Seduced by Sunday

by Catherine Bybee

  Val stepped forward and took the pen from her hand and scribbled out the one on his paper and wrote a two. “A lone shot of me was taken.”

  Meg scowled. “Anything else you’re not telling me, Masini?”

  “Nope, I think that’s it.”

  Trusting this man was becoming more and more difficult. She looked at the papers again, grabbed the pen back. “Who is threatened by the actual pictures?”

  It wouldn’t hurt her reputation if a shot of her and Val circulated . . . nor would it hurt to be found at Michael’s side. She shoved her page aside and took Michael’s. Of the actual pictures, Michael’s rep wasn’t compromised. She took Masini’s page. “Kissing me isn’t the end of the world, but if word got out that pictures were being taken here, your resort might become painfully empty.”

  She jotted her thoughts on the papers and kept going.

  Val watched her in silence.

  It was obvious that Michael and Masini had the most to lose if more pictures were taken. Could whoever was taking them have more that they were waiting to reveal?

  “The paparazzi would have already circulated the pictures if the media took them. So I think we can rule out that angle. Another guest?”

  Val paced the room. “I’ll draw a list of names of those here with something to hide. We can rule them out. The others, who knows?”

  “Made any enemies getting where you are? Anyone ticked that you made all of this happen?”

  “Jealousy? You think someone wants to bring me down out of envy?”

  “It’s one of the most basic of sins, Masini. I suggest you dig back in your diary and see if you’ve shoved someone a little hard.”

  “If I had, wouldn’t they have taken pictures of obvious indiscretions? Why snap a photo of me walking on the shore, or kissing a beautiful woman? Wouldn’t it be better to find a senator’s wife, as you put it?”

  “That’s a good question.” She wrote it on his paper and circled it. “Michael and I are a link . . . why?”

  “Ryder’s first instinct was to flee. Maybe that’s what the photographer wants,” Val said.

  “Maybe Michael knows someone on the island who doesn’t want him to know they’re here.” Meg wrote the lead down.

  “Plausible.”

  “We haven’t spent much time in the common areas of the hotel. Maybe we should.”

  She flipped over the papers and sat in one of the kitchen chairs. “Now, let’s talk blackmail and monetary gain.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Gabi felt her brother’s frustration as keenly as if it were her own. The island resort might not be hers, but she was part of it and would do anything to keep what her brother had built on the island intact.

  She worked by Carol’s side to determine who had arrived on the island, and who might have left and come back during the time the Wolfe party had arrived. Three flights had landed and taken off again. The flight staff never left the building on the tarmac. Most of the guests took the charter to Key West and flew from there.

  There were daily deliveries that brought familiar faces to the island. Most never left the dock. Still, Gabi spent her early evening interviewing the staff in charge of taking deliveries and greeting those who serviced the island.

  “Thank you for your understanding.” Gabi shook the hand of Adam, their head of deliveries. Nothing entered the island without his knowledge. At least in the organic nature.

  “I like my job, Miss Masini. If this drill will help me keep it, I’m not going to complain.”

  He was the third person who’d alluded to the drill being something more. Maybe it was because of the intensity of questions, or how Lou brought in everyone on his security team to take part in the “drill.”

  The first set of employees changing shifts had been interviewed, and slowly filtered onto the off-island charter. Security double-checked their bags and thanked them for their understanding.

  Gabi tried desperately hard to smile and thank their staff for their patience as they exited the island. Security interviewed the oncoming staff before they moved to their designated work areas.

  When she had a moment to breathe, Gabi took a walk in the warehouse.

  She looked at the pallets of food, drinks, cleaning supplies, office supplies . . . any- and everything needed to make the island run. She rounded the corner to find Julio standing over several wine crates. Seeing him placed a smile on her face. “Hello, Julio.”

  Alonzo’s cocaptain of his yacht wasn’t a big man. At maybe five foot eleven, he carried an extra thirty pounds for his frame, but he had a nice enough smile. She’d only met the man a couple of times.

  “Miss Masini.” He seemed shocked to see her there.

  “Did Alonzo come early?” His yacht wasn’t at the dock and hadn’t been all day.

  “No, ah . . . he’s due tomorrow.”

  Strange. “How is it you’re here?”

  “I fell ill last week when we pulled in. Mr. Masini offered me a place to recover. Close quarters of the yacht would have made everyone sick.”

  That made sense. “You’re feeling better, I hope.”

  “Much. Thank you. Looking forward to getting back to work.”

  Her gaze fell on the crates of wine. “I really hope that wine hasn’t been in here since Alonzo was here.” It should have been moved to the cellars, where the wine was kept at the right temperature.

  Julio shifted his eyes to the crates.

  Gabi looked at the back of the boxes and placed her hand on the sides. They were cool to the touch, as if they’d been placed in the warehouse recently.

  “Perhaps Mr. Picano wanted them?”

  “That’s silly.” Gabi walked to the end of the aisle and saw Adam walking away. “Adam?”

  The man turned, started her way. Once at her side she pointed at the crates. “Do you know why these are sitting here and not the cellar?”

  He shrugged. “I have no idea.”

  “Someone must have made a mistake. Can you see that they’re moved back underground? I’d hate for it to spoil in the heat.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Thank you. I’m going to find my brother and see how much longer we’re going to run the drill.”

  Adam lifted a brow as if unconvinced. “I’ll keep the pace here.”

  Carol interrupted Gabi’s path, asking her to intervene with some of the female staff who weren’t happy about their purses being searched.

  An hour later, and the threat of the ladies’ jobs being placed on hold until the drill was completed if they refused a simple search, and Gabi was ready for more than a sparrow’s portion of food. And perhaps a tiny cocktail . . . or two.

  “I don’t like the plan.” Val paced his private office, dismissing everything Meg proposed with a flick of his wrist.

  “Do you have another one? Because I don’t think we’re any closer to finding who is behind this now than we were before your investigation.”

  “Placing anyone in the spotlight for a photographer is a bad idea.”

  “My God, Val, the man . . . or woman, has a camera, not a gun.”

  “If pictures of you circulate, each time with a different man . . . that’s . . .”

  “It’s what? My parents are self-proclaimed potheads, not preachers, or deacons of their church.”

  Val nailed her with a hard stare. “I don’t like it and I won’t be part of it.”

  Fine. She stood and grabbed her purse. He didn’t have to play kissing games with her, but that wouldn’t stop her from playing kissing games with others.

  “Where are you going?” he asked when she walked past him.

  “I’m getting ready for a late dinner . . . maybe a little dancing.”

  “Margaret?”

  “Stand by and watch, Masini. You do what you have to do, and I’ll do what I have to do.”

  He moved in front of her, blocking the door out. “Cara, please. There has to be another way to draw our photographer.”

  She shoved aro
und him. “When you come up with it, tell me.”

  She heard him swearing . . . or at least that’s what she thought he was doing, hard to tell when he cursed in Italian. Maybe she should pick up the other language to be more socially acceptable with her potty mouth.

  Meg patted herself on the back for her brilliance and made her way back to the villa she shared with two gorgeous men. Such a hardship . . .

  Later, the three of them entered the dining room, the actor, the singer, and the reluctant costar. She wore the dress she’d arrived on the island with, her hair styled by one of the many spa specialists on the island. Late dinners were the norm and the dining room was packed. Unlike when Michael and she had arrived the first night, for this one they went out of their way to make sure people saw them.

  Meg leaned in to hear Ryder talk. “All we did was sit down and everyone is looking,” he said under his breath.

  “You haven’t seen anything yet,” she whispered before leaning back and laughing, drawing more attention from the closest tables. She placed a hand on Ryder’s and left it there. “Oh, hon . . . you’re such a gem.”

  Michael hid his grin behind the wine menu.

  She leaned into Michael’s space and pretended to read the list. “Pick something that won’t give me a headache, won’t you?”

  “Italian wines are better for that.” He tapped his finger on the menu. “Should we try more of Picano’s?”

  “You tell me.”

  “There was something familiar about the bottle we had that first night.”

  “That’s because all wine tastes the same.” At least in her humble opinion.

  “I’ll make you eat those words,” Michael said with a laugh.

  “Don’t you mean, drink?”

  “He’s ruthless about his wine, Meg,” Ryder said.

  She knew that already. Michael talked to the waiter about his wine selection while one of the hotel guests made their way to the table. “It’s Miss Rosenthal, right?”

  “Yes.” She didn’t recognize the woman asking the question.

  “I just wanted to tell you how much we enjoyed your performance last night.”

  Meg took the compliment gracefully and turned back to Ryder and Michael once the lady returned to her seat.

  “Do you know who that was?” Michael asked.

  “No idea.”

  Another couple stopped by their table to express their appreciation of the previous evening’s entertainment as they left the restaurant.

  “I guess it’s not going to be that hard to catch the attention of just about anyone looking,” Meg said.

  The wine was brought to the table and some fuss was made before Michael approved.

  Michael looked into his glass as if it held truth-seeing tea leaves that would tell him his future.

  “It tastes like wine,” Meg said.

  “I’ve never heard of this label, but the taste is familiar.”

  “Squished grapes, Mike.” Ryder sipped his wine and winked at Meg.

  “I don’t get it either,” Meg said.

  They moved through their first course and Michael ordered a second bottle of wine, and pondered it again.

  Meg let Ryder and Michael drink the majority of the wine, choosing to keep her brain clear for the rest of the night. They enjoyed their meal without interruption or drama. Meg made sure her laughs were a little larger than life, and once the boys were through half of the second bottle of wine, they were well on their way to being an active part of the evening.

  The DJ music was loud and there were several couples on the dance floor. The three of them stood around a tall table and Meg ordered a vodka on the rocks. She hit the dance floor before the drink had a chance to arrive. Once she was there, she turned to Michael and Ryder and waved one finger toward herself.

  Ryder nudged Michael and he joined her . . . as planned.

  She wasn’t that great of a dancer, but Michael knew his way around a dance floor. The music was fast, sexy . . . perfect.

  When Ryder cut in there were a few glances their way.

  Meg laughed, larger than life.

  Ryder put Michael to shame. At one point, she felt his hand on her ass right before he spun her away.

  He led her back to their table and waved the waiter over for water and another round of drinks.

  After another dance, Michael pulled her outside for a brief moment of fresh air. She took her drink with her and promptly left it on the nearest outside table before he drew her away from the crowd. “This far enough?”

  She pretended to stumble. He caught her. “Careful, hon.”

  He nuzzled her neck as a lover might. “Careful, Michael . . . wouldn’t want Ryder to get nervous.”

  He laughed, grabbed her head with both hands, and laid one on her. It was nice, she had to admit . . . but this was a friend, and other than the physical, she felt nothing. “That should do it,” he said before releasing her.

  “No wonder you’re paid big money.”

  He wrapped his hand around her and walked back into the club.

  All the while, she scanned the bar for one set of eyes and didn’t see them. Not until Ryder was whispering in her ear in the ruse of luring her back inside after an innocent kiss.

  “Having a good time?” Val asked as he stepped up to the table.

  He knew the game, but he still looked at her with a scrutiny that was afforded the father of a teenage daughter.

  She leaned into him, kissed his cheek. “I was wondering if you’d show up.”

  His jaw tightened. “Some of the guests wanted an encore.” He motioned toward the stage where one of the employees was uncovering the keyboard.

  Meg narrowed her gaze. “You want me to sing for you?”

  He pushed her glass away from her when she reached for it. “Before you’re unable to.”

  Meg tossed her head back and laughed, and then handed her glass to him with a whisper. “Hard to get drunk drinking water, Masini.”

  Vodka wasn’t the evening’s drink by accident. Funny how water and vodka looked alike to anyone watching from far away with a camera.

  “Well?” he asked after taking a sip of her water and lifting the edge of his lips in a grin.

  Meg lifted a hand to the stage. “Someone needs to introduce me, Valentino.”

  He leaned close so only she could hear him. “Why do I feel like a black widow is crawling over my skin, cara?”

  She pulled him close with his tie, straightened it. “You worry too much.”

  Val was the perfect host. He thanked everyone for coming, let the lighting change in the room long enough to invite Meg to the stage.

  Once the audience loosened their hold on their applause, Meg made sure she had everyone’s attention.

  “You’d think I’d have a break on my room rate for all the perks I’m giving you, Masini.”

  He surprised her with his response. “I’ve been watching your bar bill, Margaret. I think we’re even.”

  She laughed. “Which reminds me . . . I could use another round.” She turned on the keyboard, ran through a couple of chords, and made a downward motion to the tech, making sure the sound didn’t push away anyone listening.

  “I do my best work after a few drinks.”

  Michael laughed above the crowd. She pointed a finger in his direction. “Enough from you.”

  The crowd laughed, and within thirty seconds, a vodka on the rocks was sitting on the keyboard.

  “I have to admit, Masini . . . this island is beautiful.” She kept talking, the sound of the mic too tinny for her. The sound guy stood in the back of the room and adjusted levels with every word she said. She sipped her drink, added a bit of courage.

  The people in the room clapped and she kept talking and adjusting the keyboard. The chords started to sound like an organ, but not something inside a church . . . more like a nightclub. Oh, what she wouldn’t do for a few brass players and a guitar.

  “However, I might need therapy after so much time away
from the Internet.”

  “Hear, hear!”

  The room exploded with laughter and a chorus of praise for her observation.

  Val leaned against the bar and crossed his arms over his chest.

  Last night . . . last night the song, the experience was for her. The love of singing with Jim Lewis wasn’t something she’d ever forget.

  Tonight . . .

  She started the song . . . waited for the moment the audience realized what she was singing, and stared directly at Val as she gave life to “My Funny Valentine.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  He’d watched as Wolfe pulled her outside and kissed her. Looked convincing enough for him. Ryder did the job with a tiny fumble. Still . . . it killed him to watch. Val could count on zero fingers how many times it bothered him to watch a woman he’d kissed kiss another man. Well, there was Lissa and Philip in fifth grade, but that didn’t really count. Besides, he had been friends with Philip much longer than he’d wanted to kiss on Lissa.

  Now Margaret stood onstage singing. There was no doubt she meant the song for him. Though he didn’t think his looks were laughable, and neither did the snarky crowd, there wasn’t any doubt in anyone’s head that Valentine stood in place for Valentino.

  Every cell in his body fired in unison as Meg finished the song.

  “Thank you.” She offered a strangely demure bow and left the stage. The DJ cued up a slow song and jumped right in to keep the room alive.

  Several people stopped Meg before she wound her way toward her table.

  Val cut her off.

  More eyes were on them than he would have liked as he took her in hand and dragged her outside.

  He walked her around the corner, down a dark hall . . . outside to a location not accessible by many.

  She was against the wall, his lips possessing hers before any logical thought could stop him. Good Lord, she was soft and smelled like a breeze off the ocean in spring.

  Meg moaned and moved into him. He looked to find her eyes closed, her body lax against his.

  This wasn’t a kiss for a camera, he told himself . . . this was a kiss for him. The taste of her filled him, made him crave more. He stroked the back of her neck, tilted her, and moved his lips over the beating pulse at her throat and ran his tongue down the length of it.