Barefoot with a Stranger (Barefoot Bay Undercover #2)(51)

Shaking the thought along with his wet hair, he headed back, slowing when he noticed the door was slightly ajar. Had he left it that way? Inching it open, he peered into the room lit by only a hint of the morning sun coming through one jalousie window near the ceiling.

The bed was empty. Damn it, that was exactly where he wanted her. Now.

He spun around, wondering if there was another room that she’d taken. She hadn’t even blinked when the owner told Mal they had only one available room. Another bathroom? She’d taken a shower first, right after they’d arrived, and warned him that the only bathroom had lousy water and the owner timed the showers.

Mal took two steps to the bed, since the room was not much bigger than the undersized double bed, spying her soft-sided bag, but not her purse. There was no closet, no other door.

Why would she leave? A slow burn of worry slid up his chest, overpowering anything like disappointment or frustration. Maybe he shouldn’t have left her alone even for five minutes. He snagged his satellite phone from the dresser and bolted, slamming the door behind him.

He marched back down the tiny hallway, up the stairs to the bathroom he’d just left—still empty—and past two other rooms to the front entrance. No one was at the desk where they’d found the owner.

He stepped through the doorway onto a planked walkway under a wooden awning supported by rotted, peeling posts. This part of town was little more than a street of wooden structures, most painted in the same hue of blue or yellow, if they were painted at all.

A few locals peppered the area, but where the hell was she?

Looking up and down the street, a low-grade anger and worry bubbled in his chest, making him fight the urge to call out her name. Where would she—

A trill of laughter and the squeal of a delighted child pulled his attention to a run-down grassy area next to the hostel. Instantly, he saw Chessie standing in the midst of about ten children who circled her like they were dancing around the maypole.

She held her hand high in the air, laughing with them, and then turning to see Mal. “I stepped outside with my satellite phone, and they all appeared like magic.”

Relief punched, surprisingly intense. She certainly hadn’t gone far, she wasn’t lost, and she was only trying to get better reception on the sat phone like Gabe had instructed. So why had her momentary disappearance bothered him so much?

He didn’t know, but he strode across the planked walkway, irritated and annoyed that he’d lost her for even one second.

But Chessie beamed at him, apparently proud of her Pied Piper skills, then did a quick once-over of his bare chest.

“You forgot to tell me you were leaving,” he said, purposely letting her know he was angry.

“You were in the shower, Mal, and I couldn’t get a signal in—”

“Se?ora! Teléfono! Se?ora!” one of the kids yelled, jumping up high enough to touch the phone.

She reacted instantly, whirring out of reach and tossing the device to Mal, who snatched it in midair. The kids cheered and clapped like they were watching a sport.

Chessie beamed. “Some of them speak English,” she told him.

“I do!” one of the taller boys, likely nearing his teens, said.

“Me do, too!” a girl added, then put her finger to her mouth. “Pero…no tell.”

They weren’t supposed to brag about it, Mal surmised. A few of them came to him, still anxious to see the phone. “Estados Unidos?” one asked. “Abuelo! Abuelo!”

He wanted to call his grandfather in the US. Mal sighed and shook his head, looking at Chessie.

“No, darling, sorry,” she said, coming to Mal’s aid and his side, putting a hand on the young boy’s head. “But if you help us, maybe we can help you?”

He looked confused and glanced to Mal for an explanation, who turned to Chessie to see where she was going with this.

“If they help us find the family we’re looking for,” she said, “maybe we can let them make one call. It’s like a gift, like the other stuff we brought to give to kids.”


Candy and books, not time on a satellite phone. But it made sense because that phone call might be the one thing they wanted the most.

“Tell them what we’re doing,” she urged. “About the TV show, just to get them talking.”

He gathered them around him in his best Spanish, taking out his phone to show they had two and getting a huge cheer for that. Chessie observed and moved from kid to kid, a casual touch on the shoulder, a genuine smile. She was as comfortable around them as if they were her own family. Yet another thing that was attractive to him, a man who automatically put a wall between himself and strangers.

Trying to follow her lead—how was that for a role switch?—he explained that they were here to talk to children and families about how things might change in their world.

That got a lot of blank stares for this killer documentary idea. Thanks, Gabe.

Chessie stepped in for an assist, crouching down to get eye level with the two kids who spoke passable English. “We have to talk to families, too. Like the Ramos family. Do you know them?”

His eyes widened, and he stared right at Chessie. “No.”

It didn’t take training in intelligence gathering to know that the little potential informant was lying.

“Are you sure?” Chessie prodded. “This is a small town, and we would like to go to their house.”