Nothing good ever came out of flying by the seat of your pants. Vince had learned his lesson the hard way eight years ago when one of his calls led to a good man’s death. Ever since, he prided himself on collecting all the data, constructing a plan, and sticking to it. They’d been in Miami for a total of six hours, and Charlie had already slid his plans through the fucking shredder.
He flipped through their wrist-thick file on Arturo Franconi and his horde of merry convicts, and tossed it on the bed.
“We need to talk about tonight,” Vince called through their hotel suite’s bathroom door. “I’m not convinced this is the way to go.”
“And I told you, it’s the only way,” Charlie’s muffled voice came through the door.
“And it’s a logistical fucking nightmare. Too big a space. Too many bodies. There’s no way in hell I’m going to be able to track the comings and goings and watch over you. I’m one man.”
“Then I guess it’s a good thing I’m a woman because we can multitask—and I don’t need to be watched over.”
The bathroom door flew open. Vince nearly swallowed his damn tongue. Her yoga pants and exercise tank gone, Charlie’s navel-plunging dress not only didn’t have a fucking neckline, but it dipped into a severe V, showing off her twinkling belly button ring—and skin. A lot of fucking skin.
“That’s what took you so long?” The words escaped his mouth before he could stop them. “For the degree of clothes you’re not wearing, it should’ve taken you five seconds to get ready.”
“Wearing less requires more maintenance.”
Charlie strutted past him, making him choke on what was left of his own goddamned spit. Not only was her outfit backless, revealing the feminine top curve of her ass, but each sway of her hips gifted him a glimpse of her cherry blossom tattoo.
“Where are you planning on strapping Gregor?” Vince watched her pick up her Glock and pack it back in its case.
“Nowhere. As much as it pains me to leave him behind, we can’t go in armed in the traditional sense, so I’m resorting to the backup.” She pulled out a pair of throwing knives and a thigh holster and caught him mid-ogle. Her voice dropped to a low purr. “Want to help me secure them into place?”
Yes.
“No.” Sweat dampened his forehead despite the fact their suite was air-conditioned to the nines.
Charlie chuckled as she propped her booted foot onto the edge of the bed and began adjusting her blade holster. “So what were you blathering about logistics?”
Vince cleared his throat and got his mind off Charlie’s legs and back on their night’s plans. “The point of being here is to make sure you get on Franconi’s radar.”
“Wrong. We’re here to find information on the abductions and whoever’s responsible.”
“How’s going clubbing going to make that happen?”
Charlie pulled out the list of suspected hunting grounds from their file and not-so-gently smashed it against his chest. “DHS managed to link most of the reported disappearances to these three popular, Franconi-connected clubs. I thought you were going to brush up on the details while I got ready.”
“I read the list.” Vince ground his molars.
“So what would you rather us do? Sit in a car outside the club and stare at the exit?”
That was scarily close to what he had planned.
“You do realize this city practically has a limitless number of clubs, right? All with multiple egress points. We can’t keep our eyes trained on them all—even using recording surveillance. We need to focus on the clubs with the most activity and try to figure out what we’re up against—why these clubs are the ones that keep getting hit. And we can’t do that while sitting in a car. As for getting on Arturo’s radar, he’s going to know I’m in town before we sip our first drinks—if he doesn’t already.”
Charlie finished tucking her throwing knives into place against her thigh and let her dress drop. “Any unsightly bulges?”
Not beneath her dress. Behind his zipper was a different story. He’d been fighting off a hard-on since she stepped out of the bathroom looking like La Femme Nikita. Usually there were any number of the guys around to keep his head on straight. Charlie Sparks was most definitely not one of the guys, something Vince Junior was evidently starting to realize.
She turned, mistaking his discomfort for disbelief. “What is it that has your panties in a twist, Navy? Does taking a back seat to a woman really bother you that much?”
“You’re not a woman. You’re English.” Vince tried reminding himself that this was Charlie he was picturing half-naked and oh-so-fuckable.
Her brown eyes sparked with a flame of annoyance. Or hell, an explosion. “Sorry to disappoint you, love, but if I’d had a penis, I would’ve been let into the boys club a hell of a long time ago. But penis-challenged as I am, I’m the one with the inside scoop. I know how Miami works. And I know how Arturo and his brood of miscreants work too. You’re going to have to trust me. This is what we need to do. Walking up to his front door and ringing the doorbell won’t do anything except ensure we end up like those out-of-commission DHS agents.”
“It’s not about trust.”
“You mean if you were partnered with Logan on this assignment, you’d be questioning his decisions right now too?” At his silence, she snorted, rolling her eyes. “Yeah. I didn’t bloody think so.”
“He can sometimes be annoying as hell, but Logan isn’t in the habit of flying off in all directions. If we come up with a plan, I need to trust you’ll follow it.”
Charlie settled her hands on her hips and shot him a daring look. “And what if following the plan puts innocent people—or us—in danger? You expect me to go by the rulebook? Sometimes going in a different direction is what you need to do to get the job done.”
He glared. “There’s a time and place for going off-script. You don’t do it because you’re bored and looking for a little action.”
“I’m glad you think so little of my judgment.”
“I told you before, it’s not about—”
“Me. Yeah, I got the memo but I’m not buying it.” Charlie lifted her chin and ground her teeth. One step closer and she’d be near enough to drop his ass to the ground. “Maybe we should put a hold on this conversation before pretending to be infatuated with one another becomes a lost cause. As it stands right now, we’re going to need a miracle if we’re going to convince anyone we’re headed down a wedding aisle and not death row.”
Vince stepped closer, keeping his face blank. Charlie’s, however, wasn’t. A hint of something flickered in her eyes as she watched him stalk toward her. By the time he stopped, inches shy of her fuck-me heels, it had vanished.
He traced one calloused hand provocatively over her silk-covered hip, and cupped her lower back, tugging her flush against him. Her palm braced for impact, colliding with his chest.
“What are you doing?” Charlie’s voice sounded low and breathless, something he’d only heard after she’d attacked the sparring bag for an hour or more.
“Why? Am I making you nervous?”
“No.” The twitch of her left eye said otherwise. “I’m disturbed. There’s a difference.”
“I’m about to propose to my fiancée.” Vince reached into his pocket and pulled out the ring. It had been a last-minute, spur-of-the-moment grab before he’d left his apartment in Pennsylvania, one he still wasn’t sure was a good idea.
Charlie stared at his hand, her body gone still. “What’s that?”
“For such a smart woman, I’d think you’d recognize a ring when you saw one.”
“But why do you have it?”
“Can’t have anyone, especially your uncle, questioning my loyalty to you, now can I?” He slowly slid the simple princess-cut ruby onto her finger. When it was in place, he kept hold of her hand. “It’s not a traditional ring, but you’re not a regular diamond kind of woman, so I thought it was fitting.”
For once in the year he’d known her, Charlie was speechless. Her eyes locked on the platinum setting and the small baguettes nestled on each side of the rich red stone. “It’s…gorgeous. Who did Stone let do the shopping? Penny or Elle?”
“No one. It belonged to my grandmother.”
She startled out of her awe, shaking her head emphatically as she tried tugging the ring off her finger. “Nope. No way in bloody hell are we using family heirlooms when there’s perfectly presentable cubic zirconia out there in the world.”
Vince trapped her fingers beneath his. “Yes, we are. Don’t you think your uncle would be able to tell the difference between the real thing and a knockoff? Or, more importantly, wouldn’t he expect you to know the difference and deal with anyone who tried pulling the wool over your eyes?”
“We are not using family jewelry for an assignment,” Charlie hissed.
“You can either accept the ring, or we’ll swing by a tattoo shop and get my name tattooed on your ass. Your choice.”
“Like hell will I ever let a man brand me.” Charlie scowled.
“Then the ring it is…” Vince’s large thumb stroked over her knuckles. “What’s wrong, English? Not thrilled about being the future Mrs. Franklin?”
Goddamn, those words sounded foreign even to his own ears. As a Navy grunt, he’d been too young to think about tying himself down, but now? Now he was too damn jaded. He couldn’t expect someone else to haul around his baggage, much less a no-nonsense woman like Charlie.
“Not thrilled with the idea of being Mrs. Anybody. I fought too hard to convince Stone to give me a chance in the field. I’m not about to let some random Neanderthal muck it up.” She glanced back to the ring, and cringed. “Seriously, Navy. There’s some pretty real-looking costume jewelry out there. It’s not like I’m going to let Arturo put it under a microscope.”
“Ring or ink, English. Besides, it’s not like I slid it off someone’s finger to use it, or that it’s going to be put into use anytime in the near future. This is the most action it’ll ever receive.”
Vince knew he’d latched onto her common sense when she blew out a long sigh. He kept her hands trapped in his a beat longer before letting her pull away.
“Fine. Consider us engaged,” Charlie announced. She threw their rental keys at him a little harder—and higher—than necessary, but he caught them easily. “But I swear to God, if I hear one crack about practicing for the goddamned honeymoon, this ring’s going to be introduced to your colon—previously owned by a grandmother or not.”
An hour later, Vince pulled his truck into the valet line at Miami Heat. People strutted up and down the sidewalk, already blitzed out of their minds. “Looks like we’re late to the party.”
Charlie peered out of the window and chuckled. “These guys haven’t even started. Give them another hour or two to hit their peak.”
That’s what Vince was afraid of. Give him something to shoot, punch, or blow up and he was in his element. Expect him to socialize with a horde of twenty-somethings at a trendy Miami nightclub and “awkward” didn’t begin to explain how he felt. “Old” came close—really fucking old. At thirty-six, he didn’t fit into this kind of crowd. Charlie, on the other hand, meshed like she fucking belonged.
Vince slipped out of the truck just as she swung open her door. A group of college-aged boys turned the corner, one of whom immediately latched his lurid gaze onto Charlie’s toned legs.
“Hot damn, baby.” The kid whistled. His gaze flickered to Vince. “Why don’t you ditch the geriatric and come party with us?”
“Unless you want this geriatric to rip those lips off your face, keep walking,” Vince growled.
The kid and his friends laughed but kept going. At some point during the exchange, the pimply faced valet attendant extended his hand to Charlie.
“I got her. You get these.” Vince’s bark made the teen jump.
“Yes, sir.” The valet caught the keys Vince tossed his way and hustled over to the driver’s side.
Every inch of Charlie’s body brushed along Vince’s as he plucked her off her seat and set her back on her feet. The hair on his arms lifted as if he’d touched pure electricity, and in a way, he had. Charlie. A live wire. Jolting. Heat-inducing.
Her teeth trapped her bottom lip in a sexy nibble. Vince couldn’t help but glance down to her mouth, seeing that he wasn’t the only one overtaken by a sudden burst of awareness.
“If I’d been the one to offer my hand to you, you would’ve taken a hunk of flesh out of it with your teeth,” Vince half-joked.
She smoothed the front of his shirt, a coy smile dancing on her lips. “Not a hunk. Maybe just a little nibble.”
Sucking in a groan, Vince wrapped an arm around her waist and guided her away from the truck as another large group of college-aged kids stumbled past.
Charlie let out a strangled noise.
“What?” Vince looked at her, confused.
She bit the corner of her mouth, obviously trying to withhold laughter. “You and the look of excruciating pain plastered all over your face. You can’t tell me you’ve never prowled the bars looking for a good time.”
Vince steered them toward the entrance of the club’s outdoor patio. “Yeah, a million fucking years ago. And I didn’t have to prowl for anything. Good times always came to me.”
This time Charlie snorted with her chuckle, and the sound of it made his lips twitch. It was goddamned cute, though he would never admit it aloud and risk a punch to his kidneys.
“It’s a wonder headquarters hasn’t blown up from testosterone toxicity,” Charlie murmured as they stepped to the end of the club’s red-roped line.
The bouncer manning the entrance took a lazy-eyed stroll over Charlie’s body. “You two together?”
Vince cocked a glance to his arm, still wrapped snugly around her waist. “What do you think?”
“I think it’s too damn bad. But you both can go on in. And if your lady’s interested, there’s a bar-dancing competition sometime within the hour.” He eyed Charlie’s legs. “You’re a shoe-in for first fucking prize, sweetheart.”
Vince would’ve loved nothing more than to swipe the smirk off the bastard’s face, but Charlie intervened, threading her fingers through his, and thanked the man for the invite. The people in line grumbled their protests as the bouncer opened the gate and let them onto the club’s patio.
Miami Heat lured in a who’s who of the rich, famous, and privileged. Whereas the indoor section of the club catered to the couples dancing to the loud, theatrical pound of the music, the outdoor patio was a pool party on ’roids.
White Christmas lights wrapped every palm tree and, and as if Miami wasn’t hot enough, bamboo torches lit up the patio’s perimeter. Humidity didn’t seem to be keeping people away, because the line wrapped around the circular bar was three people deep, and growing.
“Don’t people have anything better to do than spend their money on overpriced booze?” Vince asked, inspecting the sea of drunk people.
Charlie lifted her brow. “In Miami? No. It’s all about twenty-dollar drinks and lots and lots of skin. You’re such a people person, Navy. It’s a wonder you don’t have an entire entourage surrounding you all hours of the day.”
“And you’re such the sparkling social gem, huh?” Vince said dryly. A pair of overly bronzed women skirted past, outrageously wearing less than Charlie. “I wasn’t the one who nearly made the pizza delivery boy cry because he mistakenly left behind my order of fried mushrooms.”
“No, but now I’m sure that Christopher will never forget them again. That’s the difference between us. I don’t see any point in hiding my displeasure, where you take the whole brooding in silence thing and turn it into an art form.”
“Some things can’t be changed by making a scene.”
Charlie turned toward him, the side of her breast brushing against his chest. “No, but sometimes it can make you feel a lot bloody better. Unleash the beast, Navy. Or at the very least, loosen the reins. You may be surprised at what happens.”
When he’d been with the SEAL teams, Vince wouldn’t have hesitated to let off a little steam—and without prompting. But both time and experience had taught him the error of his ways. He’d learned it at the end of his Navy career, had it drilled into his head working for bail enforcement, and now with Alpha, it had become almost second nature—except when Charlie was in close proximity. Then all those lessons flew out of his fucking head.
“You want to make ourselves visible?” Vince slipped his hand over her hip and veered her toward the dance floor. “Hope you can dance in those stilts.”