Chapter One
Piped-in Spanish guitar music masked the sound of LT Mitchell Thoreau’s footsteps as he crossed the tiled foyer of Hotel Leonardo, steps ahead of his two teammates. Having come straight from Barcelona International Airport, the three Navy SEALs intended to enjoy their vacation to its fullest. One look at the lovely lady working behind the reception counter, and Mitch lengthened his stride to get to her first. Being on vacation lent him confidence he didn’t usually have with women.
“Hola,” he said, putting his Spanish to good use and summoning what he hoped approximated a confident grin. “Tenemos una reservación.”
The hotel employee looked up with a friendly smile. Amber brown eyes widened as they skimmed over him and then peered past him to encompass his approaching friends.
“Welcome to Barcelona,” she said in flawless English.
“You sound American.” Mitch’s gaze slid to her name tag— Katrina Ferrer. Her neat breasts, straining the fabric of a white button-up blouse, were perfect.
“My mother was from Kansas.” She shrugged at the unlikelihood that her mother would be from a landlocked state nearly 5,000 miles away. “I think she took a hot-air balloon to get here. My father is Catalan, though, and I’ve lived here my whole life.”
“So you speak English, Spanish, and Catalan,” Mitch deduced just as Austin and Chuck stepped up beside him.
“Yes, I do.” She sent all three of them a dazzling smile. “What name is your reservation under?”
“Thoreau.” He’d inherited the name from his ancestor, Henry David Thoreau. However, since she’d probably never heard of the American novelist and philosopher, Mitch spelled his last name as she lifted slim hands to the keyboard. No wedding ring, he noticed.
“Good of you to visit Barcelona, given the state of things,” she said, glancing up to gauge his reaction.
Mitch hummed in acknowledgement. Their week-long trip to Spain had been planned about a year earlier—well before Catalonia’s push for independence had become a real issue. “Our flight was nonrefundable. We just came from the airport,” he added.
“Thank you for coming all the same,” Katrina insisted. “You could have stayed home.”
“But then I would never have met you.” It sounded like a pick-up line, but he was being perfectly honest.
Her fingers froze for one second—the only indication that she’d heard him. Then she clicked her mouse while staring at the screen. “Here you are. Just one room for the three of you?” She arched an eyebrow at him inquiringly.
At that moment, Mitch so wished he had a room to himself. Since he and his teammates were used to bunking in the same place and didn’t plan to sleep much anyway, sharing a room had seemed like the smartest way to conserve money. “Unfortunately,” he said, and he had to stop himself from waggling his eyebrows at her.
Her cheeks had taken on a pinkish hue. “And you’re here for only two nights?”
“Our plans are flexible,” he replied. For the chance to spend more time with her, he’d happily remain in Barcelona all week, though the plan was to continue to Seville and then to Madrid, spending three days in each of the cities.
Austin Collins put his elbows on the counter. “Are all the girls in Barcelona as pretty as you?” he asked her.
Mitch winced at the twenty-year-old’s lack of subtlety.
Katrina merely smiled. “Of course.” She glanced at Chuck Suzuki, as if expecting him to chime in, but Chuck rarely spoke, and when he did, he used metaphors—hence his call sign, Haiku.
Katrina laid a sheet in front of Mitch. “Here are our hotel policies. Let me get your signature on the credit card, and then you’ll be all set.”
He signed the slip with his boldest and best signature. “How do you feel about the Civil Guards?” he asked, putting the pen down.
Since arriving at the airport, he’d felt like the strong presence of the national police force smacked of foreign occupation—except that, of course, Catalonia was still a province of Spain. La Guardia Civil were everywhere, impossible not to notice in their blue ball caps and armed with assault rifles. He’d seen the clashes on the news between them and the citizens of Barcelona and wondered if Spain was going to turn into another Northern Ireland.
Tension tightened Katrina’s sun-kissed face. “You understand what’s going on?” she countered.
“Of course.” The world was watching. Barcelona, the seat of Catalonia’s government, had passed a vote declaring themselves an independent republic. In recent history, up to the point of Francisco Franco’s dictatorship in 1939, Catalans had ruled themselves. They enjoyed their own culture, their own language, and their cry for autonomy was being heard across the globe. Yet Spain could not afford to release them. Secession would cripple her economy as half the nation’s wealth flowed from and through Catalonia’s thriving ports.
“Things feel pretty tense out there,” Mitch prompted, giving voice to his first impression, and wondering how she felt about it.
“It’s not so bad.” She shrugged again. “Madrid likes to pretend she controls us now, but we will have our way eventually—through peaceful resistance.”
“Uh-huh.” Mitch wasn’t sure he believed her. Glancing around the quiet hotel lobby, he could only imagine how the unrest had affected the tourism industry.
“We are peace-loving people,” Katrina added. “We don’t believe in violence. If we did, we would have an army.” She gestured outside as if that settled the matter.
“The will of the people should not be ignored.” Haiku had finally spoken up.
Katrina’s eyebrows pulled together as she considered him. “Well, that’s true,” she agreed. “But violence is not the answer.”
Mitch could only hope she was right. His commander, Captain Montgomery, had given the three of them strict orders to carry their passports on their persons, and stay the hell out of trouble—good advice, since Austin loved to fight. The young SEAL’s penchant for using his fists, paired with his love of the Flintstones, had given him his code name, Bam-Bam.
“Here are your three room keys.”
As Katrina detailed some of the hotel’s amenities, Mitch admired the way her lips moved when she talked. The golden hoops dangling from her earlobes drew his attention to the highlights in her incredibly long, honey-colored hair. He’d always liked long hair on a woman, and hers looked infinitely touchable.
“What do you plan to see while you’re here?” She had asked all three of them, but she looked to Mitch for an answer.
“Um.” With her eyes on him, it took a second to recall the sites he’d researched. “La Sagrada Familia,” he said, referring to the architect Antoni Gaudí’simmense cathedral, still under construction a hundred years after his death. “TheGothic Quarter,” he added, “and the Olympic Park.”
She plucked several brochures from a stand on the counter and held them out. “Take these with you, then. They have coupons and general information. The one on top gives you a discount on one of the city bus tours. I highly recommend you do that. There’s no better way to see the city. You can get off and on wherever you like.”
Mitch took the opportunity to brush her fingers. Her gaze predictably jumped to his.
“You forgot to mention—” she paused to clear her throat—“Las Ramblas, which is a very famous street only one block from here.”
If Las Ramblas hadn’t been famous enough, the ISIS attack involving a van and several unfortunate pedestrians had placed it on the world’s stage thepast summer. Thatincident must have shaken her to the core having occurred so near the hotel.
“The most joyful street in the world,” he said, seeking to obliterate the tragedy with a timeless literary allusion.
Her eyes flared in recognition. “You know Federico García Lorca?” she exclaimed, apparently delighted to hear the revolutionary poet quoted.
He shrugged in acknowledgment. “I’m a sucker for literature.”
“Me, too.” She studied him for a second. “I’m sorry to stare, but you have the bluest eyes I’ve ever seen.”
Was she trying to flirt back? If so, it was working. Her frankness was far more seductive than the usual eyelash fluttering or lip pouting he’d learned to expect from women.
“I get that a lot,” he admitted. This time, though, his face heated, and he had to look away first.
“Well,” she said, as an awkward pause fell between them.
Austin snorted in amusement, and Katrina fell back on her role as hotel employee.
“I hope you have a wonderful stay,” she added brightly. “Can I get you any help with your luggage?” Seeing them with one large duffel bag apiece, she added, “No, I guess not.”
“We travel light,” Mitch explained.
Restricted by Spanish law from bringing their own firearms into the country, they probably carried more hand-held weapons in their bags than changes of clothing.
“Excellent. Be sure to let me know if I can do anything for you—if you need directions to places or suggestions for eating out. I’m sure I can help.”
Mitch elbowed Austin to keep the kid from saying something inappropriate. “We will. Thank you, Katrina.”
“Thank you, Katrina,” Austin and Chuck chorused as they all turned and trooped to the elevator.
As the door closed softly behind them, taking Katrina out of view, Haiku murmured obliquely, “In the cherry blossoms’ shade, there is no such thing as a stranger.”