16. Greg

I meticulously cut into my steak, appreciating the chef's skill in searing it just right. Not too tough, not too raw. Having a still-bleeding hunk of dead cow wasn't my idea of good food, but I didn't enjoy burnt beef jerky either. Thankfully, my meat was in the Goldilocks zone. Perfectly pink in the middle. The cost of the evening suddenly seemed a bargain, given the quality of the meal and the romantic setting. The ship is small, but the ambiance is intimate, with round tables adorned in white tablecloths under a canopy of twinkling lights.

After devouring my chunk of dead animal and potatoes, I leaned back, feeling content and a bit overstuffed. "I have a food baby," I joked, chuckling at my own analogy.

"Food baby?" Sam asked. It takes a moment for the words to register. Though I'd just eaten my fill, she was looking like a snack, and a different hunger began to build.

After a beat too long, I smiled. "Yeah, I look like I'm pregnant but only because I ate too much." Watching her dab away a trace of pasta sauce at the corner of her mouth wasn't helping the situation below my belt, but I kept my eyes on hers. As if she could read my mind, her face broke into a sultry smile.

Before she could comment on my ridiculous bloating or the sex-crazed gaze I was giving her; the speakers began to play a light melody. Sam's entire face brightened as others got to their feet. She sprung up from her seat, her enthusiasm infectious. "I love this song, come on." Her hand in mine feels electric as she pulls me to the dance floor, and I'm temporarily star-struck by her lithe movements. It doesn't get any better when we reach her destination. The way she wraps her arms around my neck and smiles feels like a gift. I know I've got a dumb look on my face; I'm practically drooling. If she's noticed, she says nothing about it. Instead, my hands find a natural place at her hips as we began to sway to the music.

"Why are you here?" she asked with a glint of playfulness in her tone.

"Cause there was a coupon—" I tease, earning an eye roll from her.

"Not on the ship. In Costa Rica!"

I sighed, weighing how much to share. "I came for work," I silently hoped the vagueness would suffice.

No such luck. Her brows furrow. "And what do you do?"

"Investigate things," I'm being deliberately unclear to avoid further questions, but she doesn't seem intent to let it go. Before she can ask for clarification, I shift gears. "And why are you in Costa Rica?"

"To start over."

Never breaking eye contact, I ask, "Running away?" Maybe I was poking a bear, but the deepest part of me needed to know. Why? Why run when I know deep inside myself that whatever happened couldn't possibly have been her fault.

She shrugged and looked out over the side of the ship, keeping her stare on the water. "I ended a really bad marriage, and people were upset." It didn't take a genius to put the pieces together. Tilly had said her ex hit her. I couldn't help but connect the dots to my victim- Kevin. But instead of focusing on the murder aspect, the knowledge of what she had endured under his hand tightened something inside me.

"Who was upset?"

"Everyone. Except my sister. If didn't go…" She finally breaks our stare to look off to the side. "I had to leave, so I did."

Again, I was only picturing her pain. A small voice in the back of my head was flashing the word ‘biased,' like a neon sign. "Sounds like it was the right decision," I said, my voice low, my grip on her waist firming.

She let out a sigh but offered me a timid smile. "It was. My sister helped me sneak out of the country."

"What's her name?" The question was loaded. Part of me just wanted to know her better, but hearing her sister's name would confirm a lot of things for me, too. Things I probably didn't want to know the answer to, but I had to know.

"Penny. She got married after I left and had two kids. I've never even met them." There's a wistfulness in her words. Her grip around my neck tightens at the same time that her muscles tense under my arms. Pain radiates from her. Not meeting her newest family members hurts her; that much is clear.

But, honestly, I'm more focused on something else. Penny. Penelope. Elaine's sister. Sam's sister. The doubts about Sam's identity were slipping away. Everything else was getting more confusing. How I felt. What would I do? Those were questions I couldn't answer.

"Go visit. Be Aunty Sam for a weekend. If it's about money, I can--"

"It's not money, Greg. I can't go back. Ever. And now she's not taking my calls."

At that moment, I realized the gravity of what she was sharing. Penny's involvement, Sam's escape – it all pointed to a charge of at the least accessory, maybe even aiding and abetting. Pulling her closer, I try to shield her from the world, from her past, and maybe, just for a moment, from the reality of her situation.

For any other man on the planet, it would be possible. But for me, I couldn't ever forget, maybe if I were a plumber. But the truth of it is, I'm an FBI agent. That fact, the reason I was in Costa Rica, hung between us, though she couldn't possibly know that. But for me, it was casting a shadow too dense to ignore.

So instead of opening my mouth, maybe to stick my foot in it, I rubbed my hand over her back, foolishly trying to forget a core part of who I am. "Tell me something fun," she suddenly said. It was like music to my ears. Yes. Talk about something else. Anything else.

"I got stung in the ass by a stingray once." I nearly winced after it left my mouth. But Sam laughed.

Her hand, seemingly with a mind of its own, drifted down to give a playful pinch. "There?"

I tilted my head side to side. "More to the right," I directed her, playing along in our little game. She pinched again, and I pretended it was painful, adding, "Still hurts," to keep the moment light and carefree. We swayed, lost in the simplicity of the interaction, forgetting, if only briefly, the seriousness of her confession. Of course, she didn't know it was practically a confession. No. That was something big ole FBI Agent Greg Sanderson had to deal with.

Eventually, our playful banter leads us away from the dance floor to the ship's prow. Wrapping my arms around her, I nuzzle into her neck as the wind embraced us both. "Reminds me of the night we met," I murmur.

She shoots a playful glare over her shoulder but doesn't try to escape my embrace. Together, in silence, we watch the boat dock, the ordinary act imbued with an air of finality.

Hell, I don't want the night to end. Maybe it sounds sappy, but I don't care. Everything has been perfect. The food, conversation, dancing, and especially her touch. For the short time we were apart, I didn't realize how much I needed—no craved—her.

As we queue to leave, the air is charged around us. If Sam feels it, she doesn't say anything. Her fingers twine with mine as we walk away from the ship. The night air is still uncomfortably warm, especially in my slacks. But the moonlight absolutely agrees with Sam. Pale white light illuminated her shoulders, with a few wispy hairs falling out of her fancy updo. She looks fucking angelic. I am so mesmerized by her silky-smooth skin that I almost don't notice us reaching the entrance of the surf shack's door.

"And I can't convince you to come back to my place?" I ask. The wince is involuntary, but I know I am pushing my luck. A beautiful date should have satisfied me, but a man's gotta try. Right?

She pointed over her shoulder. "Tilly's waiting."

Before I can try any smooth talking to change her mind, she goes up on her tiptoes, softly kissing my lips. It's innocent compared to other kisses we've shared. Even though the touch is chaste, telling that to Greg Junior in my pants is a waste of time. He wakes up immediately, hardening against her stomach. All conscious thought is gone, and my body suddenly has a mind of its own. My fingers lower down to her ass, spreading, kneading into the muscle there that I'm so obsessed with. For a split second, she allows our kiss to deepen, sweeping her tongue into my mouth.

The moment I moan, her lips turn up into a smile, still pressing them to mine. But her hands move mine up onto her back.

I growl into her mouth, and she giggles. When we finally pull away, she's wearing a beautiful smile. "Night, Greg." With a final peck on my cheek, she spins around and puts her key in the door.

Frozen, I stand behind her, happy to watch her walk away. As she goes toward the back staircase, leaving me at the shop door, the full weight of our situation hits me.

Fuck.

I shake my head, not to dispel confusion but to clear away the fantasy that had built around us on this perfect date. She is Elaine, the woman I was sent to bring back to the States for murder. Yet somehow, I know I am the one that's really in trouble.