Navy Seal To The Rescue

The woman gave her a narrow-eyed look, but finally shrugged.

“Sure. Go on back.”

Fighting her way through the crowd, Lila took a deep, grateful breath once through the kitchen doors.

A dozen faces turned to stare at her in surprise. But none was the one she was looking for.

“Chef Rodriguez?”

She got a series of shrugs, a couple of scowls and one frown from the dishwasher, who jerked his chin toward a door leading to a narrow hallway.

“Try his office.”

“Thanks.”

Remembering the chef’s earlier reluctance to talk, Lila closed the door behind her. The grumble of voices hit her when she was halfway down the hall. Men. They were speaking Spanish, but it was a dialect she wasn’t familiar with. But the rage in their tone came through loud and clear.

Biting her lip, Lila paused. She took one step back toward the kitchen, then spotted a door leading outside. Probably better to go out the side, she supposed, ignoring the frustration tightening her jaw. She wanted to talk with Rodriguez tonight, to get her offer in first.

The voices rose. She recognized enough to know that one man was pleading, another cursing. She’d just talk with the chef in the morning, as planned, she decided, nervously sidling over to the door.

Before she could turn the knob, there was a whine and a pop. Lila jumped, barely choking back her scream at the loud crash, the sight of papers winging through the air.

Another pop, and the partially closed door burst open, slamming into the wall. Before it could ricochet back again, a body flew out, landing in the hallway with a sickening thud. Something splattered, spraying the walls, spewing across the floor.

Blood?

Was that blood?

Hers drained out of her head, leaving her dizzy and blinking against the tiny black dots dancing in front of her eyes.

Chef Rodriguez, she realized with a silent scream, recognizing the body that splattered blood over the floor. A very dead Chef Rodriguez.

Oh, God.

Oh, God.

Oh, God.

Lila’s whole body shook. She swiped at the doorknob, but it wouldn’t turn. She swiped again, trying to get a good hold on the metal with her sweat-slicked hand.

Get out, get out, get out, she mentally chanted, her breath coming in ragged gasps. Get out before they see you.

She heard footsteps.

The sound of something hitting the wall.

They were coming.

She let out a squeal of panicked relief when the door opened. She tried to run, but her knees were as useful as Jell-O, so she hung on to the doorjamb to keep from falling on her face.

“Hey!”

Lila heard the office door ricochet off the wall again, the horrible squelching sound of someone sliding in blood, a big body hitting the wall.

They’d seen her.

Lila considered herself to be a smart woman. A world traveler trained in self-defense. A woman who followed and respected the law.

She knew she should scream. Call for help, yell for the police. There were at least fifty people twenty feet away. Someone would help her. Someone would save her.

“Hey. You.”

Lila didn’t even wait a heartbeat. She didn’t scream. She didn’t head for the kitchen.

Nope.

She ran like hell.

* * *

Ripped out of a dream, Travis jerked awake, instantly coming to full alert.

Where was he? What’d happened?

Hammock.

The beach.

In Costa Rica.

Shit.

He rubbed his hands over his face, cleaning the fatigue away before glancing at the sky. From the angle of the moon, the position of the stars, he estimated that he’d slept for about three hours.

Three uninterrupted, peaceful hours.

Not bad, he decided as he swung his legs out of the hammock and, balancing carefully, got to his feet. He doubted he’d get any more tonight, but three was good enough.

He’d go back to Paulo’s house—a hut, really—and chill. He was a man skilled in keeping his mind occupied and hands busy. A talent that came in handy before a battle. And, apparently, while mulling what the hell to do with the rest of his life.

Because the life of a beach bum was getting old.

Grinning a little because, yeah, those had been a great three hours of sleep, Travis headed for his temporary home.

But before he had taken ten steps toward the hut, he had his hands full of a hysterical blonde. Her hair flew around him in silken ropes. He felt rather than heard the loud crack as his knee gave out, but the woman continued to grab at him, her fingers clutching his back like he was a lifeline.

Despite her violent shaking and gasping sobs, he knew the only thing keeping him from planting his face in the sand was the woman grabbing at him.

If that wasn’t annoying, he didn’t know what was.

Travis gritted his teeth against the pain and grabbed her right back. He damned well wasn’t letting go until he had his footing. After a few seconds, her continual squirming and wriggling had a different effect on his body than vicious, shooting pain.

Whoa. Now that was a sensation he hadn’t enjoyed in a long time. Too long, he figured, if a panicked woman hell-bent on knocking him on his ass was a turn on.

“Nice to meet you and all,” he said, reaching around to grasp her wrists and unleash himself from her hold. “But I think that’s enough for now.”

“No. No, no, no,” she gasped, her words breathy with terror. “You’ve got to help me.”

“As soon as you let me go.”

But instead of releasing her hold, she tried to burrow deeper.

“Lady, you grab me much harder, you’re going to be inside my skin.”

He managed to break her arm’s lock on his waist, but before he could unwrap himself, she jumped in his arms, shoving him off balance again.

Travis didn’t bother to censor his curses as he struggled to find his balance.

“What the hell is your problem?” he finally snapped, getting a firm grip on her shoulders and pushing her to arm’s length. She shook harder, her hair flying as she looked behind her then back at him.

It was the sexy blonde from earlier that afternoon, he realized. The one he’d flirted with. If this was her follow-up, it was seriously twisted.

And, based on his body’s reaction, it kinda worked.

“They’re after me. Bad men. They saw me. Police. We need the police.”

Seriously? Adjusting his weight onto his left leg, Travis rolled his eyes.

“Get a grip,” he told her.

“Dead,” she gasped, almost sobbing the words. “They killed him. He’s dead.”

“What?” Dead? His senses hitting high alert, Travis looked over her shoulder, tracking the path she’d run. He could see the furrow of her steps in the sand and the lights of Casa de Rico beyond. There was a handful of people on the beach, but they all looked to be alive. “Who do you think is dead?”

“He’s dead. They shot him. Oh, God, there was blood everywhere.” Swallowing so hard he heard the click in her throat, the woman had to take a couple of deep breaths before she could finish. “They killed Rodriguez. The chef at Casa de Rico.”

Her thick lashes were spiked with tears over eyes of a misty, sea green that might be pretty when they didn’t have that glassy sheen.

Someone down the beach shouted. She gave a short scream and jumped, turning so fast that her hair slapped him in the face.

“Is that them? They’re going to come after me. Oh, God. I need to get out of here. I have to get away.”

Her voice was so thick with panic, he could barely make out her words. He reached out to grab her when her body sagged, not surprised to feel her shaking like an earthquake. She screamed again as soon as he touched her.

“Calm the hell down,” Travis snapped. Then, seeing no other option that didn’t make him a complete jerk, he grabbed her arm.

“What are you doing?”

“Taking you somewhere safe.”

Chapter 3

Safe.

Safe was good.

The sand seeping between her feet and sassy wedge sandals, Lila stumbled in his wake. She was glad he was holding her arm, since her knees were gooey now that the adrenaline was gone.

She blindly went along with no idea where he was taking her. Gorgeous body and a little flirting aside, she couldn’t figure out what it was about this rude man that made her feel safe, but she’d take it over the faceless guys with guns.

The image of the chef hitting the floor flashed through her mind again, the sound of his body crashing to the floor, the red spray across the walls.

She wanted to ask him to slow down, but Lila’s breath jammed in her throat, choking on the words before she could utter them. She blinked hard and tried to focus.

That’s when she realized that they’d left the beach, heading into the tall trees of the rain forest.

Where was he taking her?

Was it really safe?

Was he?

Get a grip, Lila told herself. And she needed to get it fast, before she ended up like the stupid blonde in every horror movie who went into the basement to check a noise.

“Let’s call the cops,” she said, trying to pull free of his grip on her arm. “I want the police.”

She dug her cell phone out of the pocket of her capris with her spare hand.

“Smarter to use a landline where we’re going to call the local station. But if you want, go ahead and make the call yourself.”

His easy disregard calmed a few of her nerves. Not all of them, but enough that she was able to get a better look at where they were going.

Not a neighborhood, per se. But a tidy row of thatched-roof houses, bordering a low hill leading into the forest. A pair of elderly men sat smoking in front of one house, both lifting their hands to her escort in a friendly greeting. Since neither said a word about his dragging her along by the arm, she had to wonder if this was some weird courtship ritual of his.

A weary looking woman swayed in the open doorway of one house, patting the back of the crying babe in her arms.

“Colic again?” Lila’s rescuer called out.

“Again and again,” the woman returned in a singsong voice. “We’ll be hurting too much to sleep for a little while yet.”

“I keep telling you, a shot of Jim Beam will take care of the problem.”

“Is the whiskey for him? Or is it for me?” the woman asked with a laugh.

“Whatever works.”

It was his easy humor as much as the crying baby that reassured Lila enough to have her tucking the phone back in her pocket. Either way, she’d wait for a little privacy to call the police. Privacy and, she decided with a deep, calming breath, a few minutes to get herself under control.

The man might be gruff and overwhelming, but she was pretty sure he was safe. Or, safe enough, she amended, watching the way his muscles flowed as he strode a step ahead of her. He had a slight limp, like he was favoring his right leg. She frowned, squinting at the scars crossing, bisecting and wrapping around his knee. She wasn’t an expert, but that looked fresh, to say nothing of painful.

“Slow down,” she insisted. When he frowned, she made a show of pointing to her feet. “I’m wearing heels. So unless the bad guys are actually chasing us, let’s keep it to a reasonable pace.”

He didn’t bother to hide the roll of his eyes, but he did slow his pace. Enough, she was glad to see, that he wasn’t limping as badly.

From the front, the house looked smaller than the others, barely bigger than her apartment in San Francisco. But it had impressive hardware on the door and windows, and, if she wasn’t mistaken, a state-of-the-art alarm system.

“Worried about break-ins?” she asked as he reached for the doorknob. As soon as he twisted it, she realized she had her answer. It wasn’t even locked.

“Not my place.” He pushed open the door and gestured her inside. He gave her an impatient look when she hesitated. “It belongs to a friend. He’s not here a lot, so he keeps it secured.”

Okay. Lila wet her lips. As she hesitated, a loud crash came from the path they’d come from, followed by a couple of gruff shouts. Lila rushed through the door so fast, she almost tripped over his feet.

“In a hurry?”

“It’s been a crappy night, okay?” she snapped, hurrying over to peek out the front window. The same old men still sat, smoking. The same woman still swayed, singing. But nobody else was out there. She pressed her hand against her stomach, trying to calm the sharp jabs of fear.

“It’s been something, all right,” he agreed under his breath, pulling the door shut behind him.

“Lock it. Please. Lock the door.”

His eyes skimmed over her face, and even though she could feel his exasperation, he silently turned the lock.

“Feel better?”

“No.”

She looked around with a frown. The bulk of the square footage seemed to be in this main room, with a pair of doors on the end leading to what she assumed was the bed and bath. The furniture was simple. A long black couch and a huge black recliner stood in the center of the room, both so big she was surprised they fit in the room. A table and two chairs were shoved in a corner next to a refrigerator that looked older than the house itself.

Something about cataloging the room calmed her. Enough so that she started to feel her legs again and her hands started to tremble. She didn’t want to close her mind; she wasn’t ready to see the scene in her head again. But she figured she had a handle on the babbling enough to make a coherent report.

“We should call the police now.”

“You sure? Maybe you want to wait a few more minutes. Think it all over again.”

Lila turned to stare.

The man was gorgeous. Even in the sad light put out by one rickety looking lamp, he was a work of art. From his sculpted jaw that needed a shave to his eyes, as dark as his midnight-black hair, he had the looks. The body, too, she remembered. She didn’t let herself ogle it for the same reason she wouldn’t let her mind reenact the murder. Because she wasn’t sure she could handle it.

But she couldn’t deny the man had it all going on.

All that, and he was still an idiot.

“You think I went running willy-nilly down the beach on the verge of hysterics, then grabbed on to you, all just for entertainment?” She barreled on before he could say anything to go with the amusement in his eyes. “You think I threw myself into your arms, that I made up the whole story about seeing something that horrible? Why? Just to get your attention?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You don’t believe me,” she said with a scowl. “So why did you bring me here?”

“To give you time to calm down before you did something stupid, hurt yourself or hurt someone else.”

“Aren’t you the hero,” she muttered, turning her back on him and pulling out her cell phone.

“What’re you doing?”

What did he think she was doing?

“I’m calling the police,” she said, shooting a defiant look over her shoulder before pressing the keys. One. One. One.

Before she hit the seven, a hand reached over her shoulder to take the phone.

“You sure you want to call the cops?” he asked, his voice a slow rumble vibrating against her back. Irritation made it easy to ignore the sensations coiling in her belly, but Lila figured it was smarter to step away regardless. No point in letting her body get stupid ideas.

“Look, buddy,” she snapped, turning to face him rather than leave all that temptation hulking at her back. Mistake, she realized as soon as she stared up into his dark eyes. Big mistake. But she was good at ignoring mistakes, she reminded herself before taking a deep breath.

“I don’t know how things are handled in your world. But in mine, murder means we call the cops. So get out of my way and let me do that, then you can get back to your beer and your beach and whatever the hell else actually matters to you.”

Lila wished that her voice wasn’t shaking almost as hard as her hands, but a person could only take so much.

“You need to calm down,” the man said, obviously impervious to her nasty tone and cutting words.

“You don’t believe me?” she accused, slapping her hand on his bare chest to keep him from walking away. “Why? Why would I make something like that up?”

His eyes locked on hers for a long heartbeat, then dropped to her hand. Her fingers tingling, Lila dropped it to her side. His gaze met hers again and he shrugged. A slow shrug that was just as indifferent as the rest of his attitude.

Years of being ignored, of having her simplest wants and needs and thoughts dismissed as inconsequential exploded in Lila’s head.

She used both hands this time, not to stop him from walking away, but to shove him back a step. Ignoring the look of amused surprise on his face, she gave him another shove. There was something about having a man’s full attention that filled her with a feeling she barely recognized as power.

God, it felt good.

“Call the damned police. Call them now,” she ordered, her voice vibrating with fury. “They’ll figure out what happened. They’ll find Rodriguez.”

“You’re sure?”

She slapped her cell phone against his chest.

Ignoring it, he gave her one last, long look, then stepped over to grab the receiver of an ancient rotary dial phone and made the call.

He spoke Spanish in the local dialect, his words flowing too fast for her to make out more than every third. Her eyes widened when she realized he was actually talking to the chief of police.

“Sí. Rodriguez,” he confirmed. “Casa de Rico.”

Lila held her breath, waiting for the rest of the conversation, but the only thing she heard from then on was grunts on her pseudo rescuer’s part until he said goodbye.

“They’ll meet us there.”

“Someone else probably called it in by now,” she mused, her fingers clenching and unclenching as she thought it through. “There’s no way nobody noticed the chef on duty missing and didn’t go looking for him.”

“No calls from that location or in the vicinity.”

“How do you know?”

“I asked.”

Oh.

“Let’s go then,” she said, heading for the door. “We want to be there when they get there.”

“Give me a minute.”

A part of her wanted to unleash that fury again, to yell and demand and see him respond. But he was already doing what she wanted, she realized. So letting loose her anger wouldn’t be a show of power. It’d just be showing her bitch face.

So Lila stayed silent while he stepped out of the room.

She glanced out the window, noting that the baby must have fallen asleep because the swaying woman was indoors now. The forest was a tangle of shadows in the dark, but she could still make out the path to the beach. She squinted, wondering if she could see the ocean from here. Maybe in the daytime.

But she could see well enough that she’d notice anyone coming their way. Cops. Killers. She stared until her eyes watered, but nothing moved.

She was so focused on watching out the window that she almost screamed at the sound behind her.

It was the beach bum, still shirtless but wearing jeans and heavy black boots instead of cutoffs and bare feet. He strode over to a drawer and pulled out a gun. A black, lethal looking weapon that had her breath knotted in her throat so tight she could barely breathe. He pulled out the magazine, checked it, then shoved it back in place before tucking the weapon into the back waistband of his jeans. He snagged a T-shirt off a pile on the chair. Pulling it over his head, he strode to the door and threw it open.

Without a word about the gun.

Why that should make her nervous after everything else that’d happened, she couldn’t say.

“I’ll walk you back to your hotel.”

“I’m going to the restaurant,” she snapped. “You remember, the scene of the crime.”

“Of course you are.” He gestured toward the open door. “After you.”

“Do you have to be such a jerk?” she asked as they headed through the tree-covered path.

“Do you have to be such a drama queen?”

“When I see a man murdered right in front of me, yes. I think I’m entitled to wear the drama crown.”

His lips twitched.

“Yeah, I suppose you are. If you did.”

It took her a couple of seconds to puzzle that out.

“You honestly don’t believe me? Why would I lie? What purpose is there in making something like that up?”

It wasn’t until he’d joined her on the path, his steps just a little hesitant, his gait just a little off, that Lila realized she’d thrown herself into his arms, gone with him into a strange place, leaned on him for emotional support and was dragging him back to a murder scene.

And she didn’t even know his name.

* * *

“Who are you?”

What difference did it make? When Travis shot the blonde a questioning look, she amended, “I mean, what’s your name?”

“Hawkins.”

“That’s it? Just Hawkins?”

He didn’t figure they were going to be exchanging mail. Or, despite the appeal of her pretty little body and sea witch eyes, good-mornings over sex-tangled sheets. So, yeah, he shrugged. That was it.

“I’m Lila.”

“Okay.”

She stared. Blinked. And stared again.

“Seriously?” she muttered under her breath. “Just, okay? Could you be any ruder?”

“I’m sure I can if I put a little effort into it.”

He didn’t know if that puff of sound she made was a laugh, but it made him grin.

“Just walk me back to the restaurant and help interpret with the police,” she told him. “Then I promise, I’ll leave you alone with your beer and your beach.”

“Anything you say. Lila.” He put a little extra agreeableness into his tone. The kind he used with irritating officers who were superior in rank only.

“Just for that, I want an apology before you drop your butt back in that hammock.”

Travis shot her an impressed glance. The woman must be better versed in Smart-Ass than the last admiral he’d answered to.

“Or?”

She stopped on the path that led from the beach to the restaurant and gave him a long study. Then her smile flashed, sassy and challenging.

“Or I’ll keep bugging you until you do.”

Damned effective threat, he silently acknowledged as she continued with surer steps toward the boardwalk, then up toward the side door of the bar.

Smarter than the front entrance, he supposed. The fewer people who saw her, the less flak she’d get later. He knew enough about the local policía to know they weren’t going to be too thrilled at being hauled out of their comfy chairs on a bogus call.

“Get your apology ready,” she said, giving him a snotty look over her shoulder as she grabbed the doorknob. Travis didn’t bother to tell her to forget about it. The doors around here automatically locked on both sides.

She gave it a twist and tugged it open just an inch.

“Quiet,” she whispered. “They might still be in there.”

Huh. Travis frowned at the door, then touched the Glock nestled at the small of his back. He silently followed her inside, first looking toward the door to the kitchen, then toward the office.

“The door wasn’t closed before. And the body? It was lying there in the doorway. Where is it?” she asked, her words so quiet they barely floated on the air. Her gaze slid to his just long enough for him to see the sick dance of nerves in her eyes, then with a sharp breath, she started for the office.

He liked the way she didn’t back down, despite her fear. But Travis still laid his hand on her arm, halting her steps. He drew in a long breath through his nose, noting the faint scent of solvent.

“Wait.”

She stopped and bit her lip, looking at the door, then back at him, then at the door again.

Nobody stormed out with guns blazing, but Travis still had a nasty tingle dancing down his spine.

He didn’t know if they really were standing in a murder scene or not. But his senses told him that something definitely wasn’t right here.