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  “I’m taking your picture.” That was about all his phone was good for overseas.

  “Oh, no,” she protested. “I look awful. I haven’t washed my hair.”

  “Quiet. You’re beautiful,” he insisted. The bright Andalusian sun had turned the highlights in her hair to gold. “Smile for me,” he requested, pulling a self-conscious smile out of her as he captured his shot.

  Mitch put his phone away, glad to have a memento of her in the event he was left with nothing more. Whether they ended up together wasn’t a question he could answer at the moment. All he knew was he intended to make her his in whatever time was left to him.

  Chapter Eleven

  A fiery orange sunset shimmered on the canal fronting Seville’s Plaza de España, burnishing the face of the extravagant semicircular landmark. The grand structure, with its Moorish and Renaissance revival elements, had been featured as a backdrop in a recent Star Wars movie, making it famous overnight. Eying the forty-eight flags that represented the provinces of Spain, Katrina wondered if Catalonia’s flag would flutter on its pole much longer.

  “Want to rent a boat?” Mitch asked her. He had propped his forearms on the stone balustrade to watch rowboats gliding lazily along the canal and under the arched bridges.

  Considering how much he had already splurged on a horse-drawn carriage ride through the historic district, Katrina shook her head. “That’s okay. It’ll be dark soon.”

  Straightening, Mitch put his arm around her, drawing her close, the way he’d held her on the carriage. Together, they watched couples and young families pulling on the oars, doing their best to maneuver about the watery enclosure.

  Katrina basked in the security of his embrace, the warmth of the moment. Being with him—it felt perfect.

  “I love the water,” he said on a reflective note. “In fact, I built a little house on the water. Want to see it?”

  Her heart gave a funny leap at the question but then she realized he meant a photo of the house, not the house itself, as he removed his arm to pull out his cell phone. Accessing his photos, he paused briefly over the one he’d taken of her. “Pretty.” Casting her a smile of appreciation, he then thumbed through his album to find the one he was looking for.

  “Here.” He showed it to her.

  The tiny timber structure, standing under towering oaks and surrounded by blooming azaleas, intrigued her. She looked up at him. “Were you inspired by your great, great uncle?”

  “Actually, yes. I built it myself,” he added on a humble note.

  She looked back at the photo in astonishment. “By hand?”

  “Every bit of it. Don’t get too excited. It doesn’t have electricity.”

  “Is it on Walden Pond?” She regarded it more closely, having glimpsed a body of water beyond the house.

  “No.” He laughed softly. “It’s on a man-made lake in North Carolina, about an hour from where I live. But it’s still a great getaway. I go there to decompress.”

  His words spoke volumes about the harrowing nature of his job. Katrina checked her peripheral vision to make certain no one could hear her. “You’re not an ordinary sailor, are you?” she asked, then looked him in the eye.

  He had glanced up from his cell phone, his body perfectly still. “No,” he said slowly. “I’m a Navy SEAL.”

  Though she’d suspected as much, his words sent a strange shiver through her.

  “Does that put you off?” he asked.

  She inhaled a shaky breath then slowly released it. “No,” she decided. “My mother’s skiing accident taught me to live life in the moment.” The recollection of her father’s more recent death hit her anew, causing her heart to compress and tears to rush into her eyes.

  Mitch reached for her, stroking the side of her face to convey his sympathy. Katrina’s sense of belonging transformed in that moment into a knowing. This was the man she was meant to be with. Closing her eyes, she nuzzled her cheek against his palm, then kissed it.

  “I must be dreaming you,” Mitch said, his words a reflection of her thoughts.

  The sound of flamenco music and the warm, dry breeze fluttering the many flags conspired to serenade them. Heeding an inner voice, Katrina stood on tiptoe, encircled Mitch’s neck with both arms, and pressed her lips to his.

  They had not kissed since the night they’d gone out dancing. Scarcely forty-eight hours had passed since then, yet it seemed like a lifetime ago. His lips, she was relieved to find, were both familiar and inviting. His sensual skill hadn’t been a figment of her drunken imagination, then.

  As warmth flowed through her, she melted against his solid frame. With her breasts pressed against his chest, she could feel the swift, powerful strokes of his heartbeat. He kept himself firmly controlled, but his voice rasped with desire as he spoke against her lips.

  “I think we’d better head back to the hotel.”

  The prospect of intimacy stripped the air from her lungs. Catching up her hand in his, he led her briskly away from the canal in the direction of El Abanico Hotel.

  As they strolled along the medieval streets of Seville, traversing diagonal alleys hemmed in by whitewashed buildings, Katrina lost her bearings. Had they gone left or right when leaving the hotel earlier that afternoon? The Catedral, looming over the red tiled roofs behind them, had been their clear landmark then. However, with the cathedral behind them, finding their way back to El Abanico proved trickier.

  “Are you sure we’re headed the right way?” she asked Mitch as they came upon a deserted plaza. Three narrow streets fanned off in three different directions. The sun had dropped behind the building at their back, leaving them with mere minutes left of daylight.

  “Nope.” He cast her a sheepish smile but then consulted his watch, which she realized had a compass on it.

  “I could ask for directions,” she offered, glancing around for an open shop.

  “That’s okay.” He squeezed her hand affectionately. “I like getting lost with you.” With confidence, he drew her toward the street on their right.

  Katrina’s heart fluttered. Cuidado, she warned herself. Mitch was not the self-interested bastard Armando was, but she should not overlook reality. The fact was, they were both persons of interest skirting a national investigation.

  At the same time, she admitted she was falling in love. Mitch clearly felt the same way. At check-in, he’d requested an upgrade to a suite, giving them their own private bedroom. This night would be theirs alone. Regardless of what happened to them, she was certain she would cherish the memories they would make for years to come.

  Seeing El Abanico Hotel with its lights glowing invitingly on the next street corner, Mitch breathed a sigh of relief. Compass or no compass, the maze of old roads and alleys would have challenged even the most directionally astute. Slanting Katrina a triumphant smile, he received a look from her that caused his testosterone to spike. The rest of the evening belonged to them. He would spend the whole night making love to her.

  Picturing the queen-sized bed awaiting them, in a room decorated to reflect the era in which Miguel Cervantes wrote Don Quixote, Mitch swept open the hotel’s massive door and gestured for Katrina to precede him. As they crossed the foyer, designed to resemble an outdoor courtyard, his gaze collided with that of a man seated at one of the small coffee tables, and his expectations for a night of intimacy detonated without warning.

  “Shit,” he growled, slowing his step as he considered—and dismissed—the idea of trying to run from the law.

  Glancing at him askance, Katrina followed his gaze to the man who was now rising from the table. The captain of the Civil Guard had put aside his red beret and uniform in favor of civilian clothing. Katrina’s indrawn breath suggested she had managed to guess his authority.

  “Lieutenant Thoreau.” With a keen glitter in his nearly black eyes, Capitán Rodrigo del Rey intercepted their trek to the elevator. He extended a hand to Mitch, who grudgingly shook it. He had to respect the man’s ability to tail him while
being spotted only once.

  “Captain.” Resignation kept his tone flat.

  Del Rey’s gaze flickered over Katrina. “You’ve been enjoying Seville’s many delights, I trust.”

  Mitch noticed he did not ask for an introduction, which meant he already knew who Katrina was. “It’s a beautiful town,” Mitch replied.

  “Yes, it is.” With a tip of his head, del Rey indicated the table where he’d left his coffee. “Let’s talk,” he invited. “All three of us,” he added, affirming Mitch’s guess.

  Katrina’s silence bespoke her fear. She sent Mitch a scant nod, and they crossed to del Rey’s table. Mitch pulled out a chair for her, while del Rey crossed to a sideboard to pour two additional cups of coffee. He brought them to their table, and both men sat.

  “Creamer? Sugar?” These were already on the table. Del Rey pushed them closer to Katrina, who stared at her cup, unmoving.

  Del Rey then sat back, hands interlaced on the tabletop while Mitch methodically doctored his coffee. The captain waited for Mitch to take his first sip.

  “I told you to remain in Barcelona.” The reprimand held only the slightest hint of recrimination, as if the captain hadn’t expected his wishes to be followed anyway.

  Returning his cup to the table, Mitch considered his reply. “When we left the hospital, on our way back to our hotel, my friends and I were confronted by members of The Liberation Front.”

  From the corner of his eye, he noted Katrina’s startled response.

  “They wanted to…escort us out of town in a van,” Mitch added, downplaying what had actually taken place.

  “Yes. I watched that happen.”

  “Ah.” With the clarity of hindsight, Mitch realized that was why the street had been devoid of civil guards. Del Rey must have ordered them to clear the area hoping some event would unfold that would give him insight into the SEALs’ role in the bombing.

  With a small smile, del Rey acknowledged Mitch’s thoughts. His dark gaze then settled predictably on Katrina.

  “Ms. Ferrer. That is your name, is it not?” he addressed her mildly.

  Katrina’s sun-kissed face had lost all trace of its tan. She darted a frightened look at Mitch before holding del Rey’s gaze and nodding. “Yes.”

  The captain shifted deliberately into Spanish, an obvious ploy to exclude Mitch. His quickly uttered observations were marked with the Castilian lisp typical of Spaniards from Madrid. Still, Mitch managed to decipher half of what he said—something about Katrina’s allegiance to Catalonia, to her brothers.

  “I’m not a member of The Liberation Front,” she insisted, answering in English for Mitch’s benefit.

  Mitch laid his arm deliberately along the back of her chair.

  Flicking him a look, del Rey seemed to accept her assertion. In the very next breath, however, he inquired as to whether she knew about the explosion in advance.

  Katrina had knotted her hands in her lap. “Yes,” she said in a strangled voice. Her eyes grew bright. “I forced my brother Jordi to tell me. He had nothing to do with it, I promise you. I’m sure he even told me in the hopes that I would do something—which I did. I told Mitch.” Her gaze darted to him. “And he and his friends went straight to the Benemérita.”

  Continuing in Spanish, del Rey managed to extort the details she was reluctant to expose—like when Jordi had told her about the bomb and when she had relayed the truth to Mitch. He asked if Katrina didn’t feel responsible for the lives that were lost as a result of withholding information from the authorities.

  As tears welled in her eyes and her tightly held expression started to crack, Mitch pushed his chair back and stood up. “All right. That’s enough.”

  Del Rey responded with a glance toward the stairs that drew Mitch’s attention to a second man, unnoticed until that moment. He was coming down the marble staircase that descended from the second-story gallery enclosed by a wrought iron railing. Del Rey had brought along reinforcements—of course he had.

  “Look.” Mitch laid a comforting hand on Katrina’s shoulder and registered her quaking. “Miss Ferrer isn’t guilty of anything,” he insisted, certain he spoke the truth. “You have a family, don’t you, Capitán?” he demanded, keeping one ear cocked to the approach of the second civil guard.

  “I do,” del Rey admitted. A hint of amusement rode the line of his thin upper lip.

  “Then you understand loyalty to family,” Mitch continued. “Put yourself in Katrina’s shoes. What would you have done? Betraying your own brother takes courage, especially when he threatens you, which he did. She defied Martí by telling me the truth. She saved a lot of lives in the process. Don’t you dare lay guilt at her feet.”

  Squeezing his hand with ice-cold fingers, Katrina conveyed her gratitude.

  Del Rey waved off the second man, keeping Mitch from getting any more defensive. With a grimace of acknowledgment, del Rey reconsidered Katrina, who held his gaze pleadingly.

  “I see your point, Lieutenant.”

  The words eased the tight band around Mitch’s chest. Katrina drew a shaky breath.

  “Tell you what,” the captain added, signaling for Mitch to sit and stop towering over the table.

  He sank back into his seat, heart thudding as he awaited del Rey’s decision.

  “I will make the two of you a promise if you will make me one, in return.”

  Mitch caught Katrina’s hope-filled glance. “What’s your promise?” he asked.

  “I give you my word I will protect Katrina from retribution at the hands of The Liberation Front, and I will see that she is not charged with any crime.” He pinned Mitch with a look reminiscent of Captain Montgomery’s default expression. “You will promise not to disappear tonight, as I myself could use some rest. Tomorrow at eight in the morning, you will hand Katrina into my custody. She is a key witness to a crime that has rocked the entire country. I cannot let her walk away—not until justice has been served.”

  Katrina’s soft whimper tore at Mitch’s heartstrings. Clearly, he hadn’t been the only one hoping against all logic that she would end up going to the States with him—that they would stay together in the days, weeks, and months to come.

  “It’s okay,” he murmured, reaching for her hand.

  “Your word, Lieutenant?” del Rey prompted.

  Squeezing Katrina’s fingers reassuringly, Mitch conveyed to her that it would be all right. Del Rey was going out of his way to keep things civilized. He released Katina and rose slightly out of his seat to extend a hand across the table, sealing their arrangement.

  “My word, Capitán,” he agreed.

  “Go to your room, then,” del Rey ordered. The look he divided between them was not without understanding and sympathy. “The night is still yours.”

  Chapter Twelve

  No sooner had the door of their suite clicked shut than Katrina turned to Mitch and threw herself against him.

  The ferocity of his embrace let her know his emotional state was similarly distraught. But whereas she was being made to return to Barcelona to testify, Mitch was free to continue his vacation as if nothing had happened. Maybe, if he hadn’t been a SEAL, he’d have been detained and made to bear witness, but his job apparently gave him immunity.

  Between the two of them, her plight was most certainly worse.

  “Listen,” he finally said, cupping her face so she was forced to meet his gaze. “This is going to be behind us one day. We need to hold onto that thought.”

  She nodded in agreement even as her throat closed with sorrow.

  “I’m not going to forget you,” he added, his voice roughening. “I’m going to keep abreast of everything that happens. We’ll keep in touch as much as we’re able. And when it’s all over, we’ll see each other again.”

  Too choked up to speak, she forced a smile of gratitude.

  “I want to give you something,” he decided, releasing her suddenly to cross to the desk in the suite’s living room. Rifling through the drawer, he located
a pen, paper, and an envelope. She neared him in time to see him scribble a physical address and, below that, an email address.

  Slanting her an enigmatic look, he moved into their bedroom, and she trailed him, watching as he pulled a set of keys from his duffel bag. He worked a single key off the key ring, folded it into the sheet of paper, then slid the paper into the envelope, sealing the key inside by licking the adhesive. He handed her the envelope.

  “What’s it for?” she asked.

  “It’s a key to my cabin, along with the address and my email. Write to me when you can. I want you to meet me there when this is over.”

  Hope buoyed her spirits as she lifted her gaze to his. A portion of her despair left her. “You have another key at home?” she guessed.

  “Several,” he said reaching for her again and stroking her arms from shoulder to elbow. “I want you to know you have a place to call home when this is over. You can stay in my cabin as long as you need to. It’s a healing place.”

  The intimation that she would need to heal after her ordeal brought her dismay rushing back. At the same time, cautious hope lent her unexpected resolve. She and Mitch still had a shot at a future together. She needn’t give up on them entirely. Laying the envelope aside, Katrina embraced him a second time while looking him in the eye.

  “Thank you,” she said, keeping her sorrow in check for now. Their time was too precious to waste on tears.

  His blue eyes blazed with emotion. With a muttered word of lament, he kissed her, crushing her lips beneath his, pulling her body close as if to sear the memory of her onto his senses. His feverish hands brought a whimper of want up her throat. Lifting her suddenly off her feet, he carried her several steps to the bed, spilled her gently on the mattress, then lowered himself over her.

  Katrina melted under his welcome weight. Wrapping her jean-clad thighs around him, she aligned her hips with his, gasping at the jolt of pleasure that went through her when their bodies came together. Every nerve strained for his possession. Her heart raced, fueling her need for air.