Table of Contents
www.roxannestclaire.com
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Dear Reader Letter
Author's Bio
Other Books By Shirley Hailstock
Dear Reader,
Text copyright ©2017 by the Author.
This work was made possible by a special license through the Kindle Worlds publishing program and has not necessarily been reviewed by Roxanne St. Claire. All characters, scenes, events, plots and related elements appearing in the original Barefoot Bay remain the exclusive copyrighted and/or trademarked property of Roxanne St. Claire, or their affiliates or licensors.
For more information on Kindle Worlds: http://www.amazon.com/kindleworlds
Counterfeit Treasure
By Shirley Hailstock
All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher: Shirley T. Hailstock PO Box 513, Plainsboro, NJ 08536-0513.
Photo Credit: Shirley Hailstock
Dedication
To my sister, Wygenia Miles, who ascended this world
during the writing of this story.
Never was there a more genuine treasure.
I hope she's happy in heaven.
Welcome to Barefoot Bay Kindle World, a place for authors to write their own stories set in the tropical paradise that I created! For these books, I have only provided the setting of Mimosa Key and a cast of characters from my popular Barefoot Bay series. That’s it! I haven’t contributed to the plotting, writing, or editing of Counterfeit Treasure. This book is entirely the work of Shirley Hailstock, a well-known and well-loved name in the romance writing world.
Suspense and a ticking time bomb (literally!) light up the shores of Barefoot Bay with this story of a plucky heroine on a mission who runs right into an undercover investigator who is determined to stop her. Sparks fly in this one, I promise!
Roxanne St. Claire
PS. If you’re interested in the rest of the Barefoot Bay Kindle World novels, or would like to explore the possibility of writing your own book set in my world, visit www.roxannestclaire.com for details!
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Dear Reader Letter
Author's Bio
Other Books By Shirley Hailstock
Chapter 1
She had to get there–Now!
The startled looked on April Quinn's face must have mirrored that of her assistant when April came out of her office holding a phone message and told her to cancel all her appointments. She didn't stop to explain, just left the office and drove straight to the airport after taking a moment to quickly pack a suitcase. Since she traveled often, she was always ready to go.
Three hours later, she stood in front of the rental house where she and her former partner, Darcy, had stayed the summer they were nineteen and about to embark on their careers. April's breath and heartbeat were the same as they'd been when she checked the news on her computer that the house would be torn down at the end of the summer. She could hear the water of Barefoot Bay lapping in the background and smell the salt in the air. However, the Eden Paradise House looked as if it was on its last leg.
And it was.
That knowledge had spurred April to drop everything and rush here. There was something she had to retrieve. She couldn't take the chance that it wouldn't be found and traced back to her. The result of someone finding it would destroy her and the business she'd worked night and day to make a success. And it would kill her father's reputation.
Inside, the entrance had close to the same look it had held seven years ago. The difference was mainly lack of care. Everything was old, worn or in need of repair. April shook her head at the shame. When she and Darcy had been carefree girls, giggling and laughing as they ran out to go to the beach, the place had been state of the art. But April knew that everything changed with time.
She walked to the desk, rolling her suitcase. "April Quinn," she told the clerk. "Checking in."
"Yes, Ms. Quinn." The young girl pulled up her reservation up on a screen and check it. She gave April a form to sign and ran her credit card. Then she turned and lifted a key from a board behind her."
"Excuse me," April said. "That's the wrong room. I asked to be in room six."
The house had three stories and was set back among the trees, although the bay was visible from two sides of the house. The place was large as houses where in the 1920's when this one was built.
The woman looked at the board. "I'm sorry, but room six is already occupied."
"I have a reservation for that room."
"I apologize," the young lady said. Her voice was calm and diplomatic, indicating that despite her young age she could deal with difficult guests. "I can't throw the gentleman out. He's been here for a couple of days."
April opened her mouth to argue, but closed it. She knew there was no need. And if she made a stink about it, it would only bring attention to her. And that's something she didn't want.
"You're across the hall. It's a much better room and has a good view of the bay." She said it like it was an apology, as if the bay view was better than the room.
April accepted the key with a smile. Pulling her bag behind her, she went to the stairs. There was an elevator, installed in the 1960's, but she wasn't sure of its sturdiness. If it had been maintained like the rest of the place, she didn't want to get in it. Fitnesswise, she often took the stairs between floors, but since her office building had twelve floors and she worked on the top, she used the elevator when she arrived and left.
Unlocking the door to room nine, she went inside. Turning on the light, she surveyed the place; two queen size beds, one dresser, a fireplace and two doors–one to a bathroom and the other to a closet.
"What's Plan B going to be?" she asked herself as she dropped the suitcase handle and went to wash her hands. It was still daylight. She could go to the beach and rest on the sand while she formulated what to do next. She'd expected to arrive, retrieve the case, and hire a fishing boat to take her out to sea where she would discretely drop the incriminating box into the debts of the Gulf of Mexico.
But things hadn't gone as planned. Now she had to find a way to get into room six and hopefully find whether the box was still in the place where she'd hidden it.
April didn't think more about a plan. Her adrenalin was cresting and she needed to rest and regroup. Leaving her luggage open on the bed, but still packed, she changed into a swim suit and headed for the sandy beach. It hadn't changed in the years since she was last here. The water was crystal clear, the sand white and hot, the air filled with the smell of sea salt, and the sounds of gulls flying overhead.
Spreading her blanket on the sand, she pulled her sunglasses down and her book up. But she never read a single word in it. She focused on a man and his son who were playing in the sand. The two moved in and out of the water, laughing and playing with the waves.
"Dad!" the boy suddenly shouted and began running toward a man coming acr
oss the sand. He caught the child who launched himself upward, propelling the two around in a full circle. April smiled at them. She knew she shouldn't stare. Children always stole the show. The two men shook hands and then the boy and his obvious father left the same way he'd come.
April went back to looking at the water. Soon she was drowsy and decided the stress of picking up and leaving so quickly only to find out she had the wrong room, was getting to her.
Maybe she'd eat and have an early night. As she reached the guest house, she ran into the man who'd been playing with the little boy on the beach.
"Hello," he said, stepping aside so she could precede him.
April almost missed the step. The man took her elbow and held on until she steadied herself. She felt electricity course up her arm and extend through her fingers. She looked up at him as if he could explain the strange feeling that passed between them.
"Hello," April said. She continued up the steps. He followed her. Inside, they both headed to the stairs. Room nine was on the second floor. April hesitated as they reached the first step. He gestured for her to go ahead of him. April was apprehensive about going into a deserted hall with a stranger. At the landing that split into left and right stairways, both she and the man stopped to let a couple coming down the steps pass them. As they reached the landing, the woman gasped.
"I forgot something," she told her companion. "I'll meet you at the front door."
April sighed her thanks to the woman, especially when both she and the man she'd seen outside, started down the same hallway. He went to room six. She gasped standing in front of room nine.
"I guess we're going to neighbors," he said. Taking the few steps between them, he offered his hand. "Richard Steele."
"What did you say?" April asked.
"Richard Steele."
She almost asked him if he was sure. Instead she said, "April Quinn."
He held her hand a little longer than necessary. April pulled on it and he suddenly released her. The electrical pulse that had gone through her was gone, turned to a bolt of lightning that seared her to the floor.
He couldn't be Richard Steele. Richard Steele was dead.
So who was he and did he know anything about her or why she was here? If he did, he hadn't let anything slip when she gave him her name. But he was in her room. He was the man who'd taken the room she reserved.
Why?
April would have to tread lightly when he was around. It didn't help that she felt an instant attraction to him. She'd felt the sexual pull when she saw him on the beach. Electricity seemed to crackle in the air. Well, they had just met, so there was nothing between them. Under different circumstances, she would have liked to pursue a friendship, maybe even a relationship, but since she was here for only one purpose, she had to keep her eye on the prize. And she had the feeling that Richard Steele was here for a purpose too. What was it? And did it involve her and her father?
***
Richard Steele stepped under the piercing spray of the shower in his room. The water pressure was strong and it hit him like tiny needles acupuncturing his skin. He thought of the woman he'd just met on the stairs, April Quinn. She looked familiar. He wondered why she was here. Too classy for a dying guest house like this one, she looked out of place especially when there were a thousand other better places to stay in and around Barefoot Bay. She looked more like the resort type and the Casa Blanca was practically within walking distance. What brought her to this place? Even if she didn't know what it looked like before she arrived, why wouldn't she move to a better location?
He was suspicious of everyone here, scrutinizing strangers, wondering who they were, what were they doing at this guest house at this particular time. Was there only one person involved or was there a conspiracy involved? Someone was bound to know something. Someone had to know what had happened to his father. It was a long shot, Richard knew, but the guest house was his only lead and it was going to be demolished at the end of the summer.
After that Richard would lose his final opportunity to discover the truth. His father was on his way to this house seven years ago, when he lost his life. Richard had rushed to him, but got there only a few seconds before he expired. His father left him with a single clue, one word–fare or fair. Richard had no idea what it meant. His father had worked for the Treasury Department. Did he mean fire? Where was there a fire? Did it have anything to do with the amount of money they burned each year in the treasury furnaces? He closed his eyes and thought more about it. Yet he couldn't say what it meant.
And he couldn't say why Ms. April Quinn was here either.
Turning off the shower, he grabbed one of the towels. It was thin, he thought, raking the course fibers over his skin and drying himself. Then he walked naked into the bedroom.
Richard paused in the act of drying his hair. She had to eat, he thought. As the clerk had told him when checking in, the guest house no longer served dinner. The restaurant was open for breakfast and a light afternoon snack. He'd find out where April was eating tonight and join her. He assumed she'd be alone since she'd only arrived today, but she was in a double room. That didn't mean she wouldn't be alone for the length of her stay, but he'd try Plan A. If that failed, he'd devised another one.
Turning, he headed back toward the bathroom to brush his hair when the file laying next to his computer caught his attention. Changing direction, he opened the file and leafed through several pages. He was about to shut the manila folder when one of the pages seemed to stick out from the bottom of the two-inch thick packet. He pushed it back in place, then found the page was a photo of a young girl.
Richard sat down in the chair, his naked flesh making contact with the roughness of its cushion. He ignored the discomfort as he stared at the smiling child. She had to be about ten years old in that photo, but he was in no doubt to her current identity.
April Quinn, the classy woman across the hall, the one with the dark brown hair and eyes with depth as deep as the Gulf was really April Quinn Echoes, the daughter of Mason Echoes.
How could he have missed that? He stared at the photo. She was a little girl in it, but she'd grown up and filled out in all the right places.
A frown furrowed his brow. Richard was attracted to her. He wanted to know more about her and this revelation changed everything. Now he had to covertly question her, find out what she knew and if she was involved in his father's death. Now he really had to find out where she was having dinner.
It didn't take him long. She told him herself.
As Richard closed his door, he saw April walking toward the stairs. She looked over her shoulder at the sound of his door closing. She stopped with her hand on the newel post.
"Hello," he said, joining her at the staircase. "We meet again."
"So we do."
They started down the steps. She'd changed into a sleeveless dress that was a step up from casual.
"You look as if you're going out. Are you on your way to dinner?"
She nodded. "All this clean air is making me hungry."
"You know the dining room no longer serves dinner. If you're alone, maybe you'll join me. I'm eating at the Bayside Restaurant and I'd love to have someone to talk to."
"You're alone?" She said it like it was a surprise.
He nodded. "It's a short walk." He looked down at her shoes. She was wearing flat sandals.
"I'd like that. I was going to ask at the desk for a good place to eat."
Perfect, Richard thought. The opportunity to grill her just dropped into his hands.
Twenty minutes later they were seated at a table next to the window, glasses of white wine in front of them.
"To the Bay," she toasted, lifting her glass and saluting the sea outside.
He touched his glass to hers, thinking that he'd have toasted to new friends. It was customary when you met someone new, especially when you were breaking bread with them. Her toast told him she wasn't cut from the customary mold and he was going to have to work q
uietly and discretely to crack her facade.
"Tell me, what brings you to Barefoot bay?" Richard asked.
"The sun, the beach, my health."
He frowned. "That's a joke, right?"
She smiled. "Yes, that's a joke. What brings you here?"
"The same. I came for the water."
They both glanced at the water and the waning sunlight. Richard noticed she had not answered his question.
"I was actually here before," she said, bringing his attention back to her dark eyes and long brown hair framing her face. "I spent a summer vacation here years ago. When I discovered the guest house was closing, I thought I'd come back." She laughed slightly. "Getting nostalgic in my old age."
"Old age?" he questioned. "I doubt that." She was probably in her early thirties, but a woman's age was something you didn't overstate. Understating was acceptable, even welcomed. But getting it wrong on the long side could ruin his chances of finding out what he really wanted to know from April Quinn. Wisely, he refused to offer a number.
"I'm over thirty," she said.
He expected her to drop her chin, toss her hair, or do something that would highlight how young she really looked, but she didn't move at all, only looked him straight in the eye. The waiter arrived to take their order forcing them to break eye contact.
"What do you do? For work, I mean." Richard was used to observing people, seeing their nuances and slight gestures, noticing things that were unique to them. He'd said April had attorney skills. She took beats between thinking and speaking. From his experience, he knew this could be because she was cautious and wanted to think about her replies before uttering them. It could be an intimidation factor to force the other person to become uncomfortable and defensive, taking them to a place that had them filling the air with their voice and often saying more than they intended.
Was she doing that to him?
Barefoot Bay: Counterfeit Treasure (Kindle Worlds Novella) Page 1