Carol Ericson - Bullseye - Seal

Or unless that buyer had a different motive altogether.

“Let’s start over.” He edged away from the laundry room and into the kitchen just in case she changed her mind and decided to take a shot at him. About a foot away from her, he extended his hand. “Josh Edwards, and I’m interested in the town house.”

She tucked her gun into the purse hanging sideways across her body and took his hand. “Gina De Santos, Four Points Realty, and I’ll be happy to show it to you.”

De Santos? She’d ditched Ricky’s name already?

She strode ahead of him into the living room. “Let’s open up those blinds again and get some light in here, since it really is a good feature of the place.”

While she tugged on the cords of the blinds, his gaze lingered on her backside, round and full beneath her slim skirt. She hadn’t lost anything in the looks department in the past year.

He turned toward the sliding door to the patio. “This is nice. Should get lots of sun.”

She joined him, smelling like some tropical hothouse flower. “Yes, but there’s enough room out here for a table, a few chairs and an umbrella in case the sun gets too hot. The wall is tall enough to restrict a small dog...or children. Do you and your wife have children?”

“Me? No.”

She raised her dark, sculpted brows at him.

Had he come off too strong? He’d decided long ago never to bring kids into this world. Look at her own son.

They returned to the kitchen where she pointed out a few features that held no interest for him at all.

“The laundry room—” she jerked a thumb over her shoulder “—you’ve already explored. Do you want to go out that back door, or did you see enough?”

He hadn’t seen enough. He hadn’t seen the person who’d been in the house closing the blinds.

“I’m good.”

“You’ll love the upstairs. For a single guy like you? Roomy master suite with a second room for an office or gym.” Her gaze traveled up and down his body as she brushed past him.

The look she gave him made him hard in all the right places but he’d better rein in his galloping lust or she might pull that gun out on him again. Why’d she think he was a single guy? He’d said no to the kids, but he hadn’t denied the wife. Probably had something to do with the look in his own eyes when she waltzed past him.

He followed her up the stairs, pinning his gaze to her swaying hair instead of her swaying derriere. If he could remember that she was most likely complicit in her father’s deeds that would be enough to splash cold water on him. How could she not have known what was going on in that compound?

“Here’s the master.” She stepped aside and gestured him into the room.

He wandered around and poked his head in the closet, which he couldn’t imagine filling in a million years. “Impressive.”

While she was still talking about east-facing windows and views, he blew past her into the next room, anxious to make his initial report, anxious to get away from Gina De Santos and the way she stirred his blood.

“This room is smaller, has the mirrored closet doors. Could work as a gym.” Again, that appraising inventory of his body that made him want to flex every muscle he had. “Or an office. What is it you do?”

“Software development. I work at home.”

“This would be perfect for you.”

They completed the tour of the town house and returned to the kitchen where she shoved a flyer at him. “What do you think?”

“I like...everything about it.” He tore his gaze away from her liquid brown eyes and squinted at the flyer. “Might be out of my price range, though. Do you have a card?”

“Of course.” She flattened her purse against her body as she unzipped the top, and he could see the outline of her gun in the outside pocket.

That purse was specifically designed for a weapon. The lady was serious about her self-defense. But why?

“Here you go.” She snapped a gold-embossed card on top of the flyer. “Office number and cell.”

He skimmed a finger across the glossy flyer. “This isn’t your listing? It says Lori Villanueva is the listing agent.”

“I’m helping her out. She was busy today.”

Did that mean the intruder hadn’t expected Gina to be here? Maybe it was just a thief looking for a quick prize, but then he’d missed the purse on the counter.

“Your original client never showed up.”

She gave a little jerk to her shoulders. “Happens all the time.”

“Then I’m glad I stopped by, so you didn’t have to waste your time.”

“I am, too, and I apologize for drawing down on you.”

“Perfectly understandable and advisable...for a woman in your position.”

She lifted her chin. “My position?”

“A Realtor working on your own. Can’t be too careful these days.”

“My feelings exactly.” She scooped up the rest of the flyers and tapped their edges on the granite. “Call me...if you’re interested in the town house.”

“Will do.” He left her to lock up the place and slid into the front seat of his rental.

He was interested all right—just not in the town house.

Josh pulled out his phone and texted a message to Ariel, his contact person on this assignment. He knew better than to question 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.