by Calista Fox
She knew Rory had several full days ahead of him, but he’d taken the time to cook for her. Christian was likely the one in the shower. He, too, had a packed schedule. Mostly conference calls and FaceTime sessions, but he was also following her around to all of her documentary shoots.
Tossing off the bedcovers, she crossed to the table and devoured breakfast. Then took her glass of OJ out to the balcony, where she reveled in the breathtaking views. Then she returned to the room just as Christian strolled in, looking devilishly handsome in a black polo shirt and dress pants.
Though she told him, “You’re going to swelter in pants today.”
“Won’t be the heat that does the trick,” he told her. “You’re mostly going to be in a bikini the next two days. That’ll send my temperature into the red zone.”
Her first assignment was investigating the local mom-and-pop shops and eateries. Then she’d be swimming with the dolphins, snorkeling, and, finally, learning to windsurf in the resort’s cove. The cooking demos would take place later in the week.
She asked Christian, “Rory’s off to work with his chefs?”
Christian slipped his arms around her and said, “Yes, and he’s building in the competition for favorite local recipes with four chefs going head-to-head. This ought to be interesting. The audience for the exhibition and competition will be a mix of regional residents and tourists. So I’d say the pendulum could swing any way.”
“This’ll be fun. But we’re cramming a lot into one hour, aren’t we?”
“The network and I decided we’d do two-parters for the test run. Pack as much of a punch as we can.”
“Because we need to stand out,” she said with a nod. “That makes sense. There are tons of cooking shows on TV.” She gnawed her lower lip. Felt a sense of foreboding low in her belly.
“Hey, sweetheart.” Christian kissed her temple. “You are going to shine so bright. No one doubts that for a second. So don’t worry. Don’t stress. Just be your radiant self.”
“Hmm. Rory’s always telling me that.”
“Well, then, fuck. What a drag that I have to agree with him.”
She laughed. “You can always be counted on to ease the tension.” She kissed him. “You’re really too fantastic for words.”
“I know.”
Bayli rolled her eyes.
He said, “Now … go shower. Your hair and makeup ladies are on their way.”
She went about her business while Christian went about his. They met up in the foyer later and their driver took them into town, with half of the production crew trailing behind—the others had departed with Rory. They filmed Bayli’s documentary with all of her tidbits gleaned from her research. There’d been numerous takes from various angles to be edited together, but Bayli had been so enthused and had been so well prepared that she could deliver commentary smoothly and easily.
By the end of the evening, though, she was exhausted. The next day was more of the same. She was in the string bikini Rory had once teased her about. Had a mask on her face and flippers on her feet, and was about to wade into a shallow cove and photograph the ocean life when one of the production crew handed over a small stack of freshly made flour tortillas.
Her brow knitted. “It’s not exactly lunchtime. What am I supposed to do with these?”
He told her, “Pull off chunks and drop them in the water. The fish will swarm you. Better shots for the show.”
“Yeah, no.” She shoved the stack back at him. “I don’t want to be swarmed. I know the new fad is to have fish nibble your feet, but huh-uh, no way. Not for this girl. Not going to happen.”
“You’re wearing fins,” he reminded her.
“Still not interested in the swarming.” She shot a look over her shoulder to Christian. He gave a half shrug. “Oh, sure,” she said. “Easy for you to be so noncommittal. You’re not swimming with piranhas.”
“Fish, sweetheart.” He grinned. “They’re just fish.”
“Right. Just fish.” She took the tortillas and went snorkeling. And loved every second of it.
She’d expected the dolphins to be an easier scenario to work with, but having the large creatures come right up to her and get in her face—in the most adorable way—had her squealing in near terror. For all of two seconds. She smoothed her hand over the head of one and it squeaked as though content and suddenly Bayli was in love.
On the third full day, she was in the resort’s cove on a lightweight board with water socks on her feet, gloves on her hands, and a life vest buckled around her. She’d spent the entire morning learning to balance her weight on the board while it sat atop two logs spaced from tip to end. Then she’d worked on her technique in the shallow water. Now there was a sail attached to the board and as it floated in the water, the instructor yelled out directions for her to hoist the sail and let the wind catch it.
Sure. All good in theory.
But bending over to clasp the uphaul was challenging, as the light ripples of water caused the board to rock. She lost her balance and fell backward into the lagoon. Repeatedly. On her fifth or sixth try, she was actually able to lift the sail.
“Grab the boom!” her instructor directed.
She did. And fell right into the sail as it slammed into the water.
She sputtered.
Christian called out with concern, “Are you okay?”
“Dandy,” she groaned. But got right back on the board and tried again. She might end up drowning, but at least she’d put some effort into it.
Eventually, she was able to keep the sail up and she did, indeed, catch the wind. Too much of a stiff breeze, because she headed straight out of the lagoon and into the rougher waters of the Pacific. Bayli screamed. Though, in truth, it was a huge rush. She just didn’t know what to do now that she was seriously on the move.
She hit the choppier waves and absorbed the rise and fall with bent knees, but she had no idea how the hell she was going to get back into the lagoon. She laughed, a bit hysterically, and dropped the boom. The sail collapsed and she fell backward into the water again. When she surfaced, she climbed onto the board and waved to her instructor and his assistant as they were on their way to retrieve her.
She couldn’t wait to see the footage of her actually windsurfing … though the bloopers would be infinitely more entertaining, she knew. And Christian felt they’d “humanize” her for the audience.
At dinner, she told Rory all about her adventures. He, too, had experienced some entertaining moments, including one of his chefs preparing fire-roasted peppers on an outside grill that was positioned under a palapa top. The peppers weren’t the only thing on fire. Luckily, the flames fringing the dried palm fronds were immediately doused. No harm, no foul, according to Rory, but it created some memorable shots.
The next day was reserved for taping the show. Christian and Rory were on-site mid-morning, while Bayli prepped herself mentally and her stylists spent extensive time on her appearance. Her nerves were a bit jangled, but the best part of having done the documentary-ish portion of the show in advance of the cooking demo was that she’d spent several days in front of cameras already and was feeling more comfortable with moving around, rather than simply posing.
She felt natural and liked that there had been plenty of interactions with people on the street and locals to generate a friendly, fun platform.
Now for the pièce de résistance!
Bayli was beyond excited, even if the hint of anxiety continued to linger. The girls left her to meet up with Rory on location, telling her they’d touch up Bayli once she arrived. She was happy for the respite so that she could just chill out over a light lunch and then relax before the limo came for her.
Christian had worried over leaving her alone for a few hours, but Bayli was grateful for a little solitude. Plus, she was ensconced behind two sets of heavy, coded gates. And the housekeeping staff was still downstairs, finishing their work.
So she slipped behind the closed drapes in the master suit
e and out the patio doors to enjoy the view for a few minutes. It was another cloudless day, the sky a perfect shade of blue and the sun blazing bright. Bayli had taken dozens of pictures from this balcony. The scenery truly was breathtaking, especially since it was all unobstructed.
Unfortunately, she wasn’t a fan of the heat and was only good for five minutes of soaking up the vitamin D and beautiful vistas. She headed back to the sliding door and tugged on the handle. It didn’t give.
She tried again, panic instantly sparking.
She yanked harder. Several times.
“No!” Bayli cried out, and pounded the heel of her hand on the hot glass.
The door was locked from the inside! A member of the staff must have flipped the latch without knowing Bayli was on the balcony because they always kept the drapes closed when the sun beat down on the backside of the house this time of day.
Bayli was dressed only in her long, navy-colored, silk nightgown. She grabbed up some of the flowing skirt and wrapped it around her fist so she could make contact with the glass without burning her hand.
“Melita!” she called out to the main housekeeper. “Let me in!” She pounded harder.
Then she raced over to the railing and planted her hands on the top of it to look over the edge and see if there was anyone tending to the downstairs patio or the grounds who could help her.
But she hadn’t given thought to how the metal railing would have absorbed the heat and she let out another scream at the searing pain on her palms.
With barely a breath in her body, she managed to call out for Melita again. Then Bayli hurried to one end of the balcony and yelled for help. Then the other. But there was no one in sight.
Now in a full-blown panic she grabbed the small end table between two rattan chaise longue chairs, held it by the legs, and banged on the door. It only bounced off, not even leaving the tiniest of cracks or chips.
“Fuck!” she wailed. What was this, bullet- and soundproof glass?
She kept at it with the table while begging for someone to help her. She prayed this would just be ten minutes of her own harrowing travel experience to regale Phillip and Colin with, but as her strength waned, the perspiration dripped from her, and her makeup melted under the intense heat, Bayli had the horrific feeling this was not going to be a short-lived nightmare.
She suddenly had petrifying visions of the scene from Interview with a Vampire when Claudia and her new “mother” were trapped in the underground cell of the theatre players with the impending dawn creeping in on them, sun rays slowly filling the grated opening above them. The two female vampires had been huddled together in their long evening gowns. But nothing could save them from incineration. Not even Louis, who’d barely grazed the ash that had once been Claudia’s arm and she’d disintegrated before his very eyes.
Not a particularly comforting visual given Bayli’s current predicament.
Dropping the table, she went back to the railing, cautious not to touch it or get too close to the glass panels that enclosed the deck. She screamed for help again. But there wasn’t a soul on-property to save her.
Bayli had no phone with her. No way to signal for help. No water. Except …
“Oh, thank God!” There was a two-person Jacuzzi tub on the balcony. She crossed to it and cranked the knob for the cold water. A pathetic little stream trickled out. Then … nothing.
“No way,” she said on a shattered breath. She cranked the other knob and got the same result. Tears stung her eyes.
No water.
None for her to sit in and cool down until someone rescued her. None to drink.
Like the two vamps, she was trapped under the relentless rays, with zero breeze and not an inch of shade for protection.
Fuck! This really couldn’t be happening.
But it was.
She went back to the patio doors and banged some more. Until she had to admit that there was no one on the other side to let her in. And jumping over the railing didn’t seem like such a fab idea because she’d hit the hard patio below and break every bone in her body. Probably bleed to death from compound fractures before anyone got to her.
So she needed a Plan B.
Survival mode kicked in and she surveyed the balcony. The only saving grace she could see was the chaise longue chairs. She stripped the cushion from one and spread it horizontally in the tub. Then she took the other and perched it on the ledge, creating a little bit of shelter from the sun and the hot surface of the tub. She crawled in, the sweat still pouring from her body and her breathing shallow.
She needed water. Badly. But she tried not to think of heatstroke and dehydration and just plain shriveling up and dying right there in paradise.…
TWENTY-ONE
Christian was with Rory when the driver he’d hired to pick up Bayli phoned.
“No esta aqui,” came the driver’s rapid-fire Spanish.
“What do you mean she’s not there?” Christian demanded.
“I’ve searched. There’s no one here in the house. Not on the patio or the grounds.”
“That’s impossible! Where would she have gone? She doesn’t have a car.” Fear gripped Christian.
Rory gave him an insistent, imploring look, only hearing half of the conversation.
Christian said, “Keep looking.”
He disconnected the call and told Rory, “She’s missing.”
“How?” he asked, incredulous. “That place is locked down. And like you said, she has no vehicle.”
“What’s going on?” Lily joined them. “You two look panicked.”
“Bayli’s not at the house,” Rory curtly said.
“She has to be,” Lily assured them, looking deeply perplexed—matching Christian’s and Rory’s expressions. “There’s nowhere for her to go. Not even down to the beach. There’s no direct access. She’d need transportation no matter where she wanted to take off to.”
“She could have called a cab,” Christian strove for a reasonable explanation. Not the horrifying one creeping in on him.
“No way,” Rory said. “Not without telling us. And besides, she doesn’t know the gate codes to let anyone in.”
“Look,” Lily urged, ever the problem solver. “She has to be there somewhere. Go to the house, Christian. The audience is already filing in and we’re supposed to be taping in half an hour. Rory can get things rolling.”
“Not a fucking chance!” the chef roared. “This is exactly what we don’t want. Me interacting with these people. That’s the very reason we tanked the first time. And it’s Bayli’s job.”
Lily threw her hands up in the air in frustration. “We have to do something! Christian.” She clasped his hands firmly. “Go get her. Worst-case scenario, I’ll fill in until she arrives. I can warm up the crowd. We can stall for a half hour or so. There are margaritas to pour and I’ll play hostess while Rory and his chef whip up an appetizer.”
“With what excess stock? We’re cooking specific items here,” Rory gruffly told her.
“We’ll have the resort send down ingredients. We’re using their beach—I’m sure they’d love additional promo.”
Rory raked a hand through his hair. Shook his head. “No. I’m not going to be able to concentrate until I know where Bayli is and that she’s safe.” To Christian, he said, “I’ll go with you to the house. Lily, cancel today’s taping. We’ll do it tomorrow. Offer some sort of incentive for everyone to come back.”
He was on the move, and Christian knew there was no stopping him. He was hot on Rory’s heels.
Christian didn’t bother with the driver, just grabbed the keys from him and slid behind the wheel. He and Rory tore out of the parking lot and wound up the hill.
Rory said, “Maybe she just got cold feet and went for a walk to clear her head.”
“You didn’t see her the past few days. She was perfectly at ease in front of the cameras—no cold feet there. She was laughing, making fun of herself when warranted, talking about the region as though
she’d lived here her entire life. Bayli’s sensational in this role.”
“Then where the hell is she?” Rory demanded in an edgy voice.
Clearly, neither of them wanted to consider the possibility that her stalker might have actually followed her to Mexico. But after the break-in and the box of spiders … anything was possible.
They passed through both sets of gates and Christian jerked the SUV to a stop in front of the house and jumped out. He and Rory raced into the foyer, where they found the driver they had hired for Bayli.
He said, “There’s no one in this house but me. I just covered the entire lawn. She’s not out there, either.”
That was not an acceptable answer for Christian or Rory. They took off in separate directions to comb every square foot of the house, calling out Bayli’s name. Rory started downstairs. Christian took the suspended steps two at a time to the mezzanine. He checked all the nooks and crannies and then searched the bedrooms and bathrooms. No Bayli.
“Goddamn it!” he hollered just as Rory stormed in.
“No sign of her. At all,” Rory said in agitation.
Christian’s gaze swept the master suite where they’d met up. His eyes fixated on the closed blackout drapes that kept the powerful sun from turning the room into a sauna. Bayli wasn’t a sun worshiper in this kind of heat; she’d told him so herself. But what if she’d gone out for a few minutes to work on her tan and had fallen asleep?
He strode to the doors and reached around the curtain to pull on the handle. It didn’t budge. The door was locked, so that answered his question. She wasn’t outside. Except … she wasn’t anywhere else, either.
With a forceful gesture he shoved back the drapes.
“What the fuck?” Rory mumbled as he stared out the tall windows. Toward the Jacuzzi tub. And the lounge chair cushion covering one end of it.
“The wind didn’t do that,” Christian said. “There is no wind today.”
He flipped the latch on the handle and slid back the door. He and Rory dashed across the balcony. Rory tossed off the top cushion.