Operation Tropical Affair: A Poppy McVie Adventure (Poppy McVie Series Book 1) (5 page)

Dalton must’ve sensed something was up. “Sweetheart, how are you doing? That’s an awfully large portion.”

“It’s absolutely delicious,” I grinned and took a gulp of wine, a fine Tempranillo the butler had poured while I had been distracted. “But I am getting full.”
 

He stabbed it with his fork and dragged it to his plate, leaving a few drips on the table. I drew in a breath. “Honey, you’re making a mess.” I used my napkin to wipe it up.

He gave me the don’t-embarrass-me-woman look.

I smiled and shut up, secretly thanking him.

At least I was now left to enjoy the rice and beans.
 

The conversation lulled while everyone chewed. Not that it had been a robust sharing of ideas before the meat arrived.

“So, Brittany,” George managed to say through a full mouth. “I saw you looking at the horse barn when you arrived.”

I halted mid-chew. “Yes?”

“Do you have an interest in horses?”

Horses. Not illegal, not a typical black-market species. My brain synapses fired away, crackling in my skull, searching for the right answer as I slowly chewed what was in my mouth before answering.
 

“Would you like to go horseback riding?” He glanced at Maria. “Perhaps you ladies could go tomorrow while John and I discuss business.”

“Well, I—”
 

Dalton interrupted. “Brittany isn’t really a horse person.” Why was he saying this? Shouldn’t I take any opportunity to connect, even if it was with the wife?

“Oh, I’m sure she’ll love it.” George turned to Maria, the first he’d spoken to her since we sat down at the table. “Le llevara a caballo mañana?”
Will you take her horseback riding tomorrow?

She shook her head. “Tal vez en unos días,” she said with a forced smile.
Perhaps in a few days.

George turned to Dalton with an authoritative nod. “We’ll make it work.”

I finished my rice and beans in silence, my intuition buzzing. Something wasn’t right. Something wasn’t right at all.

After a cordial drive through town, George’s driver dropped us at our room—some rent-by-the-week kind of place. Individual thatched-roof bungalows dotted the property amid typical tropical landscaping, complete with roped walkways.
 

As we got out of the car, we were greeted by the on-site manager. He took my bag and led us to bungalow number eight. My spidey-sense tingled. This guy was too eager to help.

His uniform was a crisp white shirt with a tie striped in bold, tropical colors. His dark hair, cut into a terribly executed mullet, resembled a long mane and I instantly pictured Yipes, the zebra mascot for Fruit Stripe gum. (Yipes was my greatest hero for about four months when I was six because he donated five cents from each pack sold to the World Wildlife fund for the preservation of endangered species.) I had a feeling this Yipes wasn’t such a good guy. He was probably being paid to spy on us. I’d have to keep my eye on him.
 

Dalton had his key in the lock and I got the feeling Yipes intended to follow us right in. I gave him a wink and told him to leave the bag. For good measure, I grabbed Dalton by the hand and swung him around for another kiss. After all, we were to make a good show, right? Like a good undercover agent, he went with it. He slid his hand around my back and pulled me up against him. “Feeling feisty, are you?” he said, his voice husky, his eyes drinking me in.

I wrapped my arms around his neck and we held there a moment, looking into each other’s eyes with a playful tease. He leaned in to kiss me, then just as our lips met, he pulled back.
What are you waiting for.
His hands slid down from my back to my ass and with a gentle pull, I was pressed against him and the hard bulge in his pants. A warm heat rushed through me. He pushed the door open with his foot, kicked my bag inside, then pulled me with him as he backed into the room. I had the feeling he wanted to consummate this marriage post haste. Good thing Yipes had turn and fled.

As soon as the door shut, I heard, “So, you’re Special Agent Poppy McVie?” I spun around. Special Agent Joe Nash stood there with his arms crossed.
 

“Yes, sir.” I straightened my blouse, feeling as though I’d been caught kissing behind the school bleachers. “Reporting for duty, sir.” I glanced around the room. “How did you…”

He nodded to Dalton. “I swept for bugs.”

Dalton plopped down in the only chair in the room. “Nash, look at her. She can’t be two months out of training.” He gritted his teeth. “I told you this was a bad idea. This is too risky.”

Joe held up his hand. “Now hold on—”

“You were there.” Dalton got up from the chair, one hand gesturing in my direction. “She can’t keep her mouth shut.” His gaze swung around at me. His hands dropped to his hips. “My god, girl. What the hell was all that? I mean, who uses the word herbaceous? When you run off at the mouth, making stuff up, that’s how people get killed.”

 
I let him fizzle a moment. Calmly, I said, “First of all, I’m not a girl. Second, Martin told me to keep my cover as close to the real me as possible.” I gave him a moment to ask. He didn’t. “I was a sommelier in college.”

Dalton shook his head and rubbed his eyes. “Well, you didn’t have to make me look like an idiot. We’re supposed to be married. You know, act like we like each other. It needs to be realistic, believable.”

Nash grinned.
 

Dalton glared at him. “What’s so funny?”

“Oh, trust me, it’s believable.”

Dalton threw up his hands. “I’m supposed to be able to trust her with my life.” He glanced my way. “Do you even have any tactical training?” He looked back to Nash, but pointed at me again, his finger inches from my face. “I bet she can’t even—”

I hooked my hand under his thumb, clamped down on his elbow with the other, and in one swift move, I twisted, collapsing him to the floor. I shoved my knee in his back. “Can’t even what?” Holding him in the thumb lock, I leaned down and whispered in his ear, “Make you believe I'm actually hot for you?”

“Jesus Christ. All right already. You got something to prove. I get it.”

“You should never let your guard down.”

“What the hell? I shouldn’t have to be on my guard with you. That’s the point.”

I looked over at Nash. He was shaking his head. I released Dalton.
 

“Strix recommended her,” said Nash. “I trust his judgment. Deal with it.” He gave me a stern look. “Work this out.”

Dalton plopped back down in the chair. “Yes, sir.”

Nash crossed his arms. “I don’t need to be playing referee for God’s sake. I shouldn’t even be here. I wanted to make sure you were fully briefed and the two of you have a game plan. ”

I sat down on the edge of the bed. “Sorry, sir. I do have some questions. Mr. Martin knew very little. He said you’d brief me.”

Nash nodded. “About nine months ago, we nailed a smuggler in Miami with a primate. The intel from that bust led us to George. Our ultimate goal here is to identify the kingpin. For now, he’s the target of our investigation, but we’re not sure it’s him. We think he’ll lead us there.” He grinned. “Tug on one hair and you’ll find it's attached to the whole beast.

He went on. “I’ve been posing as a rich collector, having been referred by a friend, a guy we busted last year. George has been chummy, but not giving anything up yet. He’s shifty. He mainly likes to drink and golf. Dalton’s been working his way in as a wholesaler from the states. He makes regular buys, all legal species. He’s been trying to take it to the next level. He can tell you about it. The point is, we know George is involved. All the connections lead to him. But he has a very sophisticated system of avoiding any direct communication. He doesn’t make the offer to sell. He’s too smart. He knows that’s what we need to nail him. Dalton has been doing excellent work, though. We figure it’s imminent.”

“But so far you have no hard evidence?”

“This is Special Ops,” said Dalton. “We don’t gather evidence, we gather intelligence.”

“What about the other agent, García?”

Nash shrugged. “He’s working the poaching side alone, trying to identify the buncher. A buncher—”

“Is the middleman, I know. Buys from the poachers.”

Nash nodded.
 

“García sent Martin a post card from a palapa bar down on the beach, The Toucan. On the back he scribbled a message: Having a great time. Have my sights set on a beautiful butterfly. Mean anything?”

Nash shook his head.

“Is this bar connected to George in any way?”

Nash shrugged. “Not that we know of.”

I looked at Dalton. “Maybe we should check it out.”

He shook his head. “No. Don’t you get it? We can’t stick our noses in on his op and risk being recognized. We stick to the plan. As soon as I get the call, you choose your monkey. Then you’re on your way home.”

“That’s it?”

Nash held up his hand. “I need to get some shuteye.” To Dalton he said, “You two need to get to know each other tonight. Make sure she’s prepared. Read her in on anything you’ve told George about the two of you, your life, your history.” He smiled at me. “Welcome to the team. Let’s nail these bastards.”

“Thank you, sir.” I rose. “One more question. Who are Felix and Kevin?”

“Never met them before. As far as I can tell, they’re potential buyers as well.”

“Why would George bring us all together for dinner? They seemed just as perplexed.”

“Maybe he wants us to know there’s demand,” said Dalton. “So he can get a higher price.”

Nash shrugged. “Another thing we need to figure out.”

Dalton went to the porch door. He scanned the grounds before gesturing to Nash that it was safe to leave.
 

Just like that, we were alone.
 

I plopped my bag on the bed and sifted through it for my toothbrush. “So start from the beginning,” I said. “How’d we meet?”

Dalton rubbed his eyes. “You came into one of my pet stores one day, looking for a cat, and it was love at first sight. Whirlwind romance, married two months later. That was three months ago. We live in Dallas, Texas. Our stores are called The Pet Corner, which is a real business by the way. The owner works with us.” He took a business card from his wallet and handed it to me. “Here. Memorize this.”
 

I scanned the card. “I’ve already—”

The bathroom door slammed shut.
 

Seriously? I plopped down on the bed. This was not going as I’d hoped. The shower started running.
 

I got up and opened the door and went in and sat down on the edge of the sink. His shirt and pants were neatly folded and stacked on a tiny table in the corner. “Why the attitude?”

He poked his head out from behind the curtain. “What the hell, woman?”

I grinned. “It’s alright. We’re married.”

He groaned. “Unbelievable.” He yanked the curtain shut.

“What’s with the monkey?”

Dalton didn’t answer. All I could hear was lathering soap and splashing water.

“Strix said I was here to pick out my own monkey. Why wouldn’t you just choose one? You’re the buyer.”

The water shut off and he reached out from behind the curtain for a towel. A moment later he slid back the shower curtain. He was standing there half naked, the towel wrapped around his waist, wet hair, water dripping down his chest. I swallowed. He was ripped. Not an ounce of fat.
 

He raised his arms to comb his fingers through his hair and I noticed the tattoo, the SEAL Trident.

“You were in the Navy.”

He glanced at the tattoo and frowned.
 

“My mother was in the Navy. I recognize the symbol. You were a SEAL.”

He turned toward the mirror, ignoring me.

“Unless you rang the bell.”

He glared at me.

“No, of course you didn’t.”

He took a long breath as though contemplating whether he wanted to make me disappear without a trace. He was a SEAL; there was no question whether he could. My mother warned me against dating SEALs. They’re crazy, she’d said. Every last one of them. No daughter of mine, blah, blah, blah. That’s all I remember actually. But if Dalton was a SEAL, at least I knew something about him. Something significant. It takes a certain kind of man to be a SEAL. A man of honor, loyalty, and integrity, not to mention grit, tenacity, and discipline.

“White-faced Capuchin.”

“What?” I snapped back from my thoughts. He was lathering his face with shaving cream.

“I was testing the waters, asking for a class II species, see how he’d react.”

“And?”

With an old-fashioned straight razor, he shaved one side of his face, taking one swipe, then another before rinsing it.

“And he asked about the buyer.” He scraped the razor under his chin and up to his lip, then rinsed it and started up the left side of his face. “See, you have to understand, these guys get nervous about new people in the pipeline. They don’t like surprises.” He splashed water on his face and used the hand towel to wipe it dry. “He was getting squirrelly.”

“Squirrelly?”

He flipped up the toilet seat, waited. When I didn’t move, he turned to me. “Do you mind?”

I crossed my arms.
 

He rolled his eyes and reached under his towel.

“Fine,” I said and backed out of the bathroom, shutting the door behind me. I stared at the queen-sized bed. It had been awhile since I’d had a man in my room. Suddenly I was imagining him naked, the lights off, the—the door swung open and Dalton came out of the bathroom wearing the same pants, no shirt. He strode over to face me.
 

I swallowed hard, getting my head back on straight.
 

“I didn’t want to lose the ground I’d gained. So—”
 

“So you said it was for your wife.”

He thrust his jaw forward and nodded ever so slightly.

“And he suggested you bring her down here, implying she could pick it out herself.” So that was it. Dalton screwed up. He had given George an open door to call his bluff.