by Vicky Loebel
“There. I think that’s everything.” Bekka brushed her hands. “I’ll hurry back as soon as possible—tomorrow or the next day at the latest.” She got a plastic bottle of water out of the fridge and placed it between them. “Meantime, I’ll let you two squabble over this.”
“I don’t get it,” Ryan told Bekka. “You’ve got money. We’re already partners. And Mom’s ring is only worth a couple of grand.” Fifty or sixty grand, but still. “Why all this trouble just to marry me?”
“Why, that’s what I said.” Bekka crossed her hands over her heart in imitation surprise. “But silly old you kept insisting until I had to give in!”
The woman was stark raving bonkers.
“You’re going to be my husband,” Bekka said, “because you want this license.” She patted her handbag. “And because if you go home and tell Carl what really happened, he’ll activate the damn-fool clause in your contract and take away all your money.”
Ryan sighed. Why did these things happen to him?
“Enjoy your evening, lovebirds.” Bekka opened the hall door. “Because after tomorrow, Ryan’s mine.” She hung the Do Not Disturb sign on the outside handle and shut the door.
Ryan stretched across the conference table and retrieved his mom’s special bowl. A square-faced clay gargoyle sneered up at him. “I hope you’re happy,” he told the figure. “Look at the mess you’ve made.”
“Could be worse,” Ellie said. “There was a Taser in the box next to the handcuffs.”
Ryan was going to have to speak to Lucas about leaving his toys lying around.
“Did you really ask that b—” Ellie cleared her throat. “Bekka to marry you?”
“It was a rebound romance.” He should never have dragged Ellie into this. “You see, after my wedding with you didn’t work out—ow.” He bent to rub his kicked shin.
“We’re locked in handcuffs,” Ellie said sourly. “Gran’s going to be worried sick. And long before Bekka comes back, I’ll need a bathroom. Don’t you ever take anything seriously?”
“Sometimes. When all else fails.” He waited but she didn’t kick him again.
“All right,” Ellie sighed. “Let’s get out of here.”
Ryan rattled their shackle. “How?”
“The table’s not bolted to the carpet, is it? We’ll drag the damn thing to the door and shout for help.”
That was a good idea. Except on this floor of the hotel, it would be one of Ryan’s relatives who heard them shouting. Bekka was right on one point. He did not want his father to know anything about this incident.
“I don’t think shouting’s called for,” Ryan said.
“Oh no? What’s your idea?”
“I think we should wait patiently. Sharing resources.” He nodded at the water. “Possibly holding hands….”
Ellie’s jaw set in an irritated line.
“Possibly holding hands, until the alarm Bekka set off works its way through the system.” He grinned at her dumfounded expression. “On my phone, the contact for Lucas is named Lunkhead. Calling or texting the contact named Lucas sets off a series of alerts.”
“You’re kidding.”
“I swear. It’s one of those paranoid bodyguard things.”
The door opened. “Your paranoid bodyguard can leave you stuck there if you like.”
Ryan frowned. “You’ve got me bugged?”
“I took a moment to listen at the door. In case you were in real danger instead of whatever this might be.” Lucas came forward and squatted to examine their handcuffs. “What happened?”
“Hurricane Bekka. And she’s headed straight for the Caribbean. You can open these, right?”
“Not a chance. That’s a titanium shackle with a uniquely fitted lock. She took the key?” He grimaced at Ryan’s nod. “We’ll need twelve hours at least to get a duplicate from Finland.”
“Can’t you cut them off?” Ellie asked
“I can cut through the table in a few minutes. It might take two or three hours to saw through the cuffs.”
“Too long,” Ryan informed him. “Bekka’s planning to file the casino license under her name and blackmail CasParDev.”
“Which casino license?” He pulled a document out of an inner pocket. “This one? Or the fake copy I swapped into her purse?”
“You crafty Viking.” That changed everything. “You sneaky son of a Scandinavian! All right. Saw through the table, quick.” He slapped his palm onto the metal surface. “We’re in business.”
Lucas vanished into his bedroom. A moment later he returned with a hacksaw and one of Ryan’s spare phones. He squeezed between chairs and started cutting the table support.
“What’s next?” Ellie looked puzzled. “Do we call the police?”
Ryan turned on his phone and typed an activation code. His personal data was there, ready to go. “No cops,” he said. “She’d only frighten them. We’ve got to beat Bekka to St. Thomas and file this license first.”
“Why first? If hers is fake?”
“Hers isn’t the notarized original,” Lucas explained. “But Ryan’s right. If Bekka’s forceful enough, they might let her file it provisionally.”
Ellie said, “I don’t think she’s got any problem being forceful.”
The table bracket dropped to the carpet. Ryan took Ellie’s hand and helped her up. “Right,” he said. “We need a tailor, someone to take a message to Gigi Green, and a police escort to the airport.” He looked at Ellie. “Come with me? Please? Until we get the handcuffs off?”
She hesitated. “If I say no, you can’t build your casino?”
“Bekka will build it. I’ll just lose control.” And he’d have to marry Bekka to hide this mess from his father. A day ago, that would have been inconvenient. Today…. Ryan looked earnestly at Ellie. She was so different from other women he’d known. So different from me.
Today, marrying Bekka seemed like the end of the world.
“Right,” he said. “Here’s my offer. I’ll hire you as environmental consultant. Two hundred dollars per hour. That’s not a bribe. Standard consulting fee for as long as you stick” —he lifted their shackles; funny, they seemed to be holding hands— “with me. You can review the casino plans and suggest whatever changes you think they need. I give my word we’ll take your input seriously.”
“All right.” She nodded slowly. “I’ll come. But you don’t need to pay me.”
“Never….” Lucas began selecting bags and boxes from around the room. “Never tell an Andersen you don’t need to be paid. It makes the blood rush to their heads.”
Ellie’s mouth opened. “OK.” She looked Ryan in the eye. “Consider me hired.”
“Perfect.” Outside, the Stratosphere Hotel gleamed optimistic and tall. “Now.” Ryan thumbed through the contacts on his phone. “Who do we know in Vegas who’s got a really fast jet I can steal?”
Chapter Seven
“More tea, Miss Green?”
“No thanks.” Ellie stared down at blots of dark islands in sparkling blue water. She’d never seen the world from this high before. The twice she’d flown had been in cloudy weather. Viewed from Ryan’s-college-friend’s-sister-in-law’s Gulfstream jet, the islands beneath them seemed almost untouched, with hardly a beachfront condominium or mega-hotel complex among them. It was an illusion, Ellie knew. During her lifetime, development had exploded in the Caribbean, consuming resources, scarring fragile ecosystems. St. John was one of the few places that had struck a healthy balance between nature and tourism.
“Chocolate croissant?” The steward—a man who, she’d learned, could cook gourmet dinners, convert reclining seats into luxury beds, and rig a privacy screen that let people who were handcuffed together use the restroom in comfort—held out a tray of pastries. “Another goji-berry muffin?”
“Thanks, no.” She’d already devoured two. Ellie tugged the long frilly shirtsleeve covering her wrist. Lucas had categorically refused to cut their handcuffs during flight, claiming a sudden bum
p might sever someone’s wrist. So in addition to brand new butter-soft boots, two pairs of jeans, and three tube-tops she could step into, Ellie now owned a long-sleeved blouse with an invisible zipper on the right. Mr. Sruti, the tailor who’d come along with them on the jet, had made the same alteration to Ryan’s dress shirt and suit, picking apart seams, re-sewing everything with fascinating precision.
Lucas moved through the cabin, stowing mahogany tables, making sure latches were secure. “Buckle up.” He jostled the sleeping Ryan’s shoulder. “We’re on the ground in thirty minutes.”
“What?” Ryan blinked awake. “Where’s Bekka?”
“She’s in Orlando.” The bodyguard’s grin was surprisingly ferocious. “Your father’s Cessna appears to be delayed refueling.”
“Oh. Great.” Ryan stretched his free arm and yawned. “I always said he ought to replace that old Citation.”
“Good thing he didn’t listen to you.”
Ryan shrugged. “We’re getting in at…what?” He checked his watch. “Eight-ten a.m. local? Eight-twenty? Is Bekka onto us?”
“Apparently not. I had the office call her last night about your offline phone and she did quite a song and dance for them. The replacement handcuff key should reach St. Thomas about noon, by the way.”
“So, not much point in breaking out the saw.” Ryan squeezed Ellie’s fingers. She’d gotten so used to holding hands, she’d almost forgotten they had no choice. “You’ll come along to the registry office?”
She could hardly refuse now. “I’ll come.” Ellie touched the leather recliner and reminded herself not to get used to Ryan. Multi-mega jets zooming through the night on trips that burned more fuel and probably cost more money than she would spend in her entire lifetime were not her habitat. She ought to feel like a sloth-out-of-the-rainforest, but everyone had been so friendly. Even the steward, who must be used to much more elegant passengers. Even Ryan—especially Ryan—who’d entertained the crew with comic stories for hours.
She’d learned two things about Ryan last night. One was that he barely drank. At dinner, joined by Lucas, their copilot, Mr. Sruti the tailor and, after much coaxing, the steward, Ryan moved seamlessly into the role of host, refilling glasses instead of draining them. The other thing she’d learned was that he clowned around deliberately to put people at ease. The man watched for tension and pounced on it—more graciously, but with the same buried anxiety, she thought, a child might feel when interrupting fighting parents.
But then, she gathered the Andersens fought a lot. Not just Ryan’s dad and mom and several step-moms after that. He had an uncle who’d killed himself and his family by trying to fly a helicopter during an argument with his wife, an aunt who’d shot her second husband full of buckshot, a long list of disinherited cousins, and an even longer list of Andersens who were locked in legal battles with one another.
“Four minutes.” Lucas lifted a finger to his earpiece. “The pilot’s had a message. Carl and Henrik are meeting us at the hangar.”
“You’re kidding.” Ryan winced. “What tipped them off?”
“Your credit service, apparently. They called to verify payment for this flight.” The plane whined softly as the landing gear lowered. Lucas checked Mr. Sruti’s seatbelt and buckled in himself.
Ellie said, “I thought you borrowed this plane.” Ryan had been so gleeful, calling friends and twisting arms until he’d found someone who sent a Gulfstream over from San Francisco.
“They did. The money’s for fuel, tips, and cleaning, that sort of thing.” He squeezed her hand again. “I guess this means you get to meet the parent.”
“He’ll be expecting Bekka.” The hills forming the west end of St. Thomas drifted into view. “He thinks you two got engaged.”
“Oh, yeah. That’s right.” Ryan flicked the cockpit intercom. “Can we divert to Tortola?” He looked at Ellie. “You’ve got a passport?”
She nodded, glad she’d remembered to grab her wallet when she’d left a note for Gran.
“Too late, sorry,” the copilot answered. “Landing in thirty seconds.”
Ellie chewed her bottom lip. “Now what?”
“We’ll fake it.” Instead of looking worried, his blue eyes sparkled. “You’re my eco-consultant after all. Hold hands, stay close, and if anyone waves a geography textbook, run like hell.”
She winced at the reference to her ill-fated pretend wedding.
“My father,” Ryan teased, “is faster than he looks.”
Ellie watched out the window as water became an airport runway underneath their wings. The plane set down so gently she barely felt it and taxied smoothly to a private hangar. The stairs unfolded.
Ryan gripped Ellie’s hand. “Here goes.” They walked together to the front of the cabin.
Ellie had seen Ryan’s father and uncle twice. On her eighth birthday, the day they barged in on her ceremony and crushed her heart, and at Gran’s house the day they crushed her dream of returning home. Both times Carl Andersen had been frighteningly angry and Henrik Andersen sternly reserved. She was, therefore, surprised to find two ordinary middle-aged men waiting outside the hangar with a bunch of flowers, to see the look of raw astonishment on Carl’s red face and puzzled inquiry on Henrik’s. The two big bodyguards who’d been at Gran’s were waiting a short distance off beside a car. She wished for sunglasses and hoped the high-heeled boots, new clothes, and lack of mud made her unrecognizable.
“Dad. Henrik.” Ryan helped her down the stairs. “Good to see you. You’ve both met Mrs. Green’s granddaughter, Ellie.”
“Miss Green.” Henrik’s expression warmed. “Ryan, my boy.” He stepped forward, a broad smile expanding to light his pleasant features, and grasped his nephew’s upper arm. “Congratulations. How very sly.”
Ellie and Ryan traded glances.
“Yes, how?” Carl flicked dismissively at their joined hands. “How did this come about?”
“I beg your pardon?” Ryan frowned.
“My boy, Miss Green,” Henrik repeated. “What a charming surprise.” He turned to Ellie. “Ignore my brother’s unpolished manners. Welcome. Truly. Welcome home.”
“Thank you.” Ellie smiled vaguely.
“When Ryan texted, we naturally assumed—” Henrik caught himself. “That is, I knew you two were childhood sweethearts after a fashion, but didn’t know you’d reconnected as adults. When did this happen? How long have the two of you been together?” He glanced at Ellie’s left hand. “And has my thoughtless nephew misplaced your ring?”
“My ring?” Ellie’s throat closed. The emerald ring Bekka photographed on her hand. What had that woman texted last night? Hadn’t she mentioned names?
“Mom’s ring didn’t suit Ellie,” Ryan said smoothly. “It was a little too cold.”
“Except we’re not….” But she couldn’t embarrass Ryan. Not in front of his dad. “I mean we’re not worried. About having a ring right now.” She forced a laugh. “No need to rush.”
Edgar the bodyguard began walking toward Ellie. To her relief, Lucas intercepted the man and drew him aside.
That left her to face Carl, who asked, “How long has this…this romance…been going on?”
“It’s quite recent.” Ryan gazed at her in imitation tenderness. “We reconnected at Ellie’s family home while I was working on the casino. When we met at Hotel Ten, she…um…fell into my arms.”
“More dragged than fell,” Ellie contributed. “But it was lovely all the same.” She tried to put all thoughts of Ryan’s arms out of her head.
“Fell or dragged.” Ryan shot Ellie a devoted smile. “What matters is now we’re inseparable.” He cocked his eyebrow at his father’s flowers. “Are those for me?”
“These?” Carl looked at the bouquet in his hands. “Oh. Right. Here.” He pushed the flowers toward Ellie and frowned at the jet. “Where’s Bekka?”
“She flew home separately in your Cessna,” Ryan replied. “She had some stops to make. I, on the other hand, was in a hu
rry to reach St. Thomas and file our casino license.” He drew the document from his breast pocket and showed it to the older men.
“Well, that’s something,” his dad admitted. “I never thought you’d pull it off.”
“Bekka deserves most of the credit. Not just for this. She got the license signed and brought me and Ellie together. All in one afternoon.”
“Speaking of which….” Ellie could not take too much more of this. “I’d like to freshen up before we file the permit. Honey?” She smiled at Ryan. “Don’t you think we should be getting on?”
“Of course, dearest.” He waved at Lucas who signaled a waiting car.
“Congratulations again.” Henrik shook Ryan’s hand. Behind round glasses, his pale blue eyes looked almost teary. “One need but glance at how firmly the two of you are holding hands to know you’ll be happy.”
“Thank you.” Something—guilt? wistfulness?—flickered in Ryan’s face. He nodded to Ellie and they started toward the car.
“Hold on.” Carl Andersen’s big hand gripped Ryan’s shoulder. “Don’t go so fast. The family’s holding a party.”
“Party?” Ryan asked.
“An engagement party. For you. It’s all arranged. To introduce your lovely fiancée to the clan.”
“Sounds great. Maybe when things are calmer a few weeks from now—”
“Tomorrow night.”
“Tomorrow?” Ryan’s eyes darted to Ellie. “It’s just, there’s so much work right now. And after all, we’re planning a long engagement, possibly years—”
Carl Andersen did not hear words like no. “At Henrik’s house. Eight o’clock. Henrik and Sam have gone to a lot of trouble.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Be on time, for once.” The elder Andersen crossed his arms over his chest. “It’s going to be a long night.”
Chapter Eight
As a bachelor pad, Villa Louisa was something of a washout. The sprawling twenty-six thousand square foot beach property had been erected on the northeastern shore of St. Thomas at a time when shag carpet, popcorn ceilings, and miniature windows crisscrossed with lead had been—if not the height of fashion—at least a fun backdrop for a terraced patio large enough to host a royal ball beside an Olympic-sized pool.