Bullseye: Seal. Carol Ericson
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why he was reporting to a nameless, faceless woman instead of his superiors in the navy.
He’d been pulled off a deployment in Afghanistan and sent to Colombia with a short stop in the United States. His commander had briefed him there and the assignment dictated he return to the United States and make contact with Gina Rojas—De Santos. Done.
Ariel’s response instructed him to compile a report on his first meeting...and to pursue the relationship to find out what Ricky Rojas’s widow knew.
Easier said than done. He didn’t have the savvy of that smooth SOB Slade Gallagher or the aw-shucks cowboy twang of his other teammate Austin Foley.
But he’d definitely seen a spark of interest in Gina’s dark eyes when she’d assessed him. He’d had to capitalize on that, since he wasn’t ready to tell her he’d been the navy SEAL sniper who’d killed her husband, even if he had been sent to Miami to protect her.
He looked up as Gina exited the town house and swiveled her head in his direction.
Lifting a hand, he pulled away from the curb. He didn’t want her to think he was waiting for her or stalking her. She was jumpy enough. He’d have to put that in his report, too.
He made his way back to his hotel in the much more crowded area of South Beach. Whichever government agency was sponsoring this little reconnaissance mission had some deep pockets. Or maybe they’d just put him up in this swanky hotel because of its proximity to Gina’s mother’s place, who must still be living high on the hog courtesy of her former husband’s drug money—not that the DEA could prove it or find it.
Back in his hotel room, Josh flipped open his laptop and wrote up a report on his initial meeting with Gina De Santos. He left out the part about the sparks that had flown between them, although Ariel would probably tell him to use that to his advantage.
He hit Send on the email with its attachment and pushed away from the desk. He wandered to the window with its view of several pastel art deco buildings. At least that’s something he’d gotten out of his previous relationship—a little culture thrown in with all the cheating.
Snorting, he turned his back on the art deco and flipped on the TV. He’d already figured out the hotel carried the channel with the UFC fight. He’d take the UFC over art deco any day—maybe that’s why his ex cheated on him.
He reclined on the bed, placing his laptop beside him. Wouldn’t want to miss an urgent message from Ariel.
He had no idea why the navy was sending a navy SEAL stateside to keep tabs on a dead drug dealer’s daughter, but he’d figured it was the same reason why they’d sent two of his sniper unit team members on similar assignments in the past few months—Vlad.
Had their old nemesis really been the man behind the drugs-for-arms deal involving De Santos’s cartel, Los Santos?
If that were the case, Josh would be only too happy to thwart Vlad’s plans.
The fight proved to be too one-sided to hold his interest, and he clicked through the remote to find something else. As he settled back against the stack of pillows to watch an old comedy, his laptop dinged, indicating a new message.
He dragged the computer onto his lap and double-clicked the email.
Ariel’s message left nothing unclear. Get close to the subject to exploit or protect.
It didn’t sound like Ariel and her bunch, whoever that was, believed Gina was as innocent as the CIA agents did a year ago. Exploit? If Gina had intel about her father’s old operation, he’d be expected to get that from her. Protect? If she did have that intel she could be in danger from her father’s old associates...or others.
Did Gina think she could play with fire and not get burned?
He dipped his hand in his front pocket and flicked the corner of the card he’d pulled out. Gina’s office number and her cell number. Maybe he could offer to buy her a drink for showing him the town house...or demand she buy him one for pulling a gun on him.
Get close to the subject? He had no problem with that order—no problem at all.
* * *
GINA PEEKED INTO RJ’s room one last time. The soft breathing and tousled, dark hair on the pillow drew her in like a magnet and she tiptoed across the carpet and crouched beside his bed.
She kissed her fingertips and then pressed them against his temple, whispering, “Sleep tight, baby boy.”
“He won’t even know you’re gone. You know what a heavy sleeper he is.”
“Shh.” Gina sprang to her feet and shooed her mother from the doorway of RJ’s room. “Even a heavy sleeper is going to wake up with all your yammering.”
Mom placed one hand on her curvy hip and shook her other finger in Gina’s face. “You’re nervous, aren’t you? You haven’t been on a date since Ricky’s death, and you’re scared. Do you want a few tips?”
“From you?” Gina raised her eyebrows. “No, thanks.”
“The first tip—” her mother breezed past her and picked up her oversize wineglass “—you should have your date pick you up at home, like a gentleman.”
“Meeting him at the bar was my idea. I barely know the guy. I don’t want him to know where I live.” Gina leaned toward the large gilt-edged mirror above the fireplace and drew her pinky finger along the edge of her lower lip to fix her smudged lipstick.
Mom clicked her tongue. “You have to open up and trust a little, or you’ll never get anywhere.”
“Like I trusted Ricky?”
“Ricky was such a handsome boy, so charming although a little weak around the chin.”
Gina rolled her eyes. “Maybe you should’ve married him.”
“Don’t be silly. I draw the line at men in their twenties. Now, give me a hot thirtysomething...”
“Mom.” Gina made a cross with her two index fingers. “Way too much information.”
Her mother, a vibrant and attractive fortysomething, smiled and took a sip of wine. “How about a glass of vino to get rid of those jitters?”
“I don’t have jitters. I’m meeting a possible client for a drink.” She grabbed her concealed-carry handbag with the special compartment for her .22 and hitched it over her shoulder.
“Oh, now he’s a possible client? I thought this was purely social. Possible clients can see you at the office or arrange for a day of looking at houses.”
“I’m looking at him as a possible client because I need to start building a business. I can’t be Faith’s gofer forever.”
Mom leaned against the center island in the kitchen, cupping her wineglass with two hands. “Are you sure the real estate business is for you? I don’t see much passion for it.”
“It’ll grow on me. I have to do something. I can’t just tend bar. It’s a dead end.” Gina slipped into her high-heeled sandals, feeling a spark of excitement for the first time in a while.
“Get your own place going again. You did such a good job with that little Tex-Mex bar you had in Austin.” Mom held up her hands. “I know you don’t have the money, but I do. I could be your first investor.”
“I can’t do that, Mom. I can’t take your money.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Gina. Don’t be proud. I earned that money.”
“It’s dirty money.” Gina flung open the front door and slammed it behind her. She caught her breath and waited outside to make sure she hadn’t woken up RJ.
Her mother called through the door. “He’s still sleeping. Get a move on.”
Gina blew out a breath and crossed the hall to the elevator. Mom knew her