Page 23 of Secrets Beneath the Waves (Beach Read Thrillers #2)

CHAPTER

ONE

Rum Point

Grand Cayman Island

The man at the bar had a gun.

Ellie Austen had one as well. Hers was better hidden. Had to be since she was undercover for the CIA. And also on a date.

In sharp contrast, she sat across from a man who might be the most charming stranger she’d ever met. The soft light of the restaurant bathed his face, making his blue eyes sparkle as a warm smile with bookend dimples played on his lips.

“So, Ellie, what do your parents do?” he asked, his voice low and inviting, almost blending with the rhythmic murmur of the waves off the ocean-front patio. A hint of the aroma of grilled seafood lingered in the air, grounding the moment in a warmth that felt almost too perfect.

The question brought an immediate smile to her face though for reasons Mark couldn’t possibly fathom. Her mother, Jamie Austen’s reputation as the foremost lethal female assassin in CIA history was not exactly casual dinner conversation.

“They’re semi-retired,” Ellie said smoothly, her tone light as she pretended a sip of her drink was the cause for the delay in answering the question. “My dad dabbles in computer stuff, and my mom, well, she’s enjoying life. Doing what she loves. She collects art, paintings.”

Her mom had always said to keep her cover story as close to the truth as possible.

Not only did her dad, Alex Halee, dabble in computers, but he was also the foremost computer hacker in the world.

Her parents used AJAX, an art distribution company, as a cover to run their covert missions around the world.

Mark chuckled. “Sounds like they’re living the dream. What about college? Where did you go?”

Ellie took another sip of her drink, then hesitated, the glass lingering near her lips.

Tells had her worried. Subtle betrayals of truth.

Her mother had spent years training them out of her, drilling composure into every word, every movement.

But now, as the cool liquid slid down her throat, a thought unsettled her—did she always take a sip before she lied?

“University of Virginia,” she said, setting the glass down with a silent vow to leave it untouched for at least five minutes.

The truth. Somewhat. That’s where she graduated.

She needed a degree to become a CIA officer.

Since she wanted to go undercover, her mom made her attend a different college each semester.

Each time under a different name, from a different hometown, with a constantly changing back story.

While she had loathed uprooting her life every semester, she had to admit it honed her skills at lying.

“Virginia? Is that where you grew up?” he asked.

Ellie nodded. When he didn’t ask a follow up question, she didn’t offer any more information. One of the things she learned in college was to say as little as possible. To make her lies simple. Easy to remember. Talking too much led to mistakes.

Mark’s questions were innocuous, but Ellie’s finely tuned instincts didn’t allow her to relax completely. A small voice in the back of her mind wondered if Mark’s curiosity was as innocent as it seemed. She was trained to be suspicious of anyone and everything.

She mostly dismissed it since she was the one who approached him at the coffee shop earlier that morning. They had talked and eventually he asked her to dinner. She accepted since part of her mission was to integrate into the culture.

If she had known she’d like him this much, she might’ve declined. The unexpected emotions reminded her to be careful.

What if the meeting in the coffee shop hadn’t been by chance? What if he had targeted her?

Her senses were heightened, and that wasn’t a bad thing. Her mother’s relentless training left her no room for complacency, even on what was supposed to be a casual date.

This was her first real undercover assignment, and it had brought her to the Cayman Islands with a mission steeped in shadows and betrayal. She’d been tasked with uncovering a mole within the CIA, someone selling secrets to Iranian agents under the guise of covert cruise-ship meetings.

A pang of guilt came over her, and she hated having those thoughts about Mark.

She was the one lying, not him. Every word, every gesture was part of her role, and she played it flawlessly.

Part of her wanted to let her guard down, if only for one evening, and savor the way Mark’s gaze lingered on her as if she were the only person in the room.

Except she wasn’t the only person in the room.

Her eyes had caught something strange at the bar behind Mark’s shoulder.

The man with a gun, in a dark blazer, sat alone, nursing a whiskey.

Something about him had set her nerves on edge.

His posture was too rigid, his eyes darted toward the far corner of the room where a well-dressed man sat surrounded by a small entourage and several pretty women.

Firearms were forbidden in Cayman, which was the first red flag. You couldn’t carry one without the permission of the Chief of Police, and this guy wanted nothing to do with the police. His eyes were beady. Her mom had taught her how to spot a bad guy by looking at his eyes.

Her stomach tightened.

She recognized the focus of the man’s attention: Victor Harrington, the CEO of a major healthcare conglomerate in England and one of the wealthiest men in the world. The Caymans were a haven for the rich and famous, and Harrington was known as a jet-setting playboy who often traveled there.

His presence at the bar wouldn’t be unusual—except for the timing.

A few days before, Harrington’s name surfaced in her CIA mission briefing. Nothing conclusive, but the report wanted him on her radar in case he was the one receiving secrets from the mole. Seeing him there, unguarded except for a single, distracted bodyguard, made her instincts flare.

She told herself the threat was none of her business.

That the CEO had the means to provide for his own security.

Only tonight, he had only one bodyguard, a burly man standing a few feet away.

And the guard’s attention was on his phone, oblivious to the man at the bar who was watching Harrington like a hawk.

For a moment, she wondered if the whole thing was a setup.

Mark. The restaurant. Harrington. The bad guy.

Had she been led there? Fallen into their well-designed trap? She’d been taught to be suspicious of coincidences.

She dismissed it as overthinking. Maybe.

Ellie forced her focus back to Mark, offering a warm smile. “Sorry, what were you saying?”

Mark grinned. “I was asking what you do now. For work.”

“Security consulting,” she replied, her tone practiced. “Helping banks shore up their defenses, both physical and digital.”

Mark raised a curious eyebrow. “Sounds intense. Ever have to deal with anything dangerous?”

“Oh, nothing too exciting,” she smirked beneath the words, the irony almost made her laugh.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the man at the bar slide off his stool, his hand brushing against his jacket where his weapon was concealed.

Ellie’s pulse quickened. She reminded herself to keep her face steady and not give anything away to Mark.

Why the sudden movement?

It became clear when she saw Harrington stand as well and look like he was preparing to leave.

The next few seconds were critical. Harrington and his bodyguard headed toward the exit, a young woman on Harrington’s arm. The man at the bar followed, his movements deliberate, predatory, telling Ellie everything she needed to know.

Her training kicked in.

“Excuse me for a moment,” she said, standing abruptly. “Ladies’ room.”

Mark looked surprised but nodded. “Sure. I’ll be here.”

Ellie slipped away and weaved through the restaurant with practiced ease. Instead of heading to the restroom, she made her way to a side exit. For reassurance, she touched the concealed holster in the front of her pants, covered by the loose-fitting T-shirt.

The warm night air greeted her as she stepped outside, the faint scent of saltwater mingling with the distant hum of the few lights illuminating the path.

A quiet stillness hung in the air, broken only by the muffled laughter and clinking glasses from inside the restaurant behind her.

Shadows stretched long across the area, shifting as a breeze rustled the palm fronds overhead.

Harrington’s group was ahead, walking down a sidewalk next to the ocean. Probably headed back to a house somewhere down the beach. The man from the bar closed in from behind, his hand now firmly inside his jacket.

Ellie quickened her pace, her movements silent as a cat on the prowl.

The man pulled his handgun and raised it toward Harrington.

Without hesitation, Ellie darted forward, grabbed his wrist from behind, and twisted it with a sharp, precise motion, snapping his shooting finger. The gun clattered to the ground as the man let out a muffled grunt of pain.

Ellie didn’t give him a chance to recover. She shifted her weight and planted her foot in front of his. She used her momentum to drive him to the ground with her hand behind his head, forcing it into the concrete with a sickening thud, the sharp impact vibrating up through her arms.

For good measure, she delivered a precise rabbit punch to the base of his skull.

The resistance beneath her knuckles reassured her he’d be out for a while.

Her heart hammered in her chest as she crouched beside him to pat him down.

Her fingers brushed over cold metal, finding a phone which she quickly put in her pocket.

Voices drifted from ahead too far out of range to know what they were saying, but safe now. Harrington and his entourage were blissfully unaware of how close danger had come.

Ellie forced her breath to steady.

She looked around to make sure no one had seen her.

Satisfied, she retrieved the man’s weapon and tucked it into her waistband.

She dragged him behind the bushes and called one of her mom’s contacts to come and take him somewhere for interrogation.

To find out who he was and what he wanted with Harrington.

Someone outside the CIA. An AJAX employee.

With one last glance at the unconscious assailant, she walked back to the restaurant and slipped in through the rear entrance, adrenaline still rocketing through her body, but her expression was composed.

Mark looked at her intensely when she returned to the table, concern etched on his face. “Everything okay? You were gone for a while.”

Ellie smiled apologetically as she slid back into her seat. “Sorry about that. Long line.”

Mark chuckled, his worry seemingly melting away. “No problem.”

For a fleeting moment, she felt guilty for pretending, but she quickly shoved the thought aside. Emotional connections made you vulnerable, her mother had drilled into her. Vulnerability got you killed.

“Where were we?” he asked.

Ellie leaned forward, her smile never faltered, even as her mind raced. “I was about to ask you about your favorite dive spots.”

Mark’s eyes lit up as he leaned back, stretching an arm along the back of his head. “That’s a good question,” he said with a grin. “I could talk about dive spots all night.” He took a sip of his drink, then set it down.

Was that a tell? She pushed down the thought.

“You’ve got the usual—Eden Rock, Devil’s Grotto—great for shore dives, especially when the silversides are in. Then there’s the Kittiwake, of course. Hard to beat a wreck that size, especially one sitting so shallow.”

Ellie nodded, her fingers tracing the rim of her glass.

She resisted the urge to pick it up and drink from it.

“I did the Kittiwake once. Loved the engine room.” She didn’t do that dive but had read about it as preparation for the mission.

A twinge of guilt washed over her that lying came so easily for her.

Mark pointed at her. “If you want something off the beaten path, Babylon on the North Wall is unreal. Towering coral spires, black coral, and the drop-off is just . . . endless.” He paused to see if she was going to say anything. When she didn’t, he asked. “Ever been to the Maze?”

Ellie tilted her head. “No, don’t think so.”

“Lesser known, but incredible. Twisting swim-throughs, tunnels, and just when you think you’re coming out, there’s another passage. Keeps you on your fins.”

She laughed. “Sounds like my kind of dive.”

He smirked. “Alright then. Do you prefer deep walls or wrecks?”

“Anything that has an element of danger to it,” she blurted, although not sure why.

She glanced over at the bar where the man had been sitting only minutes before. A reminder that she already had enough danger on this mission.

Mark raised an eyebrow, a teasing smile tugging at his lips. “So, you like to live dangerously. That’s a little vague. What kinds of dangers do you prefer?”

“The kind that gets your heart racing,” she said, letting just enough mystery slip into her tone. “Scuba diving, skydiving, fast cars . . . maybe even going on a date with a stranger I met in a coffee shop.”

Mark chuckled, leaning in slightly. "Well, if that’s your definition of danger, I hate to disappoint you. I’m about as harmless as they come."

For the rest of the evening, she played her role perfectly. Laughed at Mark’s jokes and shared enough about her fabricated life to keep him intrigued.

But her thoughts went back and forth between the man she’d taken down outside and the enigmatic stranger sitting across from her.

Were either of them connected to her mission?

Regardless, one thing was clear: even paradise had its dangers, and Ellie Austen was right where she belonged—in the thick of them.