Page 15 of Resurgent
Charlotte rubs her eyes sleepily as the car stops. She’d fallen asleep for the last hour of the drive. She looks out the window and says, “Where are we?”
“Puerto Vallarta. I’m going to turn in the rental car here and we’ll take a cab to Playa Aislado. The cartel will have noticed you’re gone by now. We can’t be too cautious.”
She nods.
“Also, we need to get you some clothes.”
She looks down at her jeans and grimaces. “My clothes! Right. It’s bad, isn’t it? I’ve been wearing these for three days. But I don’t need to get anything. I can make do until I get home.”
“Yeah, so about that…” I say. I’ve been thinking about this for the last hour, and I don’t see another way. We’ve parked, so I turn to face her. “You can’t go home.”
“What do you mean? I have two weddings next weekend alone. Not to mention appointments all week long because McKenzie’s been gone and then Gemma went to San Francisco. Our business can’t run itself!” Her voice has risen higher with each sentence, and now it’s tinged with a hint of desperation. Who could blame her? She’s been through hell. “You don’t understand. I have to go home. I have to un-organize all my spices!”
“What?” She’s not even making sense now. “Char—”
“You don’t need me anyway,” she blurts. “Your memory is going to come back and you’ll find the guns, and—”
I can tell by the look in her eyes that she’s about to step right on the crazy train. Damn but I want to kiss her again, if only to shut her up. Instead, I cut her off with the simple truth. “None of that will matter if you’re dead.” That stops her cold. “I’ve thought about it, and the only way I can keep you safe while I look for the guns is by keeping you with me. If you go back to the States, there’s nothing to stop them from kidnapping you again, and the next time, they’ll make damn sure you don’t get away. And I can’t ask one of the team to watch you, because no one can know I’m alive until I find the guns.”
She bites her lip as she thinks. “No one has to know you’re alive. I could say I escaped on my own. And once the press gets a hold of the story, the drug cartel wouldn’t dare risk kidnapping me again.”
“Not true. They’re bad people, Charlotte. They don’t give a fuck about what the U.S. thinks. In fact, that will probably give them more incentive to take you back and make a point. Trust me, I don’t like it any more than you.” I hate the idea of dragging anyone into this with me, especially her. She deserves better. But she’s safer with me—even in Mexico—than back in Charleston alone. “I’m sorry. Believe me, I don’t like it any more than you do. But I’m not going to put you in danger like that. I won’t let you go.”
She crosses her arms over her chest and her eyes narrow as she gives me a cool, appraising look. I’m quickly learning there are two sides to Charlotte—the always-in-control, restrained version who keeps a tight leash on her emotions, and a more passionate and somewhat unpredictable one. I’m not sure which one intrigues me more. “You won’tletme go? Are you going to physically stop me?”
I shrug. “If I have to.” Her brow is furrowed, and I have no doubt she’s trying to think up another of her infamous plans, but there’s no way around this one. She has to stay with me. Hoping to make her relax a little, I wiggle my eyebrows at her and say teasingly, “I could tie you up and pretend you’re my sex slave. Talk about a great alibi.”
“You are incorrigible.” Her tone is prim, but a gorgeous blush floods her cheeks. “This is serious.”
I try to ignore my cock, which seems to have developed a mind of its own where Charlotte is concerned. But I’ve got to impress on her how important it is she doesn’t leave. “I agree. Deadly serious. For you, for me, and for McKenzie.”
“What does McKenzie have to do with it?”
“If you go home and you’re all over the news, El Gato’s going to realize he had the wrong girl. Then he’s going to go after McKenzieandyou.”
“Oh.” Charlotte sits in silence, mulling over my words. Finally, she exhales dramatically. “Fine. Let’s go shopping.”
I laugh. “Most girls would jump at an all-expense-paid shopping spree.”
“I’m not most girls.”
“Yeah, I’ve already figured that out.”
“And what do you mean ‘all expense paid’? They took my purse, and everything except your phone and watch are sitting in a tampon box under McKenzie’s sink. How are we going to pay for clothes?”
“Don’t worry. I’ve got plenty of cash, courtesy of La Frontera.” My voice is flat. “Remember that bank account in the Caymans I told you about? It’s dirty money, and I didn’t intend to touch it. But I’ve already spent some of it to get here that I can’t repay, and it’s not like I can return it to the cartel and say ‘sorry, deal’s off’ anyway. Now it’s what’s going to get me…get us…out of this mess. I hope.”
She waits while I turn in the rental car near the Malecon—the iconic promenade lined with shops, cafés, nightclubs, and street vendors that borders the ocean—and then we peruse the shops. An hour later, I have a swimsuit to add to my backpack filled with American-brand clothes I bought in Mumbai, and Charlotte’s carrying a small designer bag filled with a sexy-as-hell bikini swimsuit, a few sundresses, shorts and tops, a pair of flip-flops and some heeled sandals. She also bought a bra and several pairs of underwear—thongs—although I tried to turn my back while she picked them out. Okay, maybe I didn’t try too hard.
Funny, but I sort of pegged her as the functional cotton brief type. Who would have guessed Miss Uptight and Always Put Together has a secret penchant for naughty lingerie? I have a feeling there’s a lot more to Charlotte Windsor than meets the eye, and I find myself wanting to uncover the sexual, wanton woman beneath that always-in-control exterior of hers.
I immediately squelch that thought. I have no business thinking like that. Although I’ve got to keep Charlotte with me while I figure things out, I can’t touch her. I’ve officially fucked the toaster on this one, and I’ll be damned if I take anyone else down with me. Not Walker. Not McKenzie. And definitely not Charlotte. Fantasies of her ass in those lacy scraps of fabric are going to have to be enough.
We stop for coffee at one of the sidewalk cafés, and she hasn’t taken a single sip before she says, “So what’s the plan now?”
I bite back a grin. I’ve never seen a woman who loves a plan as much as Charlotte. “We’ll hide out at Playa Aislado for a few days while I look at the bucket list and figure out my next step.”
“Ournext step,” she interjects. “If you’re keeping me hostage, I get a say.”
