Wicked Secrets (3 page)

The bride shook her head. “Who knew you’d meet up again on Discovery Island?”

Who knew indeed? The iced tea level in his glass sank to the halfway point. The overabundance of sugar had his teeth curdling. “How long are you ladies in town for?”

The bride checked her phone. “Five more hours.”

Her face glowed as she inundated him with endless, incomprehensible details about her wedding in two months, and which families were flying from where. In his line of work, Tag had saved other people’s families. His first rescue had sent him a picture a couple of weeks after Tag had fished the guy out of the Pacific Ocean: the man had gone home, and his daughter had sent a photo of the two of them dancing at her wedding. That was a good picture, a good day.

While he made polite chitchat, he was aware of Mia getting up. She moved around the group, identifying drink recipients for the waiter with smooth efficiency. Alcoholic beverages sorted, she returned to the bride and produced a tube of sunscreen with an SPF of about a million and one.

“Strapless dress. Time to lather up.”

The bride obediently presented her back, and Mia got to work spreading the sunscreen over her bare shoulders. Slick with lotion, her hands slid up the tanned expanse of the bride’s back, then back down again...and, hello, hard-on.

Perfect. That was his cue. He stood up to leave and did his best to pretend bridesmaid number four hadn’t just patted his butt. Plausible deniability. Mia apparently had plenty of imagination herself, because she kept sliding him covert glances. She was good. He doubted any of her friends had noticed her interest.

He had.

He brushed past her, paused. “You need to stop staring.”

Chairs crowded their table at the beach bar, leaving limited room to maneuver. Instead of easing away from him, she lost her balance in the sand and made full body contact, her breasts pressed against his bare arm. One cotton T-shirt. One pink bikini top. There was nowhere near enough fabric between them.

She leaned back and folded her arms over her chest. Too bad. He’d been enjoying the contact. “I’m not. Staring. At you.”

“Uh-huh.”
Rattled
was also a new condition for Mia. He’d seen her aroused and take-charge.
Coming
. Which was his personal favorite, because that was the closest she came to really letting go and...he needed to stop remembering. Right now. He nodded his head in the general direction of the bridal party. “Ladies. Thank you.”

Mia followed him of course, her flip-flops snapping loudly against the sand.

“Explain,” she demanded.

He flashed a smile at her, loving the way her fingers curled into her bare arms. He got to her. No matter what words came out of her prickly, sassy mouth, she wasn’t indifferent to him. At all.

“Remember—you don’t outrank me.” The unspoken
anymore
hung in the air between them. Yeah, spending time with Mia would be dangerous. He couldn’t afford a two-night stand with her, and she didn’t have room in her life for a man like him.

* * *

A
S
 
SOON
 
AS
 
Tag retreated, Mia’s ladies declared themselves ready to move on. Go figure. They’d been holding out for man candy, and, now that they’d had their taste, they were good. She stared after Tag’s mighty fine backside disappearing down the boardwalk. Worn denim cupped tight buns, hugging him in all the right places. She’d hung on to his butt, digging her fingers into the hard muscles as he worked himself... Shoot. He was right. She
was
staring.

“What’s next? Or should I ask—who?” Her cousin grinned happily at her.

Yeah. She had the same question. With five bridesmaids and one bride staring at her, however, she needed to pull it together. Her brief past with Tag Johnson was her own business, and discovering he’d somehow ended up on the same island as her—however briefly—was not something she
needed
to share. In fact, forgetting all about his sexy butt topped her current to-do list. She’d get right on it.

When her cousin stood up, the other women fell in behind her like baby ducks. Then they all turned and stared expectantly at Mia. Right. Because somehow she’d ended up in charge of this zoo. She consulted her iPad where she had their action plan for the day. Beach bar? Check. Next up was zip-lining.

Oh, joy.

Mia snuck one last look down the boardwalk, but Tag had disappeared. The boardwalk teemed with activity in the late afternoon sunshine with tourists strolling up and down in the palm tree–studded shade. Discovery Island appealed to her on a fundamental level. The place was pretty. It had palm trees. But, more importantly, the locals seemed friendly, and she’d bet there was just about zero crime. Whatever. Their cruise ship floating on the horizon was plenty of reminder. Five hours until departure.

Her own wistful sigh was irritating as heck.

Snap out of it.
It wasn’t as if anything could have come of her chance encounter with Tag. A hot one-night fling didn’t mean he was up for a repeat performance. Or that she wanted one herself. Nope. She’d had her fun, and now she had a bachelorette party to lead. She motioned for the group to move out.

“Who’s ready for some zip-lining?”

3

T
HROWING
 
UP
 
ON
 
a public beach was rude. But Mia’s stomach wasn’t on board with being polite, the pounding headache building between her eyes demanded relief of one kind or another. She’d captured some great pictures of her cousin with the mock veil. The ATV ride had gone well. But the zip line...big mistake.

One of their guides had thought it would be fun to encourage them to spin upside down, and his impulsive gesture had triggered an episode of motion sickness she’d really rather forget. If she’d only stayed upright, her prescription would have continued to do its job. Instead, the overzealous guide had given her meds a workout her head couldn’t handle.

Not ready to confront a world that rocked violently up and down, she kept her eyes screwed shut. The rustle of palm fronds overhead was actually somewhat soothing. If she was lucky—and, given the way her day had gone so far, she probably shouldn’t be investing in lottery tickets—the darned tree wasn’t sporting any coconuts. Her head simply couldn’t take any more knocks. She waited for a moment for the universe to weigh in, but her life remained coconut-free. Good times.

“Mia?” Her cousin’s voice floated through the darkness, demanding attention. A hand squeezed her shoulder.

“That’s me,” she muttered.

“Are you okay?”

No. She absolutely, positively wasn’t.

“I’m going to head back to the boat and sleep off this headache,” she said instead. No way was she ruining her cousin’s day. “You guys finish up your shopping and I’ll meet you on the main deck for dinner.”

Tomorrow.

But there was no way she’d make it back on board without an assist right now. She could lie here. Work on her siesta skills. Maybe, if she closed her eyes for a few minutes, she wouldn’t need a helping hand from the boat’s crew. And there were worse things than taking a short nap beneath a palm tree, right?

“Are you sure?”

“You bet.”

“You want me to take your things for you?” Bags rustled.

“That would be great,” she groaned.
Anything you want. Just go.

Ten minutes and a quick siesta.

All she needed was time to settle her stomach, and then she’d be good as new.

* * *

T
HE
 
THUNDERSTORM
 
MOVING
 
toward Discovery Island had painted the last visible portions of the sky an ominous purple. The Fiesta cruise ship was a tiny white blob on the horizon...taking Mia and any chance of a reunion hookup with it. Temptation removed.

Even though Discovery Island wasn’t really his kind of place, Tag had to admit the evening scene was a fun one. Tourists strolled down the boardwalk, debating dinner options and enjoying the sea breeze. None of them looked at the horizon and weighed the possibility of a rescue call against the height of the waves and the distance to the ocean’s surface. He loved his job, and the siren call of the storm building on the horizon promised action and a good fight. When the rain and the waves hit, wreaking their usual havoc, the island would need him. He’d have things to do.

Sitting still and watching wasn’t his thing, because he didn’t run with the vacation crowd anymore than he did with the casserole crowd. The avid interest of Discovery Island’s long-term residents in his dating life was off-putting. To say the least. The attention shouldn’t have bothered him since he was used to living life in a fishbowl. But Discovery Island was a small place, and some days it felt more like he was a tasty squid swimming in a shark tank at a very public aquarium. Even the rescue-ops part of the job had dating perils—his last rescue, the eighty-one year-old Ellie Damiano, was
still
trying to set him up with her granddaughter.

Somehow, the things he rescued always stuck to him. Sure, he might have wrapped an arm around Mrs. Damiano and talked with her. But what other choice did he have? She’d just driven her car off the road and into two feet of water. She’d needed an ear to bend, and he had two perfectly good ones. He’d listened. And listened. And then listened some more. He swore, Mrs. Damiano had more to say than anyone he’d ever met before. Now she was grateful, wanting to do something nice for him, and he didn’t have the heart to turn that down.

He just didn’t want to go out with her granddaughter.

As the last few sunbathers packed it in, vacating the creamy strip of sand between the boardwalk and the surf, he turned away from the radar showing only empty waters around Discovery Island—no enemy hostiles or floundering commercial liners or even a capsized fishing boat—and got down to business. The sooner he said the words, the sooner he could get on with what needed doing, so he turned back to face the two men in Deep Dive’s command center. He’d served with both Daeg and Cal for multiple tours of duty, but the bond between them was more than a shared set of missions. There was no one he’d trust more with his back, and each of them had stood by the others on rescues.

“I re-upped.” Short and sweet. A declarative sentence rather than a question, because his going back to San Diego wasn’t open for negotiation.

Cal looked up from the mountain of paper on his desk and cursed. “Don’t tell me. This is Mrs. Damiano’s fault. You could try going out with her granddaughter and see if a date stops her.”

The man had five-o’clock shadow at midafternoon and a pyramid of Red Bull cans teetering in front of him. He’d been the one to conceive of the dive business in the first place, convinced the small California island where he’d grown up was in desperate need of an adventure diving outfit. Plus, he’d taken on the task of setting up a search-and-rescue program for the area. The local Coast Guard was overwhelmed and focused more on running down drug traffickers than fishing distressed pleasure boaters out of the water. Cal, of course, was committed to keeping everyone safe. Juggling both meant less sleep for everyone, although his buddy had never complained.

Reaching over, Tag swiped a stack of papers from Mount Paperwork. Cal didn’t protest. The first one was an invoice for emergency supplies, but the second was for parts for the chopper. Lots and lots of parts. Lovely. They needed a mechanic. Or stock in an aviation company. Their used bird was a work in progress with more face-lifts than an aging beauty queen. The chopper was also an
expensive
work in progress, as Cal liked to point out with annoying frequency. Restoration had been Tag’s responsibility, in between running dives and setting up training exercises. Apparently, he should have made time for bookkeeping. Or kidnapping an accountant.

“I can handle Mrs. Damiano.”
Not.
The old woman redefined
determined
. “Our CO needs a pilot,” he said, when the silence stretched on too long.

Daeg signed a check and shoveled papers into an envelope. “You’re not the only sailor who knows how to fly a bird or run a rescue op,” he pointed out.

True enough. The Spec Ops boys were planning on taking out a drug op in South America, however, and their CO knew the mission would hit a personal hot spot with Tag. Passion counted, because a soldier who took the mission personally would go the extra mile every time.

Passion aside, he was also pretty much the only man available at the moment. “He asked. Most of the other guys are already assigned. I’m not.”

Cal cracked a new can of Red Bull, tipping it in Tag’s direction. “Cheers, then.”

Mission accomplished, Tag kept right on sorting, circling and adding invoices. Maybe before he went away, he’d post on craigslist for an office manager. The silence built up until Tag was itching to move. But he had more numbers to add, and shoving the pile back on to Cal’s desk wasn’t happening. The guy was exhausted.

He grabbed a stamp, peeled and stuck. “We need help. Office help.”

“Speak for yourself.” Cal flipped Tag the bird. “Because I’m doing just fine here, and Dani’s going to be helping us out in a month or two.”

Daeg grinned. “She estimates another two to three weeks. Just long enough for us to get really desperate.”

Dani Andrews, Daeg’s fiancée, was an actuary and damned good with numbers. She was in the process of setting up a freelance business on the island, but she was currently snowed under with clients. She’d promised to help out just as soon as she could clear the decks, and bringing her on board would be great. The heap of papers on Cal’s desk listed sideways, and Cal cursed, making a grab for the topmost invoices as Mount Paperwork toppled over and hit the floor.

“Right. Or maybe we can’t wait.”

Cal scooped up the papers and deposited them back on the desk. Shoving to his feet, he prowled toward the front of the dive center. The air was thick outside, vibrating with tension as the purple clouds swept closer and closer toward the island.

Cal stared outside with the same kind of longing Tag felt. “Storm’s moving in.”

“Not a bad one.” The thunderstorm headed their way was the usual summer fare. It would bring plenty of heat and some flash-bang. It wasn’t the kind, however, that led to flooding and rescue calls. He could go home and crash. This would be a quick, wet,
loud
summer storm, but the property damage would be minimal, and no one would be getting hurt. No one would need him tonight.

A good night.

The wind was picking up, whipping the tops of the palms back and forth. The beach was all but deserted now, except for a single woman leaning against a palm, seemingly asleep. She wore a navy blue sweatshirt, the hood pulled up over her head, and a pair of cotton shorts that hugged her butt and left her long, tanned legs on display. Maybe she was grabbing a last moment of toes-in-the-sand fun or maybe she was waiting for someone. “You’re staring.” Cal punched him in the shoulder.

Maybe. But he wasn’t responsible for where his eyes went when he was thinking. Some things actually were beyond his control. Kind of like his one night with Mia, his head—and another body part—reminded him. His lack of control should have embarrassed him, but she’d been right there with him. He’d never been one for picking women up at a bar, but for Mia he’d made an exception, and he still wasn’t sure why. Not because she was gorgeous—although she was and that had certainly helped persuade him—but for some other reason he couldn’t put into words.

“I’m staring at the beach,” he countered.
Liar.

“A beach with women on it.” Daeg said, coming up behind them. He’d met his fiancée on Discovery Island when a bad tropical storm had sent him out to rescue her from a flooding Jeep. Tag didn’t need or want to know what had happened when the pair had holed up to wait out the storm, but he’d seen the ring—and he’d seen the look on Daeg’s face. The man had fallen, and fallen hard.

Tag raised a brow, because no way he was letting Daeg off easily. “Now you’re looking, too.”

A small smile tugged at his friend’s lips. Yeah...they were both busted. “I’m not dead.”

No, but Daeg was disgustingly happy with the soon-to-be Mrs. Ross. Although Tag strongly suspected the bride would keep her own name. Independent, strong-minded and fun, Dani was the perfect woman for Daeg, and Tag was happy for them. He really was. He knew he sported a big-ass grin whenever he thought about the two of them and this place. Discovery Island had the heart of a small town, a heart he recognized. He’d been born and raised in Rutland, Vermont. In his small New England town, plenty of people knew his name and his business. You kissed a girl, and every relative, every member of her church, started looking for commitment and a ring. So far, Discovery Island had been a good station. It certainly wasn’t fighting a losing battle against street drugs.

Not that Rutland was any kind of inner city ghetto with urban blight on display on every corner. Nope. The clapboard houses in his hometown were run-down some, but when the snow fell or the leaves changed, pretty enough. The problem had been the baggies of drugs flowing in from urban centers, marked up and selling fast. He’d had friends boast about fortunes made selling heroin they’d bought off the runners who made daily trips from New York City to Vermont.

More than one of his high school friends had kept hidden stashes of cash, guns and drugs, tooling around in an SUV and making deals. Just blue-collar folks sucked into a morass of drugs and all the accompanying bad shit. It was your neighbor breaking into your house and boosting your electronics because he was jonesing for a fix and flat broke. Tag had lost a girlfriend to drug addiction. He’d stuck it out for as long as possible, but then he’d finally had to let go. He had a feeling, though, Daeg was going to have the happy ending.

“You’ll be a dead man if Dani catches you eyeing the scenery.” A grin split Cal’s face.

“Right.” Daeg rocked back on his heels. “And Piper won’t mind at all if you’re looking at other women.”

Cal held up a hand. “Hey, you started it. I’m just finishing things here. Closing the loop. Making sure you all behave.”

Right. While Cal and Daeg bickered amicably, Sleeping Beauty woke up. Levering herself away from the tree and grabbing her towel, she wrapped the blue-and-white stripes around her like a cloak, bent over and threw up. Then she curled into a small ball, as if even the thought of moving was too much. He knew the feeling, but he also knew the skies were close to opening up and drenching the beach. She couldn’t stay where she was. She’d either be brained by errant coconuts or drowned.

Maybe she was drunk.

Or had some kind of virulent bird flu.

Whatever her issue, it wasn’t his problem. Still, when she heaved again, his own gut twinged in sympathy. Daeg frowned, and Tag didn’t have to look over at Cal to know the other man’s face reflected a similar concern. None of them could walk past a civilian in need of a rescue.

“She need an assist?” Cal fished his cell phone out of his pocket, clearly running possible rescue missions through his head.

“Ouch.” Daeg winced sympathetically as the subject of their attention hunched over, looking more miserable by the second.