Barefoot with a Stranger (Barefoot Bay Undercover #2)(93)

“I understand. Hell, I empathize. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve thought about that mission we were on and…” She made a face and gave voice to something that had played at the edges of her brain for weeks. “Is it crazy that I kind of want to work for the CIA, too?”

“Not crazy at all. You’d be fantastic, and they’d be lucky to get you.”

But she didn’t want anyone to get her but him. “You could take over Gabe’s undercover business if he leaves.” It wasn’t exactly what she wanted him to do, but maybe they needed a compromise to get this plan off the ground.

Mal gave her a steady look. “Let’s stop dancing around this, Chessie. I can go where you go. And I want to. So we can…”

She looked up at him, half aware she was holding her breath. “Plan,” she finally said, giving voice to her thoughts.

He fought a smile. “You would like a plan.”

Well, of course she would. She shrugged both shoulders as if to say she refused to apologize for who she was. “Half the fun of a plan is making it,” she said.

“Is it? Then let’s make one. Together.”

She wasn’t at all sure what he meant, but she felt her arms automatically tighten around his waist. “I imagine it would be filled with contingencies.”

“If by contingencies, you mean sex, then, yeah. Loaded with them.”

“I actually don’t mean sex,” she said softly. “I mean…making love.”

“It is.” He leaned closer and pressed his forehead to hers. “It is making love. Every single time.”

The words warmed her, but they still weren’t exactly what she wanted to hear. She knew how she felt about him, but they hadn’t been together that long.

She bit her lip. Once he’d said he’d loved her, but that could easily have been a thoughtless burst of appreciation for a masterful hacking job. Since then, he’d shown her, but never said the words.

“So the question isn’t where that address number forty-three is,” he continued, “but whose name is on my mailbox.”

“Malcolm Harris?”

He gave her a look like she should know damn well what he wanted it to say. “I want to feel settled, Chessie.”

Okay, enough of this. She narrowed her eyes and wound up her best shot. “Define settled.”


He laughed softly and pulled her closer. “I can, actually, define settled.” He kissed her hair. “It starts with will you and ends with yes.”

“Mal.” His name caught in her throat. “Are you…was that…did you—”

“Malcolm! Malcolm Harris!”

They both spun around at the sound of a man’s voice from the beach, a punch of frustration nearly knocking her over. Who would interrupt this? He was about to get down on—

“Mr. Drummand?” Shock made Mal’s voice waver. “William Drummand?”

What? Chessie stared at the old man who made his way across the sand to approach their private patio. Despite the shock of white hair, narrow shoulders, and ever-so-slight stoop to his shoulders, he moved with surprising grace and determination.

“I was told I’d find you here,” the man said, adjusting wire-framed glasses and making Chessie realize just how very little she had on. “I’d like to talk to you. Now.”

Chessie inched back, gauging Mal’s reaction to a man who was, as he’d told her, a legendary spy…and the father of a man who’d taken his own life after begging them to do it.

“May I come into your villa?” he finally asked, the note of humility surprising Chessie.

She longed to tell him to go away, that he’d just ruined the biggest moment of her life, but Mal nodded slowly. “Yes,” he said simply. “You can talk to both of us. We’re a team.”

A near-naked team. “We should put clothes on,” Chessie whispered.

“Come around to the front door,” Mal instructed, walking inside with Chessie, where they stood in the bedroom, staring at each other.

“What are you going to say to him?” she asked.

“That his timing sucks.” He took her hand and pulled it to his mouth, kissing her knuckles. “We’re not done with that conversation, Francesca, but let’s hear what he has to say.”

She’d rather hear what Mal had to say, but instead she dressed and braced for a meeting with a legend who had every right to hate her.

* * *

Mal opened the door to Bill Drummand with absolutely no idea what was about to happen, but he met the other man’s level gaze and extended his hand to shake.

“Mr. Drummand.” He stepped aside and ushered him into the villa. “It’s an honor to meet you.”

Drummand gave a wry smile. “I’m not sure if I’d call it an honor to meet you, young man, but some things have to be done in person. May I?” He gestured toward the living room, then headed there without waiting for Mal to answer.

Chessie sat on the sofa, dressed and looking as tense as he felt. Still, she rose and shook their guest’s hand, managing a smile at what had to be an incredibly awkward moment.

“Can I get you a cup of coffee?” she asked.

“Absolutely not.” Bill sat on the edge of a chair and folded his arms, nodding to silently order Mal to sit across from him.