Deadly Wipeout (Aloha Lagoon Mysteries Book 3)

by Beth Prentice

"Valid point. Have a good evening," he said as he sauntered away.

  I chugged more champagne as I watched his back muscles flex with every step. A jagged scar ran down from the tip of his left shoulder blade to his hip, sitting just inches from his spine. That must have hurt.

  I should find some water to pour over my head to combat the sudden male heat wave. Elliott had never stirred or shook me up. I'd pretended it hadn't mattered—physical attraction would grow between us. Now, I realized I should have seen it as a blinking neon light. I should have taken one of those relationship tests that women's magazines offer. Flunking "Is He Your Soulmate?" would have saved me a boatload of time, money, and embarrassment. My heartache flared and didn't offer an easy cure. I sat on the bed and let the tears flow.

  Hunger overrode my drinking, self-pity, and unrequited lust. I breezed through the extensive room service menu, but I didn't want to spend two weeks eating alone. I should cancel this room and fly home, sucking up the expense. I could face my family, friends, and coworkers without any explanation about my sudden return. Everyone knew about the planned vacation but not the secret wedding. My stomach growled louder as I shut the menu.

  I decided on a table for one at the Starlight on the Lagoon, one of the hotel's restaurants, and then a good night's sleep. I'd beg Lizzie for her credit card number and be her devoted personal assistant for a year. I'd check for flights after dinner and prepare to leave in the morning. I opened my suitcase and selected my pineapple dress. It was a fun print with red, blue, and green fruits. All the clothes I'd brought with me had cost another fortune, but I needed play clothes. I had enough power suits and sedate black pumps. I slipped on some wedges and pinned up my hair. I wanted to shed the left-at-the-courthouse pale look.

  After I locked the door, I rode down in the elevator with an older couple. Her blouse had been buttoned wrong, his shirt was semi-tucked, and both had wet hair. She caught my smile and winked at me.

  "We just had a swim," she said.

  Note to self: Swim must be a new code word for sex. And avoid the pool.

  "The water is warm and relaxes my arthritic hip," he said after he kissed her hand.

  I bet it did and then some.

  After I stepped off the elevator, I followed another group of people down a wide hall. The restaurant's motif was the ocean in muted coral and turquoise. I approached the hostess stand.

  "Good evening. Do you have a reservation?" she asked as she hung up the phone.

  "No, but I'm a guest at the hotel. I'm sorry. I should have called ahead," I said as I backed away from her.

  "It's not a problem. It's just something I ask everybody. How many in your party?" she asked.

  "One. On second thought, never mind."

  It sounded pitiful out loud, and I turned to head back to the elevator.

  "No one eats alone in Hawaii. It's forbidden," a woman with an English accent said as she took my arm and led me into the restaurant.

  "Excuse me. I was heading back to my room," I said as she pulled me forward.

  "To cry or analyze every word you ever said to him, trying to find your perceived faults and the reason he left. The answer is simple. You're too good for him, and he finally noticed. A coward at best, a leech at worst," she said as she pulled out a chair for me to sit on and summoned a waitress. "Maggie, she'll have a mai tai, and I'll have a dark beer with a shot of bourbon on the side. An appetizer platter would be lovely too."

  My companion sat and scanned me up and down.

  "How did you…" I asked, checking my clothes for a reject sticker.

  "My dear, there's a groove where a ring recently sat on your left hand, third finger. Also, red-rimmed eyes signifying a good cry," she said as I hid my left hand with my right.

  More like a rut on my finger and tire tracks on my back. I judged the distance between me and the nearest escape. The packed restaurant offered no clean getaway, and I was starving.

  "I'm Ellen Bentley, unfortunately not of the car-making empire. And you are?" she asked as she offered her hand.

  "Simone Ryan," I said as I sat, and our drinks arrived.

  "What a lovely name, and good for you for enjoying this glorious island alone," she said after a long sip of beer.

  I wouldn't spill all my secrets to complete strangers. Plus, my champagne consumption had started a low buzz in my brain. I needed an ice pack for my entire aching body and soul.

  "Thanks for the drink. I should be going," I said as I stood and bumped into someone solid.

  I twisted my ankle and began to fall. Strong hands grabbed me before I made a classic face plant on the floor.

  "There you are, Liam. I've been visiting with Simone while I waited, and you rescued her from injury. Well done," Ellen said, talking to my earlier beach visitor who now held me in his arms.

  He cleaned up extremely well. Khaki cargo shorts, white T-shirt, and sandals gave him an island-dude look. And he smelled wonderful with a heady mix of sun, sand, and male.

  Elliott had sprayed an array of musk, bitter spices, and fake flowers on himself every day. After recovering from a sneezing fit one day, I'd mentioned I may be allergic to his cologne. He'd explained it had been mixed especially for him by an herbalist who had read his aura. A week later, Elliott had developed a red, itchy rash on his chest. He'd thrown out the stinky bottle and threatened to sue. It turned out the herbalist had a list of pending lawsuits. She had swindled a lot of people, and the main ingredient in her fragrances was turpentine.

  "We've met but haven't been introduced," Liam said as he released me.

  "Simone Ryan, my grandson, Liam Bentley," Ellen said as she directed us to shake hands.

  I offered my limp fingers for the shake; he smiled as he kissed them. I shuddered to my core. I had missed a lot of manly goodness while wasting my time with what's his name.

  "Thanks for catching me," I said, rubbing my arms.

  "Thanks for stepping on my foot and allowing me to save you. Are you joining us for dinner?" he asked, repositioning my chair behind me.

  I felt a rumble start in my stomach and put my hand over it to muffle the sustained roar. Both Bentleys used proper etiquette and ignored my internal scream for sustenance as I sat back down.

  "I recommend the mahimahi with basmati rice and grilled vegetables," Ellen said as the appetizer tray was served.

  "Sounds wonderful," I said.

  "Maggie-love, Simone and I will have the mahimahi," Ellen said as she refolded the menu.

  "Salmon and a beer for me," Liam said, handing Maggie his menu.

  She spent a moment soaking him in, blushed as he smiled at her, and left. Maggie fanned herself with the menus and giggled with her fellow female servers by the hostess desk.

  Liam seemed to have a lustful effect on all women and probably had a list of the willing on speed dial. I had no inclination to join it. I'd leave tomorrow, clean my apartment for two weeks, and get back to work.

  Pulled pork sliders, California rolls, and fresh fruit kabobs filled the appetizer platter. Ellen distributed the plates and signaled to Maggie for hot sauce. Liam took a sampling of all the food. I followed his example and began to eat.

  "I grew up eating bland, boiled food and refuse to do it again," she said as she selected the fresh sushi. "Now, Simone, you were telling me about yourself."

  No, I wasn't. I was getting ready to bolt.

  "Gran, let her eat before you begin the inquisition," Liam said as he wiped his hands on a napkin.

  "There's not much to tell. I work in Washington DC as a publicist for Congresswoman A. Deborah Niven, a Republican from downstate Illinois. I had vacation time coming and always wanted to visit Hawaii. My friend Lizzie couldn't get away from work, so I came alone," I said, mixing the truth with a lie.

  Ellen had tagged me as a ditched woman, and Liam knew I was alone in the bridal suite. They knew enough about my miserable life already.

  "Politics is so interesting. My late husband was a Tory from a wealthy titled family. They di
dn't approve of this coal miner's granddaughter," Ellen said as she pointed to herself. "So we got busy and made my son, Hayward, also Liam's father, to force the marriage issue."

  Maggie returned with a tray loaded with another beer for Liam, a red bottle of hot sauce, and a pitcher to refill our water glasses. Ellen ordered another shot and a mai tai for me.

  I was on vacation and wallowing, so why not?

  "My father isn't thrilled that she shares his inception with everyone. He's a proper gentleman," Liam said as he put down his beer. "Simone, isn't Niven a big opponent of MAB?"

  "Yes. She believes people need medical treatment sooner as opposed to later. The rest of the world has alternatives and opportunities for better healthcare while we lag behind filling out paperwork. It's her fundraising cry," I said.

  "Medical care is a political football all around the world. It's better for those who can afford it," Liam said as he refilled his plate.

  "My friend's mother went overseas for a standard plastic surgery procedure and almost died. The reduced cost didn't outweigh the potential risk. Corporations should support the MAB's weeding process. It saves them legal costs and bad publicity if a new product hurts people instead of healing them," I said between bites.

  At work, I never gave my opinion. My job security forbade it.

  "I avoid politics. Opinions change so rapidly, and the politicians chase the almighty dollar. I wonder if anything gets done," Ellen said as she sat back in her chair.

  "You're not alone in your opinion. Our office gets flooded with letters and emails demanding attention to many causes," I said, pondering if three mai tais equaled a recommended daily serving of fruit.

  "When I was younger, I voted the way my husband did. My son inherited his father's political leanings. He's a bit full of himself. I should have sent him anywhere but to that stuffy boarding school," Ellen said, shaking her head in remorse.

  "But you have me instead," Liam said, patting her hand.

  "Thank goodness your father fell for a free-spirited Irish artist to keep him human. Fiona has incredible talent, and she produced gorgeous children," Ellen said, raising her glass in a toast.

  "Liam, how many siblings do you have?" I asked.

  "An older brother, the heir apparent, and twin younger sisters scattered around the world."

  "Liam inherited his mother's sharp eye and is a talented photographer," Ellen said with pride.

  Our dinners arrived, and we began to eat. I took a bite and decided this was the most delicious food ever born. Over the next hour, Ellen regaled me with bawdy tales of her past.

  "I never wore underwear because it spoiled the mood. I didn't have the sexy lingerie you can buy now. Flimsy little things easily slipped off," she said as she placed her silverware on her empty plate.

  "Gran, please stop and consider my impressionable childhood memories where my grandparents never had sex," Liam said, rubbing his eyes with the palms of his hands.

  He must have been trying to erase the graphic visual from his mind.

  "You should write your escapades down," I said after I caught my breath from laughing.

  "Excellent idea," Ellen said, tugging her purse open and finding a pen and a scrap of paper.

  A busboy came by and cleared the table.

  "How can I ever thank you," Liam said as he patted my arm.

  Everything slowed as my nerve endings zinged from his touch. I warmed, and my ache eased.

  My medical advice to jilted women was simple—take two Liams and tweet about it in the morning.

  "Simone, does fellatio have a c or a t?" Ellen asked as she scribbled away.

  "She must feel you have experience in spelling and other hidden talents," Liam said as he folded his arms across his chest.

  "A t," I said. My gaze wandered to the bar as the heat of my blush crept up my neck.

  A tall dark-haired man stood with his back to us, his arm around a short voluptuous younger blonde. She looked familiar to me, and I gasped when I realized why.

  "Have you seen a ghost?" Liam asked, craning around to survey the crowd.

  "Excuse me," I said as I grabbed my purse and hurried over to the women's washroom to get a better look.

  Deborah was going to gut someone over this fiasco. Her twenty-one-year-old stepdaughter, Martha Allison Lawler, was stepping out with an at least thirty-five-year-old guy thousands of miles away from school. Her father, George Armstrong Lawler, was the CEO of a big pharma lobbying firm pretending to be a nonprofit conservative think tank. Deborah championed a few loopholes for profiteers to squeeze through and toss money around in Congress. He frowned on any publicity and questions about his moral authority. He and Deborah had compiled a list of acceptable men for Martha to date. Each had been screened so as to agree with certain political issues and make large contributions to the think tank. Clearly Martha had other ideas. While I felt for her, I worked for her mother. I'd need to send Deborah a picture of Martha as a heads-up that her daughter had slipped through the security detail's knots. It might have been a tad shabby of me to score points off the girls' poor love life decisions—and who was I to judge?—but politics was a dirty business. I needed points with my boss wherever I could find them.

  I grabbed my phone and thought about where to stand for an indiscreet, intimate shot. I got jostled a bit as I pushed through the crowd. Martha's man leaned closer, swept her hair back displaying a profile shot of a pair of wire rimmed glasses, and whispered in her ear. I stepped around another couple as I lifted my phone for a picture.

  When he was working on his computer, Elliott wore similar glasses. He played with my hair too. And…

  I froze as I got a good look at the man.

  Elliott was in Kauai with my boss's gullible stepdaughter. He must have used my now maxed out credit card to hop over half the Pacific to bang Martha. He was so cheap. I was surprised he didn't just take her into her dorm room and encourage her to buy dinner. I face palmed myself on the forehead and chanted, "Stupid," three times. Would it make Elliott disappear or sprout horns? Both would be a definite improvement.

  "What are you doing?" Liam asked as he stood behind me.

  I was about to kill Elliott Smythe-Wilkes for ditching me and proving I had zero taste in men.

  "She's Allie Girl, and he's a cheating son of a bitch," I yelled as I stomped toward Elliott. "She's a child, and you were supposed to marry me today."

  I raised the phone and clicked away. Martha choked on her drink, and Elliott tried to shield his face.

  "Simone, stop. I can explain. Let's find a table and calm down," Elliott said as he made a grab for my phone.

  He missed, but Liam caught his hand. By the expression on Elliott's contorted face, Liam must have been crushing his fingers. Martha gave Liam an appraising look as she approached us.

  "This girl, Martha Lawler, is underage and shouldn't be in the bar. She ran away from school, and her family is offering a reward for information regarding her whereabouts," I said to the packed bar.

  It was a lie, but I didn't want her to get away. I had a full hour's worth of insults to toss at her and one question regarding Elliott. Had be been with Martha every time he had been late or canceled on me? Again, I started face palming my forehead, hoping to shake loose a shred of common sense. Of course he had been, and I had proof. Two months ago, I'd ignored a size-too-small red sweater tossed in his backseat. He'd explained that he'd given a colleague a ride home, and she must have left it. I saw it that same week tied around Martha's shoulders. Subtle yet effective, and it had blown right by me. I would never fall in love again. It blunted my instincts, clouded my judgment, and hurt like hell.

  Security moved in as a roar went up, and all moved in Martha's direction. She screamed and ran out the open patio doors. A few people followed her. A guard clasped my wrist and began to drag me toward the exit.

  "He's the one dabbling with a child. My crime was believing he loved me," I said as I swiveled to Elliott, being forcibly ejected too. "Did you
hit on Martha immediately or is this a sowing your wild oats thing? I can't believe you are this shallow."

  "Simone, you are so naïve. I didn't mean to hurt you," Elliott said over the din.

  We were escorted to an empty conference room and told to sit at the long table. The two security officers stood by the door. I could barely look at Elliott as my emotions ranged from loathing to pity to shame. And that was how I felt toward myself.

  I hated Elliott, plain and simple. I'd chosen him to be my soulmate, even the future father of my children. I needed a reset button when it came to men. I'd picked cheaters ever since eighth grade when Billy Kalas had taken my Valentine Day's gift of homemade brownies and given them to Jill Nolan. She'd been a bucktoothed ho, and he'd still wanted to date her instead of me.

  "Simone, I can explain," Elliott said.

  "Isn't there a law about him staying silent or forever holding a piece of his cracked jaw after I hit him?" I asked, making as little sense as possible.

  The rum and champagne battled for my tongue and what rolled off of it.

  "Baby, please. I love you," he said.

  "Thanks for telling me. I never would have noticed since you were canoodling Allie Girl."

  "You checked my phone? You shouldn't stick your nose where it doesn't belong. Paranoia isn't one of your better traits. I can explain everything as soon as you get a handle on your emotions," he said coolly.

  What did I ever see in this pompous bag of bones?

  "I'm being held against my will with a wretched excuse of a human being, which constitutes cruel and unusual punishment. I know my rights," I said to the security guard closest to me.

  He looked at his shoes as he snickered to himself.

  "Men suck," I said as I kicked the chair next to me and stubbed my toe.

  "Lady, this drama is a big deal to you. To me, it's a typical Tuesday," the guard said before releasing a big yawn.

  Elliott shook his head at me as he exhaled, pulled out his phone, and began to text.

  No doubt his next squeeze would fly here to bail him out. How many women did he have on the line? Not marrying this jerk was the best thing that ever happened to me.