Katie Reus - Targeted

Instinctively she glanced out the open window. Jack was busy tying up two of the Jet Skis a couple of college students had just returned. “We’re not hiring right now, but in the next three months we’re looking to. Do you want to fill out an application?”

He nodded enthusiastically, so she pulled out the standard form and slid it across the counter. In any other place it would be inappropriate to wear board shorts while looking for a job, but life was a lot more laid-back in the Keys.

As the man left the store, the phone rang. She grabbed it on the second ring. “Island Rentals, how can I help you?”

“Sophie?”

“Uh, yes?” She pressed a hand to her stomach at Wesley’s voice. They hadn’t heard from him in almost six months. The last time he called, he’d tried to convince Jack to come back to work. She was still pretty pissed about that. “What do you want?”

He chuckled lightly. “Don’t worry, I’m not calling to bug Jack. I’m calling to ask you a favor. My niece is going to the Keys for spring break with a couple friends and I wanted to know if you could cut her a deal for some Jet Skis one afternoon.”

“That won’t be a problem. Does she need a place to stay?” They had a small guesthouse above their garage, as most houses in Key West did. It gave guests, and them, complete privacy. Not that they’d had any guests except Hannah. And she’d stayed in their house.

“No, she’s staying with friends, but if you could keep an eye out for her, I’d appreciate it.”

“Just e-mail Jack all the information on her and we’ll watch out for her.”

“Thanks.”

As soon as they disconnected, Jack walked in. His face broke into a relaxed smile when they made eye contact. Something he seemed to be doing more and more every day. “You about ready to take lunch, babe?”

“Yes—I’m starving.” She grabbed her purse and rounded the counter.

Before she’d taken two steps, Jack grasped her hips and pulled her close, holding on to her as if his life depended on it. Tingles shot down to her toes as he ran his tongue over hers in erotic strokes.

When he pulled away she immediately missed his touch. “What was that for?”

“I think we should take lunch at the house.” His words were a seductive growl and let her know exactly what he had in mind for “lunch.”

“Sounds good to me.” Somehow she managed to rasp out the words, though it was hard to even find her voice. A year later and he still made her knees weak with just one look.

For the first time in her life she knew exactly where she belonged. In Jack’s arms was the only place she wanted to be.

Even though writing is a solitary profession, getting a book published takes an amazing team and I’m grateful to have so many wonderful people to support me. First, thanks to my editor, Danielle Perez, for pushing me to make this the best book possible. I’d also like to thank Christina Brower, Courtney Landi, Katie Anderson, and the rest of the team at NAL for all their behind-the-scenes work. Publishing a book truly is a team effort. I’m also very thankful to my agent extraordinaire, Jill Marsal, for always being in my corner.

Kari Walker, Laura Wright, Cynthia Eden, and Carolyn Crane, I’d be lost without you ladies! I’m lucky to call you friends. Another great big thank-you for my husband, sister, and parents, who have always supported my decision to become a writer—long before I actually finished that first book. For my readers, you guys are amazing and I hope you love this new series as much as I do! Your e-mail and kind words mean more than you’ll ever know. Last, but never least, I’m grateful to God for so many wonderful opportunities and never-ending support.

Maria Cervantes grasped the interior door handle of the SUV limo as her family’s regular driver took what would hopefully be the last sharp turn of the night. Either he’d forgotten how to drive or she was sicker than she’d realized. Every little bump in the road made her afraid she’d puke. After being laid up in bed with flulike symptoms for five days and missing work for a week straight—something she’d never done before—she’d been positive she had kicked the nasty stomach bug this morning. Now she wasn’t so sure.

Nausea roiled in her stomach and she swallowed hard, forcing the sickness back down. Just a few hours, she reminded herself. That was all she had to get through; then she could go back home and pass out.

As the vehicle straightened, then slowed, she peered through the divider. She’d asked the driver to keep the partition down. If she got so sick she needed him to pull over, she didn’t want to waste precious seconds buzzing him. Still, she was clutching one of the empty silver ice buckets she’d snagged from the minibar in case she didn’t have time to warn him.

“We’re almost there, Ms. Cervantes.” His voice was ridiculously polite despite the fact that she and Nash had known each other for two years.

She knew why, though. He was annoyed with her for going to this party when she was sick. “I swear to God, if you call me Ms. Cervantes again, I’m going to crawl up there and puke on you. We’re the same age, Nash.”

“Damn it, Maria—”

She let out a raspy laugh, loving that she’d gotten Nash Larson to curse, since it was a rarity. He’d been working for her parents for two years. Before he started working for them he’d done private security work for a year, and for eight years before that he’d been in the Army. Maria’s father, Riel, had needed an outside security company to oversee one of his projects in Mexico two years ago and Nash had been assigned. After witnessing the man at work, her father had snatched Nash away with a hefty pay raise and better benefits. Now he was more or less a personal bodyguard/driver/fix-all man for her parents. While her dad often used Nash as extra security when traveling on business, he hadn’t for his current trip since it was so short.

Nash let out a growl of frustration as the vehicle slowed to stop. Maria barely paid attention as she heard him talking to one of the security personnel outside the gated mansion, where a very exclusive party was going on. She didn’t need to listen because she knew he was showing them her elegant gold and cream embossed invitation. If it were any other event, she would have bailed, but Bayside Community Center, where she worked, needed the donations that would come in from tonight. And there was one potential donor in particular Maria desperately wanted to talk to.

Maria had grown up with incredibly wealthy parents and they’d taught her to give back. They weren’t exactly happy with her chosen profession, but they supported her career as a counselor. After getting a bachelor’s degree in behavioral psychology and a master’s in counseling, she couldn’t imagine doing anything else. She was also the acting director of the community center, since her predecessor had suddenly retired a couple of months ago. Until they found a replacement, she was in charge. She’d thought the added responsibility would be overwhelming, but Maria found she liked the challenge.

Since there was no way her parents would have let her arrive at the Westwood gala driving her Prius, she had a chauffeur. Any other night it would have been annoying, but there was no way she could operate heavy machinery right now. She’d stopped taking her over-the-counter antinausea medicine so she wouldn’t be drowsy but the side effect was that she was now nauseated. She was just impressed she’d managed to get dressed on her own.

The Westwood family wasn’t originally from Miami, but California. They liked to do things over the top and a bit garish, but Maria didn’t care. They were friendly, donated to local charities, and in addition to three food banks and another community center in Miami, Bayside was one of the recipients of the donations from tonight. Which meant Maria had to be here. She was the public face for Bayside and she took her position very seriously. Though it wasn’t the only reason she was here. She also had to meet Joann Hood, an insanely wealthy woman who wanted to “talk numbers” in regard to donating money to Bayside. And this was the only time the well-known, eccentric woman could meet Maria. So here she was.

“You look like shit, Maria. As soon as we stop I’m texting your mother to let her know I’m taking you home.” Nash’s expression in the rearview mirror was almost scolding.

Despite their both being twenty-nine, he sometimes seemed light-years older. She put a hand to her unsettled stomach before saying, “One hour. That’s all I need.” Or she hoped it was. “And I’ll be fine. Just don’t take me through the main entrance.” There would be a silly red carpet and photographers hoping to snap shots of some of the politicians and celebrities who might come. She definitely wasn’t newsworthy, but there would be an extra crush of people there and she knew there was another entrance.

“I wasn’t planning to,” he growled. “And I’m not letting the valet take the SUV. I’ll be waiting in the parking area. Call or text when you’re ready and I’ll pick you up.” The driveway leading to the main house was long and winding. Instead of following the drive to the left, where it curved, Nash continued straight until they reached one of the service entrances. There was more security there, but after a quick conversation with someone Nash clearly knew, they were allowed past.

“You know him?” she asked, glad her voice sounded stronger. If she could get some decent face time tonight, it meant she’d get an invite to next year’s party and Bayside would be on the list to continue receiving donations. Since it was the first year she’d received an invitation, she wasn’t taking any chances of insulting the Westwoods by not showing up. With the economy the way it was, Maria had to look out for her kids. That community center was the only form of family some of them had and she refused to let them down.

“Yeah, when I heard you were sick I called the security team and found out who was on duty. I still don’t think you should be here.”

Maria sighed, not bothering to respond to Nash’s comment as he pulled up next to a catering van and parked. “Didn’t you used to work for the same security company as that guy?” Even though the man at the front gate wore a suit, the one who’d just stopped them had been wearing a black polo shirt with a familiar security logo and cargo pants. He’d also had a gun strapped to his belt, much like the police wore. Definitely not trying to hide what his job was for the evening.

“You know I did. Don’t try to change the subject.”

“Argue all you want. It’s a battle you’ll lose.”

He muttered something under his breath as he got out of the vehicle. She straightened her long, violet gown and glanced down at herself. While she hadn’t been able to do much with her hair other than curl it and leave it loose around her shoulders, her dress was so gorgeous it wouldn’t matter. Before she could open the door, it swung open and Nash held out a hand for her.

Even though his smile had an almost boyish quality, there was nothing boyish about the man in front of her. His normally relaxed face was drawn into a tight expression and his blue eyes flashed with annoyance. Well, he wasn’t her freaking boss and certainly not her boyfriend—though she had a feeling he had a small crush on her, so she tried not to get too angry. Despite his obvious annoyance he held out an arm and helped her from the vehicle.

Normally she wouldn’t need help, but tonight she was taking it. She’d already gotten the okay from her doctor that she wasn’t contagious—otherwise she wouldn’t have come.

“You—”

“Nash, enough,” she snapped, at the end of her rope. She was barely keeping it together and didn’t have the strength to argue.

“I was just going to say you look beautiful,” he muttered, his ears turning pink.

“Oh, thank you.” Not wanting things to get awkward, and because she wanted to get inside as soon as possible, she stepped away and held up her simple clutch purse. “I’ve got my phone. As soon as I’m ready to leave I’ll call you and meet you right out here.” She glanced toward the part of the mansion they were parked outside. There was a security man standing by a side door, clearly waiting for her. In the distance she heard music and voices, but it was fairly quiet where they were. “Mansion” probably wasn’t the right term for this home. It was more like a castle. Sure, her parents were wealthy, but the Westwoods were in a totally different stratosphere. They were like royalty. “You’re sure I can go in through there?”