Remington nodded toward an outside diner down the street. He’d already scoped out the area, knew of two escape routes if he needed to vacate his newfound friends’ company in a hurry.
The three of them stepped into the shade of the patio; Remington took a seat with the wall to his back, an out to his right, his amigos on his left. A waitress was on them the second they sat down. Not risking anything, he ordered a bottle of beer, waited for the three of them to be left alone.
Raul ran a hand under his nose before he spoke. “Juan tells me you’re looking for someone.”
“Could be someone, or several someones. You tell me.”
Juan rolled his fingers together; Raul kept his eyes moving around the restaurant.
“Who wants to know?”
“Maybe I do.”
Raul scooted forward, his eyes blinking. “Information isn’t free, señor.”
The waitress returned with three beers and disappeared.
“You have information for me?”
Raul rubbed his upper lip again. Yeah, the man was dipping into some of Columbia’s finest . . . or perhaps cheapest. Hard to tell watching from the outside.
“If you have money . . . I have information.”
Remington removed two fifty-dollar bills from his pocket, made sure the man saw the hundreds packed behind them. “I need a name.”
“If I told you Picano is using the account?”
Remington lifted his hand holding the money away. “Don’t fuck with me, Raul. Picano is dead.”
Raul kicked back in his chair. “What about Mrs. Picano?”
Remington stood. The man was looking for quick money. He didn’t know shit.
Juan stood, along with Raul. “Wait, wait . . . I can get—”
“You can get the fuck out of my way. I don’t deal with people who waste my time, cokehead.”
“But . . .”
Remington nudged the other man out of the way and left the two bankers behind.
Back at square one. He pushed through the kids that circled him, bumping into him with their hands out. He shoved his hand into his pocket, fisted the change there, and tossed it several feet away. Like a flock of birds to crumbs, the children scattered to pick up what they could as he jogged across the street and disappeared.
He hustled up the filthy steps of the hotel and into his room. He shoved everything into the duffel bag and retrieved the cash behind the john. He patted his right back pocket, in search of his phone.
He froze, checked his left pocket . . . front pockets.
“Son of a bitch.”
Hunter wasn’t sure who was avoiding who. Both he and Gabi all but jumped on the opportunity to spend time in the nightclub instead of retiring in their private villa.
He didn’t trust himself.
Even with his head in a hundred different places, the one place it wanted to be was buried in his wife.
A dangerous thing, that.
For the both of them.
Across the room, Gabi danced with her brother. The two of them laughed and smiled . . . obviously caring for the other. Hunter couldn’t blame the man for being such a hard-ass. If he’d had a younger sister who had said yes to a temporary marriage, he didn’t think he would sit by and watch silently.
Meg slid up beside him. “You don’t seem the wallflower type,” she told him.
He allowed his eyes to leave Gabi.
“Just watching.”
“They look good.”
He nodded.
“I haven’t seen Gabi dance since before Alonzo died. Even at our wedding, she did what she had to, but she wasn’t happy about it.”
He couldn’t help but wonder why Meg was opening up.
“I never liked the man.”
“And why are you telling me this?”
She sipped her drink. “I’m not sure.”
He ran his fingers over the condensation on his glass. “Let me guess, your next words are a warning that if I hurt her I’ll have to answer to you.”
Meg lifted her eyebrows. “I thought about it. But no. I won’t have a chance.”
“Too many people in line in front of you.”
“Exactly.”
They both watched their spouses on the dance floor for a minute before he lifted his hand, palm up. “Dance?”
Women loved to dance. It was something Hunter learned about them early on. The music was upbeat enough to engage in a few twists and enough movement to avoid a lot of body contact. Still, he felt Val’s eyes on him as he led Meg through a few moves.
When the music changed, this time slowing down, Val tapped his shoulder and they switched partners.
The tropical scent of Gabi’s hair hit him first.
When her hand gripped his, her other reaching up on his shoulder, it took every ounce of power to avoid molding his body to hers.
After a few tentative steps, she leaned in close. “You’re a good dancer,” she told him.
He moved them around with style. “I dated a theater major in college. I had to learn or get left behind.”
Gabi smiled. “And how long did you date Miss Actress?”
“Two months.”
Her hand reached around his back. The feel of her fingers flexing on his shoulder distracted him enough to where he missed a step, but quickly recovered.
“Two months is hardly dating . . . more like a fling.”
“It was college.”
“But you kept that style of dating most your life.”
He glanced down, narrowed his eyes. “Part of your background check?”
“I stopped searching for names after I reached thirty.”
“Thirty? The tabloids stretch the truth.”
“So there weren’t thirty?”
He’d never counted. And even he knew that counting past dates while dancing with another woman . . . his wife . . . wasn’t smart.
“Nowhere close to thirty.”
She laughed. “I’ll pull my notes and we can compare.”
He distracted her with a few quick circles, pushing her out of his arms and back in. Fred Astaire would applaud.
People around them offered a little more room. He glanced at Val and Meg. “Well it’s official. Everyone in your immediate family has threatened to take care of me if I hurt you.”
Gabi pulled in a breath before dropping her forehead on his chest. “I should apologize.”
“They don’t know how strong you are.”
“I’m not that strong.” Her voice was low, nearly impossible to hear over the music.
He held her a little tighter after that.
The song ended, the pace picked up, and Hunter led her off the dance floor. At some point he realized he hadn’t let her hand go. Jesus, when was the last time he held a woman’s hand?
Meg interrupted their silence. “We’re headed in,” she told them.
Gabi released Hunter’s hand and hugged her sister-in-law.
“I can’t believe you’re leaving tomorrow. We didn’t have enough time.”
“I’m an airplane away,” Gabi reminded her.
“Yeah. Let me know when escrow closes. I’ll help you furniture shop.”
Val offered a laugh. “I hope that wallet is as deep as you say it is, Hunter.”
It’s part of the deal, he wanted to say, but didn’t. “I think I have it.”
Gabi kissed both her brother’s cheeks and watched Val and Meg walk out of the nightclub.
With the two of them now alone, he felt his pulse pick up. Nerves? Really? Since when?
“Do you want to go? Another drink?”
Gabi glanced at the bar, wrinkled her nose. “It’s late.”
He offered his arm and she took it.
The fragrant scents of the island, along with the ocean, mixed with the warm night air. Music drifted from the nightclub until they wound past the main building and down a path to their villa.
“Your brother has built something really special here,” he said.
&nbs
p; She sighed. “After our father died, he was driven to take care of us. It wasn’t an option for the resort to fail.”
Hunter understood that . . . the drive, the determination to move forward, conquer the next hill.
“Has he ever considered expanding . . . different locations?”
Her hand loosened on his arm as they walked. “At one point he talked about it. Then . . .”
Her words caught in her throat. A universal sign that he was treading in Alonzo waters.
The outside veranda of their private villa faced the ocean. The moon wasn’t full, but the sky was clear, letting the reflection dance off the waters like brilliant diamonds of the clearest cut. Instead of stuffing themselves inside, Hunter pulled out a lounge chair and encouraged her to sit. As much as he wanted to take her inside and start up where they left off in the kitchen earlier that day, he knew acting on that now would be a colossal mistake.
With feet stretched out before him, he toed off his shoes and leaned back once he knew Gabi had done the same.
He could see her mind turning . . . memories of Alonzo? Worry about what was happening between them? Hell, he had no idea what was going on inside him. For all the planning, he hadn’t expected to give a crap about her as a person. Yet much like everyone around her, Gabi demanded attention, and protection. She did it by nature . . . not practiced skill.
“You stiffen when you think of him,” he told her.
He heard her take a deep breath.
“Earlier today, your brother and I had a little talk.”
“Oh, no.”
“No,” he said quickly. “As much as it was against every cell in my body, I didn’t ask your brother to elaborate.”
He heard her relief with her exhale.
“I have a confession to make,” he said.
“Do I even want to ask?”
“Probably not. But the way I see it . . . we’re in this for a while. For better or for worse as they say . . . I’d just assume to avoid land mines if that’s at all possible.” Some secrets he wasn’t quite ready to reveal, but others . . .
“Well don’t stop now. It can’t be called a confession without an admission of a crime.”
He watched the gentle waves on the ocean. “I hired a private investigator to learn everything he could about you. ”
She stilled. “I hoped you wouldn’t follow through on that threat.”
“I’m a man of action, not threats.”
“So you already know my secrets.” Her voice was tight.
He shook his head. “No. Not the personal stuff. My investigator was working on the personal stuff until this weekend.” That afternoon . . . but Hunter didn’t think his confession needed that minor detail.
“What is he working on now?”
The rest of his confession wasn’t an admission of any guilt, and the words flowed. “I promised to work toward removing your name from Picano . . . from the bank accounts. He’s working on determining who is behind the offshore money.”
When his words met with silence, he ventured a glance and found Gabi staring. Her eyes softened, her smile easy and inviting.
Genuine.
She opened her lips to say something, then closed them.
“What?”
She hesitated. “Why? Why remove your investigator away from the information you seek?”
The answer came in one word. Trust. He wanted her to trust him. Only revealing that now . . . this early in their contract gave her too much power. If she knew he wanted her trust, she could pull out now and where would he be? No . . . as much as it killed him, he left that word out of his explanation. “You’ll tell me when you’re ready.”
He heard her legs shifting on the lounge.
“You’re impossible to place a finger on . . . you know that?”
He felt a smile on his lips. “I try.”
“See . . . I don’t believe that. I think it’s natural. Like a God given-right born unto only you.”
“I’m like everyone else . . . just a little more driven to get what I want.”
“Even if you have to blackmail to get it.”
He winced. “It sounds so ugly when you say it that way.”
She laughed. “It is ugly.”
He shrugged. He wouldn’t change it . . . and in light of the past week, didn’t think he did the wrong thing.
The conversation waned until he thought maybe they had exhausted all their words for the night.
“He was a manipulative bastard.”
Hunter practiced the fine art of silence.
And the gates opened.
“Our chance meeting, which I learned later wasn’t so chance, happened on the mainland. A fundraiser my brother and I were a part of. He was attentive and Val liked him. I liked him.”
Hunter heard the hurt in her voice.
“I was sheltered . . . as Meg has pointed out . . . living on this island. Not that I cared. But when Alonzo landed in my life I was more than ready to explore shores other than these.”
Hunter knew the story ended badly, and searched for words to keep her talking. “So you did.”
“I did. He would sail to the island, bring crates of quality wine as a gift to my brother. Val didn’t need the wine, but the guests seemed to enjoy it.”
The pieces of the puzzle in his head started to fall into place.
“He was supposedly setting up our future home in the vineyards of the California coast. His land in Italy was already prosperous . . . or so I thought, so when he suggested we start our life together in the States, I couldn’t be happier. I’d spent time in Italy, but the thought of being that far away from my family didn’t sit well.”
“Let me guess, Alonzo banked on that.” He was watching her now . . . the play of emotions on her face . . . the drop in her voice when she spoke of herself.
“I was such an easy target. It wasn’t until Margaret and Michael arrived on the island that everything came unraveled.”
There was a name Hunter had yet to hear. “Michael?”
“Michael Wolfe . . . the movie star.”
For the first time in the conversation, Hunter was stunned. “What do Meg and Michael Wolfe have in common?”
“Meg is best friends with Judy. Michael is Judy’s brother.”
He tried to catch up, and just went with the names and hoped he could connect the dots later.
“So Michael and Meg were here on vacation and Meg ended up with your brother?”
Gabi was smiling now . . . some of the earlier tension having left her body. “Meg was here checking out the privacy of the island for clients of Alliance.”
“Ohhh . . . got it.” That made sense. “So Meg and Michael hit the island . . . then what?”
“Michael knows a lot about wine.”
“So he heard of Picano’s wine?”
“No. The opposite. And when Alonzo figured out Michael was on to his misleading label, Alonzo made their stay here very difficult,” Gabi said.
“Misleading label?” Hunter was lost.
“Alonzo may have owned the land in Italy, that did in fact grow grapes, but he didn’t make wine. He used his supposed status as a winemaker to smuggle drugs.”
“Ohh . . .” He followed along with relative ease. “He smuggled the drugs with the wine he brought onto the island.”
Gabi was silent for a few moments. “I could have destroyed everything my brother built here with my fiancé’s deceit.”
“I doubt you knew anything about the drugs.”
“Still my fault.”
The desire to reach for her was huge.
She’d all but curled up onto herself as she spoke, giving no indication that she needed comfort.
“What happened next?” They’d yet to get to the personal stuff . . . the part that shattered the woman in front of him.
Gabi hugged her bent knees, her gaze fixated on the ocean. “While Meg and Michael accompanied Val to Italy . . . in search of the truth, I was oblivious. He took me away f
or a short weekend . . . a vacation off the coast on his yacht.” She shivered and her skin grew pale. She swallowed, and continued. “I grew up on these waters . . . well, maybe not grew up, but certainly never found myself sick on them.”
Hunter felt his hand clenching the arm of the chair.
“From the minute I stepped on the ship, I wasn’t right. We ate, drank . . .” her nervous laugh left him cold. “I slept. Woke to aspirin . . .” She laughed again and Hunter’s back teeth ground together.
“He told me it was for my headache.” Her eyes were a hard stare on the water. “Everything blurred.”
Hunter was sitting on the edge of the lounge chair, his knees bumping her chair. He wanted to touch her, but didn’t. He waited for the words to tell him the worst of it. Knew the story was going to get worse.
“The morning we married, I was lucid. Well . . . blurry, but I can’t say I didn’t know what I was doing.” She blinked in his direction for a moment, then looked away. “It would be easier if I knew he forced the marriage certificate.” She rested her head on her knees. “Let’s get married, he said. Today . . . now . . . he talked about romance. I said yes.” She sighed. “I said yes.”
Hunter found his tongue. “You loved him.”
She shook her head. “I thought I loved him.”
The waves crashed a few times . . .
“I remember bits from there. A meal . . . the stateroom. The nausea. I thought I was sick. After, the doctors told me the drugs he slipped into my wine . . . my water . . . was triple the prescribed amount.”
Hunter couldn’t help his hand that found her ankle. It was a comfort that she didn’t back away.
“I’m sorry.”
She shook her head, a tear fell from her eye. “He didn’t stop with pills.”
Hunter’s nose flared and his skin grew ice-cold.
“Alonzo smuggled heroin. I have a memory of his captain sliding a needle into me.”
Holy fuck. Hunter had to force the hand on her ankle to relax or risk breaking her delicate bones.
She looked into the star-filled sky. “They found me floating alone in a dingy in the middle of the ocean. I don’t remember how I’d gotten there, or how long I was bobbing in the sea. I remember a helicopter, then nothing until I woke in the ICU in Miami. I’d learned what he’d done to me, and why . . . he heard that my brother and Meg were on to him, so he forced his hand . . . used me . . .”
Treasured by Thursday (Weekday Brides Series Book 7) Page 15
