Authors: Cleo Peitsche
“What do you have?”
She crossed her arms over her considerable chest and pouted a moment, then said, “Water samples. From what I can tell, the changes seem to be stable, not spreading. There are clear lines of demarcation, so whatever it is, it’s not diffusing.”
Koenraad felt a little of the stress leave him. Stable was good. Though what the hell resisted diffusion?
“I also asked some questions, and a guy in a bar says he saw a dead shark washed up on a beach on the other side of the island.”
Despite how much she irritated him, he had to admit she was good at her job. Darius wouldn’t have called her in if she wasn’t. “Did you check it out?”
“Thought I’d wait for you. It’ll be like old times again, the two of us running the show.” She was goading him, but he refused to take the bait.
Victoria glanced at her watch. “There’s not a lot of room at the docks, and the water isn’t safe to swim through. Hop over. I’ve got Arnie inside. I’m sure he won’t mind watching your boat if you’re worried about drifting into a shipping lane.”
He hesitated.
“Or I’ll come over there,” she said, her voice turning seductive.
That was the last thing he wanted. He grabbed his phone and easily jumped the space between the boats. She sniffed, then wrinkled her nose, no doubt smelling traces of Monroe on him. “New fuck buddy?” she asked.
He ignored her, instead turning his attention to the slight, redheaded shifter who had appeared beside Victoria. “Take good care of my baby,” he said. Arnie saluted casually and jumped onto
The Good Life.
“I used to be your baby,” Victoria purred.
“No, you didn’t.”
Two hours later found them walking along a deserted beach, a long trail of footprints behind them. Victoria was a bit ahead of Koenraad; she’d run through all of her usual tricks to goad him into a reaction, and she’d finally gotten bored.
They had found an area that smelled faintly of shark, but there wasn’t any proof that it was Wardell. The befuddling effects of the
sick
made it impossible to tell for sure.
Wardell wasn’t a bad fellow. He had his demons, but he’d been sober for years now. Even though he was approaching seventy, he continued to fulfill his obligations, knowing that if he retired, there would be no one to pick up the slack.
Victoria whistled, and when Koenraad looked up, she frantically waved him over. He took off at a jog. He was more than ready to wrap this up and go home.
“There,” she said, pointing a few feet away, in the water. A wave had just rolled in, covering everything foamy white, but when the wave receded, he saw it, a waterlogged cowboy boot. Not many people wore cowboy boots in the Caribbean. In fact, Koenraad couldn’t think of anyone who did except Wardell.
They looked at each other, then Victoria resolutely stepped into the water. Koenraad grabbed her, pulled her back. “It’s not safe,” he said.
She looked up at him in surprise. “I’m not some old man,” she snarled. “Though I’m happy to see you care.” She went into the surf and fished out the boot, turning it upside down and letting the water drain out of it. She tossed the boot to him. “I’m going in,” she said as she walked backward, a dangerous grin on her face.
A wave rolled in and she lifted with it, but then she faltered, her eyes rolling back in her head. Koenraad’s instinct kicked in, and he caught her before she fell. Much as he would have preferred to push her deeper into the water, he dragged her up on the beach.
Her eyes fluttered open. “I’m fine.” She turned and retched, and Koenraad stepped back. He’d warned her, and she’d ignored him. Victoria might be a good investigator, but she slowed him down.
She rolled over and heaved herself to her feet. To her credit, she hid her discomfort well, like any proud shark, but Koenraad could smell the
sick
on her skin and hair.
He sniffed, frowning. The sensation was one thing in the water, but it changed when it touched a living creature. What was strange was how little effect it had on him, comparably.
The edges of the sky were turning pink.
“I need to leave,” he said. “Think you can stay out of trouble for a few hours?”
She shrugged and picked up the boot. “I’ll take this to the widow—”
“We don’t know that it’s his, and even if it is, we don’t know that he’s dead.”
“When did you get so soft?” She staggered off, making up for her lack of coordination with attitude.
He followed. “Hey. Take me to my boat.”
“I’m not ready to leave, and you’re supposed to be helping. You wanna sneak off, then swim out there.”
There was no point in asking a second time. He cut away from her and headed up the beach.
It was full daylight by the time he got to the other side of the island and found someone with a motorboat willing to take him offshore. In the interim, he’d realized something puzzling. The water didn’t seem to be bothering the tourists on the beach, either. If not for the smell, he would have thought that the
sick
had dissipated, though he wasn’t going to stick his arm into the water to find out.
So why did it put the dolphins into a coma? Dolphins were more closely related to humans than sharks. It made no sense.
He paid the motorboat’s owner, who happily roared off with Arnie on board. Now it was 9:15. He called Monroe’s hotel and was told that she’d already checked out.
“Did she leave luggage with you?” he asked, frustrated.
The girl on the phone sounded very young and inexperienced. “I can’t tell you that.”
“I’m not asking for personal information.”
“I’m sorry. It’s against the rules to give out information about guests… but I can tell you that there aren’t any suitcases in the storage room.” She seemed quite pleased with herself.
Koenraad tapped a balled fist against his thigh. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. “Take a note for me. Tell her I got stuck but I’ll be there in a few hours. And that I’m sorry.”
Chapter 13
Monroe pushed her hair back from her face as she leaned over the display case full of shell jewelry.
“What do you think?”
She looked up and saw that Tara had tried on yet another dress. “You look gorgeous,” she said.
“A very pretty dress,” the shopkeeper said, smiling. “You have a nice figure.” The shopkeeper turned to Monroe. “You, too.”
“I don’t have anywhere to wear it,” Monroe said, cutting the woman off before she could rope her into buying something.
Tara pivoted, looking over her shoulder at the floor-to-ceiling mirror. “It’s kinda… sheer.”
“Good for the beach,” the shopkeeper said. “But if you want something more modest…” She went through the rack of dresses and pulled out more for Tara to try on.
Monroe sighed and reached for her phone. It was 11:30. It wasn’t fair to keep calling Nya, but with the texts so unreliable, she kinda had no choice.
“No tall, handsome men sighted, doll,” Nya said by way of greeting.
“You’re—”
“I can see the lobby from the pool. I haven’t even gotten up to pee, you know. And I told the girl at the desk to let me know immediately if he shows up.”
“I’m sorry to be a pain,” Monroe said.
“Don’t be. We’re happy by the pool, and I’ve got four more days to get sand in my crack. You should be out seeing the sights, not sitting around waiting for some bozo.”
“He’s not like that,” Monroe said. But maybe he was.
“If he can’t make time for you, he’s that and a whole lot worse. I’ll call you the moment he shows up.”
Monroe touched the top of her head, checking that the sunglasses were still there. Yesterday felt like something she’d dreamed. “Ok. Thanks, Nya.”
Tara stepped out in a pretty, ankle-length dress covered in a cheery sunflower print. “Yes or no?”
“It’s hideous,” Monroe said, trying to keep a straight face. “Villagers will lob moldy tomatoes at your head if you go out in that. Have you considered plastic surgery?”
“No!” the shopkeeper exclaimed, scandalized. “Your friend is blind. It’s the prettiest one so far.”
“I think I spotted a café across the street,” Monroe said, edging toward the door. “I’m going to get a lemonade or something. Take your time.”
“Just ten minutes,” Tara promised.
“Seriously, take your time. I just want to sit and relax a bit.”
The café was empty except for an old man wearing sneakers that he’d turned into flip-flops by walking on the backs. Monroe bought an iced tea and carried it to one of the plastic white tables on the sidewalk.
So Koenraad had changed his mind. Apparently getting a man to commit to breakfast was a stretch for her. Maybe it was time to think about joining a nunnery. She replayed the night before. He’d seemed preoccupied after sex. Maybe he’d been anxious to get rid of her. When she’d first asked about dinner, he hadn’t answered. The second time, he’d said no, then had changed his mind.
What had she missed? The sex had been hot. It had definitely been effective. But as she thought about it, he’d been a little weird even during the act. Like he was thinking about something else. Fantasizing about someone hotter?
And that was the problem with new relationships. You didn’t know the other person, even if you thought you did.
Her whole body went cold as sudden realization hit her.
He’d gone down on her—enthusiastically and for a long time—and she hadn’t offered to do the same.
She groaned and slid down in the chair. She was such a freaking idiot. Koenraad probably had a dozen women on speed dial who would be thrilled to drop to their knees and suck his big dick without expecting anything in return.
And she hadn’t even pretended to return the favor.
If, by some miracle, he did show up, and
if
he had a good reason for disappearing, she was going to get on her knees and show her appreciation. Hell, she’d wanted to. She’d thought about it. But then she’d been so anxious to feel him inside of her that she’d forgotten all about etiquette.
Maybe that worked if the relationship was established, but at the beginning…
Her phone rang, and she jumped, startled.
“Is he there?” she croaked out.
“No,” Nya said, “but a tall, skinny chick dropped off a DVD of photos for you. That kid at the front desk today is useless. She was sending the girl away because you’d checked out. Good thing I went out there. Anyway, I called because there are some prints, too... Can I look?”
“Sure. You’re going to anyway.”
“You got that right. I’m so sad that we were all sick.” There was a rustling sound, then Nya said, “I love your bikini! Spinning class is doing good things for you. Oh… is that the guy? Damn. He’s fucking hot.” She paused. “Not as hot as you, baby,” she said, her mouth away from the phone, and Monroe wrinkled her nose as she heard Nya and Jerry smooching.
“Um… Nya? Hello?”
“I’m here,” Nya said, her voice full of laughter. “Looks like you had a great day yesterday. We’re trying to get into a dive tomorrow, but they’re booked up and short a boat.”
Monroe knew Nya would talk nonstop if she let her, so she politely got off the phone.
So now she had two bits of proof that she hadn’t invented Koenraad. She dreaded having to look at the photos. That was going to hurt.
Tara hurried out of the boutique carrying a large shopping bag. “Shopping is exhausting,” she said as she collapsed into the chair next to Monroe. She helped herself to Monroe’s iced tea. “Ooh, that’s good. You want a salad or something? It’s lunch time.”
“Yeah, fast. The airport shuttle comes in forty minutes.”
“I can’t believe you’re going back already. Crazy.”
Monroe’s stomach lurched. “I’ve been here long enough,” she forced herself to say. “Island life isn’t for me.”
Shaking her head, Tara went into the café to order.
After a hasty lunch, they walked back to the hotel pool.
“Good timing. Jerry and I need to, um, go for a walk,” Nya said with a wink when she spotted them.
“Where’s everyone else?” Tara asked, sliding onto a seat. Monroe plopped down next to her, too dejected to be graceful.
“Beach,” Nya said. She stood. “Have a good flight and see you at spinning class,” she said to Monroe, handing her a stiff envelope before dragging her smiling fiancé toward the elevators.
“Wrong direction to take a walk,” Tara called out loudly. Several other hotel guests looked over at them. Tara stood. “I’m going to drop my new dresses in my room and then I’ll bring your stuff down.”
“I can do it,” Monroe said, starting to stand.
“Nah. You relax.” And off she went.
Monroe turned her attention to the envelope. Her heart pounding and her mouth dry, she pried open one corner, then pressed the flap closed again. She’d look at the pictures later.
Taking the shuttle away from the resort sucked. Even though most of her Caribbean trip had been spent nursing a broken heart, when she got home, she’d be sulking under gray skies and jostling crowds of busy people. She watched the blur of colorful houses pass and wondered how she’d managed to get things so messed up.
She toyed with the phone sitting in her lap. She was hoping to get a last-minute phone call, though no one was looking for Koenraad now. And there wasn’t much that could be fixed at this point. When her phone buzzed, she almost passed out.
Sadly, it was another email from Thomas.
I know you’re coming home today, and I wanted to wish you a pleasant flight. Don’t be surprised if you see me waiting for you at the airport. I’m serious about us, our relationship. I’ll take you to dinner and we’ll talk.