Page 31 of Her Reluctant Hero
“What if she makes me?”
“That’s up to you,” Michaels said with a shrug. “You can follow her at a distance or play lover boy, no difference. But don’t lose her.”
***
Isabella drove by the imposing Miami mansion three times, working up her nerve. Driving a car after not doing so for four years was a challenge, but she hadn’t wanted to raise suspicion by hiring a cab to pass back and forth. At least this way she’d get a better look at the place that was guarded like a fortress, complete with wrought-iron fence with wicked-looking tips on the top.
She’d been in the city three days, using part of the money she’d smuggled from Santiago’s compound to buy two fake ids, complete with a credit history that set her up with a gorgeous hotel room. The other part she’d used to buy information about where Santiago’s cousin’s house was. Two false starts and here she was, driving past the house where her son was being held, waiting for her to come for him.
The security guard in the little building by the gate—seriously, not twenty feet from the front steps—stepped out to watch her fourth pass. Okay, maybe she should have timed it better, spaced it out more, but she’d never been the patient type.
So she tugged at the hem of her blouse, exposing more cleavage, pushed her skirt up her thighs, then pulled over and rolled down the window of the rented economy car. “Hi. I’m so lost! Can you help me?”
Men were so predictable. “What can I do for you?” he asked, not even ashamed of himself for staring at her breasts.
“I’m from out of town, and I’m supposed to be visiting my friend, but I’m sure she doesn’t live in a place with houses so big.” She widened her eyes in an attempt to look innocent. “I must have taken a wrong turn.”
He leaned in the door. “Where are you trying to get?”
“She said she lived near Coral Gables. But she’s a single mom. No way she can get something like this.” She leaned over as she waved toward the magnificent stucco house.
“You have her address?” the guard asked her boobs.
Uh, for an imaginary friend with an imaginary address? No. She fumbled with the map she’d used to find this house, squinted at it, passed it to him with a sheepish grin. “It started with a P. I’m terrible with names.” Seriously, she could have been a blonde.
He wasn’t even suspicious. “Yeah, a lot of people get confused with all the Spanish-sounding street names. Let me have a look. Could it be Pomona? Poinciana? Perugia? Palmetto, maybe?”
She made her face brighten. “That last one—is it far from here?”
“No, babe. You just took a wrong turn off Ponce de Leon.” He returned the map to her, smug as could be.
She tucked it away. “I know her house won’t be as nice as this one.” She sighed. “Now that would have been a vacation.”
“Tell me about it. I can’t even go in to use the restroom.”
She widened her eyes. “Uncool.”
“There are some perks.” He leaned casually on the door. “I have connections to get into some of the hottest clubs in Miami. You think you and your friend would like to head down to The O tonight?”
She thought fast. He said he couldn’t even get into the mansion to use the restroom. What good would getting to know him do her? But she had a better chance of being admitted if she knew him than if she didn’t. She slid her thighs together. He noticed, his nostrils flaring, like he was trying to smell her.
“Even if she doesn’t, I do. We don’t have much nightlife where I come from.”
He smiled, slow and nasty. “Okay. Meet me down there at eleven. Think you can find it?”
She let herself look sheepish. “I’ll do my best.”
“My name’s Henry. Ask for me. They’ll let you in.” He straightened and slapped the door, signaling her on her way.
“I’m Bethany.” She gave him one last smile and drove off, shaking all over.
From a compound in the middle of the jungle, isolated for four years, being thrust into Miami crowds in a dark, loud disco was culture shock. She maneuvered through the crowd in her new heels and silk wrap dress. She kept her chin up, scanning the crowd for Henry. He’d seemed tall, in front of Santiago’s mansion, but she couldn’t be sure.
Plus, even in these heels, she was barely five six. Who knew so many tall people lived in Miami? Maybe tonight was Tall People night at The O.
Someone grasped her arm and she jolted, barely able to calm herself as she turned to face Henry, her hand over her heart.
“Oh, you scared me,” she shouted over the pulsing music.
