Jenna closed the case and stared down at it, wondering what to do with it. There was no luggage tag on the outside identifying the owner should the case be lost.
Feeling guilty already about forcing the case open, she lifted the lid and glanced inside again. Maybe there was some form of identification buried inside.
Carefully lifting the clothes, she set them aside on the bed. Beneath the clothing was nothing. Strangely, the case still seemed heavy, and it was deeper on the outside than the inside. Was there a false bottom? She ran her hand around the inside of the case, searching for a lever or button to push. Finally she found it, sliding the device to the left. The divider popped up enough that she could slip her fingers beneath it and lift.
Jenna gasped.
Parts of what appeared to be a rifle lay disassembled in a bed of foam, including the stock, butt, scope and bolt. A manila envelope lay on top of the weapon.
Why would a man need to bring his gun to Cancún? Was he part of a marksman team?
Her stomach knotting, Jenna refused to think past this being a competitive marksmans prize rifle. With no other identification to be found, she lifted the envelope, hoping to find the owners name and cell phone number inside.
Flipping up the prongs on the metal clasp, she opened it and spilled the contents onto the bed.
Photographs, money and a note lay on the comforter.
She examined the wad of cash secured by a rubber band and counted fifty one-hundred-dollar bills. Holy crap. Five thousand dollars. Her knees trembled. Who carried around five thousand dollars in cash?
Jenna picked up the photographs, her eyes widening. The man in the picture had dark hair and dark eyes. He was nice-looking, dressed in dark jeans and a black T-shirt. The material of the shirt stretched over broad, muscular shoulders. Tattoos peeked from beneath the sleeves.
Jenna peered closer, her breath catching in her throat. She recognized the man in the photo as the man shed met on the zip-line platform not an hour earlier.
Her hand shaking, she unfolded the note. Her pulse slowed and her blood turned cold.
Bring him to the agreed-upon location by 9:00 p.m. Dead or alive.
A lead weight sank to the pit of Jennas belly. Shed wanted adventure, but not this much. At that moment, shed settle for being boring Jenna.
Chapter Two
When Sawyer returned to the resort, he went to the bungalow hed rented for his two-week stay, shed his jeans and pulled on a pair of swim trunks. After sweating in the humidity of the jungle, he could think of nothing hed rather do than go for a dip in the ocean.
Grabbing a towel, he headed out the door and nearly ran into Montana.
Hey, Sawyer! Montana backed up a step. You look like a man on a mission.
I am. Theres a WaveRunner with my name on it out there somewhere.
Montana chuckled. I take it the zip-lining wasnt your style.
Not particularly. Though the woman hed met was. Jenna. Damn, he could kick himself for not asking for her number. Oh, well. He eyed Montana in his swim trunks, T-shirt and flip-flops. You heading for the beach?
I am. Thought Id improve on my tan. He grinned. Girls love a tan, right?
Sawyer turned on the boardwalk path, heading for the ocean. No date for tonight?
Montana shook his head. No. But then, I wasnt really looking.
Me, either. He hadnt been looking and hadnt made an attempt when the opportunity bumped into him. Hed be smart to go ahead and ask Quentin to get her number, or hed spend the rest of the vacation wishing hed been quicker to seize the moment. Im going to rent a WaveRunner. Wanna go in half?
Sure! Montana flung his towel over his shoulder. Been a while since Ive ridden one.
Cant imagine the lakes getting warm enough in Montana for a WaveRunner.
Youd be surprised. We have long days in the summer. Gives the water a chance to warm up.
From snowmelt? Sawyer snorted. Not as warm as the water gets off Virginia Beach.
Maybe not that warm, but a little warmer than the water off San Diego.
Sawyer shivered. BUD/S training gave a whole new meaning to word miserable.
Yeah, but I have no regrets.
Same here. Hed grown up in a wealthy household. Everything hed wanted, he could have by just asking. BUD/S training had been a real culture shock and an assault on his body, physically and mentally. But hed be damned if he failed and went home to hear his father say I told you so.
Everything Sawyer did was to prove to himself he could do anything he set his mind to. Not because his father could get him the position or smooth his way. He didnt want his fathers help. Hell, he didnt want anything to do with his father.
The man had given him anything money could buy, but he hadnt been much of a parent. Hed never played ball with him. Never made one of his parent-teacher conferences at school. When Sawyer crashed his motorcycle and broke his arm, his father was in Paris with his fiancée. He didnt bother to come home and check that Sawyer was all right.
He never once showed up at one of his football games. Hell, he didnt want him to play football. Hed said the sport was too hard on a mans body. It wrecked the knees. Not that he cared if his son was injured. His advice was from a practical viewpoint. Why destroy your body when you needed it to get you through to old age?
Being raised in a mansion with formal living areas and white carpets had been stifling to Sawyer. Hed never thought he could be himself. He was always the politicians son. On display in his best clothes. Sawyer felt more at ease near the sea, with sand between his toes and the sun warming his skin, wearing nothing but a swimsuit.
There. Montana pointed down the beach, where a number of WaveRunners rested on the sand. A small tent stood nearby with a menu of prices listed on a chalkboard.
They wove their way between families playing with their children in the sand and bikini-clad beach babes slathered in oil and baking in the sun. Sawyer didnt slow to stare at the beautiful bodies. He wanted to be racing across the water, crashing through the waves, letting the wind and ocean wash thoughts of his lonely childhood from his mind. He had his SEAL brothers now. They were the best family a man could have. Theyd be there for him, no matter what.
Sawyer slapped a wad of bills in the attendants hand. Well take one for an hour.
The man pocketed the cash, instructed them on the use of the equipment and helped push a WaveRunner out to the waters edge.
Sawyer nodded to Montana. You can go first.
You sure? This was your idea.
I can wait. Just dont wreck it before I get a chance to ride. He twisted his lips into a wry grin. Its not like riding a horse.
Montana laughed, hitched his shorts as if he were a real cowboy dressed in jeans and cowboy boots, and then swung his leg over the seat as if he was mounting a horse. Its more like riding a horse than you think. But then, riding a horse can be a lot more difficult for you city slickers.
Keep it up, Montana, and Ill show you a real rodeo on the water.
Only thing thatll convince me is if you rope a shark, hog-tie him and bring him in to roast on a spit. Montana-style. Montana gunned the throttle and shot out into the water. He hit a small wave head-on, crashing through the crest to emerge on the other side. Yee-haw! he yelled and raced out to sea.