor’s knot around his insides.
He had no clue if his worries stemmed from simply being in Barcelona, especially because Harper was with him, or what he’d had to do at zero four hundred hours.
Roman went to one of the windows that overlooked the terrace. Outside, there was a restaurant used during warmer months and a rectangular pool that ran along the length of the hotel.
The heritage building was once a bank before it was expanded into a hotel, and it was located on Passeig de Gràcia near several modernist landmarks.
He’d stayed there a couple of times in the past. It was actually the same hotel where he’d first met Emilia Calibrisi at Rosario’s wedding.
All hell had broken loose during his cousin’s reception, and Emilia took a stabbing to save his life.
They’d been friends ever since. A good friend to have, too, considering she, like Roman, was part of a secretive team that cut down evil in the world.
She just did it as a vigilante, and he had the President signing off on his ops.
Roman somehow always survived dicey situations, though. People joked he was invincible.
He may have been known as a walking Wikipedia, but he’d also been nicknamed Lucky back in the Navy. He’d been called that even before his platoon’s Humvee had rolled to a stop right on top of an IED in Fallujah, and due to human error, the thing didn’t blow.
But his luck was bound to run out. It was as inevitable as death.
Roman caught sight of Harper standing behind him in the reflection of the window, and he lost his grim thoughts.
Their eyes met in the glass, and he followed her pointed finger.
“What’s that building called?” she softly asked.
It wasn’t part of the plan for her to approach him. Stand so close. Smell so damn good.
Why did scent have to be such a powerful memory trigger? Now all he could think about was her naked body pinned beneath him wearing only her favorite perfume, staring up at him as if her brown eyes could see right into his soul.
“Casa Batlló or known locally as La Casa dels Ossos,” he finally managed out, his throat thick with regret. So. Much. Regret. “House of Bones,” he interpreted.
Spanish wasn’t his first language. Nor was Portuguese.
He was born in Florida, and his parents raised him and his two sisters speaking in English.
His mom was much closer to her family in Brazil than his dad had been to his family here in Spain, so she’d taught Roman Portuguese here and there over the years.
He’d been on his own to learn Spanish. And after high school, he’d insisted on spending a summer in Spain to perfect his fluency before joining the Navy.
“The balconies of the building sort of look like they’re made of skulls and bones.” Harper lifted her focus to his eyes again in the window. “I received a text instructing me to be outside in ten minutes,” she informed in a whispered voice. “He’s almost here.”
“Outside?” No, that wasn’t the plan. Too many unknown variables. Yeah, Wyatt and Chris had eyes on the front of the hotel, but what if the informant wanted her to get into a car? Go somewhere?
“I know what you’re thinking, and I won’t leave with him.”
He turned to face her, trying to find the words. To not order her to stand down and let someone else handle the CIA’s source.
But his throat became dry, and his thoughts scattered with her dark eyes on him. The music had placed them inside of a bubble, safe from the world. If only it were that simple.
“Are you okay?” Her question quickly yanked him back to reality. Feet to the ground. “I know you didn’t want to be here tonight with me,” she whispered, and Roman tapped at the comm in his ear to temporarily mute his teammates from their conversation.
It wasn’t like Harper to ask a question like this on an op. Then again, she was normally in his ear, not in front of him while he was supposed to be paying attention to possible danger.
Maybe she was off, too. Not herself. Was it his fault? The fact he messed up their friendship last year?
“My not wanting to be here isn’t about you.” Well, not exactly.
Roman slid one hand into his slacks pocket and placed his other firmly against the window for support.
He needed to find his way back to operator mode.
The mission was supposed to come first, but he was having a hard time placing anything and anyone above Harper as a priority, which had been one of her reasons for them to end things last year.
It was also one of her reasons they were never supposed to have slept together in the first place.
Harper’s glossy lips formed a tight line, her brown eyes moving back to the view again. “I followed you this morning,” she dropped the bomb on him. “I heard you leave the suite, and I followed you.”
The blood drained from his face, and his shoulders dropped at her admission.
What the fuck was he going to say?
But before he could summon a lie, a voice called out his name from behind, and it sure as hell wasn’t someone on their team.
And tonight just got a hell of a lot worse. “Carmen,” Roman said under his breath and slowly turned.
Carmen reached for him, pulling him in to kiss both his cheeks.
“Are you having me followed?” he asked when his mouth was near Carmen’s right ear.
“Happy coincidence.” Carmen pulled back and swept her gaze over him, blatantly soaking in his appearance before directing her attention on Harper.
“And what are you doing here?” Carmen’s dark brows contrasted her dyed blonde hair that fell in long waves to her waist. Her red pantsuit was most likely as expensive as his monthly rent back in New York City.
Knowing Carmen, probably more. She had married his cousin, Thiago, for his money, after all.
She’d rejected Roman almost twenty-one years ago because he turned down a position within the Riviera empire.
“Roman and I are colleagues, but tonight he’s doubling as protective security for me,” Harper spoke up for him as if she knew his words happened to be stuck in his throat. Then she quickly added, “And, of course, security for my boyfriend.”
Roman had anticipated a potential run-in with someone who knew him, which was why he’d opted for this particular cover story, taking advantage of their actual alias.
“I still can’t believe you work in security.” Carmen set her finger to his chest, her bright red nail trailing along the buttons beneath his black tie, and he did his best not to circle her wrist and remove her hand.
Carmen would have bodyguards nearby as well. And everyone in Barcelona knew Carmen Riviera, widow to Roman’s cousin. His family was revered like royalty. Hell, there was a statue of his grandfather in a park three streets over.
“Did you know your bodyguard is as rich as the devil? Well, he could be if he accepted the money offered to him.” Carmen finally removed her hand from his chest and rolled her tongue between her red lips, eyes focused on Harper as if she suspected a relationship between them. A Bodyguard movie kind of thing.
Without missing a beat, Harper edged a step forward, boldly taking on Carmen. “I had no clue the devil collected dollar bills rather than souls.”