Kylie gulped, like she was hyperventilating. “I don’t know what to do. I barely understand a word the physics professor says. It’s like he’s speaking a foreign language. I don’t know how on earth I’m going to finish school without this science requirement. I suck at science. I can’t do this, Jake. I can’t do this at all.”
“You’re going to do fine. If you don’t understand the subject matter, we’ll get you a tutor,” he said as he walked past a surf shop with signs in the window for adventure tours.
“But what if it doesn’t help?” His little sister’s voice shot high up into the sky. Kylie, to put it lightly, was prone to worrying. She’d always been the nervous one among the bunch, and that intensified when they lost their parents. The baby of the family, she was seven when the four of them were orphaned and went to live with an older aunt who managed a restaurant in Key Largo. Truth be told, Kate and then Jake had done most of the parenting. Despite their best efforts, Kylie had grown up a world-class worrier, and that anxiety had manifested in her schoolwork all through high school and now into college. The best way to help her through it was to give her very clear instructions. That also meant phone calls with Kylie required lots of time and patience, which was why he’d had to extract himself from the bar so he could focus on his family. They came first and always would.
The aftereffects of Ariel still lingered, though, because that had been one hot, intense kiss that was on the cusp of rocketing quickly into so much more. A tremor of lust started to roll through him with the memory, so he squeezed his eyes shut, forcing his damn brain to focus on family matters, not primal ones.
He was here for work, not personal needs. Even on a job, he still needed to look out for his little sister. Take care of her, help her. Guide her step by step.
“You’re catastrophizing, Kylie. You need to stop assuming it won’t work before we even hire one. We’ve talked about this before. You can’t get worked up over what hasn’t happened. Got it?”
“I know, I know,” she muttered.
“Now listen,” he said, turning down the block. “I need you to ask around at your school. Get some names. Share them with me. I’ll talk to them, and we’ll find the right tutor for you.”
“I’m such a fuck up,” she said, another sob threatening to rear its head. “You probably never struggled in school.”
“You’re not a fuck up,” he said gently, but in a voice that brooked no argument. “Stop beating yourself up. You just need some help. That’s all. Nothing wrong with that. Do some research, get me the info, and I will take care of it. I promise you.”
“But tutors are so expensive.”
“Kylie,” he said, stopping in his tracks, slicing a hand through the air. He didn’t want her to spiral like this. He needed to yank her out of this with some tough love. “What have I told you before?”
She sighed. “Not to worry about money.”
“Exactly. So stop it right now. No more of this. No more talk of being a fuck up, and no more stressing about money. Your job is to focus on school. My job is to focus on taking care of the school bills. Just let me do that,” he said, and after she took a few calming breaths, she asked him about his work and the weather in the Caribbean.
“It’s beautiful here.”
“What were you doing when I called? Did I interrupt a tanning session on the beach?”
He laughed. “Just talking to someone I met playing darts.”
“A girl?”
“None of your business,” he said playfully.
“That definitely means you met a girl, then,” she said, teasing him like she was a schoolkid. He let her, not denying it this time, because it seemed to take her mind off her school anxiety.
After she finished a thorough ribbing, he told her he loved her and said good-bye.
He glanced up at the sky. The sun had started to dip toward the horizon, pulling streaks of orange and pink like a tail. He checked out the time.
Fifteen minutes had passed.
Maybe Ariel was still at the bar.
Maybe fish could fly.
But a man could hope, and a man could pick up the pace just in case. Jake turned up his speedometer and jogged past a jewelry shop selling seashell necklaces and silvery trinkets, then a store full of sundresses, then one with the sign for tours in the window. He nearly did a double take when he spotted a poster with a familiar name for a cove on the beach.
He filed the name away in the mental banks.
When he returned to the Pink Pelican, he scanned left, then right, then up and down. The woman he’d wanted to take home for the night was nowhere to be found.
His shoulders sagged, and he cursed himself for not having grabbed the number before he left.
But he just might have one more shot. Because the world’s most helpful bartender was calling him over. Marie’s eyes lit up with excitement. He recognized that look. His sister Kate had it from time to time when she tried to wear her matchmaker hat.
Marie waved the napkin in the air, brandishing it like a prize. “A pretty lady gave me this for you.”
Straightening his spine, he unfolded it, then chuckled when he saw what she had done. No number. Just a clue. He liked clues. Oh hell, did he like clues.
Especially this one.
The pictures at the snorkel shop taunted her.
They told the story of the luckiest man she’d ever known. On top of the frames, the proprietor of the shop had stenciled a mantra in blue paint on the wall: KISS A RAY AND GET SEVEN YEARS OF LUCK.
In a trio of images, her stepfather’s magnetic smile shone through. In the first shot, a young, blond, and tanned Eli Thompson pressed his lips to the smooth, silvery skin of a stingray. Steph hadn’t partaken of the kiss fest, because she was only seven at the time and kissing any sort of creature, underwater or above water, was certifiably gross. But in the background of the photo, she laughed at her stepdad, sharing the same sense of adventure that the man had possessed. Growing up, she’d considered him her hero. He’d been the man who made her mom happy again.
Her mother had been devastated when her husband—Steph and Robert’s father—had died so unexpectedly. Widowed at a young age, with two toddlers, her mom didn’t have the easiest time of it. But she made do and soldiered on, and a few years later she met Eli.
The man had made her mom laugh again. Made her feel happiness. He was like that. Delight seemed to be his native language. Now it made Steph’s chest twinge to think it was all part of his routine—cover up his straying ways with his sunshine smile.
In the next stingray lip-lock photo, his hair was a touch thinner and a bit darker, but his light blue eyes had that same confident spark. Steph had inched close enough to blow a kiss to the stingray in that one. “You’ll kiss him next time,” Eli had said to her.
The final picture was taken during a family vacation—she’d joined Eli and her mom here after her junior year of college. On that visit, Steph had gone all in and puckered up to the stingray for the first time. But she’d missed right when her lips would have landed on its skin.
The ray had slipped away. Taking her luck with it, too.
She moved closer to the photo and quirked up the corner of her lips as she peered at the image she hadn’t seen in years, flashing back to all their trips here. Eli had taken them here nearly every year. This island became a second home for her new family growing up, and her stepdad had glad-handed with all the locals. He’d been the man about town. Like an ambassador who everyone loved and was delighted to see when he descended on the island. He’d brought good fortune to them, they said.
Always tipping well, always partaking of all the local customs, always embracing the legends.
Maybe her stepdad was right to believe in this legend. Perhaps she should have kissed a stingray sooner or held on longer for the last one. She should have insisted on her luck, the way Eli seemed predestined to claim his.
Breezing through life, flashing a grin, taking what he wanted because he c
ould. Because he had that thing known as charm.
Duke had that, too. She’d fallen for him because he had an easy way about him. The second things didn’t go his way he’d turned into a complete asshole.
She winced, hoping, praying, that Eli wasn’t all bad. Not like Duke. That’s why she was here in the Islands early. To find out which side of her stepfather was the true one.
She drummed her fingers against the counter, waiting for Devon to finish up with his customer. She’d known Devon since she was that towheaded seven-year-old, and he’d been running this snorkel shop next to Stingray City Sandbar for even longer. His rough, dark skin told the tale of his years as a sun worshipper, and the steady stream of traffic in his store showed that he’d made a damn good living renting gear and operating boat tours for visitors to mingle in the crystal-blue waters with the world’s friendliest stingrays.
“But don’t they, you know, sting you?” a woman with big sunglasses and gold hoop earrings asked him in a Jersey accent.
He waved a hand to reassure her, then mimed petting a dog. “Nah. They’re like little puppies. They know you have food, so they get all excited and cuddle up next to you.”
“I do like puppies,” the woman said, standing taller.
“’Course you do. Now, go enjoy the puppies of the water,” he said in his cheery voice.
The customer thanked him, then headed out to join the rest of the tour group.
Devon held his arms out wide and flashed a huge grin at Steph, his white teeth gleaming. “Give me a hug. It has been far too long,” he said as she embraced him. He stepped away as if taking her in, like a family friend who hadn’t seen her in a long time. Of course, in many ways, that’s what he was. But he was also her friend and had been since she’d started up her business. He’d stood by her even when times had been tough. He’d always put in a good word for her when he could, and she’d done the same for him.
Guys like him almost erased the memory of guys like Duke.
“I know. I miss you all,” she said softly, since losing her traction here had hurt her heart the most.
“Then get your butt down here more often,” he said, pointing wildly to the floor, the ceiling, the window that offered the most gorgeous view of endless blue water and sky.
“I’m doing my best. I’ve got a tour next week, and you know I’ll be bringing them here to your shop,” she said with a wide smile, grateful to chat about work for the moment. Getting to the heart of her visit would be tougher—intel about Eli.
“Hey! Can we do that thing we used to do? Where we plant a little treasure chest on the sandbar?”
Steph cracked up, clasping her belly at the memory of their antics. On a few of their guided stingray city tours, they’d actually lugged a wooden chest into the water and lined it with huge, and clearly fake, gems. Visitors had gotten a kick out of the notion of discovering a pirate’s booty. Funny thing was, despite all the tales and stories of buried treasure and pirates, in reality there weren’t many documented findings of treasure maps or undersea discoveries throughout history.
Only fiction. Only lore.
“We have to do that again. That was our greatest hit.”
He scratched his chin. “Hey, I have a private group at the end of the week. A short couples-only visit to the stingrays. Want to help out?”
She nodded enthusiastically. “I would love to. Text me the details?”
“Absolutely.” He tipped his forehead to her in question. “So you came to town early? Any special reason?” He fixed her with a stare that said he was waiting.
Nerves skated across her skin. She took a breath and segued into the real reason for her stop. Recon. This was odd for her, since she’d never needed her local friends for information before. But now she did, and she’d have to ask in a way that didn’t reveal her true motives—to find out what her stepdad was up to and whether any of his actions suggested he’d been up to no good with other people’s money.
Sure, she planned to call him later and make plans to see him. But she needed to be smart and gather some info first. It wasn’t like she could just show up at Eli’s house asking about his finances. Even inquiring about how business was going would raise a red flag, since they’d never had those conversations in the past. He was far too shrewd to fall for that sort of questioning. That’s why she was going in through the side door, tucking away potentially useful details before she saw him.
“So, Devon,” she said, clearing her throat. “I need your honest opinion on something.”
“Uh-oh.”
“It’s not bad.”
He arched an eyebrow. “It’s never good when someone says they want an honest opinion.”
Devon was Switzerland. He had nothing against her stepdad. Eli had been a reliable customer for years, so she had to be careful, to tread a fine line. “I want your unbiased opinion. Now that business is picking up for me again, I need to do everything to run a tight ship and make sure customers are happy. So when someone on a tour asks me about the nightlife . . . ,” she said, then made a rolling gesture with her hand.
Devon’s mouth formed an O and he nodded like a wise man. “I get it. You want to know how Sapphire is doing.”
She mimed whacking a hammer. “As always, you hit the nail on the head.”
“That place is red-hot. All the young people are partying hard there. They talk it up when they come in the next day. It’s a huge hit. Crowds every night. Packed to the gills. It’s like a goddamn mint.”
Mint.
She gritted her teeth, biting back the comments that threatened to fall from her lips. Is Eli making a mint with someone else’s money? Did his company unknowingly fund that damn club? She sucked down those words, because this was what she needed to know. Eli Thompson still had the Midas touch. Nothing changed.
She leaned across the counter and planted a soft kiss on Devon’s leathery cheek. He pretended to catch the kiss in his hand. “Now I’ve got my next seven years.”
“If only a kiss from me had such powers.”
“Oh, I suspect it has great powers.”
She returned to a kiss from a few hours ago and sent a silent wish to the universe that Jake had come back for her note, that he’d decipher it, and that she’d see him again. So bizarre to want to see a stranger so badly. But perhaps kisses did have great powers. His had the power to make her long for him. The man whose last name she didn’t even know.
Devon parked his hands on her shoulders. “Hey, I know your parents split up, and it wasn’t so pretty the way it all went down. I get that you’re not on the greatest terms with your stepdad, and that’s a damn shame,” he said, and though Devon wasn’t privy to every sordid detail, he knew enough about how hard the divorce had been from her conversations with him during her visits. “But I’m all for family getting along and putting the past behind them, and I hope you’re able to do that. Even though he’s not your flesh and blood, he’s the man I saw taking care of you when you were a kid,” he said, and she pursed her lips, wishing what he’d said wasn’t true. Because it would be so much easier to write Eli off as an asshole if it were.
“Just remember—he’s done some real good here,” Devon added. “He hired a bunch of local companies when he built out his club. He did his part to invest in the Cayman economy, and a lot of folks here have been damn grateful for the business he’s brought to them. He did right by a lot of people when he remodeled the club. Penny even did some work for him before she started working at a flower shop. Assistant type stuff when he was setting it up last year. He was real good to her, I hear.”
“Penny?” Steph asked, as if the name of the woman she knew was suddenly foreign. She couldn’t picture pink-haired, tattooed Penny working for her stepdad, but this little nugget was all the more reason to track down her friend. Penny was a free spirit, a true island girl who flitted from random job to random job, sometimes as a nanny, sometimes as a Girl Friday, sometimes as a dog walker.
Penny had just moved ne
ar the top of the list of people to see. Someone else was on that list, too.
Later that night in her small and exceedingly cheap hotel room, she called the man of the hour, bracing herself to hear that voice she’d so adored as a kid. The happy, carefree sound of the man who had helped raise her.
“Sweetheart!”
His voice boomed loudly above the sound of music. The music faded, and the background noise died. He must have moved someplace quieter.
“Hey there, Eli,” she said. “I’m in town. Want to have brunch tomorrow?”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Drum-heavy techno music pulsed loudly.
Actually, vibrated was a more accurate way to describe the volume. The electronic beat of the music reverberated in his bones as Jake weaved through the sardine-packed crowds thronging the dance floor.
The nightclub lived up to its name.
The sleek, silvery Sapphire shimmered. Mirrored walls behind the bar were edged with neon blue. Jewel-toned lights flashed from the ceiling, moving and swaying in colored spotlights. Women in barely there black dresses that skimmed the top of their thighs on one end and plumped up their chests on the other sidled up beside girlfriends or next to men. The crowd was mostly young, but sprinkled with the evidence of tourists of many ages—the mom and dad on a getaway from the kids, groups of fortysomething friends reliving their younger days with a hot night on the town, and lots of single men, from frat boys up to sugar-daddy age.
Jake leaned against the bar, soaking it in, taking mental notes about Eli’s new world. Everything sparkled. The lights, the bar, and the disco ball. His eyes roamed the dance floor, then he raised them higher, up to the second level, and he saw him.
No question about it.
That man had to be Eli Thompson. The face matched the images Jake had scoped out online. Like a middle-age Robert Redford, Eli had that golden-boy look to him still. He rested his hands on the railing and surveyed the scene, like a prince presiding over his subjects.
Jake narrowed his eyes. What a sneaky fucker. Stealing from his company, skipping out of town with it in art. Maybe even turning that art back into dough here in the Caribbean.
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