a threat.”
Ace had vocalized the deep fear Jarrett harbored. Still, his gut warned it was something else the man wanted. “Kidnapping is too messy.”
“I’ll say. Two weeks ago the gangs kidnapped a local and held him for ransom, and his family paid the money, but it was no use. They found his head in the local garbage dump. These guys are slick, Ice. And someone is funding them. Augustin may have the money, but someone else is directing them. Someone very quiet, a real shadow.”
“Let me know what else you find out.” He clicked off the phone and shoved it into his pocket then felt in the back of his jeans for his sidearm. Damn, life had just got a whole lot more complicated.
He knew how to maneuver around complicated. But not with a woman and a child’s lives at risk.
As he joined Lacey at the crates, she straightened. Despite the relative coolness of the day and the refreshing mountain breeze, sweat dampened her temples. It partly soaked her shirt, making the white fabric stick to her torso and breasts. She’d unbuttoned the shirt, and he could clearly see the tempting valley between her breasts.
Male interest surged, but he grimly ignored it. Sex would only complicate things a lot more.
“If you’re ready to leave, you can go now. I’m staying.”
The past was behind them. No going back. But he’d be damned if he got into the SUV and turned around and hopped a plane for home. He was a SEAL and the only easy day was yesterday.
Even when it came to dragging his ex-wife back to the States.
“Got a spare room? I don’t take up much space.”
Lacey’s eyes widened. “No, Jarrett.”
“I can sleep on the floor.”
“You’re not staying. You saw my compound, met my daughter. Goodbye.”
He walked over to her, stroked a finger down her cheek. Lacey quivered. They still had it. The chemistry between them was combustible.
He dropped his hand with a grimace. Nearly as flammable as this country.
“I’ll camp by a mango tree if I must.”
Lacey shook her head. “No. We’re not married anymore, Jarrett. You have no authority over me.”
“Dead chickens on the gate and a known arms dealer showing interest in your charity give me the authority. I’m staying until I find out who’s behind it, whether I sleep on the floor, in a bed or on the ground. Get used to the idea.”
“Jarrett...”
“Try to drag me out of here, Lace. There’s a child involved now and what threatens you also threatens her. That changes everything. I’m not budging. Not until I know you’re safe back in the States with Fleur.”
Or without her, but that option was too terrible to entertain.
He softened his tone. “If not for your sake, then think of Fleur. She’s already lost one mother.”
Her lower lip trembled. “Damn you, Jarrett. That’s a sucker punch and you know it.”
“Show me where I’ll bunk. My gear is in the back of the truck.”
After he grabbed his duffel bag, she led him upstairs to a small hallway. Four bedrooms and a bathroom were at the landing. Lacey unlocked the bedroom door on the left corner and stepped inside.
The room had a double bed with a plain white bedspread, a small desk and chair, scuffed wood bureau and a closet. Jarrett opened the closet, walked over to the window and tested the lock.
At his inquiring look, she sighed. “I haven’t had time to fix it yet. It’s safe out here in the country.”
“Safe as dead chickens with their guts ripped out.”
She folded her arms over her chest. “If you’re staying here, you work. No one gets a free ride.”
“I like hard work.” If he had to camp out by that damn gate, he would.
“Fresh towels are in the bathroom. Unpack and be downstairs and ready to work. You have twenty minutes.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
At his lazy grin, she frowned. “And Jarrett? We’re all women here, so remember to shut the bathroom door and for goodness’ sake, leave the toilet seat down.”
His deep chuckle followed her out of the room.
Jarrett stopped laughing and slung his duffel bag onto the bed, then he checked his weapon and then his wallet. He had no idea why Lacey was being threatened or what Augustin wanted with her charity.
But he sure as hell was going to find out.
* * *
The dead chicken bothered Lacey more than she admitted.
After checking on Fleur and giving her a reassuring hug, she talked with Rose, her cook, and Collette. Neither had seen anything unusual.
Pierre, the guard at the gate, finally admitted he had been dozing off last night. He wasn’t certain how long he’d slept.
Yelling at him did no good. Part of her challenge in running operations at the coffee plantation was hiring good help. Pierre was the son of a factory worker who begged her to hire him. He was a decent employee, and when her regular security guard took two weeks to visit his family in New York, she put Pierre in charge.
She had a bad feeling her security guard wasn’t returning.
Lacey told Pierre she was withholding his wages for the day and told him to go home. She called a friend about hiring a new guard. That was life here in this country. One must constantly improvise.
But the dead chicken was a new twist. Ever since she’d fired some of the local single men for laziness, replacing them with women, there had been grumblings in town. She did have enemies. Because of this, she’d made friends, as well, and hired four older, more muscled and trustworthy men, brothers and fathers to the women she hired, as caretakers to work in the cornfield and keep the grass cut around the property. Some slept in small storage sheds on the property, glad to have a place to bunk. Lacey reasoned if they stayed on the property, they could keep a close eye on things.
But it was a large piece of land, and the caretakers couldn’t oversee everything at all times, especially at night.
Fifteen minutes later, after a quick check of the outside of the house, she went into the kitchen. Jarrett was inside. Straddling a chair, he rested his muscled arms upon the back and chatted with Rose as she chopped carrots.
He flashed Lacey a warm smile as she entered the room, which she ignored, despite her rapidly beating heart. She couldn’t fully ignore him, though. A subtle tendril of scent threaded through the air as he neared—the spicy scent of his cologne. Jarrett still wore the same cologne and it opened a floodgate of memories. The smell of him, delicious and spicy, on his pillow the mornings after they’d made love. For months after the divorce,
