Catch of the Day

by Whitney Lyles

  Shaking off that melancholy thought, he headed for the stairs leading to the roof.

  The hotel—of which he was a part-owner—catered to wealthy Americans who claimed to want a place where they could get away from it all. To that end, there was no high-speed Internet access, no cell phone service, and the telephones in the rooms could only be used to call other guests or the front desk.

  Which didn’t mean that these services didn’t exist, just that they were not available to guests. At least, not to those guests who - weren’t desperate enough to come begging for a hit on their BlackBerries. Or CrackBerries, as Quinn referred to them.

  Those guests who needed a fix were shown up to the roof, where they often got four or five bars. Plenty to calm them down for another few hours. And if their families didn’t believe they were at the pool or the spa or simply taking a walk on the well-marked trails in the jungle? Well, that was their problem.

  Quinn only told those wild-eyed folks who came to him with their cell phones clutched desperately to their chests about the hot spot on the roof, next to the landing pad where guests arrived on the zip lines.

  He chuckled to himself now as he climbed the stairs, thinking about how strange it was that guests supposedly came here to enjoy the wilderness, but that wasn’t really what they wanted. No, what they really wanted was air-conditioned rooms, top-notch meals, cocktails with ice cubes, and hot rock massages after a few hours of white-water rafting or rappelling down cliffs. They wanted to pretend that they were staying in an unspoiled jungle where jaguars ran free and monkeys roamed the trees, unmolested by humans other than themselves, but they wanted to do so in an environment that was as similar to home as possible.

  And, mostly, they wanted their cell phones to work.

  Fortunately, Quinn did, too. At least in this one area of the hotel, where the addicts could hide from their loved ones while checking their e-mail and voice mail and catching up with whatever drama was going on back in their offices.

  Quinn pushed open the door leading to the roof and put a hand up to shade his eyes from the noonday sun’s glare. Temporarily blinded, he stepped out onto the hot tar, his boots sticking to the gummy surface.

  He looked up, startled, when a shadow passed over the sun.

  Only it wasn’t a shadow.

  It was a woman.

  And she wasn’t passing over the sun. Instead, she was flying through the air like a human tennis ball that had been launched from a machine.

  Quinn didn’t have time to think, only to react. It was only later, when he found himself lying on his back with a cute brunette lying on top of him, her small, firm breasts pressed against his chest, that he fleetingly congratulated himself for—rather than stepping out of the way like any sane person would have done—opening his arms wide and catching her as she fell.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Dead men don’t get erections.

  Tasha took comfort in that thought as she contemplated the warm, solid—yet still unmoving—man beneath her. Their legs were tangled together, his firm thighs between her own, his lean hips nestled intimately against hers. His chest rose and fell with each breath, which Tasha took as another good sign.

  Dead men also don’t breathe.

  She raised her head. “Are you all right?” she asked.

  The man’s eyes opened, squinting against the sun’s glare. They were a striking color, somewhere between light brown and green.

  His arms tightened around her waist, his hands warm and strong on her back. Tasha resisted the urge to lay her head back down on his chest, to press her ear to his heart and let the steady beat lull her to sleep.

  “I’m fine. Just don’t move,” he answered with a husky voice that made Tasha think of silk sheets, whiskey, and hot sex.

  She blinked. Where had that thought come from?

  “Why not? Is something broken?”

  “No. You just feel so damn good.” His voice was a whisper in her ear, his breath tickling her neck and making her shiver.

  Slowly, he trailed one hand up her spine. She shivered again as goose bumps rose on her bare arms.

  Tasha held her breath as he reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. She felt like they were in some sappy movie, their gazes locked together, this strange electricity passing between them. For just a moment, she relaxed and let herself feel protected in this stranger’s embrace.

  That fantasy died a quick death, however, when her sister’s sparklingly white Keds appeared next to them. “Tasha? Mr. Hayes? Are you two all right?” Celie asked.

  Tasha closed her eyes and released her disappointment on a sigh. Here she was, dreaming that this man might be her own personal dragonslayer when, instead, he was a suspected white slaver.

  Figured.

  Hope never lasted long when confronted with reality.

  She tried to roll off her sister’s wedding planner, but the firm hand he kept pressed to the small of her back didn’t make it easy.

  “You can let me go now. I’m fine,” she protested. She was not going to get into some undignified struggle with the man. He’d either let her go or she’d damage a certain part of his anatomy that was still poking her in the stomach.

  “Sorry. I was just . . . uh, giving myself a minute to settle down here.” Quinn Hayes shot her a wicked smile that must have increased the earth’s temperature about two degrees, and Tasha forced herself not to blush or stammer or react in any way except to raise her eyebrows disapprovingly.

  “Yes. Well. I don’t think remaining in our current position is going to help anything.”

  Quinn’s grin only widened. “I don’t know, it’s making me feel pretty good.”

  “I can tell.”

  “Sorry,” Quinn said again, not sounding sorry at all. Then, in one lithe movement, he rolled them both over, sprang to his feet, and tugged Tasha up beside him. He made an exaggerated show out of dusting off her rear end, which Tasha put an end to by stepping out of his reach.

  “I’m fine,” she said in a tone of voice that implied that she believed he might have trouble mentally processing that information. She smoothed her T-shirt and made sure it was neatly tucked back into the waistband of her khaki shorts before turning to her sister, who was eyeing them with stark curiosity.

  “We’re fine,” Tasha repeated. “Just took a little tumble.”

  Celie looked back and forth between Quinn and her big sister. “Don’t you hate it when that happens?” she murmured.

  “Don’t start,” Tasha warned, scowling. If she had her way, Celie, the eternal optimist, would have Tasha and Quinn living in happily-ever-afterville before the weekend was over. But Tasha knew that things didn’t work out that way, at least not for her.

  She turned her scowl on Quinn Hayes, who stood watching her with a trace of that wicked smile still hovering around his mouth. “Mr. Hayes, I’m Tasha O’Shaunessey and this is my sister Celie. Her fiancé is back in San Pedro waiting for our luggage, which seems to have been misrouted. The airline assured us it would be here by this evening. I’m sorry for crashing into you like that. When I saw that Celie had come to a stop at the end of the zip line, it was too late for me to slow down. I had to unclip myself from the harness or I would have killed her.”

  “Don’t worry about it. Let me show you to the lobby so you can get checked in. And, please, call me Quinn.”

  He gestured toward a flight of stairs with one large, tanned hand. Determined to do what she’d come here to do—get her baby sister safely married and back to the States—Tasha straightened her shoulders and marched across the roof, with Celie and Quinn following at a more leisurely pace. First, she’d make sure Celie got settled in her room, and then she’d do a little poking around. Someone around here had to know about Quinn’s past and about his alleged role in the Martins’ disappearance. People didn’t just vanish without a trace.

  Tasha stopped at the bottom of the stairs and pulled open the heavy metal door, then gasped at the scene laid out before her
.

  “It’s beautiful,” she whispered.

  And, indeed, it was. The hotel’s lobby was tiled in white travertine; dotted about the open space were couches with dark frames upholstered in white. Exposed wooden beams crisscrossed the ceiling, and in the center of the lobby was a soothing rock fountain. There were no walls on two sides of the building, which allowed a cool breeze to come in and make itself at home. Several small birds sat near the edge of the fountain, their eyes narrowed sleepily in the noontime sun.

  “Worth the journey, huh?”

  Tasha turned at Quinn’s softly uttered question. “It’s lovely,” she agreed as she stepped into the lobby with Celie right behind her, a similarly impressed expression on her face.

  Quinn nodded toward a dark-haired woman who was watching them from behind a large desk. “Olivia can take you from here. I’ve got something I need to . . . uh, take care of.”

  With that, he turned back to the stairs, letting the door slowly swing shut behind him.

  Tasha told herself they were well rid of him and didn’t even try to come up with an explanation for why she felt a sudden chill. Instead, she rubbed her arms to warm them as she and Celie made their way across the lobby.

  “Good afternoon,” the front desk clerk greeted them as they approached.

  “Hello. We’re checking in. Tasha and Celie O’Shaunessey,” Tasha said.

  The woman busily typed something into her computer, then frowned at the screen.

  Great, Tasha thought. What now?

  She waited for the clerk to tell them that there was no reservation under their names or that they were overbooked and she was going to have to send them to a Motel 6 or something.

  That sort of thing happened to Tasha all the time.

  “I’m sorry, Ms. O’Shaunessey . . .” the front desk clerk began, her large eyes dark and sad, as if she’d seen a lifetime of sorrow.

  Tasha sighed and reached out to squeeze her little sister’s arm. Everything would be all right. Tasha wouldn’t let anything ruin Celie’s wedding.

  “. . . but your room has not yet been cleared by housekeeping. The honeymoon suite is ready, but the second room is not.”

  Tasha blinked with surprise. She’d been prepared for much worse than an unmade bed. “Oh. That’s fine. I’ll just wait down here until it’s okay for me to check in,” she said.

  “Are you sure?” Celie asked. “You could come up to my room with me.”

  Tasha chewed the inside of her bottom lip. This would give her the perfect opportunity to do a little snooping without Celie finding out. “No. You go. Get a little rest before Cal gets here,” she answered breezily.

  Celie’s eyes narrowed on her sister. “Are you up to something?”

  Putting a hand over her heart, Tasha blinked innocently. “Me? Why would you say that?”

  “Because I know you. You’re not happy if you don’t have something to be nosy about.”

  “Nosy? I’m not nosy,” Tasha protested.

  Celie’s only response was to raise her eyebrows.

  “I’m curious. That’s not the same thing.”

  “Uh-huh. I’m curious, too.”

  Tasha frowned. “About what?”

  “About what was going on between you and my wedding planner just now,” Celie answered with a chuckle.

  Tasha turned away so her sister wouldn’t see the blush heating her cheeks. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Sure you don’t,” Celie muttered.

  “Really. There was nothing going on. It was just . . . um . . . I mean, yeah, he’s attractive. Kind of reminds me of Harrison Ford in those old Indiana Jones movies. But I don’t even know the guy.”

  “And if you did, you’d find a reason to push him away.”

  Tasha glared at her sister. “That’s not true. I always give people the benefit of the doubt.”

  Celie crossed her arms over her chest and tapped the toe of one of her white tennis shoes on the tile floor.

  “We’re not having this conversation again,” Tasha said, then turned to the front desk clerk. “Can you give my sister her room key, please?”

  “Certainly,” the clerk said smoothly, as if she hadn’t heard a word of their conversation. She handed Celie a card key and gestured toward a walkway to her left. “After you get settled, you may want to check out our restaurant. The chef prepares many daily specials for your enjoyment. Or you may just want to relax by the pool, which is open from ten A.M. to midnight every evening. You may also order room service, of course. We have a full menu, which you’ll find in your room, along with a list of amenities here at Las Palmas.”

  Their argument forgotten, Celie took her key and asked Tasha if she was sure she didn’t want to come with her to her room. Tasha, however, did not want to risk being forced to continue their conversation.

  “No,” she said. “I’ll just hang around here until my room’s ready. You go on up and get settled. No need to worry about me.” She shot her sister what she hoped was a convincing smile.

  Celie clutched the room key to her chest like a kid with a lollipop. “All right. But if you get bored, you know where to find me.”

  Tasha nodded and turned toward the nearest grouping of couches. She planned to start her investigation by chatting up the front desk clerk. As soon as her sister left, that is.

  “Oh and Tasha?” Celie said.

  “Yes?” Tasha paused, but didn’t turn to face her sister.

  “If you’re going to check out my wedding planner, you’d better be careful. I understand he’s got a pretty shady past.”

  “What do you mean you can’t get here until tomorrow? I need to turn over this shipment now.” Frustrated, Quinn pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. This operation never ran as smoothly as it should. Fugitives often arrived unannounced, sometimes even when Quinn was away from the hotel trying to run his legitimate businesses.

  Too bad trafficking in people was so profitable.

  Not to mention important to the goals of his partners.

  Quinn sighed.

  Like always, he was just going to have to find some way to deal with this unexpected influx of refugees until someone from the mine was able to pick them up.

  Fortunately, this latest hotel guest hadn’t brought a large party of revelers to the hotel to help celebrate her wedding. Some of their more wealthy clients contracted Quinn not just to arrange the details of the ceremony itself, but for elaborate receptions, rehearsal dinners, and bachelor parties as well. But Celie O’Shaunessey and her fiancé, Cal, just wanted something simple, which made Quinn’s job easy. He’d already scouted several locations for the ceremony based on his phone interviews with the happy couple. This afternoon, he’d give them a tour of the area and let them decide where they’d be most happy exchanging their vows. From there, it would be a fairly easy task to pull together everything else they’d need.

  Easy, that is, once Quinn managed to get his extra “guests” off his hands.

  “Fine. I’ll call you tomorrow morning to arrange a rendezvous,” he said to the man on the other end of the line before hanging up. There was no use protesting. He knew that if it were possible for his contact to get the refugees today, he would have done so. Quinn would simply have to make certain they remained out of sight until the next day.

  That shouldn’t be too difficult.

  He pushed open the door leading to the lobby, intending to see how the fugitives were settling in, but froze when he heard the voice of a man he had once prayed would die a slow and painful death. He remained hidden in the shadows, his hands clenched into fists, as he strained to hear what was being said.

  “—don’t know what you’re talking about. There’s no one here but the hotel staff and our guests,” Olivia said, admirably trying to hide her fear under her usual calm.

  “My men tracked Rafael Ramírez and his human cargo as far as San Pedro. Who else would harbor him but his old friend Quinn Hayes?”
<
br />   “I’m sorry, Mr. Acosta, but I can assure you Rafael Ramírez has not been here.”

  “Liar!”

  When Acosta slammed his fist down on the counter in front of Olivia, Quinn stepped away from the door leading to the roof. No way would he just stand there and allow Acosta to bully Olivia . . . or anyone else at his hotel.

  The front desk clerk saw him and shook her head, as if to tell Quinn that she could handle this by herself. But she didn’t know

  Acosta like he did. The man was a ruthless bastard who wouldn’t hesitate to torture Olivia to get the answers he sought.

  And because he was the head of Costa Playa’s secret police and sat at the right hand of the president, he could—and did—act with impunity.

  Quinn knew all too well the depths to which Acosta would sink in order to get what he wanted. He had experienced firsthand the consequences of the other man’s wrath.

  “Excuse me, is there a problem?” Quinn asked as he slid behind the front desk and smoothly placed himself between Acosta and Olivia.

  Acosta’s flat gray eyes narrowed. “Quinn Hayes. So we meet again.”

  Quinn half-expected Acosta to wring his hands and laugh evilly after this pronouncement, but instead he rocked back on his heels and clasped his hands behind his back.

  “I’d like to say it was a pleasure, but I’d be lying,” Quinn said.

  “Then the pleasure is all mine.”

  Quinn nodded to acknowledge the truth of Acosta’s statement. The guy had been a wack job when Quinn first met him ten years ago, and it didn’t appear as if the ensuing years had made him any less crazy. Or any less powerful.

  “Where are the fugitives?”

  Quinn pretended to ponder the question for a moment before answering, “I’m sorry, to which fugitives are you referring? We get so many here at Las Palmas, where our nightly rate is double the yearly income of the average resident of Costa Playa.”

  A vein in Acosta’s forehead bulged as the man’s face reddened with anger. “I could have you killed for that,” he hissed.

  “Then do it.” Quinn shrugged, picked up a pen that Olivia had left on the counter, and began tapping it on the marble desktop because he knew the gesture would annoy Acosta. He also knew he was poking an angry bear with a twig. If the bear chose to turn and swipe his head off, there was nothing he could do.