maybe bang on her neighbor’s door for help. Riley would probably take off, and she’d be safe.
Launching to her feet, she hurtled toward the kitchen. Just inside the entryway, she tripped over a soft object splayed across the floor. Yelping, she thudded against the linoleum. She scrambled to her hands and knees and spun around.
A sour knot of fear lodged in her throat as her gaze skidded across the deathly still form of her ex-boyfriend.
Chapter Two
A shriek sliced through the small house, and Riley barreled out the bathroom door, stubbing his toe on the frame. He gripped the knife at his side, ready to do battle. Careening through the empty living room, he launched toward the entryway to what had to be the kitchen. He stopped short, almost falling into the room and over a body on the floor.
Amy huddled against the cabinets, her hands pressed against her mouth, her eyes forming huge, coffee-colored saucers. A man sprawled across the faded yellow linoleum on his back, one perfectly shined loafer hanging from his toes, and his legs in pressed slacks crossed one over the other. Looked like he could be taking a nap on the kitchen floor.
Riley squatted beside the man, noting a red blotch on his right cheek, and extended two fingers toward his neck to check his pulse.
Amy screamed, “Don’t touch him.”
God, he must’ve been a friend or relative of Amy’s. Boyfriend? His gaze flew to her face, drained of all color beneath her mocha skin. “Who is he?”
“Carlos…my ex-boyfriend.” She mumbled through her fingers, which seemed frozen in place.
Very ex-boyfriend from the look of him. Riley stepped over the body and kneeled beside Amy. “We need to get out of here.”
“What happened to him?”
“I can’t tell. I don’t see any blood, just a contusion on his face. Maybe someone strangled him or hit him on the back of the head.” He turned back toward the body. “I can turn him…”
“No.” She sobbed, curling into a tight ball. “We need to call the police.”
“You don’t get it, Amy. Somehow those guys in the boat tracked you down to your house. Carlos must’ve surprised them. They probably came at him from behind and strangled him or hit him. Carlos’s presence spooked them, but that doesn’t mean they won’t come back.”
“That’s why we call the police.” She scooted to her left to avoid Carlos’s outstretched hand.
Riley rubbed his chin with his knuckles. He was flying so far below the radar of the police right now he couldn’t afford to have them question him at a murder scene. Hell, he was flying below the radar of the CIA.
“The police can’t protect you.” He left the rest of that statement hanging in the air between them. Only he could protect her now, and he didn’t need the en cumbrance.
Surprisingly, she didn’t dispute his claim.
“Who are these people? Who are you?”
“The less you know, the better.” Not that he knew much himself. When the call had come from Colonel Scripps, the former leader of the undercover ops unit, Prospero, Riley had jumped into action. Jack Coburn, one of their own, had disappeared.
Riley would go through hell and back to find him.
He cupped his hand, wiggling his fingers. “Come on, beach girl. Let’s go.”
Amy’s gaze traveled from his hand to his face. She must’ve seen something she liked because she sighed and pushed to her feet. He helped her over the body of her ex-boyfriend. Feeling a tremble roll through her athletic frame, Riley pulled her close and folded his arms around her.
She stiffened in his embrace and then buried her face against his bare chest as sobs wracked her body. He stroked her dark hair, clumped in wet tangles of salt water.
Rubbing her nose, she stepped back from him and pinched her swimsuit between two fingers, yanking it forward. “Do I have time to change, or…or do you think we should get out now?”
“I don’t think they’ll be returning to the scene of the crime immediately.” Riley crossed the room and lifted the curtains of the front window with the tip of his knife. He’d prefer a gun, but he couldn’t have taken one of those with him. “They might be out there now, watching, waiting, wondering if we’ll call the police.”
She called from the bedroom. “I’m wondering the same thing. We can’t just leave him there on the kitchen floor. H-he has a wife.”
Riley swallowed. The beach girl liked married men? He cleared his throat. “We’ll call the police as soon as we’re out of here.”
“Wait a minute.” She stumbled from the bedroom in a pair of jeans, pulling a T-shirt over her head. He caught a glimpse of a lacy white bra. “Won’t that look suspicious? There’s a dead man in my house, and I’m not even here.”
“I’ll clear things up for you later. You’re not safe in this house.”
Her eyes narrowed as she hooked a finger along the gold chain around her neck, pulling a large locket out of her T-shirt. “You’re not safe in this house. For whatever reason, you don’t want the cops to find out about your activities. And why would you? You murdered a man on the beach and you kidnapped me.”
Frustration gave an edge to his voice as he jerked his thumb toward the kitchen. “I didn’t murder him. Don’t you get it? They discovered your identity and came after you.”
“They came after you.” She hugged herself and rubbed her upper arms. “They probably figured you used me to escape. That’s why they came to this house and killed Carlos. Once you get away from me, I’ll be safe.”
Too bad his wife hadn’t figured that one out.
Pain sliced behind his eyes, and he ran a hand over his hair, clasping it in a ponytail at the nape of his neck. “You’re in it, Amy, whether you want to be or not. These people don’t leave loose ends.”
“I’m not a loose end.” She widened her stance and shoved her hands in the pockets of her jeans. “I didn’t see those people. I don’t know who they are. But I know who you are.”
Damn. She didn’t trust him. And why would she? He didn’t trust himself to protect her either.
He swiped the back of his hand across his mouth. Could he leave her here? He’d take off for his safe house, and she could stay here and call the cops. She’d tell her wild story of one scuba diver killing another and people shooting at them from a boat. But there would be no body. There would be no blood. No bullets. No evidence at all.
The Velasquez Drug Cartel didn’t leave evidence. Or witnesses.
Even if the cops believed Amy’s fantastic story, they couldn’t do much to protect her. If the Velasquez gang decided to kill her, the cops couldn’t stop them.
Or maybe he’d overreacted from the get-go. From the minute she’d valiantly pulled his enemy’s body from the ocean, Riley had felt protective
