Barefoot Bay: Wild on the Rocks (Kindle Worlds) Read online

  “The Hangman?”

  “You know Russian?”

  “I know hired killers.”

  “Da,” Gregg softly replied. He would imagine this was good policy for an FBI agent. “Palach and another enforcer of Sokolov’s are on the hunt for a woman.” The agent’s attention zeroed in on Gregg. “I know no other particulars.”

  Agent Dougherty consideration of Gregg was weighted. Gregg waited patiently and was rewarded when the agent took a deep, audible breath. Gregg knew this meant he had decided to trust him.

  “Sokolov held an exclusive party last week at the Borgata in Atlantic City. We know Romanov was an invited guest. Far as we can tell, it’s the last time anyone saw him alive. We also know there was a specialty bartender working the party. She’s now disappeared too.”

  “She saw something?”

  “She saw something,” the agent agreed. While not at all jovial to begin with, Agent Dougherty’s demeanor yet darkened. “We’ve suspected for a while now that Goyut took to his undercover role too well and has been covering up for Sokolov instead of informing on him. He could’ve used FBI resources to track the bartender for Sokolov.”

  Gregg rose from his crouch next to the body. “I will reach out to my contacts,” he offered. “See if anyone knows anything more about this bartender.”

  “’Preciate that.”

  Agent Dougherty gestured for the evidence techs to resume their work. “Dirty or not, it’s never easy when it’s one of us,” he said with one last glance at the body.

  “It shouldn’t be,” Gregg agreed.

  He’d been lax, too ready to bask in bringing down Vlitnik to pay enough attention to Sokolov. And now that maniac was trying to gather all the Russian mob under one leader. Under him.

  “I’ll be in touch as soon as I have any information,” he told Agent Dougherty. Yanking out his phone, he called Thomas to say he was done. He had calls to make and one dangerous meeting to set up that wouldn’t wait for dawn.

  Cloak and dagger his ass.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Alcohol gives you infinite patience for stupidity.

  —Sammy Davis, Jr.

  Quinn pulled into the parking spot in front of the Hibiscus Court Apartments, closed the SUV’s moon roof, and set the brake. She shut the car down, reached for the door latch and then stopped.

  Nope, not even enough energy left for something as small as pulling the door handle.

  Her head dropped to rest on top of the steering wheel. God, she’d forgotten how much it took out of her to work such a long day. Once business for In the Mix had taken off, her usual gigs became blocks of structured time and targeted hours, maybe four or five max for a large event. That didn’t account for planning and research and booking, all of which consumed time, but all done with her ass in a chair, not hours on her feet in heeled boots. Not since San Diego had she put in a full shift with overtime, which was what the 12 hours she’d spent working the Thornquist rehearsal dinner and after party felt, and that didn’t include her early start to meet with the wedding planners that morning.

  Damn, but those rich politicos could pound ’em back.

  But it wasn’t only the work that’d left her drained tonight. She was full up on emotional overload thanks to one stubborn Navy SEAL.

  Jasper bloody McQueen had knocked her straight off her axis but good.

  She’d been too busy to keep track of the security guys and their rotations on the off-chance Jasper was reassigned to the bar. She did catch glimpses of Jasper’s friend Twist throughout the rest of the event. Around midnight, shouts and raucous screams from the pool area had sent nearly everyone running for the patio. Quinn mopped up the spills they’d left behind and kept an eye on the drinks to be sure none of the lingerers doctored any, but she heard enough to figure someone had gone in. A guess that got confirmed when a dripping wet Twist carried in an equally soaked and seriously smashed party girl who was screaming with glee and clinging to Twist almost as tightly as her now transparent cocktail dress clung to her breasts.

  Given the shit-eating grin that spread across Twist’s face as he dripped his way through the bar with the woman in his arms, he didn’t much mind.

  Later, after she’d finished closing down the bar, Quinn had counted her blessings on avoiding another confrontation and scurried out of the resort. Despite his promise, Jasper had remained a no show. All that did was ensure he dominated her thoughts all night.

  And she had not one clue what to do about it.

  Well, that wasn’t entirely true. What she wanted was to find out where he was staying, slip into his bed, and follow up on that kiss he hit her with. Sure, she’d probably get a gun to her head for the effort—sneaking up on a SEAL was a baaaaaad idea any day of the week. And that was before she figured in the foreknowledge that Jasper slept with his weapon close to hand, much less the level of anger he clearly bore for her. But the kind of sex she’d had with Jasper back in the day was worth more than a little risk for a repeat.

  Quinn huffed out a breath that fogged up her window. Truthfully, appealing as it always was, even the idea of climbing Jasper like a tree was too exhausting to move beyond thought.

  He could do all the work.

  Mmm. Jasper definitely redefined the benefits of lying back and taking it. Good things happened when he did all the work. Amazing things.

  Spectacular things.

  She rolled her head sideways and stared out the fogged-over window.

  That was the exhaustion talking. And the year-long loneliness. And, yeah, the fear. Fear she’d managed to compartmentalize and ignore while she was working and with Jasper to occupy her neuroses. If she were honest with herself—and she always tried to be—she’d admit what she really wanted was to crawl into Jasper, pull him around her like a shield, and let all the crap aimed her way land on his formidable shoulders.

  But that was weakness that left you vulnerable, and she’d been vulnerable enough for two lifetimes. She wasn’t a woman who relied on others to solve her problems. She’d walked away from everyone she’d ever known in order to claim her independence. She’d be damned to surrender it now, not even to Jasper, who she’d once loved beyond reason. No, she’d handle her own crises as she had since the day she’d left the commune—and for a long time before then too.

  For a place that’d professed to be all about unity and sharing and togetherness, in reality, her parent’s home was a place where everyone followed one man’s dictates. And if you went up against him, well, then you were truly on you own.

  Which was just fine by Quinn.

  Pushing aside troubling memories, Quinn lifted her head to glance out the windshield and up. What possessed her to take a third-floor rental? Now she had to muster the strength to get up three flights of stairs. What were the chances anyone was still awake to notice if she crawled her way up the steps instead? More importantly, did she care?

  She did not. “But there is something to be said for dignity,” she mumbled as she bumped open the car door. Bracing, she climbed out, dragging her bag over the console from the passenger seat. She caught her breath when pain shot up her weary legs before resolutely setting her boots toward the open stairwell that was only mildly shaded by an emaciated palm tree.

  The full moon was tinted red. “Hunter’s moon,” she whispered, shuffling toward the stairwell with her neck craned back to take it in. Exhausted as she was, she forced herself to take a walk along the water’s edge after closing down the bar in an effort to phase out some clutter from her mind. It hadn’t worked, but given her life expectancy at the moment, it seemed wise not to pass on such luxuries as a moonlight walk on the beach. Even if she took that walk alone.

  Even if the moon was blood red.

  It bled out into the dark sprawl of the night’s sky. If Quinn were of a more fanciful bent, she might’ve taken it as a bloody warning of things to come.

  If bloody things were to come, she supposed Hibiscus Court Apartments were as likely as place to find the
m as any. True to his word, Clancy had handed her a phone number yesterday, and Quinn found her way into a vacancy. It wasn’t as convenient to the resort as the Fourway in the center of town, but she preferred it that way. Less questions to dodge and no nosy relative of that harridan, Charity, to put her on the gossip rack.

  Despite the many demands on her time and attention and the importance of the Thornquist wedding to her burgeoning business, Willow had insisted on helping Quinn get settled in at Hibiscus Court. She’d tag-teamed her partners, too, so that there were few moments when Quinn was left to herself and thus (or so Quinn figured Willow to have silently reasoned) have the chance to rethink her offer to bail out the Barefoot Brides partners from their mixologist quandary. Willow needn’t have worried. Quinn wasn’t about to repay her kindness by mucking things up for them at the last minute.

  Though if the Russian mob showed up, all bets were off.

  Quinn had met Willow’s partners, Gussie and Ariel, when she’d swung by their office for a very early morning meeting. She’d been instantly struck by the bond between the three women who ran Barefoot Brides Destination Weddings. And that was before each lady had taken time throughout the myriad last-minute crises leading up to the rehearsal dinner to help get Quinn settled into temporary life on Mimosa Key and set up with whatever she needed to work her magic at the bar for the festivities. A day before, the shock of Jasper’s arrival would’ve sent her running for her SUV and fleeing for the next Key.

  She knew from experience that he wouldn’t come after her.

  But the ladies had made her feel unusually welcomed and wanted. She couldn’t betray that by leaving them in another lurch. There’d be plenty of chances for her to go after the wedding. She’d have to keep clear of him in the meantime, no matter her urges.

  Quinn climbed the first flight of stairs and rounded the second-floor landing for the next one up. Jasper had probably been set up in one those gorgeous villas she’d caught glimpse of along the beach. No sketchy apartment complex for the defender of the American way.

  What had Twist meant by “enforced leave”?

  She’d only partly been joking when she’d told Jasper he looked like a poster boy. She was certain there was no more committed a soldier than him in the entire armed forces.

  He’d set his team even above his wife in priority. That might seem admirable to an outsider, but as the woman who came in second place, Quinn could tell whoever asked it was a sucktastic place to wind up.

  If he’d been put on enforced leave, something terrible must have happened.

  It would kill Jasper not to be in the Navy anymore. His whole identity was wrapped up in being a SEAL. What could possibly have happened to jeopardize that?

  Quinn took firm hold of her troublesome curiosity. Not her problem anymore, not Jasper’s career, not his trouble, and for certain, not Jasper himself.

  Strange though how he’d been haunting her since she’d squeezed into that dress in Atlantic City, popping up in her thoughts while she sparred with Charity until she’d found herself using her married name. A big mistake, she now realized, one that gave advantage to Jasper, something he’d been quick to catch on to, as usual. Jasper made a living out of capitalizing on the smallest opportunities. There was power in a name and she’d given him that power by taking back his and along with it, a claim he’d made clear he was more than happy to reassert. A claim that brought with it the responsibility to get Quinn out of this mess.

  I can get myself outta this mess.

  Yeah, probably.

  Maybe.

  But the truth was having Jasper involved would make her life a helluva lot easier.

  And he was there now, mere miles away, as though she’d conjured him like some badass genie. Jasper McQueen at her service. Orgasms are here, here, here, here, and here.

  God, it was tempting. He was so tempting.

  She hit the second landing and paused to catch a breath before starting up the final flight.

  Why did he have to kiss her? She’d been holding her own, holding him off, until he’d laid hands and mouth on her. She huffed out another breath. Lord love a duck, but she loved Jasper’s mouth. The man knew what he was doing, it had to be said. She loved the taste of it, always had and she’d bet always would, and leapt at the chance to have it again.

  She’d certainly leapt on him. She shook her head with self-admonishment. Couldn’t do that again. Give Jasper the smallest foothold, and he’d take the whole mountain. It was how he’d been trained. It was how he’d been bred. And Quinn knew her long sexual dry spell gave him one hell of a foothold.

  Topping the last flight, she headed to her apartment at the end of the walkway.

  He’d been so pissed at her tonight. She’d seen him angry before but never like that, and never at her. Yeah, okay, so maybe he had cause, but she did too. It wasn’t like he hadn’t given her more than enough reason to go. His deployments left her on her own all the time. If she was going to be alone, then she wanted to do it on the road, moving onward, heading toward a new gig, a new place, a new adventure, not locked up in a condo and a steady job. Even now, the thought of it made her skin crawl. She’d felt as trapped in that condo as she had at the commune and hopeless without Jasper there to remind her why she’d given so much of herself up to be with him. Learning he hadn’t updated the Navy to the fact that he’d been married had been the last blow. She’d trapped herself in staid civilian life for his benefit, and he couldn’t even be bothered to update his marital status!

  It didn’t strike her until much later how out-of-character this was for a man like Jasper, a man for whom dotting Is and crossing Ts was a matter of pride and honor. Jasper got things right or people died, and that kind of pressure stretch into his off-duty life as well when he’d head out at a moment’s notice if one of his teammates needed him.

  She only wished she mattered to him half as much as the Navy and his men did.

  Quinn keyed open the door and let herself into the small apartment she’d call home for the next few days. With a rec from Clancy and his implied promise that she’d passed his security check, the manager hadn’t pressed Quinn for more than her ID and a cash deposit. That hit had hurt her weakening finances. She’d have to find some way to access her bank account or pray the wedding tips were better than anticipated, especially if she had to bail on Barefoot Bay right after the wedding.

  Hibiscus Court did its best to live up to its name in the décor, if the saturation of flowers theme was anything to go on. Quinn’s apartment featured hot house plants. Like the overstuffed armchair, the couch sported a pattern of blooming jasmine with a print on the wall behind it of an African violet in full bloom.

  Show off.

  Quinn didn’t consider herself a flowery kind of woman, but she wouldn’t deny being drawn to some of the more colorful blooms. The deep purple of African violets made them one of her favorites, so the print cinched her decision.

  She locked the deadbolt behind her—the first major selling point for the rental, by the way—and moved through the living area without turning on the overhead. Not like the apartment was so big she needed light to navigate it, and overheads tended to give her headaches anyway. She’d left on the light over the oven, and its soft illumination was enough that she could skirt the cheap coffee table and armchair to get to the short hallway leading to the bed and bathroom.

  She eyed the bathroom, but was too tired to do the whole remove-makeup-and-wash-face thing. Her pores would have to take one for the team. Quinn stumbled into the bedroom, tossing her bag blindly to land next to the nightstand on the near side of the queen-sized bed and was seconds from dropping onto the mattress when a low voice came at her through the dark.

  “Did you really expect to escape so easily?”

  Instant terror rushed through Quinn, eradicating her exhaustion with a tremendous surge of flight or fight.

  They found her.

  She flung herself back from the bed, tripping over her own feet as she
groped blindly for the door in the dark. She could feel a large body pursue her through the small room. A vibe of menace crawled along her skin. She screamed, high and shrill, when his hand gripped her arm so tight, she thought it’d come off right then and there.

  Her knee thrust up, but he expertly dodged and yanked her back to the bed with a wordless growl. “Leave! Go!” she yelled, hoping, praying, someone in the sleepy, quiet apartment complex would hear and call the cops, call anyone for fuck’s everlasting sake, before this guy killed her or knocked her out and stashed her in a trunk for the long trip back to Jersey for worse.

  He tossed her on the bed with ease, a move that would’ve made her marvel if she wasn’t so afraid, and promptly climbed on top of her. Immediately, she bucked, so pumped up on adrenaline, she managed to bounce them both up in the bed.

  “Stop it,” he ordered as they struggled, gruff and seemingly unruffled by her efforts, efforts that were quickly draining her of strength.

  “Get off!” she screamed into his shadowed face. He pinned her hands to either side of her head. She felt his hips shift between her legs and new shoots of panic sprung up inside her gut.

  Oh God, oh God, she couldn’t shift him. She wasn’t strong enough to get free.

  She wasn’t strong enough for this.

  “Please don’t kill me,” she pleaded, tears streaking down her cheeks. “I didn’t see anything, I swear. I won’t say a word. Please, please don’t hurt me.”

  The full weight of him pressed into her as his hands moved to cradle her head. “Quinn, it’s all right. It’s me. You’re safe.”

  “Please don’t kill me,” she begged again.

  A strangled sound of frustration escaped his throat. “I’m not gonna kill you, honey. Take a breath. You’re okay. I’m gonna make it all okay.”

  Slowly, the familiarity of his form and voice finally penetrated her fear. “Jasper?” she breathed.

  “Yeah, babe. I’m here.”

  Jasper was here.

  Thank God, Jasper was here.

  The rush of relief was nearly as debilitating as the terror that’d preceded it. Which had to be why she grabbed his wrists in an unholy vise and blurted out, “They’re going to kill me, Jasp.”