by Desiree Holt
At the end of that path they realized there were four more branching off in different directions, and directly in front of them was the massive structure that housed most of Rosewood. Beyond the entrance she could see a patio surrounded by iron fencing and more foliage, where the rich and beautiful were laughing and chatting over drinks.
“Let’s scope that out,” Justin said. “I want to see if it’s the only entrance through the hotel. Then we’ll check out the beach and the rest of the waterfront. Let’s just smile, go for a casual stroll, and see what’s what.”
Marissa forced herself to relax but it wasn’t all that easy. She knew she was in a protected environment, but she also knew Stefan Maes would stop at nothing to get to her. He had people everywhere. If he had been gathering his merry band for the last couple of years, there was no telling who was feeding him information.
“Justin.”
He stopped and looked at her. “Problem?”
“What if one or more of the guests here are friends with Maes and report to him that this is where I am?”
He reached for her other hand, so he was holding both of them in his warm grasp.
“Two things. One, remember Avery said the Morgansterns have Vigilance investigate every single guest who comes here, even the ones they know personally. When reservations are made, first-time guests are also required to submit headshots to make sure someone isn’t using another person’s name. And when the guests check in, they are compared to those photos. They do not want people like Maes staying at Rosewood, and believe me, he would not get past their research into his identity. I can promise you that.”
“And the second thing?” she asked.
“And the second thing is the first thing. There is no way Maes or his people can get on this island, not without people knowing. Unauthorized aircraft and watercraft are not permitted. And no way would people known to be friends of Maes be accepted here. So back to the research and vetting again. We’re just giving ourselves that extra edge, in case.”
It was the in case that worried her. But Justin was right. They were in an isolated situation that was nearly impossible to breach, and she had Justin as her personal secret weapon.
“Thank you.”
He dropped one hand and cupped her chin, rubbing his thumb against the line of her jaw. “You are safe here, Marissa.”
The touch of his hand on her skin was like an electric shock. Every nerve popped to life as if a switch had been flipped in her body. Her pulse beat with a heavy throb and she realized with astonishment that her panties were damp. She was seized with an urge to strip off her clothes and beg this man to take her, right now.
Get your act together, for the love of heaven, she told herself.
Nevertheless, she didn’t pull her hand away as he tugged her toward the main entrance so they could scope out the primary building.
She had to admit the place was exquisite. The sand on the wide beach felt as soft as talcum, and the water of the Caribbean where it lapped the shore or rolled in soft waves to the long pier was a mixture of emerald green and sapphire blue. There were a few young couples at the shoreline, standing ankle deep in the water, oiled with protective sunscreen, and chatting and laughing. Older couples relaxed on the loungers, either in the sun or beneath one of the colorful umbrellas. Two waiters in black Bermuda shorts and white beach shirts moved back and forth between the beach and the patio bar, serving the guests.
The dock stretched out from the far end of the beach. Two sailboats and half a dozen small runabouts were tied up there. Marissa was sure the runabouts were used to transport people back and forth to the large white boat anchored in deeper water. Since it had the logo of Rosewood painted on the side, she assumed it ferried passengers back and forth to the mainland.
But there were four other large yachts at anchor, too.
“Belonging to guests,” Justin confirmed. “According to all the info Avery gave me, they can call ahead if they have a reservation, so someone is ready to pick them up when they arrive.”
“If you own a yacht that size,” Marissa mused, “why would you want to leave it to stay someplace ashore?”
Justin shrugged. “Change of scenery? Meet friends? Any number of things. The people who come here have so much money they can do just about anything they want.”
She had to agree. Many of Heath Financial’s clients had been just like that.
They walked out onto the dock, so Justin could check the runabouts.
“They’ve got enough horsepower to run people back and forth,” he told her after checking the motors. “And to take a little trip out of the inlet if someone is so inclined.” He frowned.
“What’s the matter?”
“All the boats have the keys in the ignition. I wonder why they leave them there?”
Marissa laughed. “Who is going to steal them? Not the employees. How far could they get before the owners called the Coast Guard? And certainly not the guests.”
“Yeah, I guess you’re right. It’s just a little anomaly that makes my neck itch.” He looked at the map, then up at a big tree close to the dock. “There’s a camera up there. Anyway. I guess they’d know if someone was trying to make off with a boat.”
“See? All is good.”
“Just being the efficient bodyguard,” he teased. He looked at the map again.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing, really. They just don’t seem to have many security cameras. Look.” He pointed. “Besides the one here, there’s one at the back of the main building, one overlooking the beach, one at the hangar, and one halfway down the path where the villas are.”
Marissa looked over his shoulder. “My guess? These are just to see if any guests are in trouble and need help.”
“Yeah, you’re probably right. Okay, I found out what I need to know. Let’s head back.”
The people they passed as they walked appeared engrossed in their activities. They paid little attention to Justin and Marissa, focusing only on their own particular group.
“I’m glad they’re ignoring us,” she murmured as they strolled along.
“Me, too, but it doesn’t matter. We won’t be socializing with anyone.” He squeezed her hand. “Remember, we’re better off sticking close to the villa and keeping a low profile.”
“I hear you.” She sighed. “It’s a shame to stay in a luxurious place like this and not take advantage of all the amenities, but you’re right. The less visible I am, the better. Just in case the unthinkable happens.”
When they’d finished their casual tour of the resort, Justin ordered drinks for them at the outdoor bar. They carried them to the end of the beach and sat down on an oversized lounger. They sat side by side, and Justin spread out the map on his lap.
“I’ve got a good picture of the place fixed in my mind now. Look here.”
Marissa sipped her drink, pretending to give the map a casual glance, but in reality, following Justin’s finger as he pointed to crucial spots.
“When we get back to Orchid House I want to go over it with you again,” he told her, folding up the map. “Just want to make sure I haven’t missed anything. We can do this again in a couple of days, just to refresh our minds where everything is.”
Of course, Marissa knew Justin already had everything firmly marked in his brain.
“It’s so strange to sit in this beautiful place,” she told him, “and think about the ugliness I’m hiding from. I know we won’t be doing any socializing but what if someone says hello while we’re out and about? What do we tell them if they ask us about ourselves? We never did get to discuss that in detail.”
“If we end up needing a story? We’re a couple taking a break from life to have a few weeks to ourselves. A romantic break.” He reached for her hand and squeezed it. “Think that might work for us?”
She smiled at him. “Le
t’s just say it’s not off the table.”
His gaze raked over her, his eyes devouring her even as she sensed him exercising his ruthless self-control. “I’ll take that. Now I think we’d better get back to our villa and get ready for dinner. I’m anxious to meet the people who created a place like this.”
Chapter 5
Stefan Maes sat at his desk in the study of his eight-bedroom, multibillion-dollar house in the elite section of London known as Chelsea, staring at the screen on his tablet. This one had a triple security code on it so no one, not even Val, could access it. Next time the shit hit the fan—although if he had his say there would never be a next time—he’d be better prepared.
He thought about the years he’d fought his way up from the streets of Zagreb, killing those who got in his way, as bit by bit he built the image of an international, polished, urbane businessman. Most of the time he looked every inch the part. Despite pushing sixty now, he had a body that surpassed many others his age and younger. He was a tall man, over six feet, with broad shoulders, a square jaw, and piercing eyes a strange color of grey. His custom-tailored clothing and expensive haircut enhanced the appearance he presented to the world. Because Maes knew appearance was everything.
He kept himself in shape with a rigorous exercise schedule. Years ago, when he was just dipping his toe into dangerous waters, he’d discovered working out relieved a lot of stress and kept the mind clear. When he bought this house in Chelsea he had a gym constructed, and since then he spent the first hour of every day going through a routine. When so much of his world fell apart, he had been more than grateful for a place to work off his burning anger.
By choice he remained single. He preferred variety in his life, and marriage had never appealed to him. He would not have tolerated some woman sticking her nose in his business. As it turned out, that was a fortunate decision on his part. A woman would only have muddied up the mess he found himself in even more.
No, he preferred to focus on business and choose from a variety of females when he needed arm candy for an event or someone to satisfy his still very strong sexual urge. He never lacked for female companionship.
At the moment, however, he didn’t look like his usual impeccable self. His tie was off, his shirtsleeves rolled up, and sweat made his collar damp. Sweat! He never sweated. That was what he caused his enemies to do.
He’d never expected his life to shatter and go completely to hell the way it had. Everything had crashed, the fucking CIA grabbing the enormous wealth he reaped from his vast network of illegal activities, bringing them all to a crashing halt. Access to those bank accounts was locked and the assets seized, his computer records breached, and his entire network of dark operations destroyed. Even his legal business accounts and activities had come under such scrutiny that at times doing any kind of business was damn near impossible. Not that he was poor now, by any means, but the bulk of his money had come from those activities.
If not for a team of the most expensive lawyers in the world, he’d probably be rotting away right now in some godforsaken prison. It galled him that years of work to reach the position he’d attained were wasted. Gone, with the snap of a finger.
As if that had not been bad enough, when the shit hit the fan, so did his contacts. People who had been more than happy to suck his dick all of a sudden wouldn’t wipe their shoes on him. He knew they were worried about guilt by association, the fuckers. They had no appreciation of the fact that their names never appeared anywhere in any of his records. He had set things up that way in the beginning to protect himself, just in case any of them went south. In the end it came back to bite him in the ass.
Then the banks in Switzerland, who took everyone as clients including the Nazis in World War II, had politely told him they’d prefer he move his business elsewhere. Notoriety affected the other clients and was bad for business. He’d wanted to reach through the phone, grab the assholes by the throat, and squeeze the life out of them.
Just like the others, they wanted no dirt from tainted money to fall on them.
Supaks!
Assholes.
He was consumed with a desire for vengeance he could barely control, an emotion that had been his constant companion for two years now. It began with the betrayal that cost him almost everything, and continued to grow each day after that. He sometimes wondered if he was angrier at what had been taken from him or the treachery itself.
Fuck! Just damn fuck.
Every time he looked at the list of names and the headshots on the tablet, he fought to control the anger that had become his constant companion. His muscles knotted and the headache he’d been fighting pounded in his skull. These were people he once did business with. People who were thrilled to be part of his inner circle. People he’d helped achieve untold wealth. People who had formed some kind of unofficial cabal and proceeded to shut him out as if he carried the plague. And then picked over the bones of his shattered empire.
Today a new emotion was added. Anticipation. The knowledge that before this week was over, he would exact his revenge and punish those who took part in his downfall and cut him out of their lives.
Well, most of them. All but one person. Someone he would like nothing better than to torture, and then dismember. For two years he’d had people searching for Lauren Masters, the bitch who’d done it all. As soon as he got his hands on the traitor, then perhaps he could get on with his life.
It was all her fault. Miss Cool as Ice Masters. Miss Financial Wizard.
That little bitch.
He swiped the tablet screen until he reached the photo that had been emailed to him, and there she was. Oh, she’d changed her appearance somewhat, and she no longer looked like the financial expert she’d portrayed, but it was her. No question about it. And who was the man with her, sitting next to her at the restaurant table? No one he’d ever seen, but he had a proprietary look about him, as if he was protecting her from the world.
You can’t shield her from me, jackass, he thought. He’d hunt both of them down, and then she’d be sorry for everything she did.
If he had his hands on her right now he’d—
He hauled in a deep breath to calm himself, sure he’d have a fucking heart attack if he wasn’t careful. This disaster was all he’d been able to think about for two years, the way he’d been taken in by her.
It didn’t ease things to know Val Desmet had also been fooled, and that was a real anomaly. A bitter taste surged into his mouth as he thought about that yet again. Desmet was his shield to the outside world, the person who vetted everything for him. The person he’d depended on. The person he’d been positive could not be conned. But Lauren Masters, the tight-assed bitch, had been damned good, fooling both of them. If not for Adrian McCormack giving him a heads up, he’d have lost everything, even his legitimate businesses. The fucking CIA would have wiped him clean.
He couldn’t seem to get Lauren Masters out of his head. Of medium height, she appeared taller because of the very high heels she wore. Her auburn hair, pulled back in a ruthless twist, accented her high cheekbones and slender neck. How many times had he stifled the urge to yank the pins from her hair and run his fingers through it? To tear off those severe tailored suits she always wore and see the woman beneath all that fine material.
He’d always thought she’d be a hell of a fuck.
He would never, of course, have followed through on it. He never mixed business and pleasure, and she had done too good a job with his accounts to screw that up. Of course, now he knew what she’d really been doing. He’d made a promise to himself. If he ever got his hands on her he’d fuck her brains out before giving her a slow, painful death.
The damn CIA had done a good job of hiding her away. One minute she was here, just as he was about to get his hands on her. The next she was gone without any trace at all. He’d tapped into the few contacts he could still use, hungry enough for ca
sh they didn’t care what mess he was involved in. He gave them all her picture and told them the person who found her would be one million dollars richer.
And then, God damn it, scant hours after someone found her, she’d just disappeared again. How in the fuck had she known she’d been made? Now he had two people screaming that they wanted their money and threatening all kinds of things if they did not get paid. Too bad. They’d lost the prize. He never reacted well to pressure, especially when they’d let her slip through their fingers. Now, again, he had no idea where the fuck she was.
She had to have help, and not the fucking CIA. They couldn’t have made her disappear in a matter of hours. Just his damn luck they’d relocated her to that jerkwater little town where that damned agency was based.
Vigilance!
The name was a dirty word to him. He knew of their reputation, and the jobs they’d taken that had cost several of his friends dearly.
He looked at the picture again and had to grit his teeth. They’d be sorry they tangled with him. He didn’t care what their reputation was. He played dirtier than they did, and they’d find that out before long. After he took care of the immediate, pressing business.
He scrolled through the pictures again, anger surging as he studied each person. He and Val Desmet had done their painstaking research and put all this information together. Men and women he’d done business with on a legitimate basis, powerful people, who had pulled back from him because they didn’t want to dirty their skirts. Information could be bought, and he’d paid dearly to learn the people he sought were vacationing this very week at a private resort.
First, he would destroy them. Show them no mercy Then he would hunt down Lauren Masters, or whatever the hell she was calling herself now. And he would enjoy every vicious, violent moment of her pain. No one would ever fuck with Stefan Maes again.
He pressed a button on the desk phone.