Chapter Eleven
His hand came down full force, the laptop bounced, as did the fully loaded Glock 40 sitting beside it. “What do you mean my money isn’t touchable?”
“I’m sorry, Señor Diaz, the passwords have changed and locked us out. I have a second man working on it.”
Diaz tapped his finger on the grip of his gun, seriously considered shooting the messenger. He hated the scrawny cokehead standing in front of him, but Raul knew his way around computers better than any of his other men.
“Who changed the password?”
“That I don’t know. Only you and I have access to the account.”
Diaz circled the trigger of his weapon, his eyes bored into Raul.
He lifted the gun and Raul had the good sense to back up, hands in the air. “I didn’t do it. Why would I come to you if I did?”
Raul would have scurried away in the dead of night if he’d compromised any of Diaz’s money, but watching the man fry a few brain cells as he attempted to talk his way out of death was worth the entertainment.
“Picano is dead. If you want to avoid his fate, you’ll have an answer for me in twenty-four hours.”
“But—”
Diaz pulled the lever back and loaded the chamber.
“Twenty-four hours. I’ll have an answer in twenty-four hours.”
Diaz waved the gun, dismissing the mule.
The thick Colombian heat had sweat rolling down Diaz’s back. He lifted his drink to his lips, finished it. He dragged the computer close, clicked onto a different account, this one much farther away.
When the computer-generated warning Denied Access. Misspelled Password flashed, he locked his teeth together and slowly tried again.
Access Denied!
Without thought, Diaz unloaded a round into the computer.
The server who had been en route with a replenishing drink screamed, dropped the tray, and stood in paralyzed fear.
Diaz pushed back, the chair falling behind him. “Clean this up,” he hollered before moving into the comfort of his air-conditioned refuge deep in the Colombian jungle.
Hunter’s wife emerged from the door of his kitchen with a lift to her lips. O’Riley stopped her and the two of them engaged in a conversation. When she tilted the champagne to her mouth, Hunter realized it was the first time he’d actually seen her drink something other than coffee, tea, or water. The memory of her switching his wine with hers when they first entered the room made him question why.
Did she have a problem with drinking? In his experience, those who didn’t drink at their age weren’t able to handle it.
O’Riley said something that made her laugh, and an unexpected snap of jealousy hit him.
Hunter excused himself and wove his way to Gabi’s side.
“Is that right?” he heard Gabi say to O’Riley.
“Is what right?” Hunter slid a proprietary hand across the dipping back of Gabi’s gown and let it rest on her hip.
She attempted to place room between them, but Hunter kept his fingers firm, not letting her go.
“Travis was just telling me that your absence in the New York office has your employees jumping whenever they see you.”
“Well, Travis.” He emphasized the other man’s name, pissed that Gabi was using it. “I haven’t noticed you jumping.”
“I jump . . . I just hide it better than most.”
Travis knew that flirting with Hunter’s wife would result in more than a hop in the air. He’d be jumping into an unemployment line if he wasn’t careful.
“I’ll be sure and watch for that, Mr. O’Riley.”
Travis lifted a brow, his smile waned.
Hunter leaned close to Gabi’s ear. “I’d like to address the crowd for a toast.”
“If you’ll excuse us, Travis,” Gabi said as Hunter pulled her away. “That was abrupt,” she said so only he could hear.
“Flirting with an employee isn’t wise.”
She laughed. “Talking and flirting are worlds apart, Hunter.”
Gabi passed a waiter and motioned him over. “Mr. Blackwell is proposing a toast. Have the champagne available for the guests.”
“Yes, Mrs. Blackwell.”
Hunter guided her to where the pianist played and watched Gabi motion the performer to pull the piece to a close.
Sitting back, Hunter noticed the servers—all of them—exchange their food trays for those filled with sparkling wine.
Though he hadn’t researched Gabi’s ability to be the perfect hostess, she obviously understood her way around a social event.
A waiter stopped before them, and instead of picking a flute for his wife, he offered her first choice.
She lifted two, handed him one.
His guests slowly stopped talking and turned their attention toward them.
It didn’t take long for the low muttering of the crowd to dim, and the attention of his guests fell on him.
When Gabi edged back to give Hunter the spotlight, he reached out to keep her close.
She smiled and looked over the room.
“Thank you all for coming on such short notice,” Hunter began. “After meeting my beautiful bride, I’m sure you can understand my need to keep her away from just about everyone in the room so I could encourage her to say yes.”
A low level of laughter, and probably more secret nods than he’d prefer, commenced.
“I hope you embrace her as you have me.”
He turned, made a point of capturing her eyes for his next words. “To Gabriella Blackwell, who has taken on the challenge of making me a better man.”
A wicked smile met her lips. “I don’t believe those words were in our vows.”
Those who heard her laughed.
“To Gabi.” He lifted his glass, set it against hers, and drank.
She was still smiling when he took her glass from her hand and set them both on the baby grand.
Someone in the room graciously started a ring of their glass, and within seconds there was a universal sound that every wedding reception understood.
Gabi’s gaze fell to the floor, but the smile on her lips held when Hunter moved into her personal space. He set his hand to the side of her face and looked into the depths of her dark gaze. He saw acceptance there instead of fear . . . he took that as encouragement and lowered his lips.
Unlike their first kiss, on a street corner for the purpose of exposure, this one . . . while for exposure, was softer. Her lips parted, inviting . . . and God help him, he wanted to explore.
She moaned when he pulled away, and did the unexpected. Gabi pulled his lapel and forced a second kiss, bringing laughter to those watching. Her kiss was brief, and when she moved away, she ran a finger over his lips, removing the evidence of her presence.
He caught her eyes, and for a brief moment . . . the space of two breaths . . . neither of them blinked. Something, he wasn’t sure what, shifted inside her, and she lifted her lips in a soft smile that wasn’t forced . . . wasn’t fake.
Hunter lost his breath, knew he grew a special shade of pale.
Gabi laid her hand to his arm.
“Mrs. Blackwell,” one of the servers called while the guests resumed their previous conversations.
She turned, offered the waiter an ear. “Yes?”
“A little issue . . . in the kitchen.”
She nodded. “I’ll be back.”
“Fine.” He could use a minute alone . . . time to collect his thoughts.
He watched his wife . . . his temporary wife, he reminded himself . . . walk away, and in her place, Andrew stood.
“I’m not sure what I expected,” Andrew said in a whisper. “But it wasn’t her.”
Hunter had disengaged . . . tapped out . . .
He hadn’t said a word, or lent a hand to her, since she’d pulled him into an unexpected kiss.
The crowd in his home thinned, and eventually the only ones standing were Tiffany and a few select employees of Hunter’s LA office.
Gabi meandered around, directing the staff as they cleaned and set the room to rights. The kitchen slowly became something respective of a bachelor pad.
Gabi walked out of the kitchen in time to see the last of Hunter’s guests leave.
“I’ll be back Tuesday,” he told his secretary, “but out again on Wednesday.”
Tiffany tipped a hand in the air, her eyes a tad glossed over from the free-flowing champagne. “Gotcha covered.”
Hunter peered closer. “Someone driving you home?”
She waved a finger in the air and said, “Have that covered, too.” She giggled, which seemed to surprise Hunter. Tiffany glanced over his shoulder and smiled at Gabi. “Good luck.”
Then the slightly intoxicated personal secretary wobbled on a two-inch heel and stumbled out the door.
OK, maybe slightly was an understatement.
Once the door closed, Gabi called behind her, “Andrew?”
“Yes, Mrs. Blackwell?”
“Can you make sure Tiffany has a ride . . . that she doesn’t get in her own car?”
“I’ll call the desk.”
“Thank you.”
She went ahead and slipped off her heels. It wasn’t quite eleven, but the night had taken a beating on her feet. With her shoes in her hand, she lifted the floor-length dress and made her way to the leather couch.
She dropped the shoes by the sofa and moved to what remained of the bar. “Marilyn, right?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Thank you. You were great tonight.” If there was one thing being the sister of a successful restaurateur had taught her, it was to be grateful for every efficient staff member.
“My pleasure.”
Gabi took leave to pour a final glass of champagne for the evening. She’d refrained most of the night and looked forward to relaxing.
From the corner of her eye, Gabi noticed Hunter removing his jacket and tugging on his bow tie.
Hector and the remaining staff members emerged from the kitchen. “We’re all cleaned up in there,” the chef said.
“Are you married?” Gabi asked, feeling safe to ask with the evidence of said relationship sitting on the chef’s ring finger.
“I am.”
Gabi turned to the remaining bottles of champagne and took one of the many dozen roses in the room and handed them both to the chef. “For your wife. Thank you for ensuring our guests weren’t ill.”
Hector offered a full-watt smile, glanced behind her, then back. “Thank you, Mrs. Blackwell. Please call on us whenever you need a caterer.”
“I’ll do that.”
Once the last staff member had left, and only Andrew and Hunter remained, Gabi collapsed into the sofa.
“Miss Tiffany was escorted home. Her car is in the garage,” Andrew announced. “Unless you need me, I’ll retire,” he said.
Gabi glanced at her distant husband. “Good night,” Hunter said.
“Thank you, Andrew.” Gabi said.
With a slight tip of his head, Andrew offered a smile and left the room.
Hunter moved behind his bar and poured a splash of something stronger than champagne.
Without words, he stood beside the massive window overlooking LA. The tension in his body radiated.
“Are you going to tell me what I did wrong or be ticked all night?”
Instead of answering, he took a long drink and continued to stare out the window.
“Everyone loves you.”
She lowered her glass to her lap. “Wasn’t that the point of tonight? Introduce me . . . have your colleagues support my place in your life?”
He finished his drink.
Not a good sign.
She set her unfinished wine to the side and stood. “I’ll call a car to take me home.”
“No!”
She jumped.
“We just announced you as my wife. You leaving here tonight isn’t possible.”
The cold walls of the modern space started to close in. Hunter must have realized how he sounded and pulled back.
“Good God, Gabriella, I’m not going to attack you. Sit.”
The couch became a better option than hitting the floor.
“I have a spare room,” he told her. “You can sleep there. Tomorrow we’re leaving for the weekend.”
Her heart started a rapid ascent and her breathing quickened. “Leaving?” She stood again, her head spun.
“A weekend away. A honeymoon. We need to—”
On some level she knew Hunter was still talking, but Gabi’s head soared to a completely different time . . . different place.
“A weekend away . . . I need to make up to you all the time I’ve been away.” Alonzo stood beside her, his smile genuine. “I want to reconnect with my fiancé.”
She kissed him knowing the staff wasn’t anywhere close and he wouldn’t object.
Her stomach twisted and an all too familiar rush washed over her, hot . . . needy. “More . . . please.”
Gabi felt the pinch of her skin. Felt the drug take hold . . . and she hit the ground.
Hunter dropped the glass in his hand, jumped over the table, and still only managed to catch Gabi a few inches before she hit the floor.
“Gabi?”
She was out. Her eyes rolled back, her face pale.
“Andrew?”
He lifted her onto the couch, careful with her head. “Andrew!” he yelled.
Half dressed, Andrew rushed into the room. “What happened?”
“Cold washcloth.”
Andrew fled to fill his request.
He was an ass . . . he’d scared her with a few words. The strong woman he’d seen traversing the room all night couldn’t possibly be the same one passed out in his arms.
Hunter felt three shades of awful.
Andrew emerged, thrust a cold washcloth into his hands.
Hunter ran it over Gabi’s forehead. “C’mon . . . wake up.”
They both hovered over her.
Andrew started to squirm. “Should I call nine one one?”
Hunter placed his fingers to her throat, felt a steady, albeit rapid, pulse and shook his head.
“Gabi? Wake up.” He leaned his head close to hers, felt her breath on his cheek. “Please.”
He was a breath away from telling Andrew to call when she started to stir.
Hunter dropped his forehead to hers. All the energy he’d placed in his anger diffused.
Her eyes fluttered open, but the blank look beyond her eyes told Hunter she was still lost.
The moment fear entered her gaze, Hunter drew his frame back but kept his hands on her shoulders to keep her from jumping again. “Are you OK?”
Her nose flared as she attempted to draw in a deep breath. Gabi looked beyond him to Andrew and blinked. “What happened?”
“You passed out.”
Her lower lip started to tremble, she kept looking between the two of them as if uncertain what had happened. Her voice wavered. “Can I get a glass of water?”
Andrew didn’t hesitate.
Hunter softly stroked her bare shoulders and waited for her color to return. When Andrew returned, Hunter helped her sit. She took the water and closed her eyes when she drank it.
“Thank you,” she managed.
“Can I get you anything, Mrs. Blackwell?”
“No, Andrew. I’m s-sorry to worry you.”
Hunter ignored the look of concern on Andrew’s face as he disappeared around the corner.
Gabi set the glass aside and attempted a smile.
“Are you sure you’re all right?”
She shook her head. “No. No, I’m not.” She pushed away from him and his hand fell from her shoulder. “I won’t go anywhere alone with you, Hunter. Not yet, anyway.”
All this was because she feared being alone with him? “I gave you my word I wouldn’t hurt you.”
“I want to believe you.”
“Then do.”
“It’s not that simple. My head tells me that lightning won’t strike twice, but there’s no guarantee.” She was shaking again and Hunter had a strong desire to pull her into his arms.
“What lightning is that? What did he do to you?”
Doubt filled her face. “I can’t . . . I’m sorry.”
“Stop apologizing, Gabi. We’re in this for the next year and a half. How am I going to know what words to be careful of using if you don’t tell me what happened?”
The words were there . . . hanging between them. Her dark eyes searched his.
“Why did you need to get married?”
So this was how it was going to go. Give to get.
He offered a crumb. “My brother has resurfaced.”
Confusion marred her brow.
“My twin. Word is he’s posing as me.” Again . . .
“So I’m a built-in alibi?”
Hunter shook his head . . . not willing to give more without a few answers from her. “What did he do to you, Gabi?”
She paused, swallowed hard. “He used me. Shred my dignity.”
Not happy with her ambiguous answer, he asked, “How?”
“He pretended to love me and used my brother’s island to traffic drugs.” Her face lost color again.
“And he hurt you.” It wasn’t a question.
She nodded and looked away. There was more to her story . . . but he didn’t push.
He took a chance and gathered her hands into his. “I’m not him, Gabi. Arguably, I am using you . . . but you know the score, and in the end, we will use each other. I don’t trust easily, either. My brother is only part of why I needed a bride.”
“What else?”
It was Hunter’s turn to divert the conversation. “Are you ready to tell me the whole story behind your late husband?”
She winced.
That’s what he thought. “We both have our secrets. Maybe in time we can share them. For now, I need you to trust that I won’t hurt you. I won’t let anyone else harm you, either.”
“I still can’t leave with you.”
His mind scrambled. “What if you picked where? I need the world to know we’re married. If we don’t escape for even a few days, there will be some who guess the truth.”
Her eyes traveled to the ceiling as if it held the answers. “I haven’t been home more than overnight since . . .” She struggled for words. “Since Alonzo’s death.”
“Your brother’s island?”
“Yes.”
Jaw dropping, he said, “You want me to willingly go to your brother’s world? The man threatened my life.”
For the first time since she fainted, Gabi offered a tiny smile.
Hunter’s blood warmed.
“Only if you hurt me. And since you’re not going to do that, you don’t have to worry.”
He was still holding her hands when she squeezed them.
“The Florida Keys?”
She nodded.
How bad could it be? “OK.”