She remembered the inebriated woman flaunting her gym-toned body as she flitted around Diamantista in her orange thong, her augmented breasts well-oiled and displayed to their greatest advantage. Since the age of puberty, Connie had known that she was blessed with the kind of natural beauty that set her apart from the crowd, but she felt frumpy around Karen Gilbert. Thinking back, she remembered how Paul had averted his eyes from the spectacle of the woman doing yoga on the foredeck, practically naked. At the time, she had been embarrassed for him because of the woman's aggression.
They had several whispered conversations about Karen's increasingly overt play for Paul, and Connie had discouraged him from a frank confrontation with the woman. She was, after all, a paying guest. Connie and Paul had joked at the time about his 'taking one for the team,' but he had seemed genuinely put off by Karen's behavior. Connie wondered again how she could have misread the situation so badly.
****
Connie was lost in thought as Paul came through the door from the baggage claim and customs area. When he dropped his duffle bag and wrapped his arms around her, she stiffened, caught off guard. Surprised by her reaction, he released her and stepped back, frowning.
"What's wrong?" he asked, the frown melting into a worried look as he took in her puffy eyes and tense manner.
"Sorry," she said. "I was miles away; you just startled me. How was Miami?"
Paul studied her for a moment, assessing the expression on her face. "Okay," he said. "The closing's done, and my stuff's all in storage. You okay?"
She forced a smile. "Fine. Just tired, I guess. The Regan's will be here tomorrow morning."
He picked up his duffle bag. "You take a taxi from the marina?"
"A bus," she replied.
"Let's take a taxi back, then."
She nodded her assent as they walked toward the taxi stand.
"Hungry?" he asked. "We could stop somewhere."
She shook her head. "I had a sandwich."
"Peanut butter and jelly?" he asked.
She nodded. "I like it."
"You eat anything else while I was gone, or is that it?"
That got a little smile from her. "I ate lunch in the marina restaurant every day. I only ate PB&Js for supper."
He chuckled as he put his bag into the back of the van at the front of the taxi queue. She ignored the hand he offered, climbing into the center seat without his assistance.
"We can stop somewhere if you're hungry," she said, as he settled into the seat beside her.
"I'm okay. Had a big lunch with Mario, kind of late in the day."
"Let's make it an early night then," she said. "I'm beat, and we still have to go shopping for provisions in the morning before they show up."
"Okay," he agreed, turning in his seat to look at her, noticing that she wouldn't return his gaze but stared out the windshield instead.
"I'll take care of that; you can sleep in if you want."
"Good," she said, still not looking at him.
He sighed with resignation, puzzled by her cool reception.
****
* * *
Chapter 2
Mary Nolan sat alone at the table for two in the Grande Anse Resort's beach bar, checking out the men. She took a careful sip of her rum punch, remembering what she had learned from her experience last night. The drinks were deadly; rum was less expensive in the islands than fruit juice, and while the taste was luscious, the aftereffects were hideous. She'd gotten smashed last night and stumbled back to her room alone — not exactly what she had in mind. She was here to celebrate her escape from a bad marriage that had ended in a worse divorce. She'd been celibate for months, not by choice, but to avoid giving her ex any ammunition in their protracted court battle. It had been tough, but the money at stake made it worth her while. Now she was free, and she wanted a man, but not just any man.
There were some stunningly handsome locals. She'd already been approached by a few in her two days here, but she'd made them for the hustlers that they were and sent them on their way. She wasn't looking for a rented boy-toy, nor was she looking for true love. A little honest sex with somebody whose company she could enjoy for a few days was what she had in mind. She'd been watching the two men seated a couple of tables away. They were checking out the women in the bar, and not in a subtle way, either. She'd felt their gaze lingering on her several times already; she told herself it was just a matter of time before one of them made a move. She knew she looked good, and she was dressed for the hunt. She hoped it would be the younger of the two; he was cute, and he looked to be in his late teens – a little young for her, but he was gorgeous. His companion wasn't bad looking, but he was older. He'd do, if that's what fate ordained, but a girl could dream in the meantime.
She had noticed the two of them on the beach earlier. The older one had once been fit, but he was running to fat; he appeared to be in his late thirties. Of average height with dark hair that was thinning on top, he wasn't unattractive, but his younger friend was more what she had in mind. He was tall, slender, and athletic; she'd watched him swim out to the buoys that marked the edge of the boat-free zone off the beach. He moved through the water with the grace of a dolphin, and when he came back to shore and stood up in the knee-deep water, she felt the warmth spread from the root of her being. He was slim, but his smooth, golden skin rippled as the hard ridges of muscle played beneath it, making her squirm with want. He stood for a moment, dripping seawater, and then brushed the droplets from his medium-length blond hair, smiling at her when he caught her watching.
She'd thought for a moment that he'd approach her then, but the older man had said something to him, and he had turned away from her and taken the towel proffered by his friend. He had settled on a lounge chair and warmed himself in the sun for a few minutes, and then the two men had gotten to their feet and walked up the beach to the little pier where several small boats bobbed in the gentle waves. She was disappointed when they stepped into one of the inflatable dinghies and motored off in the direction of the yachts anchored a few hundred yards to the north up the beach. She'd been hoping that they were staying at the resort, but apparently, they were just visiting.
Now, though, they were here in the bar, obviously looking for what she was looking for. She glanced toward their table and caught the younger man staring at her. She smiled invitingly, and was pleased that he smiled in return. But then he looked away and resumed his conversation with the older man. She wondered for a moment about their relationship. They seemed to be an odd pair, unless they were related. When she had first spotted them on the beach earlier, she'd thought they might be a couple, but then she'd seen how they were both admiring the women in their vicinity.
****
"She looks like she's the pick of the litter," the older man said.
"Mm-hmm. Not bad at all," his younger companion agreed. "She was by herself on the beach earlier this afternoon."
"That's a good sign. Looks to me like she's on the prowl."
"I dunno," the younger one said. "I seen her give a couple guys their walkin' papers."
"Locals?" the older man asked.
"Yeah. Good-lookin' guys, though."
"Maybe she got a thing about blacks," the older one said.
"Possible, I guess, but it didn't look that way. She talked to them a few minutes, but it looked like there just wasn't any magic there."
"Think you might be the lucky one? You got the magic fairy dust."
"Yeah," the younger one said, "but that ain't the kind of magic I was talkin' about."
"Who gives a shit? She'll do. We got to keep movin', don't forget."
"Yeah, I know. She's runnin' a tab. Why don't you go see if you can slip the barkeep a bill and get her room number?"
"The hell I want to do that for?"
"Well, two reasons. One, it'll get your sorry ass out of my way. She doesn't look like the type would be interested in two guys at once."
"Yeah, okay. But why her room number?"<
br />
"You could go check it out and call me on my cell."
"Check it out for what?"
"Make sure she's traveling' alone. See if there's any sign of somebody might miss her right away. You know the drill."
"All right, lover boy, I'll check it out, but that means you get the check."
"Sure. No problem. If she checks out clean call me and then wait down by the dinghy dock."
****
Mary was disappointed at first when she saw the older of the two men slide his chair back and get to his feet. The men exchanged a few words. The younger one laughed, and the older man walked over to the bar. He spoke to the bartender for a minute, and Mary saw him hand the man some money. She assumed he was settling their tab, but he walked out and left the younger man nursing his drink. Maybe she was about to get lucky after all. She sipped her rum punch and sat back, inhaling the clean, fresh scent of the sea that wafted through the bar on the light, onshore breeze that came every evening after sundown. Even if the hunting had been a bit disappointing so far, at least she couldn't complain about the venue. Grenada was a beautiful spot.
She heard the soft ringing of a telephone and looked up to see her quarry lifting a cellphone to his ear. He spoke in a quiet tone for a minute or two and disconnected, waving for the waiter. "Damn," she muttered under her breath, "he's leaving." She scanned the dimly lit room to see if there were other prospects, but she saw only couples. In a morose frame of mind, she picked up her drink and took a large swallow. "Can't get laid, might as well get drunk," she mumbled. She looked up, startled, as the waiter approached her table, a single rum punch on his tray.
He set the drink on a coaster in front of her and said, "Compliments of the gentleman across the way, ma'am. Enjoy."
"Thanks," she said, looking over at the man to see him giving her a big smile. She lifted the new drink without breaking eye contact, hoisting it toward him as she returned his smile. She took a small sip and returned the moisture-beaded glass to the coaster, never taking her eyes off him. He raised an eyebrow, and she nodded, watching as he rose to his feet with smooth grace and picked up his own drink. He glided across the room with a dancer's movements, keeping time to the calypso backbeat of the SOCA band that had just started playing. He stopped behind the empty chair across from her and leaned forward to speak so that he could be heard over the rising volume of the music.
"May I join you?" he asked.
"I was hoping that you would; thanks for the drink, by the way."
"My pleasure," he said, gazing into her eyes as he pulled out the chair and sat down.
She felt warmth spread through her as she held his look. "Your friend abandon you?"
"My uncle," he said. "Past his bedtime."
"I see. I'm Mary. Mary Nolan."
"Troy Stevens. I'm pleased to meet you, Mary. Where are you from?"
"Atlanta. You?"
"North Carolina, originally, but I'm kinda between jobs, and I'm spending some time down here with my uncle. He lives on his sailboat."
"Wow! Sounds like fun. What kind of work do you do?"
"Oh, I'm trying to make it as an actor, but it's tough. So I pick up whatever I can to pay the bills."
"I guess that leaves you as much time as you want to sail with your uncle. Where have you guys been lately?"
"Just kinda kicking' around the islands. You on vacation?"
"Yes. I'm celebrating."
"Celebrating? What're you celebrating?"
"Being single again," she said, batting her eyes.
"Divorced?" he asked in a sympathetic tone.
She nodded, grinning. "Right the first time."
"Sorry it didn't work out for you."
"Don't be. He was an asshole."
"Must have been a blind one to let you get away from him."
"Aw," she said. "Besides being the handsomest man I've ever seen, you're sweet."
She was tickled by his bashful smile as he looked away from her.
"Could you excuse me for a minute, Troy? I need to powder my nose."
"Sure," he said, rising to his feet and stepping around the table to help her up.
"Don't go 'way," she said, feeling the rum rush to her head. "I'll be right back."
"I'll be here, don't you worry," he said.
****
* * *
Chapter 3
Connie felt the boat shift slightly as Paul stepped off onto the finger pier on his way to the grocery store. She had been feigning sleep to avoid having to talk to him this morning; she knew it was cowardly of her, but she was playing for time. If she could avoid a confrontation with him until their guests arrived, she could use the time to collect her thoughts and let the wounds heal. She knew he'd be at the grocery store for a while; their stock of staples was running low, and shopping in Grenada was time-consuming. She rolled out of the berth and made it up neatly; she needed order in her world at the moment. Paying attention to the little things gave her the illusion of control, which was critical to her sense of well-being right now. The notion of Paul having some hidden relationship with that hussy rattled her more than she could have imagined.
She washed her face and brushed her teeth, studying her reflection in the bright sunlight that filtered through the head portlight. She thought about makeup, but rejected the idea; she normally didn't wear any, never having felt the need to improve on the looks with which she'd been blessed from birth. She gave the darkly beautiful woman in the mirror a wry grin and shook her head. She might be a few years older than Karen Gilbert, but it didn't show — not even in the harsh sunlight. Paul might have a different opinion, but she wasn't going to start painting her face. That would be admitting defeat, in a way.
She stepped out into the galley, taken aback when she saw the breakfast tray that Paul had left for her. "Guilt?" she wondered, and then gave herself a mental slap. It could be, except that the tray was typical of the thoughtfulness that had drawn her to him from the beginning. She had never known such an innately gentle, kind person as Paul. She brushed off the choking feeling as the image of the thong invaded her thoughts. She smiled at the small glass of freshly squeezed passion fruit juice nestled in a bowl of ice, reaching for it and raising it to her lips. He was a master of the little touches; the tray was artfully arranged, everything laid out just where she would expect it to be. She lifted the inverted saucer that covered the cereal bowl to find a carefully arranged array of sliced fruit resting atop the granola. She picked up the tiny pitcher of cream from another small bowl of crushed ice and poured it over the cereal.
She wondered how such a thoughtful man could be drawn to a tart like Karen Gilbert. She immediately quashed that thought; she had resolved not to get into that until after the charter. Nothing about Paul's relationship with Karen would change during the charter, except that time could work its magic. By the time their guests left, her shock would have worn off, and any feelings Paul had would likewise have moderated. At least, she hoped that would be the case.
Meanwhile, she wanted to go to the big, open-air market downtown and pick up some fresh flowers and a basket of fragrant, locally grown spices for each of the guests' cabins. She finished her breakfast and rinsed and dried the dishes, stowing everything as she worked. She got dressed and left the boat, intending to be gone before Paul returned. She didn't think she should be alone with him just yet; she might say something she'd regret.
****
Paul was amused by the chalkboard listing the day's specials outside the grocery store. He was self-aware enough to realize that he was seeking to take his mind off Connie's strange behavior, but he allowed himself a moment's indulgence anyway. "Fresh, wild, local iguana" was the special of the day, and he chuckled as he contemplated ways to cook it. If they didn't have guests coming aboard, he might be tempted to buy some, thinking that an exotic dish might distract Connie from whatever was bothering her.
This was the first time since they'd been together that he had seen her so upset. He was sad for
her, as well as troubled that she didn't want to tell him what was bothering her. After 20 years as a detective, he read people well. He had seen the signs last night in the taxi; she wanted to be left alone. As he tried to imagine what could have happened in his absence to explain her withdrawal, he realized that he didn't know Connie all that well. They had been too preoccupied with falling in love and starting the charter business to spend time exploring each other's backgrounds.
Paul met Connie when she chartered Vengeance, the boat that belonged to Mario Espinosa's goddaughter. She had inadvertently stumbled into a money-laundering operation run by a crook named Sam Alfano, who was wanted for murder. Paul had gotten involved in the apprehension of Alfano partly through his final case for the Miami Police Department and partly through his connection to Mario and his goddaughter. He and Connie had become friends when he stayed in the islands for a few days of relaxation after wrapping up the arrest.
Before they met, he had investigated Connie at the request of Dani Berger, Mario's goddaughter. Dani's initial suspicion that Connie was involved in money-laundering had proved unfounded, and the two young women had become close friends. Most of what Paul knew about Connie's background took the form of sterile, impersonal facts that had been provided by a fellow detective who had worked with Connie while shutting down a drug-smuggling operation that had included her former business partner. Beyond the fact that Joe Denardo, the detective, had given Connie a glowing recommendation for her help in putting away the smugglers and solving the murder of her partner, what Paul knew about Connie was that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with her.
"That'll be $523.12 E.C. Or you want to pay in U.S. dollars?"
"Sorry," Paul said to the cashier, surprised that he had finished the grocery shopping without being conscious of it. He looked down at the list in his hand, the items methodically checked off. "I'm a little distracted. I'll pay in E.C. dollars."
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