Patriot Threat. Steve Berry

in private, while maintaining the required image in public.

      The explosive meltdown had come when she had called his cellphone one evening while he was on a business trip in Argentina and Sierra had answered, almost purring with delight as she’d revealed that ‘now is not a good time…comprende?’ As if the implication might be misunderstood, Sierra had sharpened the verbal barb with unvarnished clarity. ‘Raúl is filling the spa-bath. Need I say I’m about to join him?’ And cut the connection.

      After the numbness had come anger, followed by a crying jag…then she’d calmly packed her bags and called a taxi to take her to the airport, where she’d caught the first available flight home.

      Old news, she remonstrated in self-castigation.

      She’d moved on, sought solace in the familiar, ensured a new life for herself…a successful one…and rebuilt her confidence and self-respect.

      The cry of a lonely seagull rent the early morning quietness, providing a distraction, and Gianna watched the bird’s graceful glide to settle at the water’s edge. Its red beak dug into the wet sand and emerged with a tidbit…a baby sand-crab, perhaps? Then, apparently delighted with its find, it sent up a shrill, keening cry which soon brought several gulls to the scene.

      Apartment towers lined the Esplanade—tall concrete sentinels of varying architectural design bearing exotic names.

      Already the incoming tide was beginning to swell with white-crested waves that broke and rolled gently into shore…a precursor of bigger waves ideal for surfing.

      Within minutes she changed direction and headed up the slight sandy incline to the boardwalk, where she crossed the road to a pavement café and ordered a latte to go.

      Already several tables were occupied, as holiday-makers sought an early breakfast beneath colourful shade umbrellas.

      It was almost seven-thirty when Gianna entered her apartment, and she stripped off her clothes, showered, dressed, ate fresh fruit and yoghurt, then caught up her laptop and bag, filched her keys from the side-table adjacent to the front door, and took the lift down to the basement car park.

      A short drive brought her to an upmarket complex, unique in design, with its arched sails reaching skywards, housing various boutiques of which Bellisima was one, and a faint smile softened her mouth as she took a moment to check the window display.

      Visually attractive, she conceded as she bent low to unlock the front doors. Perhaps she could replace the pewter vase with the crystal conch-shell, add a collection of silk flowers. Exchange the stunning beaten silver platter with the pair of multi-coloured glass birds.

      The gift boutique was so much hers, with the art of display reflecting her excellent taste, her instinctive knack of placing unusual items together to draw maximum attention to the mirrored walls with their glass shelving.

      Each item gleamed beneath the fluorescent lighting, the colours like fine jewels in their brilliance, and she allowed herself a moment of pride before crossing to the service desk, where she prepared for the start of a new business day.

      Morning trade was fairly brisk, with purchases made and those chosen as gifts wrapped with exquisite care, earning delighted gratitude from each customer.

      Gianna derived immense pleasure in providing warm and friendly service. Something which had earned her a loyal and select client base.

      She’d made the boutique her life, constantly searching for unusual items to attract her customers. She also provided a comprehensive catalogue, and maintained a constantly updated Web page to showcase upcoming imports and deliveries.

      The fact she’d achieved it on her own, with loan funds from the bank, was a source of pride. Monthly amounts paid by Raúl directly into a separate bank account remained untouched.

      Work had become all-involving, filling her waking hours. Her focus was now, and the immediate future.

      There were a few good friends, but, while she occasionally socialised, she didn’t date. Dinner and pleasant conversation didn’t include an automatic agreement for consensual sex at evening’s end. At least not in her book.

      She tried…she really did. Her friends meant well. They wanted to see her happy, content, with a regular man in her life who cared.

      ‘He’s wonderful—a real gentleman’ didn’t hold true, she had discovered to her cost.

      ‘You’ll adore him, he’s so charming…’ Uh-huh—if you enjoyed the obsequious type.

      No matter how well-intentioned, their efforts failed. Or perhaps she failed…for moving on from Raúl wasn’t happening.

      He was there, his physical image so easily summoned to mind she almost expected to see him, and occasionally felt the breath catch in her throat whenever she sighted a tall, broad-shouldered male whose stance at first glance seemed achingly familiar. Followed by a heart-lurching few seconds when everything within her peripheral vision froze into a fixed tableau…until she glimpsed his profile and saw the face of a stranger, and her personal world returned to its normal kilter.

      Oh, for heaven’s sake, she chastised in self-castigation. There was work to do. Stock to arrange. Deliveries to check. And her clientele. A business to run.

      Busy was good. A steady flow of people wanting assistance ensured there was little time in which to think or reflect, and Gianna welcomed Annaliese, the part-time assistant who helped out in the boutique from ten-thirty to four, seven days a week.

      It was an employment arrangement that worked well, and had done so for the past two years.

      Attractive, intelligent, sunny-tempered, with a droll sense of humour, Annaliese was a superb salesperson and, importantly, dedicated.

      ‘Hi. One double-shot skim latte for madame.’

      Delivering coffee, hot and strong, had become a welcome habit Annaliese had initiated during the first week of her employment.

      ‘Thanks.’ Gianna’s gratitude was genuine, and Annaliese offered a warm smile as she took the capped takeaway cup to the small back room. ‘Busy morning?’

      The day brought several customers into the boutique. There were the serious buyers, and those who merely browsed, as well as a few regulars.

      It was almost five when Gianna checked the sales register. The recorded total revealed a satisfactorily high figure…sufficient to warrant ordering replacement stock. Something she’d tend to prior to closing time.

      A faint prickle began at her nape and slipped down her spine as she cut the phone connection to her supplier with bare minutes to spare before she was due to walk out through the door.

      The electronic door buzzed, and she summoned a pleasant smile…only to have it freeze with shock at the sight of the man entering the boutique.

      His powerful frame appeared no less imposing than she remembered, and his dark hair gleamed beneath the artificial lighting, emphasising broad-boned facial features, a strong jaw, wide cheekbones, the Mediterranean skin tone…and eyes so dark they appeared almost black.

      Raúl.

      Ex-lover, estranged husband…and a man she had fervently hoped never to see again.

      Dear heaven. What was he doing here?

      For a startling moment she was flung back to a time when her life had been everything she could want it to be.

      Until it had all fallen apart in those wretched few months following her miscarriage, when the pain of grief had wrought such havoc.

      He’d phoned, and when she had refused to take his calls he’d arrived on her doorstep, demanding she return with him to Madrid.

      Except she’d stood her ground, wanting time and space alone…and he’d left, assuring her the next move had to be hers.

      ‘Nothing