My Bodyguard
Dana Marton

www.millsandboon.co.uk

With many thanks to Allison Lyons, Maggie Scillia and

Monica Reider for all their support and generous help.

Contents

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Prologue

Quantico, Virginia

FBI agent Brant Law pointed to the screen that showed the dark outline of a man’s profile. “Your target is someone who has managed to elude law enforcement for the last twenty years. He has no known picture. We haven’t been able to narrow his location to as much as a country. We don’t know his first name, or exactly how old he is.”

David Moretti, the team’s gorgeous lawyer, and Nick Tarasov, the commando guy who had seen to the four women’s training at Quantico, flanked him on either side.

Samantha Hanley watched the men with distrust, much like the three other women sitting around her.

In exchange for signing up for a top-secret mission, they were let out of Brighton Federal Correctional Institute. If they succeeded, their sentences would be canceled and their records cleared. She didn’t expect much to come of it—her luck didn’t usually work that way—but she’d been willing to take the risk.

Got her out of that cell, didn’t it?

“So what do you know?” Gina Torno, the excop who’d slipped and killed a man, spoke up.

“We know him as Tsernyakov. But we’re not sure if that’s his real name. He is one of the biggest illegal-weapons dealers in the world. We suspect he might have had some position in the old communist government in the USSR, might have been in the military—his access to large amounts of decommissioned weaponry points that way. He has ‘ears’ in every branch of law enforcement of just about every country. He has unlimited access to money. He is ruthless. If he thinks someone crossed him, he doesn’t wait for proof. He kills on first suspicion.”

“You want us to do what? Take him out?” Gina asked.

The air stuck in Sam’s lungs, the question making her realize what a small-timer, a thief that’s all, she was compared to some of the other women.

But Law said, “Getting a location on him would be enough.”

And she let herself relax a little.

The questions and answers flew back and forth.

“Your cover will be a consulting company that facilitates entrepreneurs in setting up small businesses. Miss Caballo will handle accounting, Miss Jones will do IT, Miss Torno will take care of security, including background checks on employees and Miss Hanley is the support person for the team.”

“I’m the freakin’ secretary? No way.” So what if she’d come from the streets? It didn’t mean the rest were better.

“You’re an undercover agent in a top-secret operation.” Law appeared sincere.

Didn’t sound that horrid when he put it like that. If she didn’t like how things unfolded, she could always take off. They would never find her. She was good at running.

Law showed them another slide, mission statement and other information on their made-up company.

“What else do you want us to do? A start-up consulting outfit isn’t going to attract much attention from the type Tsernyakov would hang with,” Gina challenged him again.

“Correct. Savall, Ltd. is your cover. What you’ll really be involved in is money laundering.”

“Are you asking us to engage in illegal activities?” Anita looked as stunned and morally outraged as a Girl Scout asked to kick puppies. A good actress, that one.

“You need to move in the same circles Tsernyakov’s associates move in. You’re authorized by the FBI and CIA to use any means necessary to get close to the man.”

Sam tugged at the silver rings in her eyebrow.

“This is not gonna come back to bite us, no matter what?” Gina asked.

“Correct.”

“You need us, people with authentic backgrounds instead of existing agents, because if we get lucky enough to catch this guy’s attention he’ll have us checked out and he knows people in the right places.” Gina kept pushing.

“Yes.”

“I’m guessing something like this would be a last-ditch effort. You tried before with your own men and didn’t succeed. Did he have them killed?” Gina shot back again.

“We lost a number of operatives.” Law moved on to the next slide, an explanation on what Savall, Ltd. did and the business in general.

“Miss Caballo was convicted for the embezzlement of nearly four million dollars that was never recovered. Your operations will imply that she had that money safely stashed away, met up with the rest of you in prison and decided to start a company that would grow her nest egg outside the United States.”

Way to go. Sam grinned at Anita, who was looking at Law with a tight-lipped expression.

“So what’s going to keep us from taking off once you cut us loose?”

Gina’s question claimed Sam’s full attention. This she wanted to hear.

“You’ll be under constant surveillance. For your own safety.” Law indicated Tarasov.

Commando-guy was going to babysit? Well, that was his burden. He was good, but he hadn’t seen Sam in action yet. She had evaded drunks and druggies and gangs and cops for too many years on the street to be held down by anyone.

“Any questions about this part?” Law asked.

Anita raised her hand. Raised her hand. Like, where were they, in middle school? She had to be faking all that ladylike respect for authority. Anyone who’d made off with four million couldn’t really be like that. “Has anyone managed to get close to this man and come back alive?”

The FBI agent looked at Moretti and Tarasov before addressing the women. “None so far,” he said.

Sam stared into the sudden silence in the room.

Either this was a chance to start over, or the biggest mistake she’d ever made in her life. And yet she was desperate to give it a try. Because she did want to start over. She was scared to death of always being thought of as a former street kid turned petty criminal. Would society ever let her climb out of that box?

And the most terrifying question of all: what if they did and she wasn’t capable?

Chapter One

Georgetown, Grand Cayman Island, three months later

“I don’t think it’s a good idea,” Sam Hanley said, standing by her desk in the middle of Savall, Ltd.’s office on Grand Cayman Island with David, Anita, Gina and Carly around her. “I don’t mind going alone.”

Going undercover at a week-long beach party at the closely guarded compound of a known criminal sounded scary, sure, but she was forever falling over her own feet near David Moretti and his mile-wide charisma. If she slipped at Cavanaugh’s, she could mess up everything. It would be better to go alone and be able to focus.

“Let’s keep in mind that David is an attorney and has no training for a situation like this,” Brant Law said over the speaker. “Cavanaugh is the only link to Tsernyakov that we’ve been able to turn up. There is no margin for error.”

He was patched in via phone, along with Nick Tarasov. Now that they were getting close to their target, the men had stepped back and were careful not to show themselves in the company of the four women. No sense arousing any suspicions and risk blowing their cover.

“David’s not the rough-and-tough type,” Nick said. “No offense.”

“None taken. I’m smooth. That’s what I do.” David smiled, clearly at ease with who he was and wasn’t, a trait Sam envied.

“Since Cavanaugh thinks David is your boyfriend, you two better be convincing.” Gina gave Sam an amused glance.

Hey, it could happen. In an alternate universe. Sam flashed back a defensive look, knowing David was miles out of her league.

Though Cavanaugh wasn’t supposed to meet David at all, they had run into him the day before and introductions had been unavoidable. So they’d been nervous, acting frazzled, and the man had thought they’d been coming from a lunchtime tryst, assuming they were romantically linked. And they hadn’t corrected him, because they had no better explanation handy.

Dark hair, sharp gray eyes, great smile—David had style, big-time, and he carried himself like a movie star, plenty of sex appeal rounding out the picture. He wore a dark suit despite the heat, some light wonder of silk. A man like him wouldn’t have given her the time of day under normal circumstances. Not that it mattered much. David was off-limits anyway. He had some supermodel wife and not the brainless kind, either, one of the better-known ones, co-owner of some posh NYC restaurant—a depressing piece of information she’d overheard from Brant Law.

You shouldn’t ever feel inferior, not to anyone. Sam drew herself tall. Anita had told her that. Maybe someday she would start to believe it.

Sick as it sounded, David’s inaccessibility was probably part of her attraction. She could safely have a crush on the man without having to fear that it would ever come to anything. She didn’t, at heart, want a relationship—wasn’t ready, wasn’t sure she ever would be. But it was a nice fantasy to think that she was capable.

“I think Cavanaugh likes you. I’ve seen him staring at you before. And he always asks about you when I call,” Anita said.

“Yeah, right.” Sam rolled her eyes as she shrugged off the suggestion.

“So we may assume that Cavanaugh invited Sam because he has a special interest in her?” David looked at Sam more carefully.

Her heart fluttered.

“He sure didn’t invite the rest of us,” Gina bit back.

“Because you weren’t there.” Sam gave her the duh look. David had been bringing legal papers to the island for Anita to sign, since her name had been cleared. He ran into Sam in the lobby and they came up together, bumped into Cavanaugh, who was coming from a meeting with Anita. The suave Frenchman was one of Tsernyakov’s right-hand men, their biggest break in the case so far. They chatted for a few minutes, and the next thing she knew, they were both invited to the man’s beach party.

“I still cannot comprehend why I was asked to participate along with Samantha.” David glanced around.

“Sam,” she corrected. She hated Samantha. Buck had called her that. She didn’t want to think about Buck, now or as long as she lived.

David Moretti made that easy. She couldn’t think whatsoever when he was around.

“Maybe he wants to check out the competition,” Gina supplied the answer to his question. “Maybe he thought Sam wouldn’t go without you.”

“He definitely thinks we’re together. He called him my David when he invited him.” Sam felt her face flush. Gina was probably right. Her proximity to David had made her nervous. And they had been surprised by Cavanaugh, who wasn’t supposed to be in the office that day. He’d been in the neighborhood and dropped in to iron out some details on a deal with Anita.

“Anyway,” Gina said, “I think the two of you going together is a good idea. It’ll hold Cavanaugh back a little. If he was all over Sam, she couldn’t get any substantial recon done.”

“I’ve never discharged a weapon in my life.” David brought up his hands in a defensive gesture. “What would I be required to do?”

“You’re not going there for a shoot-out.” Gina clicked her tongue with impatience. “But just in case anything goes wrong, you can learn. They all did.” She gestured toward Anita, Carly and Sam.

“By the day after tomorrow?” Nick asked over the phone.

“The answer is no,” Brant emphasized. “Someone who is not ready for this would only become a liability. The invitation is a huge step forward. Let’s not mess it up. It would have taken us weeks to set up some kind of covert entry, figuring out security, working blind. Sam will be allowed in and shown around, and given free rein of the grounds.”

“No pressure.” Sam tried to joke off the weight she was starting to feel.

“I want to go in,” Nick suggested, not for the first time.

“You can’t.” Brant shot him down again. “Neither of us can show. We have ties to law enforcement that go back too far. If he does any kind of check at all, we’ll pop up and the mission is over before we get within sniffing distance of Tsernyakov.”

There was a moment of silence then Brant spoke again. “Okay, David. How about your brother?”

Sam looked at him. He had a brother?

“I find it highly improbable that Reese would consent to participate.” He shook his head.

“I’ll just say David couldn’t make it and go alone.” Sam came to his defense. “A switch wouldn’t work, anyway, unless they’re twins. Cavanaugh had a pretty good look at him.”

David flashed her one of his mind-melting smiles as he nodded. “No worries there.”

Her eyes went wide. David Moretti had a twin. Two of him. Like one wasn’t overwhelming enough.

“So this brother of yours, he’s the rough-and- tough type?” Gina asked. “If he’s going with Sam, he’d better be able to provide protection.”

“He is a professional bodyguard,” Brant cut in. “He’s somewhat of a wild card from what I understand.”

David didn’t respond. His eyes were becoming somber, although the ever-present smile never faltered on his face.

“Sounds like a good alternative,” Anita said with caution. “I think it would be smart for Sam not to go alone.”

She didn’t mean it disparagingly, as if Sam wasn’t capable. Anita was simply the mothering type. She couldn’t help being concerned about others’ safety. It no longer bothered Sam. God knew, she had a serious deficiency when it came to being mothered. Still, she didn’t want to look as if she were scared of the mission, especially not in front of the others. She wasn’t ready to let them see any of the chinks in her armor. You showed weakness and the world steamrolled right on over you. It was a lesson she had learned well on the street.

“It’s a beach party. I’ll get a tan, check out the house, draw some blueprints, eavesdrop if I can. What can go wrong?” She shrugged as if her scalp weren’t tingling from nerves. “I can do it.” She didn’t feel nearly as sure as she sounded, but what was the alternative? Have the others figure out what a screwup she was, kick her off the team and send her back to the can?

“You can if you need to,” Brant said, apparently buying her bravado. “But it looks like we are getting a chance to put in a second man. It’s a freebie, a bonus. He could watch your back. You could go further, get more information.”

“I shouldn’t have introduced David by his real name.” Sam shook her head. She’d been kicking herself for that ever since. But who could think standing next to David Moretti?

“That was probably a good move actually,” Brant said. “Cavanaugh will have him investigated prior to the party. He wouldn’t let a complete stranger inside his compound. If he caught us in a lie, it would jeopardize the whole operation.”

A moment of silence passed, then Carly turned to David. “You think your brother could handle this?”

“He could, but he won’t. It’s not what he does. He escorts businessmen in politically unstable areas. He navigates the hot spots, retrieves kidnap victims, that kind of thing.” He hesitated.

“And?” Brant was asking. “This is not about preferences.” He paused for a moment. “I just received the latest report an hour ago, didn’t want to mention it until I had a chance for another look and a more careful analysis, but there is so much bustle in terrorist circles, the lines are glowing. Monies are moving, human resources are being re-shuffled. We’ve never seen this much activity.” He paused again. “Not even before 9/11.”

“Something major is about to go down,” Nick picked up where Brant had left off. “Since Tsernyakov rules the illegal-weapons market, chances are he’s in on it. If we can get to him, we might be able to stop whatever is about to happen.”

And Cavanaugh was their only link to Tsernyakov. Cavanaugh, who had just invited her to spend a week at his house. Everything rode on her. Odd doubts surfaced, one after the other. What if she wasn’t equal to the task?

At the beginning, she had taken the deal without much thought because it got her out of prison, and to show them all that she wasn’t scared of anything. But as she’d gotten to know the others over the past months, it was becoming more and more important not to let them down. She wanted to get Tsernyakov, for the team, and for herself, too, to prove that she could do something right for once.

“So, David, how about Reese?” Brant asked. “Without telling him everything, of course. Strictly on a need-to-know basis.”

“I’ll attempt to persuade him. However, the last time I requested a favor from him it turned out rather unfavorably. He was guarding one of my clients prior to court testimony and she allegedly shot him in the back. I don’t believe I can convince him to discard whatever he’s working on to come and bail me out again.”

“What’s a bullet in the back between brothers?” Gina joked.

David shook his head. “His exact words were, Never again. You don’t even have to ask.”

THERE WAS a wide-eyed wildness under her polite veneer. He wouldn’t have minded being the one who tamed her and broke her in. All four women at Savall, Ltd. were stunning—a superb combination with their lack of moral sensibility that was guaranteed by their records, ex-cons the lot of them. Their business was growing by leaps and bounds.

Samantha had something special about her that made her stand out from the others, however, and it wouldn’t let him rest, had grabbed him from the beginning. She had such an abundance of nervous energy humming through her. She was forever in motion.

Cavanaugh sat behind his desk and pictured harnessing Samantha Hanley’s energies for his own purposes. He didn’t care about the guy she’d been with. If anything, he added to the challenge. Rivals didn’t scare him, inside or outside of business.

Moretti was her lover at the moment, he was pretty sure. He’d picked up on some odd vibes between the two. They had that look of the guilty, especially Samantha, of people caught at something they shouldn’t have been doing.

He was an attorney. A crooked one if he was close to the women. Cavanaugh would bet a kilo of the best cheese he had flown in from Paris that morning that Moretti was in on the money laundering.

Everyone could always use another shady lawyer. Moretti could come in handy yet. He didn’t need to know if Samantha made a few detours to the party host’s bed.

And she would, Cavanaugh was pretty sure of that. Women always gravitated to the most powerful man in any group. It was part of their genetic conditioning, part of the primal program that ran in their DNA. A splendid bit of biology he regularly took advantage of.

“Last van just left,” Roberto said as he came through the door. Without knocking.

Cavanaugh shrugged off the moment of annoyance. The man was all brawn but little social sensibility. Any attempt to teach him the finer points of polite behavior and manners were a waste of energy. “Good. Make sure the place is cleaned up. We have visitors coming.”

“Sure, boss.”

“Anything else?”

“That’s it.”

“I’m ready for my lunch to be sent up,” he said and the man disappeared the next second—miracle of miracles, closing the door behind him.

He signed into one of his many bank accounts he kept under assumed names and filled out the online form to wire money to one of the many front businesses that, in a convoluted way, belonged to Tsernyakov. That one could be dangerous if he didn’t get his full cut of the business and on time. People in his organization who didn’t perform to expectations tended to disappear.

A few clicks on the keyboard concluded that business.

Cavanaugh leaned back in his chair, his lips pressed together. Having to give away his money always left a bad taste in his mouth. He shrugged it off and went back to thinking about Samantha Hanley in his bed, a much more pleasant topic.

SAM STOOD by her dresser and listened to the noises in the living room. Reese Moretti was making up the couch for himself. She’d never had a man in her apartment before. Up until a few weeks ago, she’d never had an apartment.

She took a deep breath and walked out with the pillow and blanket she was holding. Better do it before she lost her nerve.

“Here.” She held out the bedding and gestured toward the couch. “Sorry, it’s the best I can do.”

All the women on the team got one-bedroom apartments. It hadn’t seemed necessary to spring for more. They spent most of their time at the office or snooping around at the various business functions the island’s elite hosted, trying to figure out who else might be doing business with Tsernyakov. The man had money coming to the island through a maze of channels. They couldn’t just sit back now that they had Cavanaugh. With a guy like Tsernyakov, one needed many backup plans.

“The powder room is all yours,” she said, not mentioning the obvious, that to shower he would need to use her bathroom. She’d spent an hour that morning cleaning it.

She hadn’t grown up in an orderly environment and at times had trouble remembering to put things away. She was improving, though. And she had paid special attention for Reese Moretti’s sake.

The idea was for the two of them to spend as much time together as possible, since, in twenty-four hours, they would have to sell Cavanaugh on the idea that they were romantically linked. That made her more nervous than the rest of the mission put together. They needed to get to know each other and become comfortable with the situation in a hurry.

“Thanks.” He glanced up, looking just like David, and yet different in so many ways. He tested the couch, wearing the same grim expression as he had since his arrival a couple of hours ago—one of the many differences between the twins. David didn’t do grim.

The azure-blue Naugahyde monster that came with the apartment was hard as a chunk of sidewalk. “Sorry,” she said again.

“Don’t sweat it. I just spent a month sleeping in the bush in Africa.”

She couldn’t picture David, always dressed in some sleek silk suit, say anything like that. “Under a bush?” She’d spent plenty of nights on the street; she could sympathize.

But he shook his head with a semiamused look. “In the bush. It’s an expression. Just means out in the wild, wherever you find a convenient piece of ground when night falls.”

Reese dropped the bedding at the end of the couch. His movements weren’t as elegant as David’s. He was more soldierlike, watchful and alert, his dark gray eyes penetrating. There was effortless strength to everything he did, his posture, his gaze; it even came through in his voice. He was clearly used to giving orders, had grilled her for a good hour after the briefing he had received from Nick Tarasov and Brant Law.

After spending most of the evening with him, skirting him warily in the small apartment, she hadn’t gotten a handle on him yet.

He sat and kicked off his safari boots, then leaned back on the couch, rubbed a hand over his face as he looked around once again, his mouth set in a tight line of disapproval.

David Moretti’s smooth and easygoing ways made her frazzled, but it took Reese’s brusque manner to get her really nervous. David had that benign, gentlemanly air about him. Reese didn’t.

“You can have the bedroom if you want.” The words came out of her mouth without thought or intention.

“Sofa’s fine.”

“Is something wrong?” Now, why would she ask that? She should have just walked away. Her nerves made her mouth run.

He watched her carefully for a long moment before he responded. “I spent the last four months in Uganda between two rebel factions, risking my team for a man who turned out to have been dead the whole time. We came back with seven gunshot injuries between the four of us.”

Clearly, he didn’t want to be here. She wondered how Brant and Nick had managed to talk him into it. From the look on his face, he wasn’t going to be a lot of fun to be around.

A single week, that was all. She could handle that standing on one foot. She’d been forced to put up with worse company in the past. The years she had spent at Brighton Federal Correctional Institute came to mind.

“Okay, I’ll leave you to get some rest.” She backed toward her bedroom.

“We don’t have much time. We’d better get to work,” he said, and when she looked at him blankly, added, “We are supposed to get to know each other.”

What did he call the hour-long interrogation he’d put her through earlier in the kitchen? Or was he going to finally reveal more about himself? She drew a deep breath and walked back, sat gingerly in the armchair opposite him.

“Nick Tarasov tells me you’re good with a gun,” he said with some undisguised doubt in his voice. “He seemed confident that you could handle yourself in a hand-to-hand tussle, too, in your own weight group.” He looked her over as if he was measuring her ounce by ounce and ended up with an expression that said she wasn’t quite up to snuff.

She resisted the urge to pull herself taller. “I went through the training” was all she said.

He raised a dark eyebrow. “So you think you can handle whatever comes your way?”

“I’m not stupid.”

The eyebrow went back down. There might have been a shadow of approval that crossed his face before he put forward his next question. “How long have we supposedly known each other?”

“Three months.” That was how long she’d been out. Where had the time gone?

“How much nudity are you comfortable with?” His gaze was sharp on her face, unflinching.

The question brought her up short. What did that have to do with anything? And yet, after a second, she had to admit that the question was relevant. Cavanaugh thought Reese—pretending to be David—was her lover. She swallowed, her already frazzled nerves buzzing as if she were undergoing electroshock therapy. “Very little.”

When you spent your teenage years on the streets, you strove to cover as much as possible, look as un-appealing as possible, as scary as possible. It had been part of her defense mechanism. She’d hidden behind the darkest of Goth looks, complete with chains and studded chokers, and complemented it all with a tongue and gaze as sharp as razors.

Prison had taken away most of her props. Anita had been working on her to make her see the lack of necessity for the rest. She wasn’t quite there yet, but even Sam had to admit that she had mellowed. She was no longer frightened of everything, so in turn she no longer wanted to frighten anyone who so much as looked at her.

The concept of nudity, however, especially in the same context with Reese, scared her. She searched for a cutting remark to disguise that fact.

“We are going to a beach party,” he said dryly before she could come up with one.

She had an image of topless cover models frolicking in the surf. Knowing Cavanaugh, it wasn’t impossible.

“How far are you willing to go for this mission of yours?” Reese laid down the challenge.

Putting it that way got her back up. “I’ll do what I have to.”

“Good.” He nodded and extended his arm toward her. “Then come and sit on my lap.”

It was the wrong thing to say. She was on her feet the next second. “Touch me and lose the hand.” The warning tore from her throat, hoarse and hard as a fist.

He tilted his head and waited a beat. “For the next three days, we are supposed to pretend that we are madly in lust. How do you think we’ll pull that off when you look like you’re ready to jump out of your skin even with three feet between us?”

She drew some air and let a couple of seconds tick by, straightened her back. Okay, so she’d overreacted. He wasn’t about to jump her. And he was right, once they got to Cavanaugh’s mansion, it would look suspicious if they never touched.

She had to make herself get over it.

She fisted then relaxed her hands, trying to swallow the memories in vain. She knew her face was getting whiter with every inch she moved toward him. Her muscles tensed. She stopped in front of him and fought to shrug off the temporary paralysis that clutched her.

Stop it.

This was stupid. He was Reese Moretti, the man who was going to keep her safe. He wasn’t Buck. He wasn’t like Buck at all.

Pretend, she told herself. Pretend it doesn’t freak you out so bad that you can barely breathe.

She looked into his face and could no longer find the disdain he’d shown since his arrival. He was watching her with a darkening expression.

“Who was it?” he asked quietly, through clenched teeth.

She could have pretended not to understand what he was asking, but she didn’t have the energy. All the starch had gone out of her, leaving her feeling weak.

“My stepfather,” she said, and couldn’t stop the images in her head.

Buck Cossner drank. When her mother wasn’t home, he drank a lot. And when he was drunk, he got mad. When he got mad, he hit her. Then he would feel bad and want to console her, no matter how hard she tried to tell him she was okay, no matter that she never cried. She’d been more afraid of his consoling than the beating. It’d always started with, I’m sorry, honey. Come sit on my lap.

Chapter Two

Reese stood, and she cringed, even though there was nothing threatening in his movements. If anything, he seemed an island of calm and strength. Even the bad-tempered look that she’d thought permanent was replaced by a softer expression.

“Take it easy.”

A part of her was staring at the transformation, at how handsome he was without the drawn-together brows and his mouth set in a flat, displeased line, how even the gray of his eyes changed. But the rest of her couldn’t help backing away a step. In a moment of conflicting emotions, instinct honed by years of bad experiences trumped everything. Goose bumps she couldn’t control rose on the bare skin of her arms.

A muscle jumped in his cheek. “Is that why you ran away from home?” Then, when she didn’t respond, he said, “I read your file.”

She nodded and they stood there like that, a foot or so between them. He wouldn’t take his eyes off her.

And God, that felt good. Because when you lived on the streets and became one of the “undesirables” of society, the first thing everyone did was avert their eyes. Nobody wanted to see the filth or desperation, nobody wanted to risk a pang of guilt, that they should feel uncomfortable. She had spent years without ever being acknowledged by anyone except those who sought to use or abuse her. She’d been a “problem,” and all people wanted was for problems to go away.

But there was no pity in Reese Moretti’s gaze, nor anything remotely judgmental.

She took a breath, feeling her lungs open up. “What are we supposed to do?”

His shoulders were relaxed, as well as his commando stance. The earlier bluster seemed to disappear from his body language, but some indelible hardness remained. He considered her for a moment. “Nothing if you’re not comfortable with this. We’ll find a way around it.”

And maybe arouse Cavanaugh’s suspicion and mess up the whole operation. No way she was going to be the reason this mission failed.

The very fact that Reese gave her a way out made it possible for her to consider letting him closer.

“I’m going to have to get used to human contact.” It was the healthy thing to do. She needed to get over the past in order to move into a better future. Anita had told her that during one of the woman’s numerous pep talks, and Sam could see now that Anita had been right.

She took a deep breath. “Maybe we could start with…” She hesitated, and he waited. “Maybe you could just put your hands on me.”

He raised a hand to her arm, keeping his gaze on her face the whole time. “I can’t promise not to do anything you don’t like in the next few days, but I promise I’m not ever going to do anything that would hurt you.”

She nodded, nervous enough from his touch to jump all the way to the moon.

His other hand reached up to her other arm, and he rubbed the goose bumps away with his thumb. “Everything is different now. Back then, you did what you had to. You got yourself out of a bad situation. You survived. You are a hundred percent stronger now.” He gave her an encouraging smile.

An actual smile. On Reese Moretti.

She was so startled, she almost believed him. She had always thought herself weak for running away instead of staying and fighting. Weak and stupid. Smart people didn’t end up on the street.

A survivor. After knowing the worst of the filth about her, how could he see her like that? How could he still touch her?

She expected the cursory squeeze of polite support, then for him to let go. Instead, he drew her closer, his demeanor nonthreatening, non-sexual. And yet she felt stiff, couldn’t relax, not even in response to the comfort he was offering.

Then, through the acute sense of discomfort, another feeling seeped through slowly. Surprise. His solid strength seemed like a bulwark against the world rather than suffocating restraints as it had with other men. If only she could accept it.

It’s crazy. Her defenses rose. She knew next to nothing about the man.

But that inner voice that had shouted “run, run, run” for the last decade, now stayed curiously silent. After a second or two, she leaned against his shoulder and let him tighten his arms around her. Not because she was beginning to feel comfortable, but because she knew that was what a normal person would do. As long as she was aware of the normal responses and could fake them, they would be okay.

“How are you doing?” His voice was surprisingly gentle.

“Fine,” she lied.

Truth was, she was unable to accept physical comfort from another person.

Anita had tried, Anita Caballo, with her over-developed sense for mothering and saving all who were around her. But Sam had always resisted even the simplest hug. She didn’t trust women any more than men. Her own mother had taken off and left her with Buck at the end.

“I’m here to help you,” Reese said.

“I know.” She drew a deep breath and suddenly felt her eyes burning. What was wrong with her?

“You’re nervous about tomorrow?” He pulled back a little. “What if I kissed your forehead?” But he didn’t move.

A second or two passed before she realized he was waiting for permission.

“Okay.”

His eyes were full of encouragement as he leaned over and pressed his lips above her eyebrow. He stayed there for a second before pulling away.

“See? It’s not that difficult. You just have to trust me.”

He was asking the impossible.

“I’ll try,” she said anyway. “Don’t take it personally. It’s—”

“Don’t worry about it. I know,” he said.

And from the look on his face she got a feeling that he really did. “How?”

“My job is to bring people back. Go up against rebels, bandits, whomever. I’ve done a few pseudo religious sects and gangs, too, over the years. I’ve seen both men and women who’d gone through hell before we got to them.”

They stood in silence for a while as she tried to picture the kind of work he did, the danger of it. The idea that he would do that for strangers was stunning. When she’d lived on the streets, every day she prayed for safety. She’d done dangerous things, but only out of necessity. At the end, prison had been a relief.

And look where she’d ended up now.

What if joining this mission was the worst decision she’d made yet? What if she messed up and let them all down? What if all she ended up proving, to herself and the others, was that she was a lost cause?

“How about if we just watch some TV?” he asked after a while. “You can sit by me and we’ll hold hands. You can put your head on my shoulder when you get comfortable.”

She nodded and sat.

He plopped down next to her and took her hand. “We can’t have you jump and look ready to run every time we brush up against each other.”

“I know. I can do this.” She didn’t want him to think she was a total incompetent idiot who was unsuitable for the mission.

“I know you can. Just relax.”

It helped that he was doing just that, leaning back and surfing through the channels as if he were in his own living room—wherever he lived when he wasn’t sleeping in the bush.

He settled on the National Geographic Channel. “Okay with you?”

“Sure.” She watched an interview with a woman who took in orphaned lion cubs.

They were cute feeding from a bottle. She let her tightly wound muscles loosen up a little. The cubs grew and needed to be taught to hunt. That took a while. Life was a learning experience for everyone, everywhere. Sam made herself lean against the man next to her, conscious of their bodies touching, not the least comfortable, but making herself do it all the same. If she could learn to pretend, she would be happy with that.

She didn’t think she could ever forget enough to have the real thing, to be able to relax around a man.

TSERNYAKOV GLANCED at his timetable and ticked off another task done. Next was calling in all debts people owed him. If they didn’t pay now, they sure as hell wouldn’t be able to pay next month this time. The clock was ticking.

He needed all that he could get his hands on, and not just the many currencies he did business in. After the terrorist attack, as economies collapsed, inflation was likely to soar. Whoever couldn’t pay up, he would persuade to substitute hard cash with land, equipment, gold, anything potentially valuable.

He looked at his mile-long to do list, resenting that he had to handle all the work when he employed thousands. But this was information he couldn’t trust to anyone.

COME ON, SAM. Where are you? Reese glanced toward the main house while keeping a smile on his face and his full attention, seemingly, on the blonde in front of him. The beach party was a lot smaller than they had expected. They’d figured over a hundred people. There were only about thirty, scattered in small groups on the sand.

“So what more could I do to avoid taxes?” Eva Hern didn’t bat her eyes, but made long, sweeping moves with her eyelashes, many of which were the glue-on kind.

Who wore fake eyelashes to the beach? And for heaven’s sake, why? He tried not to look at the little clumps of adhesive on her eyelids. Maybe he was out of step with fashion. He had no time to socialize.

“You could give all your money to charity,” he said smoothly.

They both laughed. Then he did his best to give an answer like his brother, David, the attorney whom he was impersonating, would. “I can’t really tell you anything without looking at your particular situation. I’d be happy to get together with you sometime next week in your office to chat about this.”

Judging from the woman’s widening smile, he’d given the right answer.

“I’ll call you. Definitely,” she said and wiggled her shoulders. She swam topless like most of the female guests, but had put on a see-through beach shirt when she’d decided to come over and chat him up.

He made a point not to look below her eyes. It seemed to disappoint and frustrate her enough to keep her constantly moving, from pose to pose.

He glanced at his watch. Sam had been gone for twenty minutes.

Too long.

She was supposed to get in and out as fast as she could. The plan was for her to take pictures of the Cavanaugh mansion’s back entry and kitchen with the micro camera she wore disguised as a large ring. She was pretending to be searching for a bottle of mineral water as they were out of “gentle” at the grass-hut bar outside.

Another thing he had missed somehow, that mineral water now came in three varieties: still (pink cap), carbonated (blue cap) and gently carbonated (green cap)—some weird stuff Cavanaugh had apparently brought in from Europe. He thought of all those times when he and his men had drunk from puddles in the jungle or sucked moisture out of roots in the desert. Different worlds for sure.

“How long are you staying on the island?” Eva was asking.

“Maybe another week,” he said. He certainly had enough work to get back to.

Except for Sam, who’d turned out to be okay, he couldn’t wait to be rid of this job. Going into an operation without a gun left him unsettled. They were armed only with a cell phone and a “secret weapon” that had come from one of the men on his team, Tony Ferrarella, who, in between missions, spent a lot of time in his lab, exercising his inventor genius. The can was a prototype, only with Reese by chance when he’d gotten the call from his brother and hopped the first plane to the island. He wished they had used it today. He couldn’t stand not knowing what was going on in there.

The small can of what looked like breath-freshener spray contained microtransmitters too small to be seen by the naked eye. Each were too weak to work alone, but sprayed on a smooth surface they worked together to transmit voice over a hundred feet or so. They were undetectable, but highly vulnerable, good for about twenty-four hours, after which the fine sheen of dust that would naturally accumulate silenced them forever.

He caught movement from the corner of his eye at the mansion. Cavanaugh was walking out with Sam.

Reese was poised to come to her aid if she needed him, but then Sam laughed and linked her arm with Cavanaugh’s.

Didn’t they just look like the best of friends? What in hell had she been doing in there all this time? He reached to his chest and pretended consternation at the fact that his cell phone wasn’t hanging there. He glanced toward the beach and the towel he’d been occupying, then flashed an apologetic smile to Eva.

“I’m sorry. I seem to have left my cell in the room. I’d better go up there and get it. I’m expecting a call from a client.”

“You couldn’t stop working just for a day or two?” Her eyes promised all kinds of incentives, although she was here at the party with her boyfriend, Derrick something or other.

“Occupational hazard,” he said. “See you around?”

“You bet.” She looked only slightly put out as she headed toward the beach.

She had checked out legit. He’d called in the names of the guests to Brant as soon as he’d had them.

Reese set his course toward one of the two guest bungalows that stood on either side of the Cavanaugh estate. Sam and he had been housed in the upstairs suite of the smaller. He’d seen plenty of fancy before: most of his clients had been big-time businessmen, and he’d spent time in their homes. Sam seemed uncomfortable, however, by the effortless splendor.

Not that she needed anything more to make her feel self-conscious. The woman was a bundle of nerves as it was. He wished he could think up something that would set her at ease and give her some sense of security even if just for half an hour. Then again, the middle of a dangerous recon mission was probably not the right time to relax. He really hoped she was going to be able to work out her issues and move beyond her past. When he looked at her, beyond the beauty, he saw plenty of courage and potential.

He wished he hadn’t let his distaste for the FBI’s strong-arm tactics show at the beginning, behaving like the morose bastard he could be when something rubbed him wrong. But he had a new client halfway across the world he was supposed to save. And would the FBI just give him the information he needed to do his job? Hell, no. They dangled it in front of him, forcing him to take on this mission first, stuff that had nothing to do with him. He’d been annoyed and let it show, and had probably scared her, which had been the flat-out stupidest thing to do considering her past and the fact that they were supposed to be a team.

He slipped inside the house and went up the stairs, waited for her in the living room. Be nice.

But then he laid eyes on her slim figure as she came in and it hit him what Cavanaugh could have done to her, alone in the big house. How the hell was he supposed to protect her when his hands were tied by the instructions he’d been given—protect without interfering. What kind of insane guideline was that?

“What took you so long?” He could have kicked himself at how harsh his voice sounded.

She cast him a wary glance. “I ran into Philippe.”

He had checked their room for listening devices the first day they’d gotten there and rechecked again every single day. So far it seemed their host wasn’t snooping on his guests, so they could speak freely.

“I saw.” He hadn’t missed the prolonged looks earlier either and the always too-bright smiles, Cavanaugh’s frequent excuses at conversation. He couldn’t blame the man, but he wasn’t going to let whatever the guy thought would happen go anywhere. Sam didn’t need that kind of harassment.

He hadn’t been too fond of the mission at the beginning, but he was really starting to hate it now that he’d met Cavanaugh and his goons. Any way he looked at it, the women were being used in a dangerous game.

Sam skirted by him toward the kitchen, and his gaze fell to her lower back, to the tattoo of a rose closed tight in a bud, the short stem having some pretty nasty-looking thorns. She stopped and drew a breath, turned to look him in the eye. He recognized the moment for what it was, her decision not to let him intimidate her. She had plenty of sheer guts, this one. He put the frown away.

“So I saw Eva keeping you company,” she remarked with a smirk before continuing to the kitchen to search the fridge. She ate on the hour, every hour. Not that any of it stuck to her.

“She wanted free tax advice,” he said, meaning to move away, but his attention stayed fixed on Sam.

She wore a tasteful bikini that covered everything and still managed to entice more than all the bare flesh on the sand. She had hair a startling color of Irish red, falling in soft waves to just below her ear, as well as big, luminous green eyes shining out of her face. She had no shortage of guys coming over to meet her on the beach.

She played along, even flirting on occasion, although he was pretty sure that was all bravado and she couldn’t have followed through if her life depended on it. She was uncomfortable around men with hunger in their eyes, but was good at hiding that fact and never let her unease stop her from doing her job.

He made a point of sticking by her as much as he could. He would have thought the two of them coming together, rooming together, sent a message to the others, but it seemed the standard rules of society were not strictly kept on private beaches.

“So what have you got?” he asked, returning to the business at hand. He tossed himself into the armchair by the window, slumped deep, arms and legs open, his body language as easygoing as he could make it.

She seemed to relax in response, leaning against the counter. “He showed me around downstairs.” She grinned, looking pretty pleased with herself.

“Pictures?”

“I got everything.” She licked some thick sugary cream off her bottom lip. “You sure you don’t want one?” She extended the plate of goodies toward him.

He shook his head.

“Okay, almost everything.” She stuck the plate back into the fridge. “There were a couple of closed doors he didn’t elaborate on.”

“We’ll start our search there. You should put on more sunscreen.” Her shoulder was getting a pink tinge to it. She was fair skinned. He looked away.

“I should try to get back in. I could pretend to need extra towels.”

“The guesthouse has its own linen closet.”

“I’ll say I couldn’t find it.”

They’d been shown around a couple of hours ago, upon their arrival, but the place really was big enough to forget some of it. Still, if she kept coming up to the mansion, someone might think it suspicious.

“We do it together. Tonight,” he said.

THE DRINKING PICKED up as the sun went down. Cavanaugh had brought in a local band to play Caribbean tunes mixed with popular French music. He spent a fair amount of time with his guests, but disappeared inside his house now and then.

Was he conducting business? Did he have something big going down? Was it connected to Tsernyakov?

Sam glanced across the sand and her gaze met Reese’s. He nodded slowly. It was near midnight. Time for them to get started.

She walked up to him and stepped behind him as he chatted with a small group, put her arms around his waist and leaned against his back. She was comfortable with this much.

He covered her hands with his own. “Hi.”

She tugged on reflex, expecting to feel trapped, then caught herself and went still. “Want to go for a walk on the beach?”

He turned and smiled at her. “Sure.” He extricated himself from the conversation and grabbed on to her hand as he led her toward where the waves met the white sand glowing in the moonlight.

“Have you seen Cavanaugh?” she asked. She’d been wandering around the property, trying to spot him for the last hour.

“He went out on the speedboat with a couple of women a while ago.”

So that had been him. She’d been too far away at the time to see.

The breeze was gentle and still warm, the sand soft under her bare feet. Now and then she had to jump to get out of the way of an overreaching wave. The flower print, wrap-style skirt hung to her ankles, stroking her skin with each step.

That she would feel comfortable in clothes like these surprised her, having dressed for years in nothing but black, accessorizing with chains, spiking her hair, building an armor around her from clothes and attitude. She didn’t miss the whole Goth look. Odd that she couldn’t remember when she’d begun feeling comfortable without it.

The breeze blew the material of her skirt against Reese’s legs from time to time. She adjusted her hand in his. Now that she was more comfortable around him, she didn’t mind the physical contact as much. She could see why some women thought it nice.

A sense of contentedness filled her without warning. Then, self-consciousness. Was this how normal people felt when they were out on a moonlit night? The thought brought a sudden, breathtaking need for life, her life, to be as normal as that. Could she ever achieve it? What would it take to make it happen?

“Let’s start walking up.” Reese led her toward the line of palm trees that separated Cavanaugh’s property from his neighbor’s ostentatious palace.

The trees widened into a little grove with a few hammocks strung between the trunks. If anyone was watching them, a man and a woman heading that way would look anything but suspicious.

Another couple had thought of utilizing the area already, it seemed. One of the hammocks was occupied and swaying suggestively. They passed in a wide arc around it.

A stone path began at the other end of the grove, leading to the pool. They took it.

“Should we spend a few minutes here?” she asked, nervous all of a sudden.

He put his arms around her and turned her in a circle, pretending to pay attention only to her, while effectively surveying their surroundings. “I don’t think that’s necessary. Nobody seems to be watching.”

They rounded the pool and reached the terrace attached to the main house. It was circled with stone columns and potted palms and was set up for dining, with elegantly carved teak chairs and tables.

“Let’s settle down here for a second.” Reese pulled a chair out for her. “See any of Cavanaugh’s men?”

She scanned the area. “No.”

“Good. Me, neither.” He nodded toward the French doors upstairs, which opened onto the balcony. Sheer white curtains moved in and out in the breeze. “Point of entry?”

She glanced to the downstairs entrance and the camera above it. There was nothing above the upstairs door. They probably figured anyone trying to get up there would be recorded by the downstairs system anyway.

Reese reached over the table and took her hand, rubbed his thumb over it before he stood. She got to her feet and let him pull her against him.

“So, what’s the plan?” she asked into his neck.

“We’re going to make out behind that column.” He turned her a little then was moving that way already.

Even knowing he didn’t really mean it, her blood sped to a rush. She swallowed and tried to act nonchalant, knowing that she could fool the cameras, but she wasn’t fooling him.

He began by rubbing his lips along the side of her cheek. She stopped in her tracks from the shock of sensation and realized that was just what he wanted. He nudged her against the column gently, keeping his gaze on hers, making sure he wasn’t pushing her panic button. And she couldn’t be scared knowing just how much energy he spent on making sure she was comfortable.

He looked up then stood still for a second, seeming to be plotting something.

“The column and this potted palm are keeping us from view of the camera,” she said.

“Right. You’re going to climb me to get up to the balcony.”

She closed her eyes for a moment. She didn’t mind the breaking-and-entering part. Climbing Reese Moretti was another matter. A couple of seconds passed before she could say, “Okay.”

“Be careful,” he said and put his hands on her waist, then he was lifting her.

The wraparound skirt opened conveniently, giving her plenty of room to maneuver with her legs, using her feet for support on Reese’s shoulders. Then her hands closed around the railing and she pulled. He pushed his palms under her soles and helped her up.

“Okay,” she whispered and crept to the French doors for a look before returning to him. “Nobody’s here.”

He stood by the column, his hands braced on each side. His shoulders were wide enough so the camera would see those. As long as he stayed that way, anyone watching on the security monitor would think he had her in front of him, pinned.

“I’ll be right back.” She crossed the balcony again and went in low, finding herself in what looked to be a spare bedroom for the mansion.

She gave it a quick check and took a few pictures with her camera ring before moving on. She poked her head out the door. If someone saw her, she could pretend she had snuck into the mansion to seek out Cavanaugh. With Cavanaugh’s interest in a wide variety of women, her presence wouldn’t require any further explanation for his staff.

But the hallway was empty. She stepped outside.

There were motion sensors in the corner of the ceiling, but they had figured the system wouldn’t be turned on until the fun for the day ended and the guests were settled into their bungalows for the night. Since the room she’d breached was at the end of the hallway, she had only one way to go: forward. Two doors stood on her right, one on her left. She cracked each as she passed by. One was a home gym, one a bathroom, another a cleaning closet.

The hallway came out to an open area with cathedral ceilings and a view to a sprawling living room below that she remembered from her earlier visit. She stayed near the wall so she wouldn’t be seen if someone walked in downstairs.

She put her hand on the next door and tried to push it open. She couldn’t. This is it. The place wouldn’t be locked if Cavanaugh wasn’t hiding something here. She pulled out the micro tool kit that had been hidden in the ostentatious, shell-covered barrette in her hair.

The door had two locks, one built into the doorknob and one at about eye level. Trickier than what she had been used to when she had lived on the streets and had, at times, been forced to break the law for food. Or while in foster care, when she’d had to break out of the various rooms, basements, attics and toolsheds she’d been locked inside. The fancy tool kit felt foreign, too, although she had been practicing.

She was fairly certain she’d gotten the top lock open, but she wasn’t getting anywhere with the one on the bottom. Something was clicking. She had to be on the right track. Then it hit her. Both pegs had to be turned at the same time.

And then she was in, careful to open the door only a few inches should there be motion sensors inside. She put her eye to the crack.

The room was windowless, pitch-dark other than the light filtering through the small opening of the door. She could make out a desk with a computer, filing cabinets against the walls, a couple of fax machines and a giant shredder. A red laser light cut through the darkness less than an inch from the door’s edge.

She could see only half the room like this, but to open the door enough to stick her head inside would set off the alarm. It was a miracle she hadn’t set if off already.

She took a small step back just as the sound of feet drumming on stairs hit her ears.

Chapter Three

Even with her heart doing backflips in her throat, she had enough presence of mind to lock the door behind her exactly as she had found it. Then she took off down the hallway. She didn’t make it to the end room.

As Sam turned back, she could see the tops of the heads of the men who were coming up. The cleaning closet seemed her only option. She practically hurled herself inside.

The space was dark and tight, smelling like bleach and citrus-scented cleaning solution. She stayed still, not daring to make any noise. The door didn’t block much. She could hear everything the two men were saying.

“Saw the blonde? Man, she’s stacked. Wouldn’t mind if she tripped and fell on top of me.”

“What’s stopping you from tripping and falling on top of her?” The other one laughed.

“Her husband is here.”

“I bet Philippe had her already.”

“So what?” The first guy sounded annoyed. “He’s the boss. He always gets what he wants.”

Dissent in the ranks? She stored the information for later. They never knew what could come in handy down the road.

A door opened and closed, then she could no longer hear the men. How long should she wait? Would they stay wherever they’d gone, or would they be coming back in a few seconds? She was prepared to act like an Oscar winner if she was caught, but it would have been much better for her and the mission if she made her way out of the mansion unseen.

Sam emerged from her hiding place with caution. The hallway was empty. She made her way to the back bedroom as fast as she could.

She pushed the door open and whispered, “Philippe,” to play out her role of hussy-in-search-of-illicit-pleasure, but nobody was in there. Looked like the men had gone to the gym. She let out the breath she’d been holding, then she was through the room and out on the balcony, lowering herself into Reese’s waiting arms.

“Everything okay?” He didn’t look pleased at having had to stay behind.

“Found his office. I’ll have to get back in there again.”

“He’s right. Enough is enough.” A stranger’s voice came from around the corner. The next second, one of Philippe’s men, Roberto, rounded the building, talking on his cell.

She pressed against Reese and lifted her mouth to his, keeping her eyes open only enough to see the guy slow in her peripheral vision.

Reese didn’t miss a beat. He let his lips linger. She was getting familiar with the feel of them, not exactly at ease but not scared stiff, either. He got hold of her hand and moved forward, pulling her behind him. They went only as far as the nearest hammock, where he fell back into the comfort of the ropes and pulled her on top of him.

Oh.

She held on as they swayed, feeling awkward, the urge to flee coming on.

He must have felt her body stiffen because he went completely still. “So this stepfather of yours, he’s still alive?” he whispered, his voice low and tight.

What did it matter? “No.” Her lawyer had told her that. Since she’d been underage at the time of her arrest, the court had attempted to reach her mother and the man she was still married to on paper. Her stepfather was gone. Her mother couldn’t bother to come to her arraignment or her trial, even though a parent who pledged to resume supervision could have eased her sentence.

A few silent moments passed, then he ran a calming hand down the back of her arm, adjusting his body to balance them, to make her more comfortable. “Is Cavanaugh’s goon still here?” The way they were positioned, he couldn’t see for himself.

She looked from the corner of her eye. “Standing and staring.”

“Might as well relax. We could be here for a while.”

He linked his arms behind her waist. Oddly, it didn’t make her freeze in terror. She was getting used to him, to his touch, to his scent, beginning to accept the idea he meant no harm. That she was able to relax around him, something she hadn’t been able to say about another man for nearly a decade, took her by surprise each and every time.

He was different from any guy she had ever known. She didn’t want to think about that, wasn’t ready to consider the implications.

“I didn’t get far,” she whispered, needing to return her thoughts to the job. She’d mapped a single hallway—didn’t even get to search the office, nor go downstairs to those doors Cavanaugh hadn’t shown her earlier.

“Yeah, but you hit pay dirt. I’m guessing we’ll find some interesting things in Philippe’s desk when we get the chance. We know where it is now. We know what’s in the room, the layout.”

“I saw two guys who were up there to use Cavanaugh’s private gym. Can’t remember seeing them before, but we probably haven’t seen all his goons yet. They seem to be working in shifts.”

“Glad they didn’t see you.” His hot breath tickled her ear, so she shifted position, setting the hammock swinging again. Shoes crunched gravel underfoot. Roberto was moving on.

He seemed to be an important member of Cavanaugh’s security team. He was always visible, always watching, making his rounds. He seemed to take himself as seriously as if he were part of the Secret Service.

Sam lifted her head and looked around. “Should I try to get back in now?”

“Not tonight.” Reese sat with her. “It might look too suspicious if we got caught loitering this close to the house twice in the same night. We have the whole week to get what we want. Let’s not blow anything the first day.”

She slipped out of the hammock and he came after her, looped his arms around her waist. She made herself relax against him and held the pose, allowing him time to check for any danger.

None of Cavanaugh’s men were in sight.

“Let’s go down to the beach,” he said as he broke away and took her hand. “We’ll see what we can find out about Philippe from his friends.”

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