Check

by Pamfiloff, Mimi Jean

  I went down the stairs, noting how much I’d missed this place. The immaculate grounds with their colorful flowers and lush green trees were just lovely.

  But where did all these people come from? On my prior trip there had been perhaps twenty guests. Now it seemed the whole world was here, and not all of them wore red butterflies.

  Staff brought in to assist with the meeting perhaps? The odd part was, I felt like… No, Wilma. That’s ridiculous. I couldn’t possibly know all these people. Nevertheless, each face I saw made my brain tingle—like they belonged to a memory I just couldn’t place.

  “Ma’am? May I have your name, your original name?” said a young brunette wearing a blue and white Hawaiian-style shirt, standing planeside holding a clipboard.

  “Wilma Salinger.”

  She began flipping through the pages, using her pen to skim through the columns. “I’m not seeing you here.”

  “Well, I assure you, I was invited.” I pointed to my necklace. “And they had my name on the plane’s list.”

  “I’m sure it’s just a mistake on our part. With thousands of people flying in over the next few weeks, it’s been a little crazy.” She held up her finger. “Don’t move. I’ll be right back.” She scurried away toward the reception building.

  “You look lost,” said a deep smooth voice.

  I turned my head only to be greeted by a pair of substantial pectorals. Slowly my gaze climbed up, up, up to a stunning set of hazel eyes. He was, perhaps, the most beautiful man I’d ever seen with a lean, muscular build, wide shoulders, and thick brown hair. He had very tan skin, like he enjoyed spending his days outdoors.

  Too bad he’s so young. I was far too old to start over with a twenty-year-old who didn’t understand life, what women truly needed, or know what it was like to live after being so close to death.

  “Just a mix-up.” I swiped my hand through the air dismissively. “The young woman said she’d be back in a moment.”

  “I’m sure she will be, but how about you give me your name anyway so I can get you to where you need to be and out of the hot sun?”

  He smiled down at me, and I simply couldn’t believe what happened next. Flutters, that had been dormant since my teens, exploded inside my stomach. It hadn’t been like that with Bob. We’d married because he was respectable, and my parents pushed me to do it. But not once, in all my years with him, had I felt butterflies in my stomach. Our love had been more of a loyal friendship.

  “You all right?” The handsome young man lifted a brow.

  I nodded like a nincompoop.

  “Good. And your name is…?”

  “Wa-wa-Wilma.”

  His beautiful eyes twitched with delight. “Salinger.”

  “Yes. How did you know?”

  “I’m Luke. We spoke on the phone.” He smiled again, and though my kneecaps were in their twenties, my nerves were in their eighties. I almost fell over.

  He caught my arm. “You okay there?”

  I knew we’d never met, but I distinctly felt otherwise. He was like an old familiar song, the smell of fresh-cut summer grass, and a warm evening breeze on a perfect starry night. Everything familiar and pleasant in life. But better. And so very handsome.

  “Why, yes. I think so,” I said. “But…who are you?”

  “Luke. I now run the island—my uncle’s retired.”

  Oh. So no more Mr. Rook? At the moment, I didn’t care. “Have we met before?”

  “I don’t recall seeing you during your visit last month. And trust me, I would remember such a beautiful woman.” He grinned and leaned toward me. “But perhaps we met somewhere else, in another time. I’m much, much older than I look.”

  “How old?” I asked.

  He took my hand and kissed the top. “Old enough to know that you and I could have a lot of fun together. Join me for dinner tonight?”

  Suddenly, my fascination turned to panic. It was so unlike me to have these desires. And now he was reciprocating. What should I do? I didn’t know. Women of my day didn’t just…hop into bed with a man. I’d never been with anyone but Bob. I’d never even considered it.

  So why now? Why him?

  I snapped my hand away. “Who are you really?”

  He winked. “That, Wilma, is a very long story. But if you have dinner with me, I might be persuaded to tell you more.” Something dark and wicked flickered in his eyes.

  My heart racing, I stepped back. This man was dangerous. He was scarred. And despite my better judgment…I think, I think, I want him…

  TO BE CONTINUED?

  Keep turning the page for the author’s note and check for updates here: www.mimijean.net/rooksisland

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  Hello, all my fantasy lovers!

  I hope you enjoyed the end of Mr. Rook’s Island! Or is it the end? Muahaha…

  Feel free to check here for possible updates: www.mimijean.net/rooksisland Because you know me; I always like to leave the door cracked open. (And I do kinda really want to write a story of an eighty-year-old woman who’s now twenty and starting over, trying to come to grips with not only her suppressed sexual desire, but the connection she has with Luke—a wickedly hot man with a very dark, haunted past. Who’s with me? Maybe a 2019 release? LOL.)

  Anyway, if you’re looking for a FREE signed ROOK SERIES bookmark (the one with all 3 covers on one side), you know what to do!

  1. Email your full name and shipping address to mimi@mimijean.net

  2. Mention if you showed the book-love and posted an awesome REVIEW. Can be short or long! (Include a link or screen shot for a CHECK magnet. While supplies last! They go quickly!)

  3. Patiently wait for me to get to my exploding inbox. (Yeah, I’m slow. I know. But you should really see my inbox. It’s frightening.)

  4. Reread the entire series again while you wait? LOL. Or better yet, move on to one of my freebies! (I always have a few.) Go to my GOINGS-ON PAGE for current promos.

  FREEBIES & PROMOS: www.mimijean.net/romance_author_news

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  As for the story breakdown, in my mind I thought it would be sooooo easy to talk through. Wrong! I hadn’t realized how much symbolism and fun stuff I’d woven in. So in the spirit of trying to keep it simple, I will say that the story was inspired by the concept of being reborn. No, no, I don’t mean in the religious sense, though that could apply. I’m talking about how each of us transforms throughout our lives. We’re children and then teenagers. We grow into young adults and finally adults. But that’s not the end of the journey. Maybe we become parents or take on a specific career. Maybe we take on two or three careers as we grow and discover who we truly are. Finally, as we get to our golden years, we transform into something else: wise. Accepting. Appreciative of life. Maybe some of us look back and wish we’d been more adventurous and didn’t care so much about what others thought. In the end, however, people tend to think of themselves as one person with one identity that slowly ages, when really, we are different people throughout our journey—different roles, feelings, and beliefs.

  I used to think I was going to marry Simon LeBon from Duran Duran and be a fashion designer. No kids, though. Kids were horrible. But if you’d met that person, she was sure about what she wanted and who she was. Well, I am not that person anymore (kids are still icky, but man, do I love them! LOL). Just like I’m not the person I was at thirty who couldn’t imagine being a writer. The point is, I think every major milestone in life is a chance to be reborn and learn something new—from the past we just left and in our new stage of life. Until we’re finally old and wise.

  Anyway, I always thought it was unfair that once people get to that place in life—where they’ve been all these different people, know so much, and truly “get” what life is about—it’s over.

  That’s what inspired my story.
The resort and its fantasies represent that wild side, the indulgences, the adventurous and sexual beings we sometimes suppress instead of embrace. It’s all of the crazy things we wish we could’ve done. The fountain of youth, obviously, represents the bittersweetness of old age—you finally find wisdom, peace, and self-love, but it wasn’t free. It cost you a life—an entire life—to get there. Okay, okay. And the lagoon was also a fun concept: What if we could get to do it all over again, knowing everything we know at the end of our lives?

  And finally, Mr. Rook and Stephanie. For me, that element is simple: Don’t spend your entire life living in the past, paying for the past, and carrying around other people’s baggage unless you want to be lonely and/or miserable. They had both lived through some pretty horrible things, and the strings of the past became their prisons. It took losing everything to understand what was truly important. In real life, we hopefully never get to that point of rock bottom before stepping back and being grateful for what we have.

  All right, peeps. I wish you happy reading. May all your fantasies come true and your life be filled with mistakes but not regrets!

  Mimi

  P.S. PLAYLIST can be found here or on the CHECK homepage on my website along with Pinterest fun! Enjoy!

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  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  A warm, tropical hug to the usual hosts of my fantasies. (I mean that in a nonsexual, non-creepy way.) Thank you for helping to make book #34 and Mr. Rook come to life! Su, Kylie, Latoya, Dali, Pauline, and Paul!

  A special thank you to Auntie Lee for the awesome brainstorming session to bust through my writer’s block!

  To my family: Please stop scaring me by opening the door when I’m writing. My heart can’t take it! LOL.

  With Love,

  Mimi

  COMING SOON

  Seriously, I don’t even know how to describe this story, other than to say…

  IT’S BOOK TWO! Yay! And…mystery, mystery, mystery with Vanderhorstsssth!

  www.mimijean.net/the-librarians-vampire-assistant

  Excerpt – THE LIBRARIAN’S VAMPIRE ASSISTANT, Book One

  From New York Times Bestseller Mimi Jean Pamfiloff comes a Horribly Sunny Mystery, The Librarian’s Vampire Assistant.

  NOBODY MESSES WITH HIS LIBRARIAN. . .

  Who killed Michael Vanderhorst’s maker? It’s a darn good question. But when the trail brings Michael to hellishly sunny Phoenix, Arizona, his biggest problem soon becomes a cute little librarian he can’t seem to stay away from. He’s never met a bigger danger magnet! Even her book cart has it out for her. And is that the drug cartel following her around, too? “Dear God, woman! What have you gotten yourself into?”

  Things go from bad to worse when local vampires won’t play nice.

  Can this four-hundred-year-old vampire keep his librarian safe and himself out of hot water? Can he bring his maker’s killer to justice? Yesterday, he would’ve said yes. But yesterday, he didn’t have a strange connection with a librarian. Yesterday, people weren’t trying to kill her.

  CHAPTER ONE

  “Oh! I’m so sorry!” says a blonde at the front of the coffee line, forcing my attention away from the phone in my hand. She’s wearing a rather unattractive red coat and has apparently rammed into a UPS guy carrying a hot cup of tea.

  “Serves him right. Only weak men drink tea,” I growl under my breath and return to my screen.

  My name is Michael Vanderhorst, and I am not usually this grouchy or this close to doing something terribly unwise—throats torn, heads lopped, appendages removed. Unwise. However, today is quite possibly the worst day of my life, and a silent rage is brewing inside me.

  But let us not start off on the wrong foot. I am actually a nice guy. Some might say I’m a classic gentleman, and they don’t mean I know which fork to use, though I do. They mean gentleman in the true, old-fashioned sense. I open doors for ladies and stand when they rise from the table. I keep my word, pay my debts, and believe in being polite to others, even when they don’t deserve it.

  Do not get the wrong impression. I am no pushover either. I get my hands dirty when the situation warrants, but generally I am an agreeable man.

  Or I used to be.

  A man.

  Now I’m a vampire, and like most of my kind, the journey hasn’t been an easy one.

  No, this is not the reason I’m in a foul mood. Neither is the fact that I’ve been in line for over ten minutes, waiting to order coffee.

  Oh, yes—pause of deep appreciation—coffee.

  “Oh, dear me! I’m so sorry!” I look up again, and the same blonde woman, who I see only from the back, has just knocked over a towering pile of coffee cup lids onto the floor.

  The employees rush to pick up the mess, and when she bends over to help, she hits her forehead on the counter. “Ouch!”

  I am about to step forward to assist, but she seems all right, rubbing her head and apologizing to the entire world.

  I hope she doesn’t stab herself with a straw or spontaneously combust. Then I’ll never get my coffee. I cannot start my day without it.

  Do not be shocked. There are many things people don’t know about my kind. For example, we don’t live exclusively on blood. In fact, I prefer spicy vegan dishes. Indian food is delicious.

  Another myth? Vampires cannot go in the sun. Also untrue. We are merely averse to it. Right now, it’s a cool spring morning in downtown Phoenix, and while I am sweating through my Italian suit and can’t get home to Cincinnati fast enough, the sunny sky outside is merely an annoyance.

  So now you’re wondering just why I’m so angry. It is something so ghastly, I can hardly say the words. Two days ago, someone killed the most upstanding person ever to walk the planet. Clive was a give-you-the-shirt-off-his-back sort of man, which is the likely reason his detective agency wasn’t making money. I once worked for Clive—also a vampire—but his generosity toward his clients, giving away his services, got to a point where he could no longer employ me.

  So I went back to school, obtained yet another degree, and started my eighth profession, this time in biotech research. When you’ve lived as long as I have, you get bored. I find changing occupations every fifty years keeps a man on his toes, and if you’ve guessed that would make me over four hundred years old, you would be correct.

  “It’s your turn, dude,” says the pink-haired man behind me.

  “About time. Thank you.” I step up to the counter, where I order my usual—a nonfat latte with an extra shot of espresso. “No make that two extra shots,” I say to the barista and pop five dollars into the tip jar.

  “Coming right up.” The young redhead attending to me smiles, but it’s the sort of smile that says she wants to bed me. Little does she know that while I am a handsome man—six feet one, deep brown eyes, and a very charming smile—she can’t help herself. Yes, that myth is actually true. Humans find us irresistible.

  I offer the barista a polite nod and step aside to await my coffee, but something outside catches my eye through the plate-glass window. It’s that same blonde woman with a paper cup in her hand, playing Frogger with oncoming traffic.

  Oh! Watch out. Dear woman, what are you doing! She’s nearly run over by three separate cars. I’m about to run after her, but she makes it across to the other side of the street.

  What the devil was she thinking?

  My cell vibrates in my hand, and I sigh with relief. “Finally.” It’s a text from the local society granting me a meeting at one o’clock. Society is the modern term for coven, which is made up of a collection of families. Each territory has a different society and, since vampires are very territorial, I cannot stay longer than a day without a visa—not
that I plan to since I’m not permitted to have anything to do with investigating Clive’s death.

  Sadly, I am here to collect Clive’s ashes and take the good man home to his final resting place.

  Regardless, whoever hurt him must pay. Not death, but entombment, which is far worse and the only outcome I’m expecting to hear at today’s meeting with the society’s head. “We’ve caught the bastard. He’s been sentenced to life.” Anything shy of these exact words will cause trouble. From me.

  My order is called at the counter, and I grab my hot coffee, immediately going in for that first delicious sip. “Ow!” It burns my tongue. Why do I always do that? I’m far too eager when it comes to caffeine. Especially in the morning.

  I take a seat at the counter along the window that faces the street. Immediately, my reflection catches my eye. My brown hair is a mess, and I apparently forgot to shave this morning at the hotel. My tie is also crooked.

  I straighten myself out and glance at my watch, a fine antique Clive gave me on my birthday over a hundred years ago.

  Clive… I feel the red-hot rage build again. He was my best friend, my brother, my father, and my maker.

  Nobody touches my family, I snarl on the inside. My strong hand squeezes my coffee cup, threatening to send the piping hot liquid up in the air.

  Dammit all to hell. I need a distraction, something to keep me calm until one o’clock. Otherwise, I won’t stand a chance of keeping a level head when I walk in to meet whoever runs this sunny, pleasant dump of a town.

  My eyes gravitate back outside. I remember passing a library one block down. I’m sure I can find a quiet place there to get some work done on my laptop, which will keep me out of the sun and occupied for the next few hours.