Page 44 of Under the Radar
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Mac climbed in the armored van and swung his arm around Mo’s shoulder. The locks latched as Hugh pulled into afternoon traffic. Nassau’s central district was a colossal traffic jam again. A roiling discomfort coursed through Mac’s stomach as he glanced into and at every car around them. This ride reminded him of the times he’d endured hyper-alert mode in Iraqi traffic. Good times. Not.
Mo sat straight as a bolt and fidgeted with the hem of her dress. He gave her arm a gentle rub. She’d managed to don a tough facade at the restaurant after he’d told her about the worth of the heroin shipment, but the panic attack told him her insides were shaky as gelatin on a spoon. Mo was no shrinking wallflower under duress. She’d absorbed the full magnitude of the trouble she was in, and her current somber demeanor struck him as a mirror of her thoughts.
She tapped his knee. “I think I want to go back to the ship. There’s no need to go to a public beach and possibly endanger other people. Just the fact that you’re armed to the hilt and have private security watching over us tells me you’re not comfortable being in public either.” She folded her hands on her lap and blew out a long breath.
“We’re not going to a public beach, cupcake. I’ve rented a private estate for the day. You think you’d be willing to give that a try?” He slid his fingers through hers and gently squeezed.
Relief surfed across her face as her furrowed brow relaxed and landed in a full-on grin. “Really? An estate? Is it waterfront?”
Mac laughed. “Yes, O Goddess of the Waves. It’s waterfront, has a private chef, and even a masseuse to unravel the knots you acquired during lunch.” He winked at her.
“Oh my,” she said, pausing, “that’s—incredible. I can’t thank you enough. Wow.” She dabbed her eyes with a finger and slid her sunglasses on. “I really mean it, thank you.”
He’d hit the bullseye. “I’m glad you like the idea.” He’d move a mountain if necessary to make sure she enjoyed this vacation in spite of the circumstances.
She nodded several times and swiped her cheek with a knuckle.
He watched her out of the corner of his eye. His cupcake had no intention of allowing her frosting to overheat and slide off in front of him, even though her lip quivered and he could damn near feel her turbulent emotions vying for release. Mo was definitely like the cake she loved. Layer by layer, he was uncovering the woman who handled her emotions with snarky humor most of the time. This afternoon, he’d caught a glimpse of her chewy-caramel center, the place where her sweetness was raw and vulnerable. He’d buy her a damn island next time.
The traffic eased as they drove along the coast. Hugh slowed and made a left into a spacious driveway with a guard building. The armed guard peered inside their van, vetted them, and the wrought-iron gates swung open allowing access to a long lane boasting a forest of native flora and fauna on either side. The lane widened as the forest ended and a palatial, sprawling stone ranch home came into view. There was a corral on their left where half a dozen horses grazed. The front of the one-story home spotlighted four huge white pillars and a dozen planters laden with vibrant pink, yellow, and red hibiscus bushes.
“Oh Mac, this is stunning.” She moved closer to the window and sat on the edge of her seat. “What a beautiful retreat.” She removed her sunglasses. “Who owns this place?”
He smiled. “Someone you know of and love. A country singer. Did you see the initials at the top of the wrought iron gate? CBH.”
“Hmm, CBH. Charles ‘Buddy’ Hunter?” Her eyes danced with excitement. “How on earth did you ever rent Buddy Hunter’s Nassau estate for a day? Do you know him?”
“Casually, business mostly. Our exclusive cruise concierge arranged his extended honeymoon a few years ago.”
The van slowed to a stop. The moment Hugh threw it into park, Mo opened the door, kicked off her flip flops, and ran onto the lawn. “Wow, soft grass.” She twirled and lifted her arms to the sun. “Smell the air, Mac. It’s salty and no car fumes. Like we’re a world away from downtown Nassau.”
He caught her by the waist and swung her around. “That’s probably part of the reason he bought the place. Fresh ocean air, sunshine, and a hideaway from the crowds.” He stood back and watched. Mo’s exuberant smile was an antacid to the adrenaline-fueled indigestion he’d developed in the heavy traffic. She’d be safe here. He’d relax too.
Mo finished twirling, grabbed her sandals, and ran up the front walk to a wrap-around porch lined with big white rockers with thick green and blue striped cushions. She ran a finger along the arm of one of the rockers. “Homey, understated elegance.”
“Wait until you see inside the house and the view out back. It’s pure Caribbean splendor.” He held out his hand. “And the view from the back deck is awe inspiring.”
She slipped her hand into his and bounced on her toes waiting for him to open the door.
“Close your eyes. I want to carry you over the first threshold we enjoy together.” He turned the door handle and left it ajar.
The second her eyes closed, he swept her into his arms despite her squeal of laughter.
He stepped into the foyer and set her down on the cool Italian marble, turning her to face his favorite view.
“Okay, open them.”
Her mouth fell open as she panned the view. “This is beyond words. Look at that infinity pool flowing into the ocean horizon.” She hurried past the pool and onto the expansive veranda overlooking a private beach, complete with turquoise water and leaping porpoises. She gave him a dimpled grin. “Let’s save the pool for later. Right now, that beach is calling our names. Bring the Switcha and towels?”
He’d figured as much and swung the beach bag over his shoulder, stopping at the top of the circular two-story staircase leading to the beach. Mo was already on the sand, tossing her flip flops and sundress in the wind.
Someday, after they were married, he’d bring her back here for a week or two.