Operation Tropical Affair: A Poppy McVie Adventure (Poppy McVie Series Book 1) (15 page)

“Yes, well—” she smiled wide, a fake smile, and nodded to the man at the door “—your secret is safe with me. Shall we?” She moved toward her horse.

She was already dismissing me. This might be my only chance.
It’s all or nothing
. “My husband, well, he doesn’t exactly have a mind for business either. Oh, he’s fine to look at, and oh my, in the sack—” I paused as if to savor a memory of our passionate lovemaking. “After awhile, a girl gets bored when there’s not much upstairs, if you know what I mean. But in this misogynistic world, to do business, we women still need our men out front, even though we’re the ones doing all the work. The brains behind the brawn, so to speak. If you know what I mean.” I paused for effect, looked her straight in the eye. “But, of course, you know exactly what I mean.”

She shifted her stance, ever so slightly. “Excuse me?”

I took a step closer to her. A subconscious sign of taking control. I lowered my voice. “I have no interest in one damn monkey. And I’m not looking for some amateur strap-a-bird-under-your-pants smuggler crap. I’ve got buyers, buyers with very big wallets. I want a source. A direct, reliable source.”

Her eyes narrowed the slightest bit. Barely perceptible. She was good. “What you are describing sounds illegal. I think you have misunderstood. My husband’s—”

“It’s all right.” I shrugged. “I’m sure I’ll find what I’m looking for while I’m here in beautiful Costa Rica, nature’s paradise.” I winked. “Speaking of that. I must decline the ride. Enjoy yourself though. I’ve got business to attend to.”
 

I turned my back on her and walked out the door.

I got back to the bungalow a couple hours before Dalton. Time to squeeze in some needed yoga.
 

“How’d it go?” he asked before the door was shut.
 

“Fine,” I said.
 

“Fine? What does fine mean?”

I shrugged. “Fine. Nothing much to tell. She’s cold. She didn’t really want to take me. I think maybe George pressured her to, or she is covering her bases, keeping an eye on me. I don’t know.”

“Well, what’d you talk about?”

“Not much. We rode. Not a great situation for long conversations.”

He stared at me as if he was trying to sort something out.
 

“Why? What’s happened?” I asked.

“George got a call from Maria right before I left. He hung up and invited us to a fundraiser dinner. He wouldn’t take no for an answer. No, it was more than that. It was the way he said it. It wasn’t an invitation. It was more like a directive. I wonder what that’s about.”

“What kind of fundraiser?”

“For Manuel Antonio National Park. For conservation and preservation. Can you believe that?”

Playa de Delfines, a private beach club a few miles north of the park, hosted the fundraiser. Tiki torches and glowing paper ball lanterns illuminated the beach and patio with a warm glow. A nice evening breeze carried the scent of salt. The surf unfurled unto the sand with a gentle, rhythmic gush that mixed with the easy Latin beat of the band. A temporary dance floor had been laid out on a deck where several couples swayed and twirled.

About two-hundred and fifty people were in attendance. Waiters in crisp white shirts casually moved about the crowd carrying trays of tropical drinks. A long table stretched the length of the patio, covered in white linens, its centerpiece a giant ice sculpture of a dolphin, and tray after tray of hors d’oeuvres—skewered shrimp, scallops wrapped in bacon, crackers covered in a dollop of ceviche, chorizo stuffed mushrooms. Nothing I’d eat. Once again, I’d be scrounging for a source of sustenance that didn’t include animal flesh.

Dalton and I mingled, doing the only kind of intel gathering one can do at a party like this—see who’s wearing what, or, in other words, who has money, who wants everyone to think they have money, basically who’s maneuvering for power. You could easily identify the few couples who were actual donors. They sauntered about, arm in arm, gripping martinis, their lips permanently fixed with passive smiles.

I headed for a drink, but came to a halt. Isabella was behind the bar. I made a quick U-turn. If Isabella was working here tonight, that meant it was likely Carlos had his hand in this shindig somehow. I glanced around. There were several bars. At least I could avoid her.
 

I spotted Kevin, our new Australian friend, amid the crowd. Our eyes met and he immediately headed my way. I needed some information from him for my plan and was hoping to speak to him without Dalton overhearing, so I quickly closed the distance between us. “G’day, Ms. Brittany,” he said. “Enjoyin' your visit?” The accent made me grin.

“Yes, it’s a lovely country. The beach is gorgeous. I’m thinking of moving to a seaside room, maybe with a balcony. Our place is, well—” I curled my lip into an expression of dislike. “How about you? Do you like where you’re staying?”

“Yeah, very nice little place to the north of here, the Casa del Mar. You should check it out.”
 

“I will,” I said with a wink.
Mission accomplished.

Dalton appeared at my side.

“‘Owdy, mate,” Kevin said.
 

“Evenin’,” Dalton said. They exchanged a manly that’s-all-I-got nod. Charming conversationalists.

We stood in triangle formation for an uncomfortable moment before Kevin said, “Well, I’s needing some grog. See yoos late-tah.”

Dalton and I faced each other and casually scanned the crowd. Joe Nash was meandering our way, the cigar in his mouth. “There’s Carl,” I said to Dalton.
 

“John, right?” Nash said, offering his hand to Dalton as he approached.

Dalton nodded. “Nice to see you again.”

“Likewise.” He smiled at me. “John, my good man, mind if I take your lady for a spin around the dance floor?”

Dalton grinned. “Go right ahead.” As I endured this old boy transaction I thought about my role and the plight of women everywhere, how women handle these situations with varying responses. Brittany would smile at Carl in a flirtatious way, enjoying the attention. Poppy would punch John in the nose and tell Carl to take a hike.
 

I flashed my Brittany smile and held out my hand to Nash.
 

Once we were on the dance floor, where the sound of our whispers would get lost in the music, he asked how things were going.

“Okay, I guess.” I waited for a couple who seemed like they were hovering close by to pirouette in another direction before I added, “We’ve identified the kingpin.” He raised an eyebrow. I whispered, “Maria.”
 

“You’re sure?”

I nodded. “Anything on your end?”

“Nothing that huge. But it gives me perspective.”

I saw Dalton talking with Felix, the man from Germany. “Learn anything more about our foreign friends? I’m thinking the dinner was for her to assess potential buyers.”

“It’s a good theory. I’ll see what I can find out.”

The song was coming to an end. I wasn’t sure how to ask Nash what I wanted to know, so I went ahead and said it. “Do you think she could also be running drugs?”

“Possible,” he said. “Why? Any signs?”

I shook my head. “Just a hunch.”

The song came to an end and I thanked him for the dance. “Be careful,” he whispered in my ear before he sauntered toward the bar and I casually made my way through the crowd to Dalton and Felix. “Hello Felix,” I said.
 

“Ah, Fräulein.” He bowed in greeting, then pushed the greasy glasses up his nose. “How are you dis evening?”

“Very well, thank you.” I wanted to find out, as quickly as I could, where he was staying, but he was going to be a tougher nut to crack than Kevin. “And you? What do you think of Costa Rica?”

“Zee veather is vonderful. Sun chine all day.”
 

“Have you had time to walk on the beach?”

“Busy verking,” he said, shaking his head.

I smiled and nodded like I was sympathizing. “Did you at least get a room with a view?”

“No, no.”

I was getting nowhere.

The vibe in the party changed suddenly. All eyes turned toward the entrance where Maria strode in, George a couple paces behind her, which I’m sure was by directive. Of course, they were fashionably late, which was right on time for a grand entrance.
 

Maria demanded attention in a tight-fitting red bandeau dress, her girls pressed together and showing eight miles of cleavage, the skirt knee length, slit up the side to her waist with a black ruffled edge. As if that wasn’t flashy enough, she wore purple and red sparkly earrings and wrist bangles. To top if off, she glided across the floor on red velvet pumps sporting four-inch heels.
 

I had on a cornflower blue sundress, cotton, sleeveless. Nice, cool and comfortable. I whispered to Dalton. “Do you find that attractive?”

“Um,” he didn’t take his eyes from her. “No comment?”

I almost sprained my eye socket doing an eye roll.

George and Maria worked the crowd before making their way to us. They thanked us for coming, for all the support, blah, blah. What a load of crap. Dalton and I smiled and nodded and acted the part as I tried to figure out why she wanted us here. Certainly to appear as though she had clout, as though she had the ear of big donors. Money and influence drove Maria, that was obvious. But why us?

She and George hobnobbed their way to the podium which had been placed at the side of the dance floor. A man in a white suit coat stepped to the microphone and hushed the crowd. Must have been the head of the nonprofit for which this fundraiser was hosted. After a rather boring overview, he launched into a glowing introduction of Maria Mendoza Hillman.
 

She strutted to the podium, taking her time while all the eyes were on her. “Good evening,” she said in her perfect English. “Tonight is a celebration of all that is good and beautiful in Costa Rica. I don’t have to tell you how vital it is that we keep it that way. Our heritage, the mighty rainforest, is at risk.”

The crowd made a collective nod of agreement. I squeezed Dalton’s hand and glared at Maria.
You lying hypocrite.
 

“We must, all of us, do our part to support this organization and their good works.
Mis amigos
, please, open your pocketbooks.”

My teeth had a firm grasp on my tongue.
Indeed, for if there is no rainforest, there are no animals to steal.

“Together, we can keep our country lush and green.”

Applause. I forced my hands together. Thankfully her speech was short and to the point. I don’t think I could have stomached any more.

The band started up again in a hot, latino salsa beat, the volume cranked up two-fold. George and Maria took to the dance floor. I watched as they and other couples shook and bounced and twirled.

Dalton, standing next to me, said, “The trick is to swing your hips.”

My head snapped in his direction. “You dance?”

He shrugged. “I like holding a lady in my arms. If I have to move my feet to do it, well, I know a few steps.”

The tune changed to a slow waltz. He downed the rest of his beer, set the bottle on a tray, and held out his hand. “Shall we?”

I wouldn’t call myself a great dancer, but I do all right with a strong lead. When I was a child, no matter where we happened to be in the world, my father would find an American oldies music station on the radio and I’d stand on the top of his feet and he would twirl me around the room. He taught me the fox trot, the mamba, the waltz, the rhumba, the cha cha cha. I haven’t had another dance partner since and I was feeling a bit rusty.

Dalton led me to the dance floor, then turned to face me, his left hand held out to the side for me to take. “It’s like sex,” he said as he placed his right hand on the small of my back and pulled me tightly to him. “Move your hips with mine.” He waggled his eyebrows. “On the beat, step back with your right foot. I’ll take it from there.”

I counted—one-two-three, one-two-three—then stepped back and we were in motion, moving as one, my body so close to his, it felt fluid, natural. I twirled, spinning round the axis that was Dalton as he led me around the floor. I didn’t think about the steps, about the rhythm, it just was. Being in his arms was easy, letting him take control. He moved and I moved with him.
 

By the end of the song, I was breathless. He held my hand tightly and eased me backward into a dip. When he pulled me upward, I stopped inches from his lips, his hot breath on my face. He leaned forward and kissed me ever so gently. I was glad to have his arms around me because I thought I might melt.

Who said I couldn’t look like the wife, hopelessly in love?
We’ve got this nailed.

My hand held high in the air like a professional dancer, he twirled me around and led me off the dance floor into the crowd, where we ran smack into Noah.
 

For a moment, his presence didn’t jive in my brain. What was he doing here? In a tux? My mouth opened to speak, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t acknowledge him at all. I’d blow my cover. But there was nothing stopping him from blowing it for me. Right now.
Please, Noah. Don’t say anything. Please.

He stared at me with an unreadable expression, then his eyes zoomed in on my hand and the diamond I wore. They refocused to assess Dalton, then shifted back to me. There was more than disappointment in his eyes; there was something that looked more like condemnation, as though he’d received an answer to a question he’d been purposely avoiding. My heart sank.

For a moment, I thought he might turn away, before anyone noticed, but his eyes were locked on Dalton. Noah offered his hand to Dalton. “You must be Brittany’s…husband?”

Crap.
Isn’t there some unspoken code about affairs? You don’t purposefully meet the husband.

Dalton quickly looked to me for an explanation.

“John, dear, I met this nice gentleman at the butterfly garden. You remember. I told you I had stopped by.”

Dalton’s hand squeezed mine. This was a problem. I needed to do something. Now.