Free Undercover Virgin by Becky Barker Page B

ones and two neon-green ones. She set them aside and stashed most of the other clothes into the drawers under her bed.
    Her biggest purchase had been panties. She took fourteen pairs of them, plus the bikinis, and moved back into the kitchen. After getting herself a can of soda, she settled down to sew, pausing every few minutes to check for unexpected guests.
    Nearly an hour later, she heard Tremont shouting at her from the beach. She went onto the deck and waited until he'd swum close enough to toss his shoes onto the boat. Then she gave him a hand to board.
    "Have a nice run?" she asked.
    "Yeah. The path's a little rough, but it felt good. Any problems?"
    "Nary a one," she said. "I saw a few boats pass by on the main waterway, but nothing came close."
    "Good. Ready to swim?"
    "Almost. I have some sewing to finish. Then I'll be ready."
    "Sewing?" he asked, following her back inside the cabin. He glanced toward the table. "Have an underwear explosion while I was gone?"
    Rianna gave him a grin. "No, I'm just practicing an old trick my mother taught me."
    "And what's that?"
    "Well," she explained as she went back to work, "you buy two matching pairs of underwear, then you cut part of the front panel out of one and sew it to the front panel of its mate. That makes a neat little pocket that can be sealed with thin strips of Velcro."
    "For hiding something?"
    "For hiding a small plastic pouch with cash, an ID, and, in my case, the key to a post office box."
    "Nice, neat little package?"
    "I never go anywhere without one."
    "Even to swim?"
    "Even to swim. That's why I bought matching bikinis. The plastic protects everything, so the shower's about the only place I go without my backup supplies."
    "Clever. Your mother taught you this?"
    "Yes, and it's a trick that's saved me on several occasions."
    "I imagine it has," he said.
    Conscious of his scrutiny, she lifted her gaze from her handiwork. Tremont had a strange expression on his face. It almost looked like compassion.
    "Why are you staring?"
    "I'm curious. I know parents teach their kids survival tactics, but why in the hell would your mother teach you something like that? What ever happened to the basics, like putting overzealous boyfriends in their place or protecting yourself against would-be muggers?"
    Rianna dropped her gaze again. "My dad taught me that kind of stuff. Mom just expanded on the teachings."
    "Why?"
    "What do you mean?" she asked, but knew exactly what he meant. How many mothers taught their children strange survival tricks? Hers had done so out of necessity.
    "Why did she think you'd need that sort of security?"
    "We moved a lot when I was younger."
    "So did we, but not without a chance to collect our stuff first. Why would you move with no more security than money tucked in underwear? Were you running from someone or something?"
    Rianna debated telling him the whole truth. Instinct told her to trust him, yet it didn't come easily. She held his gaze for a few minutes, and then returned her attention to her work.
    "Don't!" He ground the word out harshly, surprising her into looking directly at him again.
    "Don't what?" she asked lightly.
    "Don't shut me out. Just give me the basics. I can deal with whatever you have to say, and I know how to keep a secret."
    Something about the intensity of his demand made her heart stutter. Did he really care? Why? His tone suggested more than idle curiosity, but what? Rianna found herself telling him a little about her childhood.
    "When I was twelve, my family got moved into a witness protection program, but we never felt safe. As soon as we'd get comfortable, the location would be compromised and we'd have to move. My parents taught us to be prepared."
    "Witness protection? I know about it from the agency's end, but I never gave much thought to living that way. How could your location be jeopardized that often?"
    "I don't know." Having finished her project, she gathered up the panties, tossing the ruined ones into the trash.