Page 48 of Under the Radar

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Mac hurried to the ship’s entrance. He was barely through security when he saw Mo, wrapped in a bright blue towel, talking to one of the staff nurses. Their eyes locked as he approached. Her cheeks were flaming red. “Your poor face…”

“I know, right?” She twirled a finger in the air. “First, my car, then my apartment and shoes, and now my face—again. It’s been a helluva week, Commander.” She gave him an exaggerated wink.

The tension in his chest relaxed a fraction. “I see you have an ice pack.”

“Oh, yes, and two more in this bag.” Mo held it up. “I can’t believe I flew off that jet ski. I’m sorry but regaining my balance after we made that sharp turn was impossible.” She fell into stride beside him.

He slipped an arm around her waist, tugged her into a staff elevator, and pushed the number for their floor. “You’ve got nothing to apologize for. That was my fault.”

“I’m fine—a tinge stunned from bouncing off the water, dodging bullets, and riding with my face in your chest. Aside from that, I’m just red-faced at the insult of it all.” She wiped her nose with the towel and sagged against his side. “Do you think those guys were trying to kidnap me or kill us both?”

The elevator dinged, and the door opened. “Let’s discuss it once we’re in the suite.” Once inside, Mac wrapped his arms around her and kissed the top of her head. “Follow me. Don’t talk.”

She took a step backward and shook her head. What?

Mac flipped his computer open and furiously typed. One of us has been walking around with a tracking device on our person. That’s how they’re finding us. It’s also possible that the tracking device has audio and we’re being listened to.

Mo took a step backward and dropped the towel.

Her eyes burned from the seawater, and anger like molten lava seeped into her veins replacing the fear. “You think they’ve been tracking us? Like we’re animals in a hunt or something?” She flexed her hands.

Mac nodded and placed an index finger over his lips to silence her.

“You think they might be listening?”

He rolled his eyes and nodded again.

Mo upended her purse on the bed so the contents spilled out. She glared at Mac. “Don’t shush me. It’s good if they’re listening because I have a few things to say to them.” She tore the sundress over her head and threw it next to the purse. In a flurry of tangled limbs, she removed her bikini top and bottom, sending the wet wads of floral pink ruffles flying through the air to land atop the rest of the heap.

Mac helped her shrug into a fluffy white bathrobe and began inspecting the contents on the bed with a jeweler’s loupe he’d grabbed from a drawer.

Mo snatched her hairbrush from the pile and pointed it at the suspect bed. “Look, you bastards, I hope you can hear me because I don’t have your drugs, I don’t want your drugs, and the only reason you don’t have your drugs is because your hired help sucks. You’re vermin, and we’re going to eat you for lunch. And just wait until you meet my lawyer. He’s a soulless motherfucker who won’t plea-deal for a lighter sentence. He enjoys the kill.”

Mac looked up from his intense sorting and narrowed his eyes.

Mo held out her hands. What? She continued the tirade while she took off her jewelry and cast it into the pile on the bed. “I’ll never give you the money to replace your impounded heroin or whatever the hell it is. My family won’t give you the money either. We’re going to hunt you down, just like you did to us today. Only next time—we’re going to hurt you, you worthless pieces of shit.”

She threw her shoulders back. “I’m going to take a shower.” Twenty minutes later, she emerged from the shower holding her head high and humming a tune. Her right side hurt like a bitch after bouncing on the water, but at least she’d washed away the filth from the day and removed a piece of shell from her big toe.

It would take some time to scrub the terror from her mind. The suite smelled like coconut-lime soap and body lotion.Aromatherapy. It was a start, anyway.

The littlest smile crossed her face as she brushed her hair. One thing was for certain—she owed Mac her life. Of that she had no doubt. PTSD or not, he hadn’t wasted a second getting her to a safe harbor. Literally. She’d never viewed Mac as a bodyguard before. He was her friend, her lover, her confidant, and a man she thoroughly enjoyed. No man had ever been all those things in her life. Until now.

How lovely. How unusual. How lucky was she?

Where is he?

She padded to the veranda and peered around the drapes. Not outside. He’d left all the items she’d thrown on the bed divided into two piles. Did he find what he was looking for? She poured herself a half glass of pinot and ventured onto the veranda wearing an oversized blue button-down shirt that belonged to him and a pair of his socks. Comfort clothes. They felt safe.

Mo stretched out on the thickly padded chaise and stared at the sky. The familiar rumble of the ship’s engines kicked into gear as the massive vessel tugged away from the pier.

Goodbye, Nassau.

Would she ever return? The jury was out on that one. They’d be in Freeport by breakfast. She’d sip coffee and watch the crowds file down the gangplank from her balcony but there was no way she was getting off this ship tomorrow.

The veranda door opened, and Mac leaned out. “There’s my mermaid. Good shower?”

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