were clear: no bloodshed and no emotions—just get the computer data and get out. The tech guys he passed the hard drive to would do the rest of the work.
She glanced at the target and realized he’d pulled his sunglasses down his nose with one finger and was taking her in. Sabine pursed her mouth and put on her best British accent. “Lovely weather we’re having, isn’t it?”
He flashed his bleached teeth. “This is the Caribbean. Unless it’s hurricane season, it’s always lovely weather.”
She laughed, trying her best to sound charmed. Her phone rang, stalling what she’d been about to say. It took everything in her to hold back her surprise at the number on screen, but she smiled as though delighted.
“Hello?” How long would it take him to ask why she’d put on a British accent?
“What do you think you are doing?”
She blinked. That was all the reaction she allowed to the fact that he’d roared. “Is everything okay, darling?”
“No, everything is not okay. Get up and leave the restaurant. Now.”
He knew where she was. Sabine transferred the phone to her other ear. Hopefully the target hadn’t heard Doug shout. She wasn’t about to let the Delta Force soldier interfere in her CIA-sanctioned mission. Too bad he was still yelling, which meant she couldn’t get a word in. Didn’t the army know that an operative was going to be here?
“You have no idea what you’re in the middle of.”
And he had no idea that she wasn’t a banker, but a spy. Busted. Or did Doug think she was chasing her brother’s killer on her own? Either way, he needed to get off the phone. “Of course, darling, that sounds like a splendid idea. I’ll meet you there once I’ve finished at the shops.”
“No delays, Sabine. This better not be what I think it is.”
The bartender removed the target’s drink and replaced it with a fresh one.
“I go where I want, when I want. As I said, I’ll be there when I’ve finished.” She hung up.
“Boyfriend?”
“He wishes.” She held out her hand to the target. “I’m Sabine.”
He kissed her knuckles. “Christophe Parelli.”
Like his name was supposed to mean something to her? Well, it meant something, all right, and none of what she knew was good. It meant the son of a weapons dealer being groomed to take over Daddy’s business. It meant too much money and too little sense. In general, trouble with a capital T.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, but I must dash. The day is waning, and there’s still plenty of his money to spend.”
Across the restaurant she looked back over her shoulder to smile and wave, but his attention was already elsewhere. She skirted the edge of the bar, swiped his empty glass from the tray and strode in the direction of the restrooms. With the glass tucked away in the mammoth purse she’d bought online because it went with her dress, Sabine went down the hall past the ladies’ room all the way to the exit door at the end.
* * *
Five minutes later Sabine placed the image of Christophe Parelli’s fingerprint on the hotel room’s door scanner and covered it with the base of her thumb. The reader needed body heat, but she didn’t want to confuse it with two overlapping prints. The light on the scanner switched to green, and the lock clicked open.
Doug’s team was probably here on the same mission. Too bad for them that she was going to get to Parelli’s computer first. She’d always had a problem with sharing.
Her steps were muffled on the plush carpet. Despite the price tag that came with this suite, it was still just a hotel room. Something inside her yearned for home, but she pushed it away. Now wasn’t the time for that.
The desktop was bare. The safe in the bedroom closet was shut and locked. Sabine entered the code she’d memorized and held her breath.
She drew out the laptop, flipped it over and pulled a screwdriver from her purse. The hard drive slid out into her hand. She secured the cover again, set the laptop back in the safe and glanced at the watch face on her bracelet.
Still enough time to search the room.
Clothes were strewn over every available surface, and the bathroom counter was cluttered with men’s hair-care products. Sabine rolled her eyes. It wasn’t like he was a movie star or a male model or anything like that.
Satisfied there was nothing else worth taking, she turned to exit the suite.
The lock on the outer door clicked.
Her breath stuttered and a blue baseball cap appeared between the now open door and the frame. She shoved the hard drive in her purse and blanked her face.
Doug’s gaze found her in the middle of the bedroom—dark caramel eyes that gave nothing away. He filled the doorway, so tall that, if he didn’t shave his head, his hair could have touched the frame. So wide it was a wonder he didn’t get stuck. Sabine was tall herself, but Doug made her feel small in a way that had nothing to do with self-worth and everything to do with comfort.
Her brother had been skinny and baby faced his whole life—even at thirty-one years old, Ben had looked more like a kid playing dress-up in his uniform than an actual soldier. Doug, on the other hand, made that dark green dress uniform look good. Mouthwateringly good.
Today his navy blue T-shirt was damp with the heat of the day, and his cargo shorts and ball cap were every tourist’s go-to apparel. Only there was nothing about him that blended in.
Doug closed the door and held up the clear plastic with Christophe’s fingerprint on it. She shut her eyes. She’d left it on the scanner. She wanted to reprimand herself over such a simple mistake, but put a hand on her hip instead. “What are you doing here?” Her voice shook more than she’d have liked, but it was too late now.
“What am I— Seriously? That’s what you’re going with?” He glanced around the room. “Let me guess...CIA?”
She stiffened. He wasn’t supposed to get it right the first time.
“Did Ben know about this?”
Her stomach surged like a storm-fueled wave. “You don’t get to talk about my brother.”
He stepped closer. “This is about him, right? Ben is the reason why we’re all after Parelli.”
She hated that he pitied her. And that his voice had to go soft. He’d been there when Ben was murdered by a sniper on what was supposed to be a routine mission. As far as she was concerned, that meant Doug was responsible.
“We need to talk but not here. Let’s go.”
Sabine blinked. “Excuse me? I happen to be working.”
Doug looked away. “Copy that, California.” He surged forward. “Someone’s coming. We have to hide.”
Apparently “California” was the handle of the newest
