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“Pretty sure,” Bruja announced cheerfully.
“I’m so embarrassed.”
“Don’t be. Ryland really likes you and I get the feeling you’re going to be good for him. Especially after losing Mayhem. Everyone knew how close they’d gotten and even though he’s shutting his grief down, make no mistake about it—he’s hurting. Badly. And his asshole father isn’t helping matters.”
Harper knew the other woman was right. “I’m going to do everything I can to help him.”
“Good.”
Setting the bowl of fruit aside, Harper tilted her head and studied Bruja. She felt silly calling her by the nickname, especially since she wasn’t a part of their team. “Can I ask you a question? What’s your real—”
There was a sudden whoop from the other room and the women turned. “What’s going on?” Bruja asked, wiping her hands off.
“We got a lead on Tillman,” Pharaoh announced just as the door opened, and Cross walked into the bungalow.
“Tillman is on vacation in the Caribbean,” Ryland said. “At a couples’ resort.”
“So now what?” Bruja asked, hand on her hip.
“We’re going in undercover,” Ryland announced, looking at Harper.
“We?” Harper echoed.
“Yeah, you and me. Is that okay? I could take Bruja, but there’s a bit of a catch.”
The rest of the team exchanged smirks.
“What kind of catch?” Harper asked.
“It’s a swingers club.”
Chapter Fifteen
“Yeah, you can take your girlfriend,” Bruja said. “I’d rather not be naked and have sex with a bunch of strangers. Or you for that matter.”
Harper’s aqua eyes widened comically and Ryland decided she was hands-down the most adorable fucking thing he’d ever seen.
“Gee, thanks, Bruja. My ego and I appreciate it,” he replied dryly then turned his attention fully on Harper. “You’re not going to have sex with any strangers. Me? Yeah, definitely. But no one else. So don’t worry, sweetheart.”
“No one’s having sex,” Pharaoh clipped. “This isn’t a vacation. You’re going in undercover and breaking into Lester Tillman’s room. You’ll find his laptop, use Banshee’s gadget to copy everything on there and upload it to him. Then you return back here.”
“Lighten up, Pharaoh,” Banshee said. “At least let our man have a quickie on the beach.”
“You’re wound too tight. We need to get you laid,” Saint teased and punched Pharaoh’s arm.
Pharaoh rolled his eyes. “Thanks for the concern, but I don’t need your help in that department.”
“Your hand doesn’t count, bro,” Ryland said, and everyone laughed. Except Cross who cleared his throat and looked uncomfortable. “Don’t worry, we’ll get the job done. Question is, how are we getting to Jamaica?”
“I can hook you up with a private flight,” Cross answered. “I have a contact in Rosarito who can be fueled and ready to go tonight.”
“I’m going to need both your pictures and I’ll set up some fake passports and IDs,” Banshee said. “Won’t take me long.”
“Go pack your bags,” Pharaoh announced and glanced down at his large watch, all business. “You’ll leave within the hour.”
“Not that you’ll need many clothes,” Saint commented with a chuckle.
“What do you mean?” Harper asked, tilting her blonde head.
