Page 5 of Capturing You

Forbes needed to know exactly who they were and what they were doing—and how it related to the murders of his parents and his sister.

All of which he might have discovered if not for the woman who’d ruined his plans.

He’d assumed the trespassers were dangerous, as dangerous as the smugglers almost a quarter century before had been. This morning, the way they’d chased this stranger after she’d witnessed their activities confirmed his fears.

The first round of smugglers had been ruthless. He guessed this latest round was no less so. If he hadn’t been there, they’d probably have killed her.

One more senseless murder he could’ve prevented.

At least this time, he’d acted, even though in the acting, he’d ducked right back into hiding.

Having this stranger in his arms had done something wonky to his brain. Or, more to the point, his body. She curved in all the right places, smelling of salty air and coconut shampoo and…

And that line of thinking needed to stop. Now.

Regardless how perfect she’d felt against him, she’d ruined what would probably be his best opportunity to find the people who’d murdered his family.

Nothing else mattered.

Nothing else wouldevermatter.

The tiny sliver of light that’d cut through the darkness at the mouth of the cave was long gone. The space, narrow enough that his shoulders bumped the walls on both sides, was darker than the darkest night, with no stars or moon to lead the way. It’d been chilly outside. In here, it was cool, but in a different way, as if the coldness had settled in millennia past and no warmth would ever reach it.

To Forbes, everything about it felt familiar. It was amazing how much he remembered, considering the years since he’d been here last. He didn’t need light to know where he was going. He bent to keep from bashing his head on the low ceiling and felt his way forward.

Maybe it would’ve been kinder to illuminate the path for his frightened trespasser, but he wasn’t feeling particularly kind at the moment.

“Ouch.” She stumbled, bumping into his backside.

“Quiet.” He winced at his own demanding tone.

“I’m fine.” She matched his vehement whisper with one of her own. “Thanks for asking.”

He felt his lips tick up at the corners, an odd sensation. When was the last time he’d smiled?

They reached the end of the natural cave lined with rough walls that elbowed out to jab and scrape unsuspecting victims and moved into the passageway that had smoother walls and a higher ceiling. This extension of the sea-carved cave was man-made.

Forbes had once believed it’d been carved out for him and Rosie. When he was young and innocent and thought the world was a beautiful place filled with adventure, this cave had been the scene of countless games of hide-and-seek and treasure hunts and pirate adventures.

He was wiser now.

He’d learned that danger lurked beneath the surface of the most beautiful places.

Ahead of him, black turned to variations of dark and shadow.

He turned a corner, bent low, and climbed the last ten yards or so toward the light, finally emerging into the dove-gray morning.

The sun had been up for approximately fifteen minutes, and his day was already ruined, thanks to the woman who climbed out behind him, brushing dust from her skinny jeans and her bright yellow oversized top, which had big, white flowers on it. The woman dressed like summertime. She took special care brushing sand from the bag she’d gripped throughout her attempted escape as if it held the royal jewels. She turned back to study the cave’s entrance, a nearly hidden crack between boulders that nobody would ever suspect hid just one of many secrets on this property.

It’d still been dark when he’d watched her running for her life, no more than a silhouette against the rising sun.

When she turned back toward him now, her image far outshone the one he’d conjured in his head to match the tall, shapely body. He’d noticed her cheerful top—it was impossible to miss. He studied her dark brown hair, which hung from a braid draped over one shoulder. Escaped tendrils curled around high cheekbones and eyes the color of the morning sky.

The morning sky?

He was channeling his prep school British Lit professor, who could wax philosophical about cafeteria lunches.

“You good?” he asked.