Page 21 of Rebel Protector

This time they sat a little closer together than they had on the way here. Along with her intoxicating scent, he could feel the heat from her body. Her legs were crossed towards his and her arm was only an inch or so away, resting on the canvas bag she’d placed between them. The car turned a corner causing her to tilt over and her arm touched his. She turned and smiled at him. He smiled back.

This hadn’t been the plan, but something was happening here. He’d won her trust, that was a big step forward. The problem was, he very much feared he might be losing something in the process, something he couldn’t afford to give away.

His heart.

Back at the hacienda,Ghost sat on his deck in the late afternoon sun and thought about Becca.

What did she mean when she’d said she’d gone off the rails? You wouldn’t think it to look at her. With those sharp features, those deep, honey-colored eyes, and her cool, efficient manner, she seemed born to be an executive assistant. So damn organized and put-together, it was hard to imagine her as some restless gypsy who wandered the world and couldn’t settle down—or the young woman who’d gone off the rails in Europe.

Yet here she was, working for one of the biggest crooks in Latin America. Maybe she was a danger junkie. She had to know the risks, but by her own admission, she was willfully ignoring what Markov was up to.

He wondered if Pat had dug up any intel on her.

At least Markov wasn’t screwing her. Ghost was sure of that. Not that he should care, but somehow, he did. The arms dealer’s wife and mistress probably kept him busy enough. Still, the thought gnawed at him—what if Markov made a move?

Would Becca be able to say no?

A rejection like that would bruise Markov’s ego, and bruises like that usually led to one thing: getting rid of the problem. Ghost scowled at the horizon, then got up to grab another beer.

He hadn’t missed how Markov watched her. The guy might not want her in his bed, but he stillownedher, and he made sure she knew it. Like the way she had to ask permission before heading into town. She called himAlekearlier, too. Ghost could see the writing on the wall. Markov was twice her age, but he’d make his move eventually.

Ghost pulled out his burner—the one Markov had the number for, along with his contacts and now Becca. Hisotherphone, the one he used to contact Pat, stayed hidden in a secret compartment in his backpack. No numbers saved on it. Calls were quick and dirty—straight to the point, then deleted. Nobody had found that one.

He ignored the strange twist in his gut and called her. It rang a few times before she picked up.

“Hello?”

“It’s Mr. Dominguez,” he said, keeping it formal. Just in case anyone was listening.

“Hi.” She sounded breathless. “What can I do for you?”

There was an awkward pause that made him feel like a high school kid calling a girl for the first time. He cleared his throat. “You said to call if I needed anything.”

“What do you need, Mr. Dominguez?” She was playing along. That confirmed what he thought, that their calls might be monitored.

“Some fresh towels.”

“Sure, I’ll have someone bring them down.”

He hung up. The shortness of the call might raise a brow, but he had to stick to his cover. A hired gun didn’t waste time on small talk.

When they’d been together, he’d been himself, —or mostly himself—so she could see what he was really like. He wasn’t going to win her over if he acted like a prick. But for the sake of the mission, and any listening ears, he had to keep up appearances.

The sun was still hot, so he hit the water for a quick swim. The ocean was refreshing and helped cool more than his overheated skin.

Twenty minutes later, back on the deck, he spotted Becca walking down the path toward his cabin, towels in hand, the sun catching in her hair. He was at the door by the time she got there.

“You came yourself?”

“Maria has left for the day.” Her gaze dipped to his bare chest and stayed there a second too long.

He’d seen the woman cleaning earlier, a local from the nearby village. The woman, like most of the casual staff, didn’t know what Markov did. Hell, she probably thought she was cleaning for some rich businessman, which is how she could come and go with just a light search at the gates.

Anyone in the know got the bag treatment, with an escort.

“Thanks. Come in.” He stepped back, letting her pass.

She’d changed out of the skirt and blouse and was now in a flowing, white cotton dress, buttons running all the way down the front. It floated around her, barely touching her skin, and Ghost felt a wave of heat wash over him.