Barefoot with a Stranger (Barefoot Bay Undercover #2)(21)

“Whose dick does Roger Drummand suck to keep his job anyway?” Gabe mused. “He can’t still be getting a paycheck based on the power of his father’s reputation.”

“Like hell he couldn’t be. William Drummand’s face is practically etched in marble in the entry of Langley, still the most-revered Cold War spy ever to come through the agency.”

“I met him once,” Gabe said.

“Don’t tell me. He has an ego the size of Russia, lives on his past glories and expects his son to do the same?”

“Actually, he was a cool old dude. Powerful as shit, yeah. And he really cares about the agency.”

Mal snorted. “Then that apple fell far because Roger’s not even fit to tie Dad’s shoes. Every assignment and promotion he ever got was because of his last name. When William Drummand kicks, Roger will be shuffled to an even less important job than whatever he has now.”

“But in the meantime…” Gabe reminded him.

“In the meantime, I have to remember that uncovering an embezzler in his organization was probably Roger Drummand’s greatest career achievement. And if he thinks I got the money they never found and he could lock me up again, it would be another feather in his almost bald cap.”

“You mean to tell me they never located the half mill?” Gabe blew out a whistle as he reached the door.

“I guess someone found it, but not the US government.”

“Think your old pal the motherly secretary has it?”

Mal shook his head. “Don’t know, don’t care. And I won’t let Alana Cevallos take the blame now any more than I would then.”

“My pal, the f*cking hero.”

Mal ignored the comment. “Did what I had to do.”

“Taking the fall for Drummand’s secretary and spending four years in prison wouldn’t have been idiotic at all, Mal, if she’d been a hot piece of ass you were boning instead of a middle-aged single mother of three.”

“Three kids eight and under,” Mal said. “All of whom would have been orphans and trapped in a wretched Communist country if Alana had gone to prison. They had everything to lose, and I had nothing.”

“Just a hot-shit undercover career that some people would kill to have.”


He still didn’t care. Those kids would have been lost, or worse, if he hadn’t taken the blame when Roger Drummand discovered that someone had stolen five hundred grand from the government coffers at Gitmo. And when Alana came to him and told him she was going to be blamed for it, he did the only thing he could do for the single mother.

Gabe headed up the stairs to a sunny-yellow bungalow with a small brass sign that said McBain Security, pausing for a second. “Don’t you want to know where that money is?”

He hoped it was in four healthy accounts, accruing a future for those kids and their mother. “Don’t know, don’t care.”

“Think she has it?” Gabe asked, clearly still a master at reading people’s thoughts.

“Then she wouldn’t still work at Gitmo,” Mal said, purposely not answering the question. “Or stay in that crappy Cuban town.” At Gabe’s look, Mal added, “I know people, too.”

“The only person you need to know is me,” Gabe said.

Mal laughed. “Still the most arrogant dickhead around.”

“Usually. And I’m also the only arrogant dickhead around who can help you.”

“I thought I was here to help you,” Mal said.

“How do you think I’m going to pay you for this favor?”

“I don’t want to be paid, Gabe.”

Gabe put his hand on the door and nodded to the sign. “You do realize I don’t really work for a resort bodyguard company, right? You do know what I do here, right? Private witness protection. People who don’t want to be found, ever, by anyone, come to me. You could be a client. No charge. I can get you everything you need, every single piece of paper and ID, to set you up somewhere else. Not a federal agent in sight watching your every move.”

It wasn’t the first time he’d considered putting Gabe’s talent to work. But it never felt right. Why should he run when he was an innocent man? Still, the possibility intrigued. “Where would I live?”

“I got people all over the world, my friend. Fiji, Hong Kong, Tokelau. You could be the f*cking King of Micronesia. Name a country that appeals.”

“The United States of America. You know, the country where I was born and the one I fought for as a Marine, then worked for as a spy on the side of the red, white, and blue. That country.”

“Sorry.” The single word held so much punch, it made Mal swallow hard. “That country thinks you stole half a million dollars from the Guantanamo till. Pick another one.”

“I’m not interested in another one.”

Gabe looked genuinely disgusted. “Instead, you’ll spend your life looking over your shoulder knowing that no matter what you do someone is always watching, waiting for you to slip up.”

“At least I’m not looking over my shoulder at Micronesia.”

“Have you seen those islands? The place is a damn paradise.”

“Would you live there?” Mal challenged.

“Dude. I’m living here.” He swept his hand. “Bareass Bay. Where lost spies come to die. You’ll fit right in, my man.”