Taken By the Spy. Cindy Dees
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Hathaway chuckled. “Any port in a storm, my friend.”
Mitch thought fast. His job was to make contact with Zaragosa, infiltrate Cuba with identity papers the guy provided, then once in the country, spot any conspiracies against the guy, and protect Zaragosa’s back.
Of course, having now missed the meeting with Zaragosa, that plan was shot to hell. The Cuban politician was due to return to Havana later this evening and there would be no time to arrange for a second meeting. Mitch wasn’t going to get his papers today. Which meant his easy-as-pie, walk-through-the-front-door entry into Cuba was blown. Now he had to find his own way into that closed country. Illegally. Not that sneaking into Cuba posed any great challenge at the end of the day. He’d infiltrated a hell of a lot more difficult places to penetrate than Cuba in his career. But it was still a pain in the rear. Not to mention any change of plans represented a risk to the mission.
Mitch asked, “Can you guys contact Zaragosa and set up an alternate meeting with him in Cuba? Not Havana. Something on the south coast in a day or two. Maybe Cienfuegos. That’s close to Zaragosa’s old stomping grounds. He ought to be able to come up with an excuse to go there.”
“What about you? Are you gonna be able to get there and blend in with the locals?”
“I’ve spent a fair bit of time operating in that neck of the woods. I’ll be fine. Just tell Zaragosa to press on to Cuba without me and I’ll hook up with him there.”
Kinsey’s shadow passed the porthole as she did some chore outside. Probably trying to keep busy to stave off the panic he’d seen lurking at the back of her baby blues. Odd how fate had thrust this woman into his path. Not being one to look gift horses in the mouth, however, an interesting thought struck him. He could just possibly use her looks to his advantage.
Mitch said thoughtfully, “I may have an idea of how to get into Cuba fast. Can you scrounge up a catamaran for me? Something berthed close to Cuba.”
“I’ll see what I can do. I show you sailing toward the U.S. Virgin Islands right now. Is that correct?”
He glanced out the porthole. “If that means we’re heading south by southwest in the middle of a whole bunch of water, that would be correct.”
“I’ll get the gang working on a catamaran for you.”
“Not pink.”
Hathaway laughed. “Roger that.”
Mitch disconnected the call and pocketed the phone. He ducked through the hatch and squinted at the blazing wedge of red melting across the black water to their feet. It shrunk quickly to a narrow slash of red pulsing on the horizon.
Kinsey was already squinting at the fiery sunset. She commented over her shoulder, “Conditions are good to see the Green Flash tonight.”
“The Green Flash?”
“When the sun dips below the horizon, there’s an instant when its light refracts through the maximum thickness of the Earth’s atmosphere and throws off the different colors of the spectrum. Sometimes you can see a flash of green. Legend says it’s good luck to spot it.”
Her enthusiasm was contagious. And hell, he’d take any luck he could get right about now. He squinted into the last vestiges of the setting sun. For just a second, its final rays turned a brilliant emerald green. And then they winked out. “Hey! There it was!”
She smiled over at him. “I guess that means you’re gonna have good luck on this trip.” Aww, hell. The princess had dimples. They added a little-girl charm to her bombshell looks that blew him clean away. Damn, damn, damn. He hated blondes. He didn’t trust beautiful women. And he was not attracted to Kinsey Pierpont Hollingsworth!
Thankfully, his brain kicked back in before too many more seconds passed. Time to talk her into helping him. He forcibly relaxed his shoulders and shrugged, packing as much casual friendliness into his expression as he could. “For what it’s worth, I work in law enforcement. I can’t go into a lot of details, though.”
“Do you have a badge?”
He reached for his wallet. “Sort of.” He pulled out his brand, spanking-new Alcohol, Tobacco and Firearms agent ID card in the name of one Mitch Perovski, and handed it to her.
She examined it carefully, looking from the picture to him a couple times. She held the ID card out to him. “Nice picture. You’re a photogenic guy.”
Unaccountably, the back of his neck heated up. Every now and then someone made a comment that pierced his current legend and went all the way to the real man. It never failed to catch him off guard.
Into the suddenly awkward silence, she asked, “What brings you to the sunny Caribbean? You’re a long way from home, sailor.”
“Cigars.”
She blinked. Frowned.
He elaborated. “Cuban cigars.” The papers Zaragosa was supposed to deliver declared him to be a tobacco importer looking for new sources of fine cigars.
“Ahh. I hear they can be lucrative.”
He shrugged. “A good box of Cohibas run six hundred bucks. If your father would like a box, I’ll send him some when I get home.”
“He doesn’t smoke,” she murmured.
The conversation lagged. He didn’t know what to talk about with a socialite like her. Finally, he said, “Thanks again for saving my life.”
“No problem.”
“I’m serious. Thank you.”
“Any time,” she mumbled, turning away to stare down at the navigation instruments.
The line of her neck arrested him. It was graceful. Slender. Sensuous. Wisps of hair curled at her nape underneath her short ponytail. What would happen if he breathed warmth across her skin just there? Would she cross her arms to rub away the goose bumps? Turn and melt into his arms? Kiss him into last week?
She’d kiss him right up to the part where she buried a knife in his back. He had places to go and things to do. A future president to protect. A few assassinations to commit along the way if he had to guess. Nothing out of the ordinary. He did not need a pampered princess like Kinsey Hollingsworth flitting around in his universe, fouling up the works and making him think thoughts he distinctly didn’t want to think. First order of business: use the pretty lady to get into Cuba.
Next order of business: get rid of her.
Chapter 3
Kinsey was almost glad when darkness settled around the two of them. The rhythmic rumble of the two remaining engines soothed her—number three was running hot, and unable to find the source of the problem, she’d shut it down. The familiar salt and seaweed scent of the ocean was strong tonight. Everything about the night was magnified by the man’s brooding presence beside her. Or maybe it was just her reaction to him heightening her senses to a near painful pitch. She registered his slightest movement, even a change in the depth of his breathing, every blink of his eyes, every shift in his wary gaze.
The black sky and blacker sea merged into a single great expanse, a beast that had swallowed them whole. Normally, she loved this magnificent solitude. But tonight her soul was turbulent, disturbed by the leashed energy of the stranger beside her.
Reluctantly, she turned on the instrument back lighting. Its red glow intruded into the sensual mystery of the dark, breaking the spell.
“Head for the nearest inhabited island at our best forward speed.”
He was back to orders and demands, this hard man. Nothing compromising or yielding about him.
She scanned the horizon and made out a faint black hump in the distance, a few lights twinkling along its spine. “There’s the north coast of St. Thomas now,” she replied.
“Find us somewhere to put ashore