Temptation Island

by Rachel Woods

  “If you don’t pay,” he said, “the blackmailer is probably going to upload the video to a whole bunch of Internet porn sites, and I know that’s not what you want.”

  “So why do you think paying the blackmailer will help us find out who he is?” I asked, purposely using inclusive language in an attempt to set my suspicions aside. For the moment.

  “Well, you haven’t shown me the second demand letter,” he said. “But, I’m guessing it mentions something about where you need to leave the money.”

  Nodding, I got the letter and handed it to him.

  “I have an idea of how we can find out who the blackmailer is,” Icarus said, after reading the letter. “After you drop the money off, I can go to the drop-off location and video the blackmailer. I’ll go ahead of you and find a good spot, a place where I won’t be noticed but where I can get good footage. And then you’ll come and drop the money off and leave. Then someone will come to pick up the money. I’ll film everything and then follow that person wherever they go or find out if he meets with anyone, or whatever. Then you’ll have everything you need to—”

  “Go to the police?” I shook my head. “I can’t do that.”

  “Keep the blackmailer in line,” he said. “You’ll have video of him accepting an extortion payment. That’s a crime.”

  “But what if the person who comes to pick up the money isn’t the blackmailer?”

  “It probably won’t be the blackmailer,” Icarus said. “It’ll be the person who leads us to the blackmailer.”

  I nodded, silently conceding it made sense, but I was still antsy. Something could, and most likely would, go wrong with our plan.

  Icarus sighed as he removed his phone from his jacket and stared at it.

  “What is it?” I asked.

  “Work,” he said. “I’m late. I need to get going. The guest I’m supposed to pick up is early.”

  “So, you’re picking up another hotel guest,” I said, my voice hollow.

  Insane jealously seized me, leaving me panicked and distraught. But why? Icarus was not my husband, boyfriend, friend with benefits, or secret lover. We had no commitment to each other. There was no allegiance or devotion between us that he had to respect. He was nothing to me. So, why couldn’t I stand the thought of him with another woman, even though I had no claim to his fidelity?

  “Well, I guess you should get going,” I said, unable to get control of the envy roaring through me. “You’ve got to pick up some woman you’re going to screw in the bungalow …”

  “Why do you think I’m going to have sex with the lady I’m picking up from the airport?”

  It was my turn to be utterly confused. “So, you’re not going to have sex with this woman?”

  “No, I’m not.”

  “You expect me to believe that?” I asked. “I know what’s going to happen after you pick her up.”

  “Actually, no, you really don’t,” said Icarus.

  “What?”

  Exhaling, Icarus said, “I should have told you this sooner but …”

  “Told me what sooner?”

  “We weren’t supposed to have sex.”

  “What were we supposed to do?”

  “Did Liberada explain the fantasy levels to you?”

  “Yes.” I nodded, wishing he would get on with it. “Sensual, sexual, and salacious.”

  “Well, employees of the hotel are categorized the same way,” Icarus explained. “Employees are considered either sensual arts, sexual arts, or salacious arts.”

  “And your category is?”

  “None of the above.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “I’m just a chauffeur,” he said, his slight grin sheepish. “I’m just supposed to stop at Plantain Pass so you can take a nice photo before I drive you to the hotel.”

  “Which means you aren’t supposed to have sex with the guests,” I said, my heart beating wildly with relief.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, sincere and contrite. “I shouldn’t have made love to you. I knew it was wrong. I knew I could lose my job if management ever found out.”

  “Then why did you?”

  “Couldn’t help myself,” Icarus said. “When I first saw you, I wanted you, so much that I was willing to risk my job at the hotel, which isn’t something that I can afford to do.”

  Stunned, I stared at him. I wasn’t sure what to think. As he gazed at me, I had a feeling he wanted a response, but I wasn’t sure what to say.

  “Listen, I gotta go,” he said and turned from me. “I’ll talk to you later.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  After Icarus left, I went to the couch and sat down, still dumbfounded by what he’d revealed about our experience at the hidden beach. I couldn’t stop thinking about his confession, his reason for making love to me even though he could have been fired. Couldn’t help myself.

  I didn’t really know what to think. I didn’t know if I should allow myself to feel beautiful and desirable enough to cause a man to risk his livelihood to be with me, to make love to me.

  I couldn’t lie to myself; his confession had done wonders for my self-esteem, my self-worth, and my ego. I cautioned myself not to read too much into his reasons for making love to me.

  Besides, I needed to call my banker.

  Four hours later, after a grueling, gut-wrenching marathon conversation, I finally ended the international call and threw my phone across the room, terrified and frustrated. Pacing the living room, I went over the conversation with my banker, growing increasingly panicked and horrified until I was damn near paralyzed with fear.

  Sometime later, after the sun had set, a brisk, staccato knock on the door of my suite made me jump. Heart thundering, I went to the door and opened it. Icarus walked in and I collapsed into his arms. As I sobbed, he closed the door and guided me over to the couch.

  “What’s wrong, Quinn,” he asked, wiping tears from my cheeks. “What happened? Did the blackmailer contact you again, or—”

  “My life is over,” I cried, dropping my face in my hands. “It’s ruined and it’s my own damn fault!”

  “Sweetheart, your life is not over,” Icarus said, taking my hands from my face, forcing me to look at him. “Now, calm down and tell me what happened? Why are you so upset?”

  Exhaling a shaky breath, I told him about the phone call to my banker. “There’s a problem.”

  “What’s the problem?”

  “I’m not going to be able to get the money.”

  Worry in his eyes, Icarus asked, “Why not?”

  After another deep breath, I explained, telling Icarus what my banker had told me. The Palmchat Islands only had two banks, and neither was a Chase Manhattan, which was where the bulk of my funds earned interest. The island’s fiduciary needs were serviced by Palmchat Island Bank and Global Caribbean Bank, both of which had branches in town, but that wouldn’t do me any good since I wouldn’t be able to stroll into the bank, fill out a withdrawal slip, and ask the teller to pony up one hundred grand.

  Like the blackmailer had said, it might take up to five business days to wire the funds from my account to Global Caribbean—hence the five days the blackmailer had given me to secure the funds. But the problem wasn’t actually with the wire transfer of funds. That could be done in twenty-four hours, my banker explained. The problem was with the reality of withdrawing so much cash at one time. Simply put, the island’s banks didn’t have a hundred thousand dollars in cash available to give to me. As a result, they would have to make provisions to secure the cash I needed from their parent institution in Miami.

  “And how long would that take?” Icarus asked.

  “Five to seven days,” I said, trying to breathe, blinking back fresh tears. “Which I don’t have!”

  “Quinn, look at me,” Icarus said, taking my face in his hands. “I think I can help you.”

  “What?” Confused, I stared at him. “I don’t understand. How can you—”

  “Let me explain,” he sa
id and then went on to tell me his idea. After he’d given me the details and patiently answered all my questions, I wasn’t sure I could get on board with it.

  “So, I hate to keep making you go over everything, but—”

  “It’s okay,” he assured me. “We can go over it as many times as you need to until you feel comfortable.”

  Nodding, I said, “So, Chase can transfer the funds from my account in the U.S. to your account at Global Caribbean in the Cayman Islands,” I said, looking at my trembling hands, trying to find a way to reconcile Icarus’s idea.

  “Once the money is in my account in the Caymans,” he said, “I can authorize my cousin—”

  “Your cousin?” I asked, my head spinning with confusion as I tried to make sense of his idea, which still made me uneasy.

  “He’s an assistant vice president at the Grand Cayman branch of Global Caribbean,” Icarus explained.

  Convenient, I couldn’t stop myself from thinking. There was a problem with me getting the money to the blackmailer by the deadline, and all of a sudden, Icarus had a solution. With the help of one of his family members, I could get my hands on the cash I needed to pay the extortionist, but I would have to trust Icarus at a level that unnerved me, and that I wasn’t sure I’d be able to do.

  “And the bank in the Caymans will have the cash available for me?”

  Icarus nodded. “People deposit millions into the Caymans. Sometimes bags of cash, according to my cousin. So, they’ll have the money.”

  “And then how will we get the money from the Caymans to St. Mateo?”

  “My cousin will bring it to St. Mateo personally,” Icarus said, staring at me. “You can charter a plane for him.”

  “And how long will it take to get here from the Cayman Islands?”

  “My cousin can be here in a few hours with the cash,” Icarus promised.

  Sighing, I stood and walked away from the couch, toward the wall of French doors, looking out to the terrace. In the waning sunlight, the lush scenery had a dark golden glow. Palm trees, hibiscus, plumeria, bird of paradise … and, of course, heliconia.

  I scowled at the fuchsia-and-orange tropical flower.

  The name of the flower was a direct association to the hotel, a place I was slowly coming to loathe despite its luxury and opulence and focus on catering to its guests’ every whim. But, really, it wasn’t the hotel I hated. I despised my decision to come to the hotel. I hated how I’d allowed my anxiety to dictate my actions.

  “What are you thinking?”

  Rolling my neck, I turned to Icarus and said, “I’m just wondering if this is the best way to do it.”

  “Or, maybe …” Icarus stood and began walking toward me. “You’re wondering if you can trust me?”

  Speechless, I stared up at him. “What?”

  “You don’t want to transfer the money to my account because you think I won’t withdraw it for you, don’t you?” Icarus asked, frowning. “You think I’d keep it in my account? You think I would steal your money?”

  I wanted to tell him he was wrong. Wanted to tell him I trusted him and I knew he wasn’t going to stab me in the back, but that would be a lie. Because that was exactly what I was thinking. Icarus’s grand scheme to get the money to the blackmailer involved putting my cash in his bank account. If that happened, then technically, the money would be his at that point, and he wouldn’t have to give it to me.

  I didn’t want to think that, and deep down, I guess I didn’t think he could be that cold-blooded, but …

  “It’s a lot to deal with.” I sighed, shaking my head. “I’m just trying to wrap my mind around it.”

  His frown eased into a look of uncertainty. “Quinn, I’m not a thief or a blackmailer.”

  “I know you’re not,” I said, not really convinced of that statement. “I’m just really stressed out.”

  “It’s going to be okay,” Icarus said. “You’ll pay this asshole off, and I’ll get video of it, and then you’ll be able to put all of this behind you. It’ll be over and you can forget about it.”

  Nodding, I looked at my feet. I supposed Icarus was right. I had come here to conquer the angst that threatened to ruin my professional career, but now I couldn’t focus on what had brought me to St. Mateo because I was living a real-life nightmare.

  After I paid the extortion demand, the nightmare would be over. But, would it really? Why did I have a horrible feeling that giving the blackmailer the money would be the beginning of my bad dream?

  DAY SIX

  Chapter Fourteen

  “You have to work?” I stared at him, my heart plummeting as I started to tremble. “But, I don’t understand? I thought you had the day off?”

  “I thought so, too, but I got my weeks mixed up,” he said, placing an oversized aqua-colored beach bag on the coffee table. “I’m off next Friday, not this Friday.”

  “Well, is there anything you can do?” I asked, as he sat down across from me instead of joining me on the couch where I was seated. “Can you ask to take a vacation day or—”

  “I tried to switch shifts, but nobody would do it,” he said, sullen, disappointed. “I can’t believe this. The one damn day I need off.”

  “What are we going to do?” I asked, feeling jittery and desperate.

  “What do you mean?” he asked, his whiskey-colored eyes dropping from me to the beach bag. “You have to deliver the money.”

  Apprehensive, I stared at the aqua-colored beach bag, knowing its contents—one hundred thousand dollars, unmarked bills, non-sequential serial numbers, per the blackmailer’s instructions.

  Moments ago, while I was half-heartedly picking at the eggs benedict I’d ordered for breakfast, Icarus had arrived at my suite to deliver the funds I would need to pay off the blackmailer. As he explained yesterday, the funds had been wire transferred to the bank in the Caymans. His cousin had facilitated the receipt, deposit, and immediate withdrawal of the money, and then had flown to St. Mateo. Icarus had taken possession of the box, counted the money, and certified the amount—one hundred thousand dollars.

  In the bedroom, Icarus removed the money from the box and spread it out across the king-sized bed. Shell-shocked, I’d stared at the money, still not quite believing everything had gone so smoothly. I had been certain something would go wrong. Maybe the wire transfer wouldn’t go through for some weird reason, but the wire transfer had occurred with no issues.

  Then I became paranoid that Icarus would tell me there was some problem with his account in the Caymans and he wouldn’t be able to withdraw that much money. Or, maybe the bank didn’t have that much cash on hand. But the one hundred-thousand-dollar cash withdrawal hadn’t been a problem.

  Finally, I thought that maybe Icarus’s cousin would steal the money. Or maybe something would happen to the plane.

  Nothing went wrong.

  And, for some reason, that just didn’t seem right.

  After I counted the cash, verifying the amount, Icarus and I wrapped the money in newspaper, per the blackmailer’s demands, making five bundles of twenty thousand dollars each, and then shoved the bundles into an oversized beach bag I’d bought yesterday in the hotel’s gift shop.

  “Well,” I said, staring at the money-stuffed aqua-colored beach bag. “I guess that’s that. All I have to do now is deliver this money to the son of a bitch.”

  “Quinn, you know I wanted to be there when everything goes down,” Icarus said. “This is killing me that I won’t be there. I hate disappointing you.”

  “It’s okay—”

  “No, it’s not okay,” he said. “It’s just that I’m in a dicey position right now. I’m on Liberada’s shit list.”

  “Why?”

  “She found out about the letter I had delivered to you,” he said. “The maid told her. Anyway, if I didn’t need this job—”

  “But, you do need it,” I said. “And I know why. You explained that to me, and I want you to be able to renovate your house and realize your dreams of open
ing your own hotel.”

  “I’m still letting you down, though,” he said. “I told you I would help you and—”

  “You didn’t let me down,” I said.

  “But you’re in this position because of me,” he said. “I shouldn’t have made love to you. Now, you’re paying for my mistake. If I hadn’t gone too far, then—”

  “Listen to me,” I said. “It’s not your fault that—”

  “Just a second,” he said, reaching into his jacket. “My cell phone.”

  I nodded, glad for the interruption.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, staring at the display screen. “I really need to get going.”

  “Okay …” I said, reluctant to see him leave or let him go, desperate to cling to him. “So … do you want to meet later, or …”

  “Actually,” he said. “This lady I’m driving today is going on an island tour. She wants to see all of St. Mateo, which will take about eight hours, so …”

  “Okay, well,” I said, trying to keep the disappointment from my voice. “Tomorrow then?”

  Smiling, he lifted my chin and kissed me. Then he left. After he closed the door behind him, I stared at it for a long time, unable to move. His kiss had seemed reluctant, almost polite, with a fatalistic note of finality that worried me. Slowly, I was able to turn from the door and take a few steps. Making my way into the bedroom, I couldn’t help but think that he hadn’t agreed to meet me tomorrow.

  I couldn’t dwell on that or what it might or might not mean.

  I had a blackmailer to pay off. And I had to get evidence of the money drop, which could be invaluable. Might be just what I needed to keep the extortionist from demanding more money. I was disappointed Icarus wouldn’t be able to film the pickup of the extortion payment, but he wasn’t the only person capable of operating cell phone video.

  I had to find someone else to get surveillance for me, I realized, feeling somewhat like my former self, and I knew just who to ask.

  Chapter Fifteen

  “Can you do me a favor?” I asked, grabbing the maid’s wrist, pulling her into my suite, and then closing the door.