Once she got rid of Riley she’d be safe. Wouldn’t she?

His hand dropped to her shoulder, and she twisted her head around. He slid his fingers up to her throat, his eyes now a dark blue clouding over like a stormy sea. Her pulse ticked wildly beneath his touch.

“Be careful, beach girl.” Then he cupped the back of her head and drew her close, sealing his lips over hers.

The quick kiss didn’t feel like goodbye. It felt like a protective stamp that she’d carry with her forever.

She managed an inarticulate goodbye as she scrambled out of the car. Walking toward the police station, she didn’t dare turn around even though she could feel Riley’s gaze searing her back.

She hoped the police could help her even though she didn’t trust them. She hoped for once they could reassure her and make her feel safe.

As safe as she felt with Riley.

Navy Seal Security
Carol Ericson

To K.F. and L.F., the best Los Angeles County

Junior Lifeguards on the beach.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Carol Ericson lives with her husband and two sons in Southern California, home of state-of-the-art cosmetic surgery, wild freeway chases, palm trees bending in the Santa Ana winds and a million amazing stories. These stories, along with hordes of virile men and feisty women, clamor for release from Carol’s head. It makes for some interesting headaches until she sets them free to fulfill their destinies and her readers’ fantasies. To find out more about Carol, her books and her strange headaches, please visit her website at www.carolericson.com, “where romance flirts with danger.”

CAST OF CHARACTERS

Amy Prescott—A San Diego County Lifeguard, Amy gets embroiled in a drugs-for-arms deal that brings her past crashing down around her. Can the sexy Navy SEAL who comes to her rescue keep her safe or will falling for him torpedo her well-ordered world?

Riley Hammond—A former member of the covert ops team, Prospero, Riley has a single-minded mission: locate missing Prospero member Jack Coburn. However, when his mission lands him on the beach of a lifeguard with plenty to hide, he’s not sure whether to interrogate her or take her in his arms.

Carlos Castillo—The ex-boyfriend Amy dumps when she finds out he’s married, but Amy soon discovers Carlos has a lot more to hide than a wife.

Ethan Prescott—Amy’s half brother is the heir apparent to their father’s criminal enterprise. Although Amy hasn’t seen him in years, he knows all about her and is willing to jeopardize her safety for his own means.

Eli Prescott—Amy’s father sits in prison a broken man, but do his connections and influence extend beyond the bars of his cell?

Farouk—Prospero’s former nemesis has expanded his business model and taken his terror worldwide, and this time it’s personal.

Colonel Scripps—Prospero’s coordinator, the colonel knows he can summon all of the former team members with one call. He just hopes it’s not too late to save Prospero’s leader, Jack Coburn.

Jack Coburn—The former leader of Prospero and current hostage negotiator has run into a little trouble. Can he depend on his brothers in arms to save him, or is he going to have to save himself?

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

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Epilogue

Prologue

Jack Coburn could think of about a thousand tastes more pleasant than his own blood—so he spit it out. The behemoth facing him sneered and readied his ham-hock fists for another round of punch-the-stupid-American. Lurch had to be the biggest Afghan Jack had ever seen in his life, and he’d seen plenty.

Jack hadn’t escaped his captivity from a small, airless tent to be thwarted here. He dug his boots into the dirt outside the cave and tensed his muscles. If he could take care of Lurch and drag his body into the scrubby bushes that clung to the side of the mountain, he could get back to eavesdropping on the conversation in the cave.

And if he’d correctly heard the name they’d dropped in there just before Lurch materialized, he had to listen in on the rest of that discussion. His life depended on it, as did the lives of his brothers in arms—the whole gang from Prospero.

Lurch charged forward, and Jack met his assault with a kick to the substantial gut. Lurch staggered back, emitting a guttural cry from his throat. The howl unleashed several pairs of footsteps from the front of the cave, and Jack spun around to meet his adversaries.

The Afghans gathered in a semicircle around Jack and, as he waited for the gunshots, a muscle ticking wildly in his jaw, he whispered, “Bring it on.”

The men closed in on him and the stench of their sweat permeated his nostrils. Or was it his own sweat?

Still, not one of the fierce mujahideen raised a weapon. Licking his lips, Jack took two steps back to the edge of the cliff and glanced over his shoulder at the outcroppings that dotted the long way down to the village where he’d been staying. Would his young friend, Yasir, be looking for him?

The leader of the group brandished his sword. He growled in the Darwazi dialect, “Who are you? What are you doing here?”

Jack pretended not to understand the man’s words. He spread his hands and smiled, nodding like a fool and taking another step toward the precipice.

Even if they believed him to be harmless, they’d never let him live. And once they compared notes with their brethren, the men who’d captured him two days ago, they’d torture him for information.

If he had to die sooner rather than later, he’d prefer to die swiftly and while in control of his own destiny.

So he stepped off the ledge and into the dark abyss. Before he hit the vicious rocks below, one thought pierced his brain.

Sorry I failed you, Lola. Whoever you are.

Chapter One

A dark shape bobbed on the water outlined by a muted orange sunset and then disappeared. A seal? Amy squinted at the horizon, spotting another object in the fog-shrouded distance. That one had to be a boat.

She leaned the flag in the corner of the lifeguard tower and grabbed a broom. After sweeping the sand out the door, she dumped the hot water from the bucket onto the beach. They kept the hot water available in the tower to treat stingray stings, but with the kids back in school and the summer crowds gone, they didn’t really need it. She liked to follow the rules in case anyone challenged her. She didn’t need trouble. She’d had enough.

She lifted the receiver of the red phone and called the main lifeguard station up the coast. Zeke Shepherd picked up on the first ring.

“This is Amy Prescott in Tower Twenty-eight. I’m out of here.”

“Hey, Amy. Catch any excitement on your last day?”

“Not unless you count an older couple out for a walk with their metal detectors and a couple of joggers. This fog is starting to roll in pretty fast. It drove everyone away about a half hour ago.”

Zeke snorted. “I hate Tower Twenty-eight once the summer’s over. No people, no action. Do you want me to pick you up in the truck and give you a ride back to your car?”

“No, thanks. I’m jogging back.”

“You’re in such good shape you should’ve kicked that guy’s butt when you found out—”

Amy cut him off. “See you later, Zeke.”

Had every lifeguard in San Diego County heard she’d been duped by a married man a couple months ago?

She slammed the receiver back in its cradle. She might as well have Gullible Sap tattooed on her forehead. For all the precautions she usually took with relationships, Carlos had really played her.

Reaching up to unlatch the cover of the lookout window to swing it down, she glanced at the ocean. The animal on the water had moved closer to shore and now looked bigger than a seal. Amy snagged the binoculars from the hook and turned them toward the object.

A breath hitched in her throat. Two scuba divers had broken the surface and seemed to be struggling toward the beach. Had one of them lost air? Embolized?

Amy shimmied out of her sweat pants, yanked the sweatshirt over her head and dropped them both on top of her open backpack. With her heart racing, she lifted the phone off the hook and left it dangling. Of course, she’d already told Zeke she was leaving, but protocol prevailed. If someone did call the tower, the busy signal would indicate a rescue.

Grabbing her orange rescue can, she sprinted down the ramp of the lifeguard tower and churned up dry sand on her way to the ocean.

The divers, still struggling, had moved closer to the shoreline. Amy high-stepped over the waves and plunged into the chilly water, dolphin-kicking her way to the two people.

One diver had his arm around the other diver’s neck, the man flailing in his grasp. That technique would kill him, not rescue him.

Amy shouted as she neared the duo, and the stronger diver looked up. The person in his arms slumped and he released him into the water. Adrenaline pumped through Amy’s system as she shot forward and caught the disabled diver before the next wave rolled in, dragging him back out to sea.

She hooked one arm around his chest while offering the rescue can to the other diver. He shook his head and plowed through the water toward the beach with a strong stroke.

He seemed to have a lot of strength left; why hadn’t he helped his buddy? He might be disoriented or in shock. She’d call the station as soon as she got this one to shore and revived him.

Still clutching the unconscious diver, Amy rode the last wave onto the wet sand. The other diver had reached the beach ahead of her and now struggled out of his gear, dropping his tank to the ground.

Rolling the victim onto his back, Amy called out to the other man. “Are you okay?”

He ripped his mask from his face and tossed it onto the sand. “Don’t bother. He’s dead.”

His cold words felt like another splash of ocean water on her face. Then she took in his heaving chest and a jagged rip along the side of his wet suit. He probably needed medical attention for shock.

She flipped up the mask from the injured man’s face and tipped his head back, placing one hand on his chest. His companion spoke too soon. A feeble heartbeat struggled beneath the diver’s wet suit.

A warm, sticky substance oozed through her stiff fingers and she gasped. The man’s wet suit sported a huge gash down the front and blood seeped from the tear. What the heck had gone on out there?

Amy clamped both hands against the wound to staunch the loss of blood. The man’s body shuddered and jerked. His arms flew up and he grabbed her around the neck, his strong fingers creating a vise and grinding her gold chain into her neck. Choking, she clawed at his arms with her bloody hands, her nails skimming off the thick neoprene of the wet suit.

The diver behind her charged toward them and drove his knee into the man’s throat. Her attacker’s hands dropped from her neck and he slumped, a gush of air escaping from his lungs, a gurgle of blood spouting from the tear in his wet suit.

Amy hacked and tumbled backward, her hands hitting the sand behind her. She scrambled like a crab across the wet surface, leaving bloody indentations in her wake.

“Sorry about that.” The stranger pressed his fingers against the throat of the man who’d just tried to strangle her. “Thought I had him. He’s dead now.”

“W-what happened to him? Why did he attack me when I was trying to save him?” She raised her gaze to the other diver, now on his knees, peeling his wet suit from the top half of his body and toeing off his fins.

He cocked his head, squinting into the fog with a steely blue gaze. “I stabbed him.”

Then she noticed a knife plunged into the sand next to him. Screaming, she rolled onto her stomach and launched to her knees. A hand encircled her ankle, yanking her leg back, and she landed on her belly again. She spun around, kicking wildly with her other leg.

The man fell on top of her, covering her mouth with his hand, grinding salty grains of sand against her lips. She struggled to knee him in the crotch, but his body felt like a lead weight against her, immobilizing her.

His face inches from hers, he brought a finger to his lips. “Shh.”

A chill raced up her spine. Then she heard it—the low whine of a motorboat. Salvation. She bucked beneath her captor and worked her jaw to open her mouth and bite his hand.

His voice growled close to her ear, his briny scent invading her nostrils. “Stop fighting me. Those are some very dangerous men out there on that boat.”

His words sucked the already-diminishing air out of her lungs, and she slumped beneath his rock-hard body. She moved her lips against his palm in a silent question, the saltwater on his hand working its way into her mouth.

The maniac flashed a smile, rows of white teeth in a tanned face. They gleamed in the fog that now surrounded them like damp cotton. He winked. “Don’t worry. I’m one of the good guys.”

Her eyes darted to the dead diver slumped in a heap at the water’s edge.

“He’s one of the bad guys.” He shifted his muscular frame, giving her some breathing room. “I’m going to remove my hand from your mouth and let you up, but you need to stay close to me and we need to get off this beach. Nice job on that rescue, by the way.”

Amy swallowed, not even minding the sand that scratched her throat. Two lunatics had invaded her beach and now one of them planned to kidnap her. The perfect ending to a lousy couple of months.

As soon as he removed his hand and his hold, she planned to scream bloody murder and run toward the sound of the boat. She could swim a long distance if she had to. Her gaze tracked over the muscled shoulders and corded arms of the man who held her, and her stomach fluttered. He could probably swim just as fast and far.

And he had a knife.

He slid his hand from her mouth, resting it on her throat. Amy dropped her gaze to the stranger’s sinewy forearm and gulped. He could easily finish the job the dead guy started. As she gathered air in her lungs for a big scream, a motor whirred fast, loud and close.

In one movement, her captor rolled off her body and grabbed her arm, yanking her to her feet. At the same time, a scream ripped from her throat. A loud pop followed her cry for help and the man beside her cursed.

“Thanks a lot, beach girl. You just gave them a target in this muck.”

The people on the boat confirmed his words as they fired two more shots in the general direction of Amy’s head.

“Let’s move.” The man shoved her in front of him and she stumbled as her feet hit dry sand. At least if any more bullets came their way, they’d have to go through his large frame first. And he made a great shield.

Was he protecting her?

Keeping his hand pressed against the small of her back, he said, “This fog should give us enough cover to make it to the lifeguard truck—as long as you keep your screaming to a minimum.”

Either she followed the man with the knife or turned toward the men with the guns. Since he hadn’t used the knife on her—yet—and the guys on the boat insisted on shooting at vague shapes in the fog, even after she screamed, Amy put her money on the guy with the knife.

Her legs pumped in the sand. She veered toward the tower and grabbed her backpack with her sweats on top. She didn’t hear any more gunshots and the occupants of the boat must’ve cut the motor because she couldn’t hear the distinctive whine.

The thick fog almost obscured her companion. He didn’t even seem to be breathing heavily, or maybe she couldn’t hear him over the roaring in her ears and her own ragged breath.

He bumped her side, grabbing her upper arm. “Where’s the lifeguard truck?”

“I don’t have a truck on this beach. My car’s parked in the lot.” She tried to shake him off, but his fingers pinched harder.

“You’d better not be lying and leading me into some kind of trap. That could get us both killed.” His icy blue eyes almost glowed in the fog.

“You’re the one with the knife.” She pried his fingers off her arm and kicked up sand behind her, hoping she got some in his face.

The beach remained eerily quiet behind them, but the dense fog could mute sounds. Amy kept up a steady pace, her feet leading her to the parking lot where her car waited. Once they got there, she’d dig her cell phone out of her backpack and call the police. The stranger couldn’t object if he really was on the right side of the law.

A strip of dark asphalt appeared and Amy pointed. “It’s right there.”

When the soles of her feet slapped against the gritty asphalt, she swung her backpack from her shoulder and clawed for her keys in the front compartment. She clicked the remote and gasped when the man swept her in front of him, pushing her toward the car.

“Get in and drive.”

Before she had a chance to figure out if she could take off without him, he scrambled into the passenger seat. He pounded the dashboard. “What are you waiting for? I said ‘drive.’”

She curled her left fist around her keys and fumbled with a zipper on the backpack crushed between her lap and the bottom edge of the steering wheel. Her fingers skimmed the smooth metal of her cell phone and she pulled it out.

“I’m going to call 911 first.”

His jaw hardened as he sluiced back his wet hair, beginning to curl at the ends. With a pair of broad shoulders and washboard abs that tapered to the wet suit peeled down to his slim hips, he looked like Triton or at least some sexy merman. Then he opened his mouth.

“No, you’re not. We need to get out of here. Now.”

Sounded like he knew his enemies well. Who was she to argue? She tossed her backpack in the backseat and started the car. “You’re right. Those guys seemed determined.”

A breath hitched in her throat. Maybe they were determined because they were cops or the Coast Guard, but would they start shooting into a bank of fog after she screamed without even shouting out a warning? Experience had taught her they just might. Her father had taught her to never trust the law.

Her gaze slid to the knife resting on the man’s powerful thigh encased in black neoprene. She didn’t have a choice right now anyway, but his reaction to her call to 911 would tell her a lot.

As she accelerated out of the beach parking lot, she scooped her cell phone from her lap where she’d dropped it and flipped it open. She’d pressed Nine before the man beside her snatched the phone from her hand.

“You can’t call the cops.” He cradled the phone in his palm and snapped it shut.

Amy clung to the steering wheel, her knuckles turning white. “You’re going to kill me, aren’t you? F-for witnessing that murder.”

He tossed the phone into the backseat and let out a ragged breath. Squeezing her bare thigh with his long fingers, he said, “I’m not going to hurt you, beach girl. I’m sorry you’re scared.”

If he meant to soothe her with his gentle touch on her leg, it sent a ripple of fear across her skin instead. Did he plan to rape her before he murdered her?

Amy swallowed. He seemed like a fairly reasonable lunatic. Maybe she could use logic on him. “Why can’t I call 911? The operator can alert the Coast Guard and go after the…the bad guys. You could be long gone by the time they picked them up, and I swear I won’t tell them anything about you.”

“You wouldn’t be a very good lifeguard if you did that, would you?” He clicked his tongue as he rummaged through her glove compartment. He pulled out her registration and peered at it. “You can call the cops when you get home. By that time, I will be long gone and so will that dead body on the beach.”

Her heart did a somersault in her chest. “When I get home?”

He flicked the paper registration with his finger. “Yeah. Drive back to your place and I’ll disappear in a puff of smoke or more likely a blanket of fog.”

When she’d pulled out of the beach parking lot, she’d headed in the general direction of her house since he hadn’t given her any orders about where to go. Would he really let her just go home and then call the authorities after he left without hurting her?

He was right about her responsibilities as a lifeguard. She’d have to report him and give the cops as good a description as she could. She gave him a sidelong glance—over six feet tall, muscular build, a wild, tawny mane of hair that brushed his shoulders, piercing blue eyes.

She’d have to scale back on the admiration of his masculine good looks when she gave her description to the cops or they’d think she’d fallen prey to that Stockholm syndrome where victims fell for their captors.

He glanced at the registration again before shoving it back into her glove compartment. “You live close, right?”

“Yeah, we’re almost there.” She gripped the steering wheel with clammy hands as another thought slammed against her like a sledgehammer. He’d retrieved her registration to see her address. She did not want this dangerous man in her house, but now he knew her address. “My husband, who’s six foot five and very jealous, will be home, too.”

He snorted. “I’ll take my chances.”

“Can’t I just drop you off somewhere? Why do you have to come to my house with me?”

“Just want to see you home safely.” He brushed some sand off the leg of his wet suit. “Is there a work schedule posted in the tower listing the shifts for the guards?”

“N-no.”

“I suppose the main station wouldn’t give out the guards’ names if someone called making inquiries about which guards are working which beaches?”

Her clammy grasp on the wheel got tighter. “Of course not. What are you driving at? Do you think those people in the boat will try to find out who I am?”

He lifted a shoulder, which touched the ends of his wet hair. “If they can, but it doesn’t sound like they’re going to be successful.”

“What if they come back to that beach, that tower, looking for me? Today was my last day for the summer, but I left everything wide open back there. I’m going to have to return to close up properly.”

Was he playing her to make her fear the men in the boat more than she feared him? The dying man had choked her, and the guys in the boat had shot at her. This one hadn’t lifted a finger against her. In fact, he’d protected her from the other attacks.

“I don’t think they’d do that.” But two lines formed a deep crevice between his eyebrows. “They’d have difficulty finding the beach again, and there are plenty of lifeguard towers up and down the coast.”

She chewed her bottom lip. “I don’t know about that. Imperial Beach is one of the southernmost beaches in San Diego County before you hit the Mexican border.”

“Request a transfer. They’re not going to find you.”

“They’re not going to find me anyway.” She rolled her tight shoulders. “I already told you. I’m done for the season since I only work summers. Today was my last shift.”

He patted her leg again. “That’s good to hear. And don’t return. Let someone else lock up. What’s your name anyway?”

“Amy.” She gasped and covered her mouth. How had this man lured her into such a state of naive stupidity so quickly? Next she’d be giving him her social security number. She jerked her leg, dislodging his hand.

He had the nerve to laugh.

“Don’t worry. I’m not going to use your first name against you, and I can just reach in the glove compartment to find out the rest if I want.” He combed his fingers through tangled hair. “And just so we’re even, I’m going to tell you my first name, too. It’s Riley.”

“Riley.” The name rolled off her tongue. Riley didn’t seem too concerned about the cops knowing his name. Did he think just because he had a friendly, non-threatening demeanor and a gorgeous body she wasn’t going to report this?

Even though Amy had an innate distrust of authority, Riley had placed his confidence in the wrong woman. She’d had it in for all men since she’d discovered the guy she’d been dating for two months had a wife. Scumbag.

She rounded the corner of her block and pulled up to the curb in front of her rental house. She cut the engine and dropped her hands in her lap. “You can get out now. Although how you think you’re going to be inconspicuous roaming around in a full-body wet suit is beyond me.”

“Thanks for caring.” A boyish grin claimed his face. “I have trunks on underneath—just another surfer.”

“Just another surfer carrying a knife.”

She shouldn’t have reminded him.

His fingers curled around the handle and he said, “Let’s go inside to make sure everything’s okay.”

Tension knotted her shoulders again as she climbed out of the car, groping for her backpack in the backseat. She wouldn’t be able to breathe easily until Riley left the premises and she had 911 on the line.

It took her three tries to insert her key into the dead bolt with Riley standing behind her, the heat from his body warming her bare back. And then she didn’t even need to unlock the dead bolt—she must’ve left it unlocked when she took off this afternoon. She shoved the key into the handle, turning the knob and pushing open the door.

Riley stepped in front of her, tucking her behind his broad frame. “Everything look okay?”

“How can I tell? I’m staring at your back.” Her nose practically touched the cool, smooth skin between his shoulder blades.

Riley stalked to the center of the small living room, dwarfing it with his take-control presence. Amy shifted her gaze around the objects of the room, her pulse quickening when she spotted a book on the floor by the coffee table. Her cat, Clarence, probably knocked that over before he took off for his pre-dinner prowl.

“I’m going to have a look in the back rooms.” Riley pointed to the short hallway, gripping the knife in front of him.

Amy crept toward the book and crouched to retrieve it from the floor. She glanced toward the entry that led to the kitchen and then tilted her head back to peer at Riley disappearing into the bathroom, knife still drawn.

She could make a run for the portable phone in the kitchen and slip out the back, maybe bang on her neighbor’s door for help. Riley would probably take off, and she’d be safe.

Launching to her feet, she hurtled toward the kitchen. Just inside the entryway, she tripped over a soft object splayed across the floor. Yelping, she thudded against the linoleum. She scrambled to her hands and knees and spun around.

A sour knot of fear lodged in her throat as her gaze skidded across the deathly still form of her ex-boyfriend.

Chapter Two

A shriek sliced through the small house, and Riley barreled out the bathroom door, stubbing his toe on the frame. He gripped the knife at his side, ready to do battle. Careening through the empty living room, he launched toward the entryway to what had to be the kitchen. He stopped short, almost falling into the room and over a body on the floor.

Amy huddled against the cabinets, her hands pressed against her mouth, her eyes forming huge, coffee-colored saucers. A man sprawled across the faded yellow linoleum on his back, one perfectly shined loafer hanging from his toes, and his legs in pressed slacks crossed one over the other. Looked like he could be taking a nap on the kitchen floor.

Riley squatted beside the man, noting a red blotch on his right cheek, and extended two fingers toward his neck to check his pulse.

Amy screamed, “Don’t touch him.”

God, he must’ve been a friend or relative of Amy’s. Boyfriend? His gaze flew to her face, drained of all color beneath her mocha skin. “Who is he?”

“Carlos…my ex-boyfriend.” She mumbled through her fingers, which seemed frozen in place.

Very ex-boyfriend from the look of him. Riley stepped over the body and kneeled beside Amy. “We need to get out of here.”

“What happened to him?”

“I can’t tell. I don’t see any blood, just a contusion on his face. Maybe someone strangled him or hit him on the back of the head.” He turned back toward the body. “I can turn him…”

“No.” She sobbed, curling into a tight ball. “We need to call the police.”

“You don’t get it, Amy. Somehow those guys in the boat tracked you down to your house. Carlos must’ve surprised them. They probably came at him from behind and strangled him or hit him. Carlos’s presence spooked them, but that doesn’t mean they won’t come back.”

“That’s why we call the police.” She scooted to her left to avoid Carlos’s outstretched hand.

Riley rubbed his chin with his knuckles. He was flying so far below the radar of the police right now he couldn’t afford to have them question him at a murder scene. Hell, he was flying below the radar of the CIA.

“The police can’t protect you.” He left the rest of that statement hanging in the air between them. Only he could protect her now, and he didn’t need the en cumbrance.

Surprisingly, she didn’t dispute his claim.

“Who are these people? Who are you?”

“The less you know, the better.” Not that he knew much himself. When the call had come from Colonel Scripps, the former leader of the undercover ops unit, Prospero, Riley had jumped into action. Jack Coburn, one of their own, had disappeared.

Riley would go through hell and back to find him.

He cupped his hand, wiggling his fingers. “Come on, beach girl. Let’s go.”

Amy’s gaze traveled from his hand to his face. She must’ve seen something she liked because she sighed and pushed to her feet. He helped her over the body of her ex-boyfriend. Feeling a tremble roll through her athletic frame, Riley pulled her close and folded his arms around her.

She stiffened in his embrace and then buried her face against his bare chest as sobs wracked her body. He stroked her dark hair, clumped in wet tangles of salt water.

Rubbing her nose, she stepped back from him and pinched her swimsuit between two fingers, yanking it forward. “Do I have time to change, or…or do you think we should get out now?”

“I don’t think they’ll be returning to the scene of the crime immediately.” Riley crossed the room and lifted the curtains of the front window with the tip of his knife. He’d prefer a gun, but he couldn’t have taken one of those with him. “They might be out there now, watching, waiting, wondering if we’ll call the police.”

She called from the bedroom. “I’m wondering the same thing. We can’t just leave him there on the kitchen floor. H-he has a wife.”

Riley swallowed. The beach girl liked married men? He cleared his throat. “We’ll call the police as soon as we’re out of here.”

“Wait a minute.” She stumbled from the bedroom in a pair of jeans, pulling a T-shirt over her head. He caught a glimpse of a lacy white bra. “Won’t that look suspicious? There’s a dead man in my house, and I’m not even here.”

“I’ll clear things up for you later. You’re not safe in this house.”

Her eyes narrowed as she hooked a finger along the gold chain around her neck, pulling a large locket out of her T-shirt. “You’re not safe in this house. For whatever reason, you don’t want the cops to find out about your activities. And why would you? You murdered a man on the beach and you kidnapped me.”

Frustration gave an edge to his voice as he jerked his thumb toward the kitchen. “I didn’t murder him. Don’t you get it? They discovered your identity and came after you.”

“They came after you.” She hugged herself and rubbed her upper arms. “They probably figured you used me to escape. That’s why they came to this house and killed Carlos. Once you get away from me, I’ll be safe.”

Too bad his wife hadn’t figured that one out.

Pain sliced behind his eyes, and he ran a hand over his hair, clasping it in a ponytail at the nape of his neck. “You’re in it, Amy, whether you want to be or not. These people don’t leave loose ends.”

“I’m not a loose end.” She widened her stance and shoved her hands in the pockets of her jeans. “I didn’t see those people. I don’t know who they are. But I know who you are.”

Damn. She didn’t trust him. And why would she? He didn’t trust himself to protect her either.

He swiped the back of his hand across his mouth. Could he leave her here? He’d take off for his safe house, and she could stay here and call the cops. She’d tell her wild story of one scuba diver killing another and people shooting at them from a boat. But there would be no body. There would be no blood. No bullets. No evidence at all.

The Velasquez Drug Cartel didn’t leave evidence. Or witnesses.

Even if the cops believed Amy’s fantastic story, they couldn’t do much to protect her. If the Velasquez gang decided to kill her, the cops couldn’t stop them.

Or maybe he’d overreacted from the get-go. From the minute she’d valiantly pulled his enemy’s body from the ocean, Riley had felt protective of her. She’d only been doing her job and had landed in the middle of an international intrigue.

If he distanced himself from her now, it just might save her life. He was dangerous company.

“Okay.” Riley blew out a long breath. “I’ll stay with you until the cops arrive, and then I’ll head out the back door.”

“Really?” Her voice squeaked and her eyebrows shot up.

“Really.” He tugged at the wet suit around his waist and peeled it off his body, standing on one foot at a time to free his legs from the constricting neoprene. “What are you going to tell the police?”

Her gaze raked his body as her chest rose and fell. “The truth.”

“The guys on the boat will have removed the body of their comrade and my scuba gear from the beach by now.” He nudged the wet suit lying in a twisted heap on the carpet. “I can leave this here if you think it will bolster your story.”

“Why would I need to bolster my story?” She dragged her gaze from his wet trunks, meeting his eyes, a pleasing shade of pink washing over her cheeks.

The beach girl had been checking him out. And he liked it.

Riley’s fingers plowed through his long hair. “You plan to report a murder on the beach with no body. Your ex-boyfriend is dead on your kitchen floor with no signs of a struggle or break-in. Why is he your ex? Bad breakup?”

“No. Yes.” She folded her arms across her stomach. “He lied to me about being married.”

Riley whistled through his teeth. “Do you have a history of violence?”

“Not yet.” Amy clenched her fists and took a step toward him.

“I’m just sayin’.” A strange sense of relief flooded his veins. He knew a valiant woman like Amy wouldn’t knowingly get mixed up with a married man.

“Do you think they’ll suspect me of murdering Carlos? I’m pretty strong, but not strong enough to strangle a man. I broke it off as soon as I discovered his marital status. Why would I kill him and then call the cops? It would look much worse if I ran out now, wouldn’t it?”

She covered her face with her hands, and guilt stabbed his belly. He didn’t want her to feel worse. He wanted to smooth everything over and make sure she kept safe after he left.

He tripped over the wet suit as he rushed to her side and curled an arm around her shoulders. She leaned into him. Her T-shirt felt soft against his bare chest, brushing a tingle of desire along his skin.

Her salty hair tickled his lips as he spoke. “Just tell the truth. You’ll be fine. There’s no evidence that you killed Carlos even if the police find your story unbelievable.”

“C-can’t you stay and talk to the cops with me?” She clutched his arm, her nails digging into his skin.

“I wish I could help you out, beach girl, but I can’t afford the time if they decide to arrest me.” He couldn’t afford the exposure either. Having his picture splashed all over the newspapers in connection with two murders would torpedo any chance he’d have to follow his lead on the Velasquez Cartel and any of its customers.

And right now the Velasquez lead was the only thread they had in connection with Jack Coburn’s disappearance.

Amy took a shaky breath and stepped back. “You’re not going to tell me anything else, are you?”

“No.”

“Then you’d better get ready to leave so I can call 911. I can’t bear to be here with Carlos like that.” Her bottom lip quivered, and her dark eyes brimmed with unshed tears.

Riley cupped her face with one hand, smoothing the pad of his thumb across her cheekbone. “I’m sorry about Carlos. What do you think he was doing here?”

At his touch, she’d closed her eyes, but now her eyelids flew open, droplets of tears trembling on the edges of her long lashes. “Huh?”

“Carlos. Why was he in your house and how did he get in? Did you give him a key?”

“I gave him a key once to feed my cat when I was gone for the weekend. But he gave it back to me.”

“He made a copy.”

Her eyes widened. “He wouldn’t do that.”

“Really? The man entered your home while you were at work. I thought you broke up with him a few months ago?”

“I did.” She wiped her palms on the thighs of her jeans.

“Did he contact you after the breakup?”

“A few times but…” Her arms flailed at her sides.

“Face it, Amy. The guy never got over you. He probably came here hoping he could change your mind. Didn’t work out too well for him.”

She dug her fists in her hips. “The back door is in the kitchen. You can leave before the cops get here.”

“If he made a copy of your key, it’s probably still in his pocket. Do you want me to take it?”

“So you can have a key to my place? No, thanks. Why would I want you to take the key? I don’t want to disturb a crime scene.”

“Too late for that. You changed clothing and you didn’t notify the police as soon as you discovered the body.” He shrugged. “I’m just thinking it might look better for you if the dead ex-boyfriend didn’t still have a key to your house.”

“Okay. You know what?” She grabbed his arm and dragged him toward the kitchen. “There’s the back door. Use it.”

Instead he crouched next to the body and slid his hand into the front pocket of the man’s expensive slacks. His nostrils flared at the sweet scent emanating from his clothing. Carlos liked his cologne strong.

Nothing in that pocket except a few bills. Riley reached for the other pocket, but he didn’t have to go digging. Carlos’s keychain was on the floor by the pocket. Riley’s fingers closed around the silver ring and he dangled it from his index finger.

“Is this your key?” A removable ring was hanging from the main keychain, and he shook it in front of Amy’s face.

“It could be. What difference does it make? Now you’ve corrupted the crime scene even more. Put it back and get out, and maybe you should leave some more of your fingerprints around here so the cops can identify you… Riley…if that’s even your name.”

“I didn’t touch anything in here.” He twirled the keychain around his finger. “Except you.”

Amy’s eyes glittered, shooting gold sparks, but a soft rose color swept across her cheeks. Stepping behind him to avoid the body on the floor, she grabbed the knob to the back door. She turned quickly, her hair whipping across his chest. “What will you do for clothes?”

Still clutching the keychain, Riley adjusted the waistband of his board shorts while her gaze tracked his movements feeling like a whisper of fingertips. “We’re a mile from the beach—nothing unusual about someone walking around in swim trunks. If you give me a couple of bucks for the bus, that would make my life a lot easier.”

“Gladly.” She slipped past him and snagged her backpack from the coffee table where she’d dropped it. She groped inside a side compartment and gasped. “My wallet.”

“It’s gone?”

“It must’ve fallen out in the sand when I grabbed my pack from the tower.”

“That explains how the bad guys found you.”

“But how’d they get here so fast?” She hugged the backpack to her chest.

“The men who killed Carlos aren’t the same men who shot at us on the beach. This is an organization, not a few petty crooks.”

She swayed and he caught her. “Are you sure you don’t want to get out of here with me?” Riley asked.

“No. I want to call the police. Th-they’ll keep me safe.”

Even she didn’t sound like she believed that. If Amy expected the San Diego Sheriff’s Department to put a twenty-four-hour guard on her, she didn’t understand how police departments operated. That would happen only if they arrested her for the murder of her ex.

Riley could protect her. He knew the danger she faced, but he couldn’t drag her out of her house if she didn’t want to go. And she clearly didn’t want to go.

He brushed her knotted hair from her face. “Okay, beach girl. You call the cops and stay safe.”

“Hold on.” She spun around and rummaged through a purse on the desk by the front window. She withdrew her hand, clutching several bills between her fingers. “Take this. And you stay safe, too.”

His hand covered hers and he drew her close. She smelled like the sea, tangy and fresh. He had bent his head to brush her lips with his when a movement outside the window caught his attention.

With a grunt, Riley threw both of his arms around Amy. As they tumbled to the floor, she opened her mouth to scream. He clapped his hand across her lips for the second time that day.

Chapter Three

He’d fooled her. He planned to kill her and had just been stringing her along for his sadistic pleasure.

She was batting a thousand—a married man and now a killer.

Riley brushed her ear with a whisper. “They’re outside.”

His words sent a river of chills down her spine, and she reflexively dug her nails into his back.

“Stay low.” Riley heaved to a crouching position and tugged at the waistband of her jeans. “Let’s go out the back.”

Amy slid across the floor on her belly, twisting her head toward the front window. Adrenaline charged through her body when she saw the outline of a gun.

She wriggled faster, like a snake shedding its skin. When she reached the kitchen, she gagged at the sight of Carlos on the floor.

Riley rose to his haunches. “Get the back door.”

Turning the knob, she eased open the door, scooping in deep breaths of fresh air. Riley bumped her outside and told her to close the door behind them. He really didn’t want to leave any fingerprints in her house.

She grabbed his hand, pulling him toward the small backyard. “This way.”

They dashed across the lawn, the wet grass sticking to her feet in their flimsy flip-flops. Riley cinched her around the waist and hoisted her up the fence. She clambered over and fell into her neighbor’s yard. Riley swooped over the fence after her.

“Let’s keep running and hope we don’t meet a dog.”

She yanked on the hem of his board shorts. “Do you still have those keys you took out of Carlos’s pocket?”

He patted his own pocket. “Yep.”

“He used to park his car on the side street. We can get to it from here without going to the front of the house.”

“You’re brilliant, beach girl.” He grabbed her head with both hands and kissed her forehead.

Not exactly the kiss she’d anticipated in the house, but it would do—for now.

They crouched at the side of the house behind hers, then charged through the gate, stumbling into her neighbor’s front yard.

“This street.” She pointed to the left and they hit the sidewalk running. Two kids playing basketball with a garage hoop looked up and snickered as they jogged by.

They reached the corner and Riley held her back. “Hang on.”

He peered both ways down the street. “It’s clear. Which car is his?”

She pointed to Carlos’s black BMW parked at the curb. When they’d dated, she’d always wondered why he’d preferred to park his car on the street around the corner from her house. He’d told her there was less traffic on this street, and he’d wanted to protect his car. He’d really wanted to protect himself.

Guess that hadn’t worked out for him today.

“On the count of three, sprint for the car.” Riley held up the keys. “I won’t hit the remote until we get there…just in case they’re closer than we think.”

Amy kicked off her flip-flops and scooped them up from the sidewalk with one hand. Holding her breath, she waited for Riley’s signal. At three, she shot off as if she was heading into the ocean for a rescue.

The car alarm beeped once, and she grabbed the handle and dropped onto the leather seat. Before she closed the door, the car lurched forward and Riley careened around the corner. Panting, Amy twisted in her seat. No headlights followed them.

She snapped on her seat belt and leaned against the headrest, closing her eyes. “Where to?”

“I can drop you off at the police station or at least down the block from the police station. Then you can report everything, and they’ll come back to the house with you. Those men won’t try anything with the cops there.”

She stuffed her feet into her flip-flops. “What about when the cops leave?”

“Can you stay with someone for a few days until this blows over? Chances are once Carlos’s killers realize you don’t know anything, and you keep your distance from me, they’ll leave you alone.”

“Chances are?” She gripped the edge of the seat, her damp hands slipping off the leather.

“Those boys have bigger fish to fry to risk going after a witness who may or may not even be a witness.”

“All right then. Take me to the police station.” She knotted her fingers in her lap. “What should I tell them…about you, I mean?”

His boyish grin danced across his face. “Tell them the truth. I have a feeling nothing-but will do for you.”

“I’ll tell them you saved my life…twice.”

He cocked his head. “Are you always so loyal?”

“I don’t know about that. If you’re telling me the truth, you don’t need to be locked up in a jail cell while the cops try to figure out your involvement and degree of culpability. Sometimes the cops aren’t too particular.”

He squeezed her clenched hands with a firm grasp. “Don’t worry about me, beach girl. The cops aren’t going to find me.”

She glanced at his large hand, brown from the sun, his calluses rough against her skin. “What are you, Riley?”

“I told you before, the less you know, the better. This way you don’t have to lie to the cops.”

She snorted. “I don’t mind lying to the cops if there’s a good reason. Where will you go after you drop me off? You’re not finished with those men, are you?”

His mouth formed a thin line as he fumbled with Carlos’s built-in GPS. Amy sighed. She’d never know anything more about him than his name—and how his body felt against hers, shielding her, protecting her.

“There’s a police station pretty close. I’ll drop you off down the block, watch you go inside, and then I’ll be out of your life.”

She swallowed. “What are you going to do with Carlos’s car?”

“I’ll leave it someplace where it can be recovered and returned to his…wife.” He raised one eyebrow. “How’d that happen anyway?”

Hunching her shoulders, Amy clasped her hands between her knees. “I met him at the beach while I was working. We went out a few times from there. He came to my place a few times…”

She clenched her jaw. She didn’t want to waste her last few minutes with Riley talking about her train wreck of a love life. “You know, I never thanked you for saving me on the beach. And if you hadn’t come back with me to my house, that man outside with the gun could’ve killed me.”

“It’s the least I could do.” He brushed his fingers along her arm. “I put you in danger by landing on your beach.”

Every time Riley touched her, she felt a current of electricity run through her body. She’d better turn that off. This mysterious man would be disappearing from her life in a matter of minutes.

She rubbed her eyes. “Didn’t look like you had much choice.”

Drawing his brows together, he scratched his chin. “Yeah. I don’t know why they decided to anchor off the coast at that particular spot. But I plan to find out.”

Amy’s heart galloped in her chest. Riley was a man who lived dangerously—and seemed to enjoy it. Just her type. She’d tried and tried to gravitate toward stable men with stable jobs, but it never seemed to work out. Carlos had his own import/export business, but he hadn’t turned out to be dependable either. Maybe her excitement radar had somehow picked up on that, too.

The car slowed and Riley pulled into the parking lot of a strip mall. “There’s the police station. I’ll watch from here until you’re safely inside.”

Amy rubbed her tingling nose. Once she got rid of Riley she’d be safe. Wouldn’t she? She grabbed the door handle.

His hand dropped to her shoulder, and she twisted around. He slid his fingers up to her throat, his eyes now a dark blue, clouding over like a stormy sea. Her pulse ticked wildly beneath his touch.

“Be careful, beach girl.” Then he cupped the back of her head and drew her close, sealing his lips over hers.

The quick kiss didn’t feel like goodbye. It felt like a protective stamp that she’d carry with her forever.

She managed an inarticulate goodbye as she scrambled out of the car. Walking toward the police station, she didn’t dare turn around, even though she could feel Riley’s gaze searing her back.

God, she hoped the police could help her, even though she didn’t trust them. She hoped for once they could reassure her and make her feel safe.

As safe as she’d felt with Riley.

RILEY EXHALED HIS PENT-UP breath as Amy swung open the glass door of the San Diego Sheriff’s Station and disappeared inside.

Velasquez’s people murdered Carlos because they expected Riley to show up there with Amy. Why didn’t they just wait there? Why did they leave then return? Carlos must’ve upset their plans even though it didn’t look like the guy put up much of a fight.

He rolled his shoulders and put the car in gear. Once Amy returned with the sheriff’s deputies, Velasquez’s men would realize Riley had taken flight. Then they’d leave Amy alone.

They’d better leave Amy alone.

He swung the sleek car back onto Imperial Beach Boulevard and accelerated toward the highway. He had to get back to that beach to find out why it had been such a strategic location for the Velasquez Cartel. The boat hadn’t moored off that coast and sent a diver in by accident.

If the guy hadn’t spotted him and attacked him underwater, Riley could have surprised a meeting or interrupted a drop. Maybe their fight had scared off the contact on the beach.

He smacked the leather steering wheel with the heels of his hands. He’d have to wait until morning anyway. The cops would most likely follow Amy back to the scene of the crime and light up that beach like a Christmas tree.

Until they realized there was no evidence of a crime. No evidence. No crime.

They’d find plenty of evidence at Amy’s house though. Really sucked for Carlos. Should be a warning to married men everywhere not to cheat.

Although, after spending a few hours with Amy, he could understand the temptation Carlos had faced.

A buzzing noise filled the car, and Riley almost swerved into the next lane. Tilting his head, he determined the sound was coming from the backseat. Cell phone?

He took the next exit and swung into an empty parking lot next to some train tracks. He unsnapped his seat belt, twisting in his seat. A small light glowed from the pocket of a jacket on the backseat. Riley reached over, slid his hand in the pocket and pulled out the cell phone, flashing Missed Call.

The guy’s wife? He flipped open the phone and checked the display, which read Restricted. The caller hadn’t bothered to leave a voice mail or text message either.

Riley glanced at the clock on the dashboard. He had to check in with the colonel. Might as well use Carlos’s phone before dumping it. He wouldn’t need it, and his wife probably wouldn’t care to see all those calls to Amy.

The colonel picked up on the first ring.

“Colonel, it’s Riley.”

“Did you get anything from the lead on that boat?”

“A couple of dead bodies. The boat dropped anchor off the coast near Imperial Beach and sent in a diver. Let’s just say we mixed it up a little before we reached the shore. He could’ve been meeting someone or scouting the location. I didn’t stick around to find out because his buddies started shooting at us.”

“Us?”

“There was a lifeguard on the beach.”

The colonel swore. “Is he okay?”

“She’s okay.” And then Riley reported what had occurred, taking full responsibility for the screwup.

The colonel swore again. “You’re going to have to go back to that beach and figure out why it’s important to the Velasquez crew.”

“Any more news about Jack?” Riley held his breath.

“The CIA is calling him a traitor. They’re convinced he’s working for the other side.”

Riley choked on his bitter rage. “That’s not possible. You know it and I know it.”

“I know Jack Coburn’s name came up in chatter between the Velasquez Drug Cartel and an arms dealer in Colorado. Find out the link between those two, Riley, and we might be on the first step to finding Jack and proving his innocence.”

“I’m on it. I owe Jack.”

“We all do. I have another name to give you— Castillo. My CIA contact slipped it to me. He’s connected to the Velasquez boys. And one more thing, I’m giving you a new number for me.”

As the colonel rattled off the number, Riley lunged for the glove compartment. He groped in the dark recess, and his fingers tripped across a pen and a scrap of paper as other papers floated to the floor of the car. He jotted down the colonel’s new number and ended the call.

Glancing at the cell phone in his hand, he realized he couldn’t leave the phone in Carlos’s car for the police to find. Not that the colonel had an even remotely traceable phone number, but just like the fingerprints in Amy’s house, he wanted to err on the side of caution. That included the fingerprints in this car. He’d wipe it clean before abandoning it.

Then he’d get back to his safe house, claim his own car and skulk outside Amy’s house after the cops left just to make sure she got off to her friends’ house okay.

He pressed his knuckle against the switch for the dome light and bent forward to retrieve the papers from the car mat. A few receipts. A scribbled address. Registration.

Pinching the corner of the registration between two fingers, Riley raised it to the light. He read the name aloud. “Carlos Castillo.”

Castillo.

The name slammed against his brain, and bright spots danced in front of his eyes. Amy’s ex hadn’t been the victim of bad luck. Carlos had chosen Amy for a reason. The Velasquez cartel had chosen that beach for a reason. Someone killed Carlos Castillo for a reason.

And now they might have a reason to kill Amy.

AMY GULPED IN A LUNGFUL of the damp evening air as she squared off with the San Diego Sheriff’s deputy. She pointed a shaky finger toward her house. “His body was on my kitchen floor. He was dead.”

“Ms. Prescott, can you explain to us how, not one, but two dead bodies can disappear in one night?” Deputy Sampson crossed his arms over his chest.

He and another sheriff’s deputy had accompanied her to the beach, and just as Riley had predicted, someone had collected the body of the diver and Riley’s diving gear. In the meantime, the sheriff’s department had sent another car to Amy’s house to check on the dead body of Carlos Castillo. Amy hadn’t expected that one to disappear, too.

Why? Why would this drug cartel remove Carlos’s body?

She closed her eyes. Maybe she had dreamed the entire episode. She licked her lips, still salty from Riley’s kiss, and knew she’d been wide awake.

“Call Carlos’s wife. I’m sure she’ll verify that he’s missing.”

Deputy Sampson slipped a phone out of his pocket. “What’s the number?”

“I—I don’t know his home number, just his cell.”

“What’s that then?”

“I don’t know that either. I can’t remember it, and I deleted it from my contacts.”

The deputy rolled his eyes, and Amy clenched her jaw to keep from screaming. She ground out between clenched teeth, “Why would I lie about a couple of dead bodies and a mysterious spy?”

“Look, Ms. Prescott. I’m not saying you’re lying, but there’s not much we can do right now with no bodies to back up your story and your, uh, spy nowhere to be found.” He jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “Maybe Mr. Castillo wasn’t dead, and he got up and walked away.”

“He was dead.” She clenched her hands in front of her, recalling that she wouldn’t let Riley touch Carlos’s body. “H-he looked dead.”

“Maybe you did stumble on some kind of drug deal. God knows, this close to the Mexican border we’ve seen plenty of crap going down. We’ll send someone out to the beach again tomorrow. The body just might wash up on shore. And obviously if we get a call from Mrs. Castillo reporting a missing husband, we’ll be back.”

Another deputy jogged down her front steps. “If someone did snatch the body, whoever it was did a great cleanup job.”

“And what about the wet suit?” Amy shoved her hands in the back pockets of her jeans. Not that she wanted to put the cops on Riley’s trail, but a little bit of evidence might show she hadn’t been delusional.

“Did you find the wet suit on the living room floor?” Deputy Sampson jerked his chin toward the other deputy.

“No. There’s some sand around, but isn’t she a lifeguard who just got off work?”

Amy stamped her foot, feeling about two years old. “I’m not making this up. A man saved my life on the beach and came home with me. He’s the one who dropped me off at the station.”

“Did you have a bad breakup with this ex-boyfriend of yours, Ms. Prescott? You found out he was married, you went a little crazy?” He held up his hands. “Hey, I don’t blame you. Maybe you changed your mind and you wanted him back. He’d rush to your rescue or something, leave his wife.”

Amy’s jaw dropped. “That is so not me, Deputy Sampson.”

He lifted his shoulders as the other two deputies ambled toward their squad cars parked at the curb, their red lights still casting a glow over the few neighbors who’d remained outside during the excitement.

Amy rubbed her arms. This was it. They were leaving. They didn’t believe her, or they strongly doubted her. Thought she was some love-obsessed loon.

“I’ll tell you what.” Deputy Sampson shoved his useless little notebook in his pocket. “Like I said, we’ll send someone to check out the beach tomorrow. In the meantime, I’ll look into the whereabouts of Carlos Castillo. If he’s missing, we’ll be back.”

“I probably won’t be here.” She squared her shoulders. “I’m not going to stick around to see if they bring the body back. You don’t plan to stick around—do you?”

“I’m sorry, Ms. Prescott. We’re not in the bodyguard business, but I’ll make sure a patrol car takes a couple of turns around your neighborhood tonight.”

Yeah, that makes me feel warm and fuzzy. Amy gripped her upper arms. It didn’t matter. These sheriff’s deputies with their rolling eyes and tight-lipped suspicions didn’t make her feel safe anyway. Only one man could make her feel safe right now—Riley, her phantom spy.

She pointed to Deputy Sampson’s notebook, now tucked away in his pocket. “You have my cell phone number. I’ll probably be spending a few days with some friends.”

“Good idea.”

With their so-called investigation wrapped up, the cops scrambled for their squad cars and started their engines. Amy turned her back on her neighbors’ curious stares and slammed the front door of her rental house. She couldn’t bring herself to go into the kitchen to make a cup of tea.

How could there be no evidence of a dead body? Professionals. Riley had warned her about these drug dealers. But Carlos’s wife would miss him and contact the police. Then they’d come running back here with the smirks wiped off their officious faces.

Right now she planned to get out of there. Riley had tried to reassure her that the murderous thugs were after him, not her, but those same murderous thugs had slipped into her house while she was gone and stolen the dead body of her ex-boyfriend. Not a good sign.

She’d spend a few days with Sarah and Cliff. She didn’t figure she’d have much luck rounding up her cat, Clarence, tonight. Maybe she’d leave a note for the girl down the street to put out food for him in her absence.

Amy crept down the hallway toward her bedroom, flipping on all the lights. She perched at the end of her bed and reached for the phone. She called Sarah and Cliff and got the babysitter.

“Could you ask them to call me as soon as they get home? It doesn’t matter how late.”

Amy dragged a suitcase from her hall closet and heaved it on top of her bed. She scooped up an armful of shorts and jeans and shoved them into the bag. She threw open her closet door and swept T-shirts and sweaters from their hangers.

After cramming everything in the suitcase, including her damp lifeguard swimsuit, she headed for the bathroom. She dumped some toiletries into a small bag and spun around.

Right into the solid form of a naked man.

A scream gathered in Amy’s lungs, but before she could let loose, she realized the naked man was only half-naked—and he was no stranger.

“Riley! What are you doing here? The cops just left, and they didn’t believe more than half of my story, especially since Carlos’s body is gone.”

He gripped her shoulders, his fingers pinching her flesh. “You need to get out, Amy.”

She swung the toiletry bag from her arm. “That’s what I’m doing.”

“I mean you need to leave now, with me.”

“W-what are you talking about?”

“Your ex-boyfriend, Carlos Castillo, wasn’t who he said he was.”

“I know that. He was married.”

“It’s worse than that, Amy. He was involved with the Velasquez Drug Cartel. And now so are you.”

Chapter Four

A jolt speared Amy’s chest and she sucked in a sharp breath. “I don’t believe you. Why are you saying this?”

“My…associate gave me his name. Carlos Castillo, right?” Riley tightened his grip on her shoulders and gave her a shake.

Squeezing her eyes shut, she nodded. She hadn’t told him Carlos’s last name. As her heartbeat raced, her mind slowed to a sluggish crawl. Her tongue felt thick and numb in her mouth. She didn’t want to move. She didn’t want to face any of it. Hadn’t she endured enough drama in her life already from her childhood?

“I’m sorry.” Riley released his grip and rubbed her upper arms. “I’m worried about you. What was Carlos doing here? Why did he single you out?”

“I don’t know.” Amy dragged her hands through her tangled hair and blew out a breath, expelling all her self-pity with it.

She straightened her spine. “It must have something to do with the beach. That’s where we met. He must’ve sought me out there for a reason.”

“Hold that thought.” Riley grabbed the toiletry bag from her hand and charged past her into the bedroom. He dropped the bag into the open suitcase and glanced over his shoulder. “You have everything you need? I’m getting you out of here.”

It looked like she had everything she needed standing right beside the bed. Riley knew how to take control of a situation and obviously relished the challenge. “I was waiting for a call from my friends before heading over to their place.”

“How about you head over to my place for now? With what you know and what I know, maybe we can figure out your level of involvement in this mess.” He zipped up her suitcase and hauled it off the bed.

She tilted her head. “You’re going to tell me what you know?”

Shrugging, he yanked up the handle on her bag and wheeled it out the door as she stepped aside. “You’re in it up to your pretty chin, so you deserve to know what’s going on. And I’m relieved to find out I’m not responsible for your involvement or Carlos’s death.”

He thought she had a pretty chin? She rubbed it and then clenched her teeth. “I’m glad the fact that Carlos targeted me for some kind of criminal enterprise is making you feel warm and fuzzy inside.”

Riley grinned, and then she felt warm and sticky inside. If she had to take off into the wild unknown with drug dealers pursuing her, at least she had a hot guy along for the ride.

“You know what I mean.” He pointed to the front door. “I still have Carlos’s car. Let’s use that instead of yours.”

She held up her index finger. “Hang on. I need to leave a note for the neighbor girl to feed my cat.”

As she scribbled the note, Riley flung open the front door and peered into the darkness. “It’s all clear. Where does the girl live?”

“Two doors down.” She waved the piece of paper stuck to her finger with tape.

She jogged down the sidewalk and slapped the note on the outside of the mailbox. Poor Clarence must’ve high tailed it out of there when Carlos came calling. Her cat never liked Carlos. She should’ve paid more attention to his feline instincts.

She joined Riley at the rear of the BMW. He popped the trunk and heaved the suitcase inside. “When we get to my house, we’ll search the car. I haven’t had time yet.”

“Looks like you haven’t had time for anything.” Amy allowed her gaze to wander down his body to his swim trunks, now dry and hanging loosely from his slim hips. The muscles of his flat belly clenched as he slammed down the trunk.

He tugged at a stiff lock of her hair. “You, either. When we get to my place, we can take a shower.”

Her cheeks warmed, and Riley lifted one brow. “One at a time.”

How’d he see her blush in the dark? Unless the same naughty thought had popped into his head.

As she slid onto the passenger seat, Amy drew her eyebrows together. She must be overcoming her trust issues—by leaps and bounds—since she’d accepted Riley’s story so readily. Something about the man instilled confidence—and a whole lot more.

Of course, she’d been willing to trust Carlos, too, and look where that had landed her. Or had she? She’d never let Carlos completely into her life. She’d never slept with him. He had accused her so many times of holding back. That’s why she was surprised when she’d discovered his marital status. Usually men cheated on their wives so they could sleep around, not hold hands and walk on the beach.

Unless those men were sinister drug dealers with ulterior motives. Carlos probably didn’t even have a wife.

Riley hit the highway and accelerated. “So the cops didn’t believe you?”

“It’s like you said.” She slumped in the leather seat. “They didn’t find anything at the beach, and then when we got to my place, someone had removed Carlos’s body.”

“Did they question you about me?” He slid a sidelong glance at her.

She snorted. “They thought I’d watched too many James Bond movies.”

He smiled, but she heard him release a long breath. “I wonder why they took Carlos, and how. You’d think your neighbors would’ve noticed people dragging a dead body from your house.”

“Lots of older folks in that neighborhood, not much activity at night. So how’d you find out about Carlos’s connection to the drug dealers?”

“I saw his registration minutes after my contact gave me his name. It makes sense, but it doesn’t explain what he was doing at your house at the time of the drop, or why his associates killed him. What can you tell me about Carlos?”

Amy curled a leg beneath her and gazed out the window. “I met him before summer started. He was charming and interesting and he kept coming back to my beach. We started dating and then I discovered he had a wife.”

“How’d that happen?”

It sounded so petty now, but any information she could give Riley might help. Amy cleared her throat. “I—I didn’t trust Carlos. Some of his actions seemed suspicious—the parking around the corner, the excuses for never meeting at his place, the endless cell phone calls. So one day I answered his cell phone.”

Riley reached over and tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “Don’t look so sheepish. You had good reason to suspect him and you followed your instincts. Who’d you find on the other end, the wife?”

“Yep.” She clasped her hands between her knees. “Of course, now I’m not so sure. For a wife, she didn’t seem very upset that another woman had just answered her husband’s cell phone.”

“Did you confront Carlos?”

“I did and he admitted it. I immediately ended the relationship.”

Riley drummed his thumbs on the steering wheel and narrowed his eyes. “She could’ve been the real deal. Drug dealers get married, too.”

“I guess.” She lifted a shoulder. “So why do you think he hooked up with me in the first place?”

“He wanted access to that beach.” His lips quirked in a quick grin. “Not that you aren’t without your charms.”

Amy rolled her eyes. “Don’t worry. No offense taken.”

“He probably wanted to find out about lifeguard schedules and procedures and pass the information on to the guys in the boat.”

“He did ask a lot of questions, which seemed natural at the time. But what was he doing back at my place tonight, why’d his associates kill him and why’d they come back for me…or you?”

“And now you’re asking a lot of questions, none of which I can answer.”

“How about I start asking some you can answer?” Amy shifted in her seat and studied Riley’s profile. This man with his ready grin and sarcastic quips could turn lethal in a matter of seconds. His dark blue eyes could shine with humor and cloud over with secrets just as fast. She wanted to dig deeper to solve the enigma of Riley…. Riley. She didn’t even know his last name.

“I’ll answer anything you like once I’ve had a shower and something to eat.” He jerked his thumb toward the window. “We’re here.”

Riley wheeled the car into the parking lot of a nondescript apartment complex. Amy didn’t know what she expected for a safe house, but a sprawling apartment building in the middle of San Diego didn’t exactly fit the bill for a secret agent.

Riley pulled into a numbered parking slot. “Good thing I stole Carlos’s car since I left mine down by the harbor.”

“It won’t be such a good thing if Carlos’s wife reported the car stolen.”

Riley grabbed the door handle and raised his brows. “If Carlos had a wife.”

Amy scrambled from the car while Riley unlocked the trunk. She joined him at the rear of the car as he yanked her suitcase from the back and set it on its wheels. Then he ducked back inside the trunk, sweeping his hands across its surface.

“Doesn’t look like Carlos kept anything in here, but he left his jacket in the backseat along with his cell phone. We can take a closer look at the phone once we’re inside.” He slammed the trunk closed and locked up again.

Amy liked the sound of that. Riley really did plan to include her. Must be because the drug cartel had put her directly in their line of fire.

Every crisis had a silver lining.

She followed Riley to the elevator as he dragged her bag behind him. He had a small place tucked away in the corner on the third floor of the building.

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