Storm Warning (Security Specialists International Book 4), page 27
“Neither am I.” He squeezed her waist.
****
Dinnertime
The resort’s dining area was in a faux palapa-styled building open to the outside along two walls. The area was lit with torches that seemed to keep the mosquitos away, for which DJ was grateful. Her dress, what there was of it, revealed her shoulders, lots of cleavage, and her back. At least the outfit covered her legs to her ankle which protected her from vampire bugs and allowed her to carry a small gun and a knife strapped to her thighs.
As Ace seated her at their designated table, he kissed her bare shoulder. “You smell and taste like vanilla and lemons.”
“So do you.” She grinned up at him. “I’m stealing as many bottles of the resort’s body products I can when we leave.” She didn’t bother to lower her voice since this was her role—the superficial piece of arm candy.
The other couple at the table laughed. The only other occupant was a single girl who was a picture of unrelieved black set off against white skin—black hair, dark brown almost black eyes, and black Goth-like clothing that made DJ hot just to look at her. The girl’s nails were sensibly hacker-short and painted in a dark, blood red polish.
Goth girl stared at DJ as if she’d crawled out from under a rock.
The haughty expression struck a note of familiarity, but for the life of her, DJ couldn’t figure out why. She was fairly sure she’d never met anyone who dressed that way.
The woman from the couple smiled. “I love the body products also. I’ve already put them in my case, hoping they’ll give me more when they do the room tomorrow.” She offered her hand to Ace who sat next to her. “I’m Bev Landry and this is my husband Jeff. Jeff is here to try out for the job. I’m just along, because I love traveling with him. He goes to such interesting places.”
Goth girl rolled her eyes and muttered something under her breath that DJ thought sounded like “fucking plum.” It didn’t sound like a compliment.
Ace smiled and shook the friendly woman’s hand. “Hi, Bev and Jeff.” Jeff nodded. “I’m Erik Slade—”
Jeff gasped and looked impressed—and maybe a bit worried about making the cut.
Ace’s fake name had Goth girl straightening in her chair and turning a piercing stare on him. The expression on Goth girl’s face was shrewd and intensely perceptive, and it was one DJ had seen somewhere before. While DJ still couldn’t remember who or where or when, she knew one thing, for sure—this girl wasn’t as young as she wanted people to believe and she wasn’t just another hacker.
“This is my fiancée, Dahlia. One name. She’s an up-and-coming model.” Ace smiled at DJ as if she were a goddess among mere mortals. The best thing about his adoring smile, was she knew he really felt that way about her.
“I’m Dawn Wilson,” Goth girl offered in a cultured British accent that didn’t gibe with her punk looks. “I haven’t seen you in any magazines.”
Even the name seemed familiar. If it wasn’t her real name, it was damn close.
DJ gave Dawn a big smile. “Because I haven’t actually been in one yet. The photographer Evan Moreau asked me to model for him. He discovered Calista and Tessa, you know?” Best to stick as close to the truth as possible. She fingered the bright turquoise silk of her dress. “Evan got me this Dolce & Gabanna dress from their new resort wear line.”
Evan at Callie’s request had overnighted it to the yacht. The photographer actually did want her and Callie to model for him after the other woman had given birth. Would never happen, but DJ could use it as part of her cover story.
“Really?” Dawn raised a very nicely groomed dark brow. “What kind of shoots? I do so like the fashion scene.”
Well, that was a bald-faced lie. Dawn’s tone said she could care less.
“For a new line of fragrances from a designer whose name I can’t divulge at this point. Callie will be Venus and I’m to be Athena. Evan also mentioned a Sports Illustrated swimsuit gig. My darlin’ doesn’t want me doing that.”
“Absolutely not. The only man who gets to see you nearly naked is me.” Ace picked up her left hand and kissed her ring finger. Bev and Jeff smiled their approval. Dawn just looked slightly nauseated. “So, Dawn, what’s your avatar? Mine’s Phantom.”
“Well, Phantom,” Dawn smiled slyly, “I’m known as Queen Maeve.”
DJ knew something of Celtic mythology. Maeve was a very powerful Celtic goddess, a warrioress, and—
“The king-maker,” Ace replied. “I’ve seen your work. You’re good.”
But not as good as Ace, DJ concluded, since Dawn frowned.
“Yeah, well, I figure you have a few years on me, mate,” Dawn replied, a snarky tone to her voice. “When I’m your age, we’ll compare hacks.”
Then Dawn teethed the tip of her tongue.
Bingo! The nervous habit brought all the puzzle pieces together. Dawn Wilson had also been her name while they’d worked together on a joint drug task force in Central America. Dawn had been on loan from Interpol, and DJ had flown Dawn and the rest of the team around the Darien Region. The petite Brit was close to DJ’s age. While her hair was actually black, the things that had thrown off DJ’s identifying her sooner were the shapeless clothes hiding a pocket Venus figure and the dark eyes. Dawn’s eyes were a pure peridot green.
DJ had liked Dawn. The agent had to recognize DJ, because they’d been the only two women on that particular task force.
“Well, Dawn…” DJ picked up her water glass and saluted the other woman. “We’ll have to talk fashion later. Maybe when you take a break during the hacking session.
“Maybe.” Dawn returned the gesture with a can of Diet Coke. “But I won’t be leaving my computer often. I want to win that job.”
“We’ll find some time. I’ll be in the conference room all evening. My darlin’ loves for me to massage his shoulders.” DJ turned and kissed Ace’s cheek. “His neck gets so stiff hunching over that dang computer. I’ll just check on you, too, and bring you a drink and a snack since you’re all by your lonesome. We can talk then.”
“You are too kind.” Dawn narrowed her eyes at DJ.
The Brit was pissed. Too bad. DJ wanted to know what the fuck the Interpol agent was doing here and if it was going to mess up SSI’s op.
Ace looked between DJ and Dawn. Knowledge flashed in his eyes. He understood she knew Dawn. “My Dahlia is such a good little masseuse.” He played with DJ’s engagement ring. “She keeps me all loose and relaxed. Dontcha, sugar?”
DJ nodded, then blushed as Dawn muttered loudly enough for everyone at the table to hear, “I’ll bet.”
****
“Quick before O’Riley and the others get here.” Tweeter murmured against her ear. To anyone entering the currently empty conference room, it would appear he was being amorous. “You recognized Dawn Wilson. Who is she?”
“Real name is Dawn Wilson. She’s Interpol, on their drug task force. I met her in Central America when my unit was assigned to help the Panamanians in their fight against the narcotrafficantes.”
“Well, hell.”
“Yeah. I’ll talk to—” DJ went silent. Her eyes widened with alarm and then she stiffened. “Fuck.”
Tweeter turned and saw that Rossi had entered the room along several other people. The enforcer’s black, hundred-yard stare was fixed on DJ. The Albatross had DJ’s scent now and was on the hunt.
Rossi had first singled DJ out during dinner. He’d made his interest known by joining their table during dessert, taking the empty seat between Dawn and DJ. He’d ignored everyone else at the table and practically salivated over DJ.
DJ had sensed Tweeter’s unease and had pulled his hand to her thigh, the one where she’d strapped her gun. The gesture had been her not-so-subtle way of reminding him the female was often deadlier than the male, especially his female.
“That man’s evil.” DJ shuddered. “I hate to admit it, but after reading his dossier back at Sanctuary, I had a tiny flashback to the rape.”
Tweeter’s stomach churned. He wanted to throw DJ over his shoulder and take her away from here—and fuck the mission. But while the action would make him feel better, doing so would belittle DJ’s abilities and courage. He couldn’t hurt her that way. She trusted him to believe in her.
Of course, the reality that she could defend herself didn’t allay his need to protect her. Right now, his primitive side wanted to destroy the fucker for even breathing DJ’s air.
“Can I just shoot him?” DJ turned toward him, a glint in her eye. “I could take a walk. The bastard will follow. Bam, bam. Two bullets, heart and head. He’d be food for the big cats this resort is named for.”
“Don’t even think of going anywhere alone.” Tweeter winced at how overbearing he sounded. But just the thought of her, alone, in the dark, with no backup, threatened to drive him bat shit crazy. He caressed her lower back and spoke in a more pacifying tone, “Please … I want you within my line of sight or hearing all evening.”
“Um, you can’t go to the ladies room with me, Ace.” She rubbed her cheek affectionately over his shoulder.
Thank fuck, she wasn’t pissed. In fact, she sounded amused. Though there might have been a wee bit of chastisement mixed in with her teasing words.
DJ could gently scold him all she wanted, but the Albatross wanted her with a viciously sick hunger that everyone at dinner couldn’t help but notice.
Even O’Riley had taken his man aside and had a low-voiced, nasty-sounding argument with a lot of arm waving and finger-stabbing-chest action. The intensity of the altercation had sent ice shards straight to Tweeter’s gut. The two men had almost come to blows, but Salazar had calmed them down.
Tweeter didn’t trust the slimy Salazar either. That S.O.B. was just as much of a predator as Rossi. Salazar also had a filthy rep with women, but coated it in an educated and well-clothed persona.
“Stay away from bloody-fucking Salazar also,” Tweeter gritted out. “He’s even more dangerous than Rossi.”
“I know,” soothed DJ. “The sly, charming ones are always the worst. Keep in mind, I’m armed. Plus, they think I have as much intelligence as a cotton ball. They might want to stay away from me, because I’d rather shoot them then deal with them.”
Tweeter’s sentiment exactly. He stiffened as someone attempted to sneak up behind him. Since DJ hadn’t warned him or pulled a knife on the person, the person wasn’t a threat. Then he smelled roses and musk.
DJ muttered, “Goth girl.”
A light laugh came from behind him. She joined them and tapped a finger to her ear. He noted a small device, probably an amplifier, so she’d overheard their conversation. She played with one of her many earrings and plucked the small bud out and slipped it into one of the many pockets her over-sized clothing sported.
“I’m with DJ. We need to kill both the fuckwits before we leave the resort. Do the female portion of the world a favor.” Dawn winked at DJ, then flashed her smart watch at him. He recognized the app on it as one Keely had designed and patented. It glowed “green.” No listening devices were active nearby.
“So, has DJ told you how she knows me?” She lowered her voice to match his and DJ’s. While there might not be any active bugs, they didn’t need to have their conversation overheard by passers-by. Who knew who else among the many contestants or even hotel personnel might be spying for O’Riley and gang?
“Yes.” Tweeter would let Dawn lead this conversation.
“I can guess why you’re here. Probably overlaps with my intelligence-gathering mission. If we work together, we can get what we both need and leave sooner.” Dawn shivered slightly. Then, loudly, for benefit of some of the hackers lurking nearby, she said, “I hate the bloody jungle. Can’t effin’ stand heat, humidity, or insects, not to mention big kitty-cats that would sooner eat me than not.”
“I like the jungle.” DJ picked up the conversational ball. “Earlier, we took a nature walk and followed a path into the rainforest. But you’re right about the heat, it was like a steam bath. I much prefer my heat with ocean breezes such as we had on the yacht trip down from Cancun. But walking where there wasn’t one … living … person,” her emphasis was to clue Dawn on the watcher in the jungle, “around was sort of exciting.”
“Exciting? You are either very brave or stupid, doll. Lots of lovely predators of all shapes and sizes around here that love to eat silly little female humans.” Dawn arched a brow and mouthed “which direction?”
DJ looked to the east. Dawn winked.
Tweeter snorted softly. “Watch it, ladies. Three of those predators are looking our way.”
Rossi, Salazar, and O’Riley mingled with the contestants. The Albatross’s rapacious gaze kept zeroing in on DJ as he worked his way across the room.
“If Dahlia wasn’t so leggy and blonde, Rossi wouldn’t be an issue … the prick,” Dawn muttered. “The only other centerfold material here is Olga, and she’s Russian intelligence.”
Dawn’s gaze sought out the Russian. Tweeter recognized the woman as the one he and DJ had seen playing tennis earlier. “The vampire-pale guy with her is one of the leading hackers in eastern Europe,” Dawn said. “Hell, he might even be a vampire for all I know. Anyway, poor git has no fucking clue he’s being used to get Olga closer to Oraio’s operation.”
“Crap, Rossi is definitely heading this way.” DJ turned toward Tweeter and planted a kiss on him that made his head swim.
The urge to carry DJ away from Rossi’s vile presence hit him hard yet again. But he knew DJ would fight him every step of the way. She was a member of the team, and he couldn’t forget it. If he did, she’d remind him with a punch to the gut or somewhere even more sensitive.
“If you aren’t with the Phantom, DJ,” Dawn muttered, “come find me. That fucker is nasty.”
Tweeter’s gut eased a bit and nodded at Dawn who, in turn, gave him a chin lift. The agent and he were on the same page.
“I can handle Rossi, but would rather not.” DJ patted Dawn’s arm and then slid one of SSI’s ear bud receivers into the woman’s hand. She wouldn’t be able to talk to them, but could hear what was going on, if there was trouble. “After the session is over, maybe we can get a drink or a snack?”
“Count on it.” Dawn turned to move away. “I need a lot of fuel when I’m hacking. In fact, I’m going to see if I can still snag one of those fruit tarts from the dessert bar and another cold soda before we start.” She walked by Rossi who ignored her as if she didn’t even exist.
“Dahlia, come.” The fucking bastard held out a hand the size of a dinner plate.
“I’m fine right here, thank you.” DJ’s voice was so icy Rossi should’ve turned instantly into the Abominable Snowman.
The poster-boy-for-steroid-use ignored her cold tone and didn’t move away. Instead, Rossi said, “Phantom needs to work.” He reached for DJ’s arm. “You leave.”
“She stays.” Tweeter pulled DJ into his side and anchored her there with an arm around her back, his other hand resting possessively on her stomach. He could feel her full-body shudder, but knew she was mentally present—and not in the past—when she covered the hand on her stomach and gave it a reassuring squeeze. “I need her to keep me focused. I worry about her if she isn’t near.”
“Is there a problem here?” O’Riley came up on Rossi’s left and one of the other security men was on the hulk’s right.
“Yes. This person is making moves on my fiancée.” Tweeter made sure his anger was present in his tone and expression. O’Riley wanted the Phantom so badly for Oraio, Tweeter could taste it.
O’Riley’s demeanor might’ve read calm, but his eyes blazed with anger over the situation.
“I informed y’all when I registered that I need Dahlia with me. You agreed. This cretin needs to leave my woman alone.”
O’Riley’s pale face bloomed red and his mouth thinned. He turned to Rossi who was breathing heavy like an enraged bull, his black-pit-of-hell gaze fixed on DJ’s cleavage. Rossi ignored everyone around them, but DJ. He licked his thick lips and began to move forward.
“Stand down, Alberto.” O’Riley grabbed Rossi’s left arm. The security guard snagged his right.
Rossi looked at his boss and snarled, “She comes with me.”
DJ stiffened and gave a small cry. Her breathing turned shallow and rapid. Her eyes dilated.
Hell, she was on the verge of a flashback. He tightened his hold on her and crooned against her ear, “It’s okay, sugar. I’m here.”
Tweeter sensed her fighting the pull of the past. After a few seconds, she heaved a sigh, allowing her body to go limp against his. She petted his chest. “I know you are. I’m good.”
Her pale face looked strained, but her gaze was steady and fierce. His warrior-woman had a core of steel. She’d defeated her demons again. Would’ve beaten them whether he’d been there to support her or not, because she was a fighter … a survivor. “Yeah, you are.”
Someone came upon them from behind.
Tweeter readied himself to shove DJ aside and turn to face whoever had attempted to sneak up on them when the man spoke, “Is she okay?” It was Salazar.
“She can speak for herself. I’m all right.” DJ’s voice wobbled. She shot a dismissive look at a glowering Rossi, then snuggled even further into Tweeter’s hold. Under her breath and against his shirt, she muttered, “Fucking assholes.”
Tweeter had to bite back the smile threatening to take over his face.
“That man…” she waved an arm in Rossi’s general direction while her face remained buried against his chest, “reminds me of an abusive ex. I don’t like him.”
DJ was definitely focused and playing her role as the helpless arm candy.
“Alberto will not bother you again,” O’Riley promised. “Come on, boyo. Leave the lady alone. She has a man.”
“He’s not a man.” Rossi snorted like the bull he resembled. “He’s a nerd.” The fucktard thumped his chest. “Me. I’m a man. Can protect her better.”
That did it. Time to show Oraio’s men the other side of Erik Slade’s carefully crafted reputation.
“Excuse me, sugar. It seems I have to prove I’m man enough to protect my own.”
