Page 34 of The Grave Artist (Sanchez & Heron #2)

Jake Heron was not much of a romantic.

For various reasons those five relationships had not flourished.

To put it mildly.

Computers were often to blame—well, computers combined with his reclusive nature and his purpose in life: to expose the dangers of intrusion.

All three aspects of Jake Heron wore thin with four of the women.

One was different. She felt the same. About intrusion.

About a lot of things. But then Saoirse was gone.

For reasons he didn’t like to think about.

Now, though, he found himself on the deck of a floating island, in the honeymoon suite of a luxurious resort, a beautiful evening, the nighttime chill of the fragrant air mediated by the thick robe and the warm wool slippers.

Standing close to Carmen Sanchez.

He took a sip of champagne. She lifted the glass to her mouth and pretended to drink (in HSI there was no drinking on duty, and while Sanchez bent some rules, this was immutable, because she carried a firearm).

She cocked her head, apparently receiving a message through her earbud, hidden by her thick dark hair.

Hair he remembered cascading over his face not long after their first meeting as she lay atop him.

She said softly, “Copy that.” Then to Jake: “The last agent just got in position. We’re good to go.”

The plan was sound, and they had all the backup they needed. He noticed Sanchez visibly relax. The trap was set. Now all they had to do was wait until HK appeared on a utility boat, totally vulnerable in the middle of a placid body of water.

They were both acting drowsy, and she pointed to a bench in a small garden, which was, he couldn’t help but notice, filled with rocks that were the perfect size to cave in a skull.

Perhaps HK had thought the same, as he delivered the champagne and chocolates and anticipated what would happen later that night.

They sat and both lifted their flutes to their lips once more. He took another sip. Why the hell not? It was Moet, true French champagne, which was about the only alcohol Heron drank. They set the glasses down.

“Act drowsier,” Sanchez said. “We’ve got to convince him it’s working.”

It was his play, but he was happy to have her be the director. He dropped his shoulders a bit, lowered his head. Then, as if battling to stay awake, sat up straighter. Sanchez did the same.

“Do you think HK is falling for it?” he muttered under his breath.

“Don’t see why not. Though ...”

She said nothing more, but he got her meaning. That the theater perhaps called for more “newlywed behavior.”

He put his arm around her. He’d hesitated at first, but when she nestled closer, he gripped her shoulder more firmly.

She turned to face him, tilting her head back slightly to meet his gaze. The smell of her shampoo—her favorite, lavender—drew his eyes to her hair, and he felt a compulsion to run his fingers through it.

He thought of Tandy’s comment about the two of them being together.

And his hedging response that he’d never thought about it.

Lying . . .

But did he truly want to? Given their history, and their partnership at I-squared, and their personalities ... Did he want things to progress further?

His urge to proceed and his urge to stand down were in perfect balance.

Of course, relying on these circumstances wasn’t playing fair with the decision. They were acting. A kiss, however passionate on the surface, would be no more than stage direction between two actors.

Wouldn’t it?

Yes.

No.

Then he told himself impatiently: Stop generating! Just do it.

He reached out slowly, giving her plenty of time to object or turn away, and brushed his hand against the silken strands that framed her face. When she made no move, he traced a fingertip along her jaw and under her chin, lifting it slightly as he leaned toward her.

Her lips parted in invitation, and he lowered his hand from her shoulder to the small of her back and pulled her closer. For a long time, he’d wondered what it would be like to kiss her.

He knew Grange and the tac team had them under observation, making sure HK didn’t sneak up on them from an unexpected route.

But it was dark here. The operators couldn’t see much, other than two silhouettes getting close to each other.

Besides, Jake didn’t care.

Their lips had nearly touched when she sighed. And tapped her earbud.

Then grew alert. “Copy.”

Jake felt the moment slip away.

She continued to speak to Liam Grange. “Where is he?”

He followed her gaze as she looked out over the water and noted a small outboard heading their way. A utility boat, like they’d anticipated HK might use.

“Copy that. We’re going defensive.”

Sanchez was instantly in motion. He barely registered what was going on before she grabbed him by the elbow and yanked him to the ground with considerable force.

His knee collided with the table beside the bench, bringing out a curse.

He glanced up and saw the HSI motorboat, Liam Grange at the wheel, speed up to the smaller craft. There was a brief exchange and the person in the utility vessel was hauled aboard the HSI boat, which spun around and accelerated toward the dock behind the resort proper.

She cocked her head, listening once more. “K,” she replied. Then to Jake: “One in custody.” She smiled. “Official for: We fucking got him.”