Barefoot with a Stranger (Barefoot Bay Undercover #2)(39)

“Thanks,” the guy said, extending his hand to get the phone back.

But Mal didn’t give it up. “Let’s check it,” he suggested, but the guy snagged the phone immediately.

“Nah, I’m late. I’m sure you got it. Thanks!” He took off just as Chessie came up, shouldering her bag.

“All set?” she asked.

He tamped down the bad taste the guy had left, and nodded. “How about you?”

“A little hassle checking the laptop because I had to register it.”

“You’re not going to be able to use it anyway,” he reminded her.

“Not true. You told me I can tap into Canadian servers, and if there is a way, I will do it.” She added a grin and adjusted her glasses. “Anyway, I’d sooner go naked than travel without a laptop.”

Which would be fine, but distracting as hell.

As they walked out of customs through a bright, modern terminal, Chessie leaned closer. “No issues with the docs?”

He shot her a warning look. “Not a word. Elizabeth.”

“Got it. Mitch.”

Another man made quick eye contact with Mal as he passed, setting off the old familiar warnings again. Everyone was suspect, damn it. Everyone.


A few minutes later, after a stop to exchange American dollars for enough CUCs to pay for everything they’d need, they had rented a Kia—much to Chessie’s vocal dismay, because she really wanted a 1959 sea-foam green Chevy convertible with gull wings. Before taking off, they stopped at a café across the street from the rental place to grab a bite for dinner.

Food would be scarce on the drive down to Caibarién, and they were both starved. Across from him, Chessie sipped a steaming espresso, menu in hand, but her attention was on the colorful, noisy surroundings.

Of course, Mal was paying more attention to the patrons and passersby than the food listing.

“Why didn’t I take Spanish?” Chessie flipped a page of the menu, then closed it and put her elbows on the table. “Nino said when in doubt, get plantains and beans. Or a medianoche. Can never go wrong.”

A couple sat down at another table, out of hearing distance, but when the woman threw Mal a long look, he turned away, barely acknowledging what Chessie had said.

“Eyeing the blonde at the next table?” she teased.

“Was she blond?” He winked, keeping things lighter than he actually felt. “Didn’t notice.”

“Yes, you did.”

“Only because she’s a potential threat.”

Chessie started to slide her glasses down from her hair to her eyes to get a good look, but Mal stopped her with a light hand on her arm. “Don’t.”

“Do you really think I would be that obvious?” She didn’t look, but instead put her glasses on the table to look hard at him. Which was so direct and intense, it might have been better for her to look at the other woman. “Can’t you do something, anything at all, to put a stop to it? I mean, you paid your dues, right?”

Without her glasses, he could really see the concern in her expression, the caring about his welfare that made her eyes endlessly blue. Had anyone ever really looked at him that way? He’d spent a lifetime keeping people at an arm’s distance, and this would be a dumb time to stop that practice.

“That’s not a question someone who wants to keep things hopeless should ask,” he said.

Chided, she looked down, her long lashes brushing against her cheekbones. He loved the way that looked. Probably because it reminded him of when he’d been buried inside her and she’d closed her eyes, lost to pleasure, her mouth open as she took ragged breaths and moaned for more.

“Mal?” she asked.

He shook the fog off. “Mitch,” he reminded her quietly.

“See what I mean?” She picked up her espresso and blew on it. “I’m so not cut out for this kind of work.”

“You’re doing fine,” he assured her, glancing to the side. And that damn woman staring at him again. He had to change the subject. “What are you ordering?”

“Look,” she said, leaning closer and keeping her voice at barely a whisper. “I know you are always watching your back, and I get that. But that chick over there? She’s—”

“Looking at me.”

“Because you’re hot. I don’t blame her.”

He started to argue, but laughed instead. “You just like me.”

“As if I would break a rule like that.” She gave a sly grin and pushed back from the table. “Order me plantains, and I’ll split a rice and beans with you. Be right back.”

“Where are you going?”

She lifted both brows. “Bathroom. Is that okay?”

“Be careful. And fast.”

“Promise.” She scooped up her handbag and glasses, then threaded through the tables, avoiding a route that would have taken her near the staring woman.

The server came to the table, blocking Mal’s view of the blonde. He ordered in Spanish, handed back the menus, then, when the server stepped away, the woman was gone. To the bathroom, of course.

He fought the urge to pop up and head over there, protective and worried. It was the absolute wrong thing to do. Chessie was smart and on the alert. If the woman followed her, she’d never engage. Would she? She was an untrained rookie.