Jake cleared his throat. “He’s a good pilot. I’ll go with Sarge, and you’ll stay here.”
“What?” The word exploded from her lips, and she moved to the edge of the seat. A few patrons turned their heads. She lowered her voice to a hiss. “No way in hell.”
“It could be dangerous,” Jake said. He stared her up and down. “You don’t have the right clothes. There are snakes, spiders, crocodiles, and—”
“I
like
snakes,” Amy said.
That was one thing she and Firth had had in common, they’d both liked nature. Steven suited up for work, and he played the part of the sophisticated financial manager, but underneath he’d been a country kid. That should have raised a red flag, but for some reason she’d ignored any hint of warning.
Sarge roared with laughter, and he shot Jake a quick look. Had she missed something?
“She’s got one on you there, Turner,” Sarge said.
Jake seemed flustered for a minute. Did the big tough dude get scared by snakes?
“It’ll be rough, and we’ll be undercover,” Jake said, not meeting her gaze. “Firth’s a slippery character. He’s evaded the FBI for chrissakes. I’m hired to protect you. I do the job, and keep you out of harm’s way.”
“I don’t want to be left out,” Amy said. Still, it was nice that Daddy thought about protecting her. Not that she needed protection. Maybe they could repair this rift. Ornery as he was, she did miss her father, and he’d gone through hell the past two years. Could she trust these men? She jutted out her chin. “I’m seeing this through to the very end. I owe Daddy.”
“What does that mean?” Jake asked.
“I was the one who found out Firth was here…through my investigations and with no connection to FBI.” She squared her shoulders. “So, in effect, this is my gig.”
Jake glared at her, and then rubbed a finger across his top lip.
“If he’s disguised, who’d see through his disguise better than me?” she asked.
“I said, no. I have orders from your father,” Jake said. “He signs my check.”
“He doesn’t sign mine.” Amy held his gaze.
Jake blew out a huge puff of air. “Look, Sarge is a tropical tracker. He can go deep into the rainforest. Firth booked a one-way ticket last night, to Cairns. That’s all we know.”
“Why aren’t you working with the Australian authorities?” Amy leaned forward. “If you know where he’s gone, why not have a guy at his destination, waiting to nab him?”
“We don’t know for sure Firth is Fray,” Jake said. “We’re waiting on DNA results.”
“I’m going.” Amy crossed her arms. “I’ve changed my appearance.”
“Disguises don’t work when you know someone intimately.”
She narrowed her eyes. It had been a long time since she’d been intimate with Firth, and he’d stopped noticing her anyway.
“Scents, pheromones, the shape of a jaw, or a hairline, little things trigger memories,” Jake continued.
Okay, she’d buy that. But she wasn’t planning on getting close to Firth without back-up. And she sure as hell wasn’t getting intimate. Her job was to I.D. him, follow him, find out his location, and then report to authorities.
“Look, many of the roads aren’t sealed.” Jake’s eyes darkened. “Can’t use a car, wild terrain, might have to sleep in the jeep, no bathrooms—”
“What, you think I can’t pee in the woods?” Amy asked, and then huffed. “I’m going anyway, whether you guys take me along or…or I…or I charter a plane, and go by myself.”
“Dammit, your father told me you’d be like this. Stubborn as hell.”
“So? No surprise then?” She quashed the thought of a dizzying flight in a light aircraft. “And I’ll bet he said I wasn’t too smart, right?”
Jake looked away.
Well, hell
. There went the idea of a partnership. She was back to going it alone. Men, they’re all so freakin’ opinionated
.
She’d buy jeans, shorts, and T-shirts. Maybe a hat or two, and whatever else you needed for roughing it in the rainforest. Bug spray, probably.
“Where’s the nearest store to buy some gear? I’m figuring camping type stuff.”
Jake’s eyes widened and his facial expression froze. Sarge pinched his nose and stared at the floor, and Amy knew he was about to howl with laughter. He snorted, or coughed.
There was a long silence, and then Sarge continued. “Listen, Firth is slippery, but it’s not a complicated case. He’s an embezzler. Not a killer. May have had plastic surgery done in Europe, but nothing we can’t work around.”
She thought about that. Steven was squeamish. If he’d had anything done it wouldn’t have been extensive. And how did Sarge know all of that stuff anyway?
“For now we’re traveling as tourists, until we can corner the bastard.” Sarge snapped his fingers and leaned forward, eyes sparkling. “I’ve just had a bloody beaut idea.” He turned to Jake.
“I can hardly wait to hear it,” Jake said dryly.
“It’s a perfect cover. We’ll con the con. You two can be tourists. I’ll be your tour guide. I’m leaving the plane at the airport, jeep’s parked there. I’ll borrow a tour guide sign from a bloke in Townsville, and then slap it on the side door, and we’re good to go.”
Jake rubbed at his top lip again, talking behind his hand. “It could work, but her father wants her out of the picture. She’s been protected, and she wouldn’t know how to rough it—”
“What?” Amy went slack-jawed.
“You two would be deep undercover, on your honeymoon.”
Jake’s expression switched from frozen horror to wild animal trapped in a snare.
Would he chew off his leg to escape? Amy bit the inside of her lip to hold back her laughter.
Honeymoon
? Visions of the Great Barrier Reef, white sandy beaches, cool turquoise waters, and balmy nights danced in her head. This tropical fiasco was starting to sound good. Jake eased back in his seat and averted his gaze. She could only imagine what he was thinking.
“Um, question,” she said to Sarge. “Not that I’m against going, but would people honeymoon in this place?”
“Are you kidding me?” Sarge leaned forward slapping both big hands over his knees. “It’s what it’s famous for. You’ve got everything from five star hotels, private estates, and isolated cabins for rent.”
Hah! Jake had been faking before to put her off. He’d said it was all rough country. Still, she wasn’t fazed by nature, spiders, snakes, or bears. Probably no bears in the rainforest, but there’d be snakes.
“Her father would never go for it,” Jake said. “I’m to protect her. He demanded that she stay in Sydney. Or better yet, return to the States, which reminds me, we need to drop by the American consulate before we leave.”
“Hey, over here,” Amy said sarcastically, and pointed to the top of her head. “I am present, remember?”
She wasn’t a minor, she wasn’t here illegally. She was thirty-five years old, and a tourist, and quite capable of making her own plans. This was an all-out war. She heaved a sigh, put her Louis Vuitton handbag onto the coffee table, and dug inside. “Here, take this. It’s the best and most recent photograph I have of Fray, ah, Firth. I took it in Paris a couple of months ago. Before the FBI arrived, and he escaped.”
Sarge frowned. “You’re not coming?”
Jake peered at the photograph for a few moments and seemed to relax. He raised his eyes. “What made you change your mind?”
She was going north and going alone, and she sensed he knew that. She popped a peppermint into her mouth and sucked on it, then applied lipstick. “I’m not about to upset Daddy. He almost died after Firth absconded with the funds.”
“So, what will you do?” Jake asked.
“If Daddy wants me to stay here, I will. Anyway, for all we know, Firth may have bought the ticket to create a false trail. He could still be in Sydney.”
Jake’s eyes widened. She gave him a sassy stare.
Didn’t think about that one did you, Mr. Smarty Pants P.I
.?
“So you’ll do some investigating down here?” He slipped the photograph into his pocket and patted it.
She nodded.
“Great.” He pulled the sunglasses out of the top of his shirt, indicated to the waiter he wanted the check, and smiled. “We should stay in touch. You’ll remain here at this hotel?”
Amy shifted in the chair, uncrossed and re-crossed her legs. Her skirt hiked up and she didn’t tug the hemline down. Jake’s gaze turned hot and liquid. He swallowed hard.
“I won’t stay anywhere less than a five-star hotel.”
Well, hell, if he had labeled her a princess then she might as well be one.
“Call me anytime you want.” She stood, hoisted her designer purse straps onto her shoulder, and sashayed across to the steps. “See you boys when you return.”
The bank of elevators seemed miles away. Her heart pounded. She needed to book her flight, buy tropical weather clothes, and get up to Cairns. Townsville was south of Cairns. Four hours by car, at the very least. Jake and Sarge were flying into Townsville Airport in a crate with wings. She’d be on a jet. With any luck she’d get to Cairns before they did.
Inside the elevator, she pressed against the back wall and tried to slow her racing pulse. A warning stirred in her gut—this was probably the dumbest thing she’d ever done—but she brushed the thought aside. It wasn’t about returning the money to her father, although that would be great. Five million dollars wasn’t chicken feed, but her father’s business was doing fine now. This was about her guilt, and her need to make good. She suddenly realized the elevator wasn’t moving. She’d forgotten to press the button. With a sigh, and a roll of her eyes, she reached over and punched the floor number.
Fray had set her up, conned her and the whole family. She’d trusted him, believed herself to be in love with him, and he’d used her. Men like that didn’t deserve to roam the world free. She’d find him. She’d show them she’d outgrown the spoiled baby-of-the-family role. She could
be sensible, strong, and independent.
Well, maybe not the sensible part, but definitely the other two.
Chapter Three
“Mr. Firth…Mr. Firth.”
The name finally registered in Steven Fray’s mind. He repeated his name.
Stuart Firth. Who would be calling to him?
The small Cairns airport was busy, vacationers everywhere, and the steam of the tropics wafted through the baggage claim area whenever the doors opened. He stepped out of the way of a half-crazed woman dragging a kicking, screaming, red-faced toddler toward the women’s restroom, and took a quick look back. Meg walked beside him, just another passenger. They’d booked separately, and had sat rows apart on the plane.
A man in a dark suit approached with a sign for Mr. Stuart Firth. He raised a hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir. I’m your driver.”
Stuart tilted his head. He hadn’t ordered a car. Col Braxton had begrudgingly sent his thug, Hadi Salim, to Sydney when he’d raised the alarm that he was being followed. Hadi, a native of Jakarta, had been educated in England, and although full of himself, he’d done a decent enough job.
The man glanced toward Meg. “Welcome to Cairns. Mr. Braxton sent the limousine.”
“We have a couple of…bags, ports…checked,” Stuart said, regaining his focus. A bag was a port in Queensland. He gave himself a mental high five for remembering the local lingo.
“I’ll take you to Mr. Braxton’s private slip. Captain Hafe will transport you.”
Stuart nodded. Now they’d go by private yacht to Braxton Island, instead of by public ferry. Excellent. He needed this protection. Besides, he was a part owner in the damn island. He deserved the royal treatment.
The driver tipped one finger to his cap. “I’ll get the limo and double-park the beast outside those doors,” he said, and indicated behind him.
“Beaut.” Stuart sidled up to Meg. “It’s all going better than planned.”
“I’m not too bloody sure about that. You promised me I could see Mum and Dad first.”
He glanced around. “Look, Meg, we had a guy sniffing our butts in Sydney. Plans have changed. We were lucky Col had put one of his men down there.”
“Yeah, well, you don’t have family here.” She walked to a bench. “I do.”
He waited a few minutes, and then crossed to sit beside her.
“I don’t know what all the darn secrecy is about. Your crazy ex-wife isn’t going to track you up here.” She folded her arms across her chest.
He blew out a puff of air. “Okay, you go home, visit your parents. I’ll go to the island.”
They’d been separated for the year during the divorce. Meg knew nothing about the embezzled millions. She’d worked in London. When they’d reconnected in Paris, she’d thought he was running from a crazed ex-wife; a woman capable of doing bodily harm, and therefore his reason for an alias, and a bit of plastic surgery.
A smile played on Meg’s full lips.
“I’m assuming Amy has a P.I. tailing us. It’s me she’s after, not you,” he murmured.
He walked to the baggage claim, stood, hands on hips, and watched the seven lone pieces of luggage make the journey around and around on the carousel. His thoughts turned to Col Braxton, who had his lawyer in Dubai do the transfer of funds. Col named a hefty price for Steven to become a part owner of Braxton Island. Such a greedy bastard. The rich ones usually were.
The island was an ecologically sound resort offering exclusive homes for rent to the discerning traveler. Behind doors, Col acquired drugs from Indonesia, and redistributed them to dealers around the country. Stuart grimaced. He didn’t approve of the drug business, but he knew he’d be protected on the island, and that was of utmost importance.
More pieces of luggage tumbled down the chute, but none of them theirs. He glanced over at Meg and smiled. Col wanted Meg’s father’s resort, Bungumby Lodge. It being an ecologically sound resort he’d figured it would be a perfect cover for his expanding drug trade, an ultra-private location on the mainland. But Meg’s father had resisted every offer, saying his daughter would inherit the resort. Meg waved at him. He smiled wider. Initially, he’d set out to charm her, and instead he’d fallen in love for the first time in his life. He shivered.
She walked over and stood beside him. He slipped an arm around her small waist. He’d never get enough of Meg, no matter what, and that was the beginning of the craziness his life had become. He enjoyed the warmth of her body pressed close to his side for a minute, then released the pressure of his hand. He grabbed the two bags, confident that nobody observed them.