Operation Tropical Affair: A Poppy McVie Adventure (Poppy McVie Series Book 1) Read Online Free Page B

Operation Tropical Affair: A Poppy McVie Adventure (Poppy McVie Series Book 1)
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husband, might be easily overlooked in the bustling crowd.  
    At Customs and Immigration, I presented my new passport. Under my mug was the name Brittany Katherine Fuller. It even had my actual birthday, April 3, 1990. Someone was really thinking when they tucked in an immunization card with an emergency contact: my husband of three months, John Randolf Fuller.  
    I ran through some memorization routines. Hi, I’m Brittany, John’s wife. So nice to meet you, George. This is my husband, John. John, John. I need to go to the John with John. John the baptist. John Lennon. Johnny. Johnny be good. Johnny Depp. Oooooh yeah. Johnny Depp. I could be married to Johnny Depp.
    I couldn’t think of any thing else to prepare. During my flight from Detroit, I had rummaged through the handbag and found a pack of gum, a tin of aspirin, two emery boards, several maxi pads, a bottle of hand lotion (half used), a mini-pack of tissues, a pair of cheesy, goggle lens sunglasses, and a change purse that looked like it was handmade by someone’s grandma. Everything a girl could need and all courtesy, no doubt, of Mrs. Strix. I’d have to remember to send her a thank-you note. Without the typical items, I was at risk of someone realizing that stunning fashion accessory was a prop. There was no time to shop for a poodle.
    The most important item I’d found in the bag was a wallet with cash and a credit card in Brittany’s name. It worked at the luggage store in the Dallas/Fort Worth International terminal where I found a shiny white leather carry-on bag. (I’d never buy leather, but I figured Brittany would love its rich, supple feel.)  
    The U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service could pull some strings pretty quickly, it seemed. I hoped they were as good at wardrobe assignments, because that’s all I had to go on. Tan slacks and a blue polo shirt. I was about to find out.  
    I flipped the straw hat onto my head, pulled it down, hoping it would stay, and moved with the crowd toward the ground transportation area, scanning for my new hubby. It felt like a freak blind date, only I couldn’t fake a migraine and slink out the back door. I kept telling myself, no matter what, I was going to smack him with a big kiss, right in front of everyone. No one was going to accuse me of blowing an op.
    As I approached the exit, I knew I was in Central America. The cool of the air conditioning mixed with waves of humid, tropical air and exhaust fumes wafting in from the street where cars honked and engines ran, all maneuvering for the best spot.  
    I caught sight of someone waving. He wore tan slacks and a blue polo, but it couldn’t be him. This man was young, tall and lean—one of those guys who crawls under razor wire and bounds over ten foot walls for exercise. I quickly scanned the luggage claim area for a balding man in the same get up. No one. I turned back. The guy was walking toward me, waving. I faked like I hadn’t seen him the first time. “Hi Honey!” I called.  
    He walked toward me, his arms outstretched. I dropped my bag and lunged into his embrace. He lifted me up and spun me around. Wow, he was strong. I tilted my head back and he kissed me, long and hard. “I missed you,” he crooned as he set me down.  
    Man, was he ripped, pecs firm as a ham hock. I lingered a moment with my hands on his chest, looking into his deep, brown eyes. He was my husband after all. I gave him my best Texas sweetheart smile. “I’ve missed you, too, darling.” Like, my whole life.
    Dalton gave me another peck on the lips, then, his eyes warning me to be careful, he nodded toward a man who hovered a few paces back. “George sent his driver. Wasn’t that nice?”
    I pulled away from his embrace and flashed my best Brittany smile at the man.  
    “He’s invited us to dinner,” Dalton added.
    “Fantastic, I’m starving.” I reached for my carry-on bag but Dalton grabbed it before I could.  
    “Let me get that,” he said.  
    Maybe this marriage
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