Miami, Florida
August in Miami.
Alec Donovan knew hotter and more humid places existed. He’d once spent an interminable July in Austin, where the dazzling, dry heat had sent thermometers twenty degrees higher than those on the Florida Gold Coast. He remembered the intense sun, baking against his skin, as he worked with the local FBI office to locate a missing toddler. They’d found the boy, but not before the Texas heat had nearly sapped the last of their strength and pushed tempers to a ragged edge.
Then, just last year, he’d given a seminar to the field office in New Orleans, a city known for its summer months of heat and humidity. He would have picked a different time of year if he’d had a choice, but as one of the FBI’s leading CAC (Crimes Against Children) authorities, Alec’s expertise was in high demand. Both in the field and out. Timing for either was seldom up to him.
Thus, he’d experienced firsthand the stifling Southern heat. That didn’t make him feel better, or cooler, as he started across the University of Miami campus.
It spread out in neat shades of green. Grass, unlike its Northern cousins, spiky and stiff, but dense and carefully trimmed. Trees, some tall and slender with feathery leaves, others massive, their twisted trunks and roots reaching toward the walkways, heavy branches draping overhead. A variety of palms, familiar and not, with metal plaques naming the plant and its origins. Ferns, scattered in bunches, alone or around the base of trees.
All a little too manicured for his taste.
He’d first visited Erin here in January, when the wind and streets of D.C. had been icy, and the South Florida weather a sunny seventy degrees. He’d told her at the time he could live here. She’d simply laughed and suggested he come back in six or seven months before jumping to any conclusions. He suspected, then and now, that her response had been more about fear of letting him too close than any concern for his ability to adapt to the Miami summers.
Still, she had a point. It was damn hot.
The thick air stirred, fluttering around him like a damp blanket. A distant rumble drew his eyes to the western horizon and its line of dark clouds. He picked up his pace and darted beneath the overhang of the Learning Center, just as the first fat drops darkened the sidewalk.
Within seconds, a sheet of rain blurred the daylight.
“Welcome to the tropics,” he said, and turned to continue his search for Erin.
He found the room number he was looking for on the far side of the building. Through the glass door, he saw an auditorium-style classroom with lines of empty seats descending toward a podium and desk. About a dozen students sat scattered in the first two rows. In front, sitting on the edge of the desk facing them, sat Dr. Erin Baker, PhD not medical, and ex-CIA intelligence officer.
Alec opened the door and slipped into the shadows at the back of the room. Frigid air slapped against his heated skin, stinging and soothing at the same time. He took a deep breath, relieved, and wondered how anyone had survived living in this climate before the invention of air-conditioning.
He worked his way down a couple of rows and took a seat.
No one noticed him, or so he would have believed if he didn’t know better. Erin wasn’t the type of woman who missed much, and though she’d made no move to acknowledge him, he didn’t doubt she’d seen him.
From a distance she looked young, as she had the fall night he’d first met her, nearly a year ago. Like then, something caught inside him at the sight of her, some elemental awareness of her that he hadn’t understood at the time.
She’d told him a crazy story about a man with a magician’s hands and a string of missing children. Any other investigator would have dismissed her as a nutcase. Instead, Alec had believed her—though the why of that still escaped him—and had followed her down a dark path neither of them could have predicted. In the process, he’d discovered a woman with so many layers he thought he could spend a lifetime exploring them all. The problem was convincing her to allow it.
Today, she wore her usual jeans and a slim, fitted shirt, her dark hair still short, a bit mussed, and more functional than stylish. According to her secretary, the class was a senior seminar on U.S.-Cuban relations, and one of the last of the summer semester. But Erin didn’t seem much more than a grad student herself.
Unless you looked closely.
For anyone capable of seeing, it was her stillness that gave her away. The stillness of a warrior, unafraid and certain of her own skills and abilities. The stillness of a predator, knowing her prey would eventually cross her path. The stillness of a woman, waiting for something . . . something more than this seemingly small and fettering classroom.
Then Alec shook his head and bit back a snort of impatience at his own fanciful thoughts. Erin was just a woman, and she’d chosen this life. She’d left the CIA of her own accord and become a full-time academic.
At least for now.
Which was the crux of his dilemma as he watched her address her students. He full-heartedly approved the safe path she’d chosen, but he’d seen another side of her, at her best or worst, depending on your perspective, with blood on her hands, the light of victory and revenge in her eyes. And he knew that long-term, she’d never be content in a classroom.
Chapter Two Miami, Florida
Erin saw Alec slip into the back of her classroom.
Suppressing the automatic smile that filled her, she kept her expression neutral, seemingly oblivious to his presence. Though nothing could be further from the truth. Instead, she was suddenly conscious of her less than feminine attire and lack of makeup, and fought the urge to fidget, smooth down her hair, or adjust her clothing. It was unnerving. She wasn’t a woman who normally fussed over her appearance.
With an effort, she focused on the heated discussion between two of her students, a young woman and man who’d been on opposite sides of every issue the entire semester, especially the U.S. trade embargo against Cuba.
“The embargo is a failure,” said Darlene, a Florida blonde, who was every bit as bright as she was pretty. Though she didn’t seem to know it. “It has been forty years, and the trade restrictions against Cuba aren’t working. Seems to me it’s time for our government to admit they made a mistake and move on.”
“Who says the embargo’s a failure?” asked Tim, her male adversary.
“Phuleeze.” Darlene rolled her eyes. “All it’s done has made the U.S. Castro’s scapegoat. He can blame all his country’s problems on us.”
“Let him.” Crossing his arms, Tim sprawled back in his chair. He was tall and lanky, his long legs taking up a lot of space, and had the look—awkward, glasses—of a student none of the others acknowledged outside the classroom. Here, however, he was in his element, seemingly smarter, or at least more informed, than the rest, and his body language dismissed Darlene even more effectively than his words.
She didn’t back down, though. “Sure, and meanwhile the Cuban people are paying the price.” As Tim relaxed, she came forward, sitting sideways on the edge of her seat, facing him. “They’re the ones the embargo is hurting, not Castro or his government. It’s unfair.”
“Was it fair when Castro confiscated more than a billion dollars in American property and assets?” Tim’s response was flip, again dismissive.
“That was a long time ago. It’s—”
Tim cut her off. “And the hardships to the Cuban people are due to the fall of the Soviet Union and their support. Not the U.S. trade embargo. Besides, Cuba imports very few of its staples, so why is there such a shortage? Could it be that the Cuban government, which dominates the distribution of goods, is corrupt?” He widened his eyes in feigned surprised. “What a concept.”
“Don’t be a jerk, Tim. I’m not—”
“Whoa,” Erin interceded, just barely resisting the urge to check Alec’s reaction. It made her uncomfortable knowing he was watching her. “Let’s keep this civil.”
“Darlene, you’ve made valid points, as has Tim. But don’t let him push your buttons.” Her gaze jumped to Alec, saw him smiling, and she quickly refocused on Tim, giving him a behave-yourself frown. “It’s the fastest way to let him win.” She glanced around at the others, again avoiding Alec’s eyes, knowing his grin had broadened. Pushing other people’s buttons was one of Erin’s specialties, something Alec knew all too well. And here she was admonishing a student for using the same tactic. “Okay, let’s hear from someone else?”
Another of the male students gave Darlene a puppy-dog grin. “If the government lifted the embargo, the U.S. could make money in the Cuban sugar industry.”
Darlene smiled back, acknowledging his support, which Erin knew stemmed more from his wanting to impress Darlene than anything else.
“The only money to be made in the sugar industry would hurt our own exporting,” claimed another young man. “Besides, we’d end up taking the place of the Soviet Union and subsidizing the Cuban government with credit. And since Cuba hasn’...
