Carol Ericson - Bullseye - Seal

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 too well. She’d been right about the nerves, too.

Josh Edwards’s call hadn’t surprised her too much. She’d felt the pull between them, had noticed the way he’d assessed her but wasn’t sure he’d act on it. She wasn’t sure she wanted him to act on it. Her trepidation had more to do with the fact that she didn’t trust her instincts anymore rather than the fact that she hadn’t dated since Ricky’s assassination.

Maybe if she just pretended this was a work function, she wouldn’t fall under Josh’s spell. She’d keep her guard up and her .22 close.

The elevator landed in the lobby, and she crossed the marble tiles to the front door, waving at Enrique, the security guard at the desk.

Stepping into the night air of Miami, she inhaled the slightly sweet and spicy scent carried on a light breeze. She noticed this smell only here in South Beach—a combination of the perfumes and colognes of the women and men out for a night on the town and the savory odors from the restaurants lining the sidewalks and the occasional food truck hawking authentic Cuban food.

The bar she’d picked for her date with Josh got a good crowd on weeknights, but didn’t command the standing room–only business of some other, more popular clubs. Cicero’s would do for a quick drink and some informal chatter—that’s all she could commit to right now.

She made a left turn at the corner and crossed the street. Squaring her shoulders and hugging her purse to her chest, she stepped into the bar and did a quick survey of the room.

Josh, sitting at a corner table facing the doorway, raised his hand.

Gina wove between the high cocktail tables until she reached the corner of the bar. As she approached, Josh stood up and grabbed her chair, holding it out for her.

Ricky had always done that, too—didn’t mean a damned thing.

“Thank you.” She scooted the chair closer to the table, hanging her purse over the back, gun compartment on the outside. “Have you been waiting long?”

“I got here about fifteen minutes early. You’re right on time.” He tapped the glass in front of him. “I just got some water, but I hope we see that waitress again. It’s busy for a weeknight.”

Gina turned an appraising eye on the scene—attractive waitresses, a good number of bartenders hustling up drinks and sharp busboys cleaning up tables as fast as customers vacated them. “Management’s on the ball here. We won’t wait long.”

The waitress appeared at their table seconds later, as if she’d heard Gina’s assessment. “Ready to order now?”

“I’d like a mojito, please. The house rum is fine.”

“Sounds way too exotic for me. I’ll have a beer, please. What do you have on tap?”