Navy SEAL Security. Carol Ericson
He lifted a shoulder, which touched the ends of his wet hair. “If they can, but it doesn’t sound like they’re going to be successful.”
“What if they come back to that beach, that tower, looking for me? Today was my last day for the summer, but I left everything wide open back there. I’m going to have to return to close up properly.”
Was he playing her to make her fear the men in the boat more than she feared him? The dying man had choked her, and the guys in the boat had shot at her. This one hadn’t lifted a finger against her. In fact, he’d protected her from the other attacks.
“I don’t think they’d do that.” But two lines formed a deep crevice between his eyebrows. “They’d have difficulty finding the beach again, and there are plenty of lifeguard towers up and down the coast.”
She chewed her bottom lip. “I don’t know about that. Imperial Beach is one of the southernmost beaches in San Diego County before you hit the Mexican border.”
“Request a transfer. They’re not going to find you.”
“They’re not going to find me anyway.” She rolled her tight shoulders. “I already told you. I’m done for the season since I only work summers. Today was my last shift.”
He patted her leg again. “That’s good to hear. And don’t return. Let someone else lock up. What’s your name anyway?”
“Amy.” She gasped and covered her mouth. How had this man lured her into such a state of naive stupidity so quickly? Next she’d be giving him her social security number. She jerked her leg, dislodging his hand.
He had the nerve to laugh.
“Don’t worry. I’m not going to use your first name against you, and I can just reach in the glove compartment to find out the rest if I want.” He combed his fingers through tangled hair. “And just so we’re even, I’m going to tell you my first name, too. It’s Riley.”
“Riley.” The name rolled off her tongue. Riley didn’t seem too concerned about the cops knowing his name. Did he think just because he had a friendly, non-threatening demeanor and a gorgeous body she wasn’t going to report this?
Even though Amy had an innate distrust of authority, Riley had placed his confidence in the wrong woman. She’d had it in for all men since she’d discovered the guy she’d been dating for two months had a wife. Scumbag.
She rounded the corner of her block and pulled up to the curb in front of her rental house. She cut the engine and dropped her hands in her lap. “You can get out now. Although how you think you’re going to be inconspicuous roaming around in a full-body wet suit is beyond me.”
“Thanks for caring.” A boyish grin claimed his face. “I have trunks on underneath—just another surfer.”
“Just another surfer carrying a knife.”
She shouldn’t have reminded him.
His fingers curled around the handle and he said, “Let’s go inside to make sure everything’s okay.”
Tension knotted her shoulders again as she climbed out of the car, groping for her backpack in the backseat. She wouldn’t be able to breathe easily until Riley left the premises and she had 911 on the line.
It took her three tries to insert her key into the dead bolt with Riley standing behind her, the heat from his body warming her bare back. And then she didn’t even need to unlock the dead bolt—she must’ve left it unlocked when she took off this afternoon. She shoved the key into the handle, turning the knob and pushing open the door.
Riley stepped in front of her, tucking her behind his broad frame. “Everything look okay?”
“How can I tell? I’m staring at your back.” Her nose practically touched the cool, smooth skin between his shoulder blades.
Riley stalked to the center of the small living room, dwarfing it with his take-control presence. Amy shifted her gaze around the objects of the room, her pulse quickening when she spotted a book on the floor by the coffee table. Her cat, Clarence, probably knocked that over before he took off for his pre-dinner prowl.
“I’m going to have a look in the back rooms.” Riley pointed to the short hallway, gripping the knife in front of him.
Amy crept toward the book and crouched to retrieve it from the floor. She glanced toward the entry that led to the kitchen and then tilted her head back to peer at Riley disappearing into the bathroom, knife still drawn.
She could make a run for the portable phone in the kitchen and slip out the back, maybe bang on her neighbor’s door for help. Riley would probably take off, and she’d be safe.
Launching to her feet, she hurtled toward the kitchen. Just inside the entryway, she tripped over a soft object splayed across the floor. Yelping, she thudded against the linoleum. She scrambled to her hands and knees and spun around.
A sour knot of fear lodged in her throat as her gaze skidded across the deathly still form of her ex-boyfriend.
Chapter Two
A shriek sliced through the small house, and Riley barreled out the bathroom door, stubbing his toe on the frame. He gripped the knife at his side, ready to do battle. Careening through the empty living room, he launched toward the entryway to what had to be the kitchen. He stopped short, almost falling into the room and over a body on the floor.
Amy huddled against the cabinets, her hands pressed against her mouth, her eyes forming huge, coffee-colored saucers. A man sprawled across the faded yellow linoleum on his back, one perfectly shined loafer hanging from his toes, and his legs in pressed slacks crossed one over the other. Looked like he could be taking a nap on the kitchen floor.
Riley squatted beside the man, noting a red blotch on his right cheek, and extended two fingers toward his neck to check his pulse.
Amy screamed, “Don’t touch him.”
God, he must’ve been a friend or relative of Amy’s. Boyfriend? His gaze flew to her face, drained of all color beneath her mocha skin. “Who is he?”
“Carlos…my ex-boyfriend.” She mumbled through her fingers, which seemed frozen in place.
Very ex-boyfriend from the look of him. Riley stepped over the body and kneeled beside Amy. “We need to get out of here.”
“What happened to him?”
“I can’t tell. I don’t see any blood, just a contusion on his face. Maybe someone strangled him or hit him on the back of the head.” He turned back toward the body. “I can turn him…”
“No.” She sobbed, curling into a tight ball. “We need to call the police.”
“You don’t get it, Amy. Somehow those guys in the boat tracked you down to your house. Carlos must’ve surprised them. They probably came at him from behind and strangled him or hit him. Carlos’s presence spooked them, but that doesn’t mean they won’t come back.”
“That’s why we call the police.” She scooted to her left to avoid Carlos’s outstretched hand.
Riley rubbed his chin with his knuckles. He was flying so far below the radar of the police right now he couldn’t afford to have them question him at a murder scene. Hell, he was flying below the radar of the CIA.
“The police can’t protect you.” He left the rest of that statement hanging in the air between them. Only he could protect her now, and he didn’t need the en cumbrance.
Surprisingly, she didn’t dispute his claim.
“Who are these people? Who are you?”
“The less you know, the better.” Not that he knew much himself. When the call had come from Colonel Scripps, the former leader of the undercover ops unit, Prospero, Riley had jumped into action. Jack Coburn, one of their