Carol Ericson - Bullseye - Seal

She flinched, nearly biting her tongue. “Terrorists?”

“The two men your father was meeting with that day—known terrorists.”

The ice in her veins turned to molten lava as rage coursed through her system. “My father was meeting with terrorists in his home, while I was there? While RJ was there?”

“Afraid so.” He cocked his head at her.

He didn’t believe she didn’t know.

“How did you assist the CIA? I didn’t see any military there that day.”

He blinked once, his spiky black lashes falling over dark eyes filled with secrets. “That’s classified information. Let’s just say we were there for protection.”

“Not mine.”

“Did the CIA...rough you up?” His jaw tightened.

“Did they pull out my fingernails under a bright bulb? Not quite, but it was no picnic, and the DEA was even worse.”

“I’m sure it was...traumatic to lose your father and husband in that manner.”

She flicked her fingers. “That was then. This is now. What are you doing here?”

“I’m here to protect you.”

She snorted. “From what?”

“From that man in the alley who pretended he was going to take you to your dead husband.” He steepled his blunt fingers. “From whomever is sending you text messages.”

The worry she’d been experiencing ever since she’d received that first text washed over her once again, and she clutched her stomach. The sudden pain in her gut could be from mixing mojitos and beer, but she didn’t think so.

“Ricky really isn’t alive?”

“No way.”

She took a slow sip of beer this time and licked the nutty taste from her lips as she considered this latest piece of news. Would this navy SEAL have any reason to lie to her...about this?

“I still don’t understand. Why am I in danger all of a sudden?”

Folding his arms on the table, he lifted his chin. “Why don’t you tell me what was in those texts?”

She dug her cell phone from her purse and skimmed through her messages. She stopped at the first one she’d received and read it aloud. “‘Where are the drugs? Where are the weapons, paloma?’”

“Paloma? Dove.”

“I-it was Ricky’s nickname for me. Nobody knew about that name. That’s why I believed that man tonight when he said Ricky was alive.”

“I wouldn’t put much stock in that. Ricky could’ve told anyone about it. Drugs and weapons? What do you know about drugs and weapons?”

She jerked back, putting more space between her and Josh’s intense gaze. He might be here to protect her, but he didn’t trust her.

She didn’t trust him either.

“I don’t know anything about drugs or weapons. I had nothing to do with my father’s business and didn’t even know his business until shortly before I was married.”

“Once you knew his business and your husband’s was drugs, why would you choose to put your son in danger by bringing him to that house?”

Gina crossed her arms, digging her fingernails into her biceps through the material of her silk blouse. She locked eyes with Josh, but this time the passion that kindled between them was anger, not sexual attraction.

She let a long breath out between her teeth that turned into a hiss. “It’s complicated.”

“And the other texts?” He sank back in his chair and sipped his beer.

“Same exact words, except the last message I received in the bar when you were in the restroom.” She pulled a crumpled napkin from her purse and flattened in out on the table in front of him.

“Clever. He must’ve been the one who bought us the drinks.”

She dropped the phone on top of the cocktail napkin. “My father was a drug dealer. I don’t know anything about weapons.”

“Do you want me to tell you?”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“I’m not sure you want to know the truth.”

“Bring it.”

“Your father, and the Los Santos cartel, had started dealing with terrorists out of Afghanistan. In exchange for the product from their poppy fields, he was going to supply them with weapons...and passage into the US.”

Now she did feel sick.

She bent forward, leaning her forehead against the sticky table, her hair falling around her face. “I can’t believe he’d do something like that.”

And then she remembered what he’d done to her and she could believe it.

“Gina? Are you all right?”

Balancing her chin on the table, she peered at him through the curtain of her hair. “Not really. I thought this was all behind me.”

“Can you think of any reason why your father’s associates would be contacting you?”

“Is that who you think it is?” She blew the hair out of her face, as she raised her head.

“That’s a good possibility.”

“Could it be the Feds?” She splayed her hands on the table, wiggling her fingers. “Maybe they’re trying to trap me?”

“I think I would’ve been told, since essentially I’m reporting to the Feds.”

“The FBI? DEA? You’re working with them?”

“What did you say before?” He rubbed his knuckles across the stubble on his jaw. “It’s complicated.”

“But what you’re telling me is that if it was some federal agency trying to trap me, they wouldn’t have sent you out here to protect me from that agency.”

“Exactly.” He placed his hands over her restless fingers. “I’m going to ask you a couple of questions. Can you try not to go off on me? I’m just asking.”

Her gaze shifted to his broad hands covering hers. God, his touch felt good—warm, secure. She nodded. “I won’t go off on you.”

“Is there any reason why these people would think you know something about your father’s business? Did he give you any information? Leave anything to you?”

“There wasn’t much left.” She slipped her hands from beneath his. Unless you counted the bank account on Isla Perdida. The same type of account her father had set up for her mother when they split, the one Mom had been using ever since to fund her lifestyle. Blood money.

“They seized all his assets...and mine.”

“I’m sorry about that.” He drummed his fingers against his glass. “They must think you know something. They wouldn’t contact you, otherwise.”

“They’re sadly mistaken. Do you think I’m in danger from them?”

“You could be.” Sounding casual, Josh lifted his shoulders, but they were stiff, indicating anything but casual.

“Great.” She pushed away the mug of beer. “What was your original assignment? Get close to the grieving widow? Why the pretended interest in the property? Why not just approach me?”

His gaze floated over her left shoulder and she wondered if he’d heard her. Then his attention snapped back to her face. “I thought it might be better to get to know you in a nonthreatening way first. I did shock you with all these revelations, didn’t I?”

“Partly because I thought you were a mild-mannered programmer.” Although there’d been nothing to suggest Josh Edwards/Elliott was mild mannered in any way, shape or form—her gaze skimmed over the powerful muscles on display beneath his shirt—especially form.

“My instructions were to get close to you.” He cleared his throat. “This is a new type of assignment for me, so I wasn’t sure about the best approach.”

His lips twisted into a half smile, and her gaze lingered on his strong jaw imagining for a second what it would feel like to get close to Josh Elliott. Then she flipped her hair over her shoulder and said, “Honesty?”

“What?” The hand holding his beer mug jerked, and the amber liquid sloshed into small waves.

“I said you could’ve tried honesty in approaching me.”

He curled his hands around the heavy, beveled glass and stared into its depths. “You really would’ve been open to a navy SEAL on a secret assignment appearing on your doorstep?”