by Brenda Hiatt
“You have a really good excuse right now,” he pointed out. “And diving has been involved most of the other times, too. Besides, I already told you I like to see a woman enjoying her food.”
Embarrassed, I lapsed into silence until the server came to take my order—which consisted of a dinner-sized portion of shrimp marinara over linguine and a salad. Ronan ordered a sandwich.
“I’ve already eaten,” he explained, “but it seemed polite to keep you company.”
We spent the meal talking about travel—places we’d been and places we wanted to go. Ronan had seen a lot more of the world than I had. It was as though we’d agreed not to discuss the events of the past few days. Or maybe we were both just talked out on that topic, after last night’s marathon interview.
As I mopped up the last of my sauce with my fourth piece of bread, Ronan’s cell phone rang.
“Yes?”
A voice on the other end spoke, and he sat up perceptibly straighter in his chair. “Already? I see. Yes, sir. Yes. Of course. Ten minutes, then.”
The look he gave me as he hung up was a little dazed. “That was Stefan Melampus. He’s here on the island—in this hotel, actually—and would like to meet with both of us right away.”
I set down my napkin. “Stefan Melampus? Here? How? Already?”
“That’s what I said. And yes. Apparently all restrictions on his movements were lifted early this morning, and he had wheels up on his private jet within the hour. We’re invited to his suite on the top floor.”
Ronan signaled for the check, and I was so distracted that I let him pay it, even though I’d eaten more than twice what he had.
“Can I stop by my room on the way up?” I asked as we left the restaurant. “Just to—I don’t know—check my makeup and stuff?”
“You look fine,” Ronan said with a smile that made my cheeks tingle. “But if it will make you feel better, sure. He said ten minutes, and it’s been less than five.”
“Thanks. Let’s head up, then. I promise not to delay us more than a couple of minutes.”
We took the elevator up together and got off on the fourteenth floor. It occurred to me as I keyed open my door that this would be the first time Ronan would see my room. Had I stashed my dirty laundry out of sight?
I went in first just to glance around for anything flagrantly embarrassing, but luckily there were no bras draped over chairs.
“Nice,” Ronan commented, coming in behind me. “Very nice.”
“Yeah, after my first room was broken into, they gave me this one—probably so I wouldn’t raise a stink about their security.” I checked my face and hair in the mirror on the back of the closet door. Maybe a touch of lipgloss?
“Um, about that.” Something in Ronan’s tone made me turn to face him. He was looking almost sheepish.
“What?” I asked.
He raised his brows and shrugged, gesturing around my suite. “I, ah, guess you have me to thank for such luxurious digs. I . . . was the one who broke into your room that first night. Looking for the ring. I meant to tell you before, but—”
“But you wanted me to trust you?” I’d nearly forgotten that Ronan had been one of my prime suspects early on.
“Well . . . yeah. And you can, Wynne, really. I mean, I didn’t even know you then. Now, I’d never—”
“Ronan, it’s okay. And I’m glad you told me. But it doesn’t really matter. Not now.” Okay, I probably wouldn’t have thrown away all of my undies if I’d known it was him. But I definitely wasn’t telling him that.
He looked at me for a long moment, as though trying to gauge my real feelings on the matter, then finally managed a faint smile. “I’m glad I told you, too. But now, we really ought to head up to the eighteenth floor if we don’t want to keep Stefan Melampus waiting.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
IF MY ROOM was luxurious, Stefan Melampus’s was off the scale. Ronan and I were shown into what was undoubtedly the Royal Aruban’s largest suite by Mr. Haliakis, who greeted us both with a big smile.
“Bet you’re both feeling better after some sleep, huh? I know I am. That was some wild night last night.”
“Gus,” came a voice from behind him—a voice I’d heard only twice before but would never forget, a voice as smooth and rich as premium dark chocolate. “Don’t keep our guests standing.”
Haliakis stepped back. “Oh, sure thing, Mr. M. Come on in and have a seat, guys. I’ll get some drinks.”
We entered the main living area of the suite, which was about twice the size of my living room at home, and Stefan Melampus came forward, hands outstretched.
“I’m delighted—enchanted—to meet you in person, Ms. Seally. And Ronan, it’s good to see you again.”
He was even more handsome in person—tall, dark, with a distinguished graying at the temples, impeccably yet casually dressed. And he had a charisma, a vitality, that hadn’t been evident in the pictures, but was almost overwhelming up close.
“Mr. Melampus—” I began.
“Stefan, please,” he said, taking my hand and actually kissing it, with Old World charm. “And dare I hope I may call you Wynne? A particularly apt name, I must say.”
I swallowed. “Of . . . of course.” I hadn’t thought about the homonym of my name since college.
“Not fair,” Ronan said, shaking Stefan’s hand in turn. “Now she’ll never look at me again.”
Stefan laughed and waved us to a couple of plushly upholstered chairs. “I doubt you need to worry, Ronan. The sort of thing you two have been through this past week tends to create a bond. Ah, Gus—lemonade? Perfect. Thank you.”
Haliakis handed around tall glasses that were fancier than anything I’d seen in the hotel. I wondered if Stefan had brought them himself. And the lemonade tasted like it had been made from scratch.
“I came here as quickly as I was able,” Stefan said, sitting down across from us. Haliakis faded into the background—quite a feat for such a gorgeous young man.
“And took us by surprise,” Ronan admitted. “You must have been in the air almost the moment the papers were signed.”
“Very nearly.” Stefan chuckled. “But I felt it was important to personally reassure Wynne, at the earliest opportunity, that her daughters are indeed safe. I regret terribly that they were put at risk, and I take full responsibility.”
“Thank you,” I said. “But really, I can’t see how any of this was your fault. My finding that ring was pure coincidence, and all the rest—”
“Was orchestrated by people who wished me ill,” he finished. “Which does make it my fault, at least indirectly. If I had no former associates capable of such evil, you and your family would never have been in danger.”
I still didn’t agree that he was to blame, but I didn’t think I was going to argue him out of that conviction. “At least everything seems to have worked out all right now,” I said.
“Praise God,” he replied, without the least bit of self-consciousness. “I’m exceedingly thankful not to have your, or anyone else’s, injury or death on my head.”
“Amen,” said Ronan with a grin.
Stefan raised an eyebrow at him, and the grin faded a bit. Then he turned back to me. “I would also like to apologize for doubting your word when you told me you’d seen Melanie here in Aruba. It appears that she was quite creative when she orchestrated her disappearance.”
“Yes, how did she do that?” Ronan asked. “The quantity of blood alone—”
“The blood found in areas likely to be tested was indeed hers. That spread down the side of the yacht, however, apparently was not, though more tests will be attempted. I imagine she had assistance in that scheme from someone more knowledgable about criminal investigations. After reading the transcript I was faxed from last night’s statements, it seems she and Loxi Ha
liakis were, ah, closer than I imagined.”
There was a tightness about Stefan’s mouth as he said that, and my heart went out to him. I knew what it was like to be duped—betrayed—by a spouse. At least Tom hadn’t tried to frame me for murder.
“What about Agent Walters?” I asked then, as much to change the subject as because I was curious. “He kept trying to get me to give him the ring, and I think it was so he could make it disappear.”
Stefan lifted a shoulder. “Agent Walters and I have a bit of history, from prior incidents where I, ah, may have eluded prosecution where it was deserved. His zeal in this instance was perhaps understandable, though his methods may not have been by the book. Without proof, however . . .” He let that trail off, and I realized he was probably right. All I had was suspicion, not proof.
“As for your finding Melanie’s ring in the first place, Wynne,” he continued, “I already told you what I believe about coincidence. I have no doubt this has all been part of a greater plan. Not that that mitigates my debt to you.
“Which brings me to my other reason for meeting with you both,” he said, rising. “I believe in paying off my debts promptly.”
I glanced at Ronan, but he was watching Stefan expectantly as he went to a desk in the corner of the room, picked up a file folder, and came back.
“Ronan,” he said, “though our agreement was for something rather different from what occurred, your assistance was crucial both in flushing out Melanie and her accomplices, and in keeping Wynne safe. Here’s the bonus I promised if you succeeded in clearing my name.”
He pulled a check from the folder and handed it to Ronan, who glanced at it, swallowed visibly, then put it in his shirt pocket.
I stared. So it was Stefan who had promised Ronan that bonus and not the insurance company? It made sense, but I planned to discuss that little bit of deception with Ronan later. I also might ask to see that check, since I’d never actually seen a million dollars before.
Ronan turned to me then and said, “Our earlier deal holds, you know. Twenty percent of this is yours.”
“That’s commendable, Ronan,” Stefan said, “and definitely your prerogative. But possibly unnecessary.” He turned to me with a smile.
“Wynne, Gus has given me a thorough report on everything that has occurred, and I’ve done some research of my own as well. I’m more than willing to give you a check identical to Ronan’s, but I believe you might benefit more from a different offer.”
I opened and closed my mouth a few times before anything would emerge, so overwhelmed was I by the thought of my very own million dollar check—not that I’d feel comfortable accepting it. “Offer?” I finally managed.
Stefan inclined his head, which somehow seemed more sophisticated than a nod. “Offer. One you are perfectly free to refuse, if you wish. As it happens, I’ve recently come into possession of a nice little dive shop in the Florida Keys that is in need of a proprietor. In lieu of a check, I’d very much like to give you title to that shop and its contents, along with whatever funds will be necessary for you to begin operating it.”
“I . . . I don’t know what to say.” And I really, truly didn’t. But the idea of moving to the Keys, owning and operating my own business, caused an undeniable flare of exhilaration within me. To have a purpose again . . .
“Of course, I would also put a substantial sum into a trust for your daughters, so that their futures would not be jeopardized by the inevitable vagaries of running a business,” he said, as I remained dumb. “Or perhaps you feel it would be too stressful for you to leave Indiana and the home and people you’ve known there?”
I started shaking my head. “Uh, no, actually, I think a fresh start someplace entirely different may be exactly what I need.” I met his eyes—dark chocolate, like his voice—and managed a smile. “But I’m guessing that’s exactly what you figured out from your, ah, research.”
He returned my smile. “It did occur to me that an opportunity for a change might not come amiss right now, yes. Will you accept my offer?”
I hesitated, thinking of all the reasons I should refuse, or at least delay a decision. Stefan Melampus had—allegedly—been a crime boss, after all.
“I can assure you, Wynne, that there will be no strings attached whatsoever,” he said then, correctly interpreting my hesitation. “And also that I acquired this shop in a completely legal manner. You need not worry that you might be accepting, ah, ‘dirty money.’”
“I didn’t . . . I mean . . . I should talk to my daughters, my mother, about it. I should see what the real estate market in Indianapolis is like right now. I should—” But my whole life had been built around should. No more.
Lifting my chin, I looked Stefan in the eye. “Yes. Yes, I accept.”
“Excellent. There is one other thing, Wynne, though it may be none of my business. I understand that you’ve stopped attending church in recent months.”
That was some thorough research! “Um, yes,” I admitted. “Tom, my ex-husband, was an elder there, and—”
He raised a hand. “I’m not asking for an explanation. I simply hope you won’t allow the actions of a few misguided people to turn you away from God. When you move to your new locale . . . We all need help, Wynne.”
I realized I’d done exactly what he said. And the only one I’d hurt was myself. “Thank you. I’ll remember that.”
He smiled broadly. “Good. As for the dive shop, I’ll have all of the paperwork ready for you by the time you return to Indiana.”
Stefan stood, indicating that our interview was over. Ronan and I did likewise.
“And now,” he said, “I suggest you enjoy your remaining time in Aruba. Have Ronan here take you out on the town. He can afford it.”
We shook hands all around again, and Ronan and I left the suite. I’m pretty sure I didn’t manage anything coherent besides “Thank you” before we were alone in the hallway. My brain was much too full of the possibilities that lay ahead.
“So,” Ronan said as we headed back to the elevators. “You have a few more days here to simply enjoy. What would you like to do first?”
I thought for a moment. “First, I’d like to stop by my room again. I need to change.”
“Change? You look great. Are we going swimming or something?”
“Maybe later.”
I didn’t say anything else until we reached my room. I pulled a plastic bag out of the closet and went into the bathroom, where I took off my tank top and replaced it with the shirt from the bag: the NO FEAR t-shirt I’d bought the day I’d been certified as a diver.
Surely, after everything that had happened, I had earned the right to wear it. I grinned at myself in the mirror, then went out to join Ronan, ready to dive into my future—whatever it held.
(Please continue reading for more about Brenda Hiatt)
About Brenda Hiatt
BRENDA HIATT is the author of sixteen novels to date. In addition to writing, Brenda is passionate about embracing life to the fullest, to include scuba diving (she has over 70 dives to her credit), Taekwondo (where she recently achieved her 2nd degree black belt), hiking, traveling, and pursuing new experiences and skills. For the past dozen years, Brenda has also collected data on writers’ earnings, which she shares at her website, http://brendahiatt.com. You can find Brenda on Facebook at http://www.facebook.com/BrendaHiatt and on Twitter at @Brenda_Hiatt.
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