Royal Pains (Watchdogs, Inc. Book 2)

by Mia Dymond

  “Yes,” Green answered. “And apparently, he pulled it off because when the camera recorded the hot tub at two-fourteen, there’s no sign of the cart or Mr. Knight.”

  Harvard tapped with table with a thumb. “How many entrances are there from the outside area into the building?”

  “Two.”

  “Is there a camera on the second door?”

  “No. Since this camera records guest areas outside of the building, Mr. Russo decided not to place one on the back door. That door is generally a staff entrance and not utilized by guests.”

  Diesel leaned back in his chair and buckled his hands behind his head. “Let’s go back to Overton for a minute. Are there any other entrances to Suite 1134?”

  “No.” Green shook his head. “There are fire escapes and fire exits on each floor, one at each end of the hallway. Suite 1134 is in the middle of the hallway.”

  “Can you give us a rundown of the senior staff?”

  Green rattled off the roster like it was branded on his brain. “You are familiar with Daniel Santana, the General Manager, and Francois Gerard, the Concierge. Amelia Mercado is our Housekeeping Director and Tianna Olander is the Entertainment Director. Gus Olander is the Food Service Manager, responsible for the kitchen, dining room, and the bar. Magnus Brandt is the Chef, the hostess is Barbara Coleman, and Sandra Watson is the Bar Manager. Paul Bickel is the Transportation Director, responsible for any transport of guests. Kara Kennedy is the Registered Nurse on staff for medical issues.”

  “Everyone spoke to law enforcement?”

  “Yes. Everyone was interviewed after both murders, and everyone’s alibis check out.”

  “What’s the resort’s policy on romance between staff members?”

  “We don’t have a direct policy. In fact, Gus and Tianna Olander are married. As long as the relationship is discreet, it doesn’t pose a problem.”

  Harvard ran a hand over the top of his head. “What do you know about Santana?”

  “He’s very dedicated to his job. Mr. Russo hired him personally and he makes himself available twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week.”

  Ice nodded in silent agreement. In his experience, Santana was everywhere all the time. “Was there any bad blood between Santana and Overton or Knight?”

  “Not to my knowledge. Mr. Santana doesn’t micromanage, he simply expects the staff to perform their duties professionally and efficiently.”

  “Do you have any ideas about our suspect?”

  “I’m fairly certain it is not one of our staff, but I do believe that someone on the inside has provided access to the premises – accidentally or on purpose, I don’t know.”

  “We’ll do our best to find him.” Diesel stood, effectively ending the conversation. “Thanks for taking the time to meet with us.”

  Green stood at the same time as he and Harvard. “Any time. Please don’t hesitate to find me if you need anything further.”

  ***

  Stretched out on a bright yellow lounger Bailey soaked up the afternoon sun with Grace and Trista on each side, sprawled on their own loungers. Beneath her tortoise-shell sunglasses, the blinding sunrays bounced off the sparkling white sand and the clear blue ocean water, reminding her that the island truly represented paradise. Too bad murder had given it a black eye.

  She inhaled a deep breath and settled back into the lounger, determined not to let the unfortunate events shake her any more than they already had. Now that Diesel and Harvard had arrived to investigate with Ice, she was confident the three men would get to the bottom of things in no time.

  “So Bailey, how did Ice coax you into the water?” Trista’s question pulled her attention away from the ugly subject of murder and she rolled her head to one side.

  “How much of the truth do you want?”

  “All of it.”

  “But PG, please,” Grace added.

  “We negotiated.”

  “Uh-oh,” Grace mumbled. “Sounds like you lost.”

  It was her turn to be smug. “Nope.”

  “Interesting.” Trista raised both eyebrows above her sunglasses. “What kind of deal did you make?”

  “I agreed to brave the water if he agreed to learn to Salsa.”

  Grace squealed and Bailey turned to see that her friend had removed her sunglasses to reveal that her eyes widened to the size of saucers. “You actually convinced Ice to take Salsa lessons?”

  “Yes, and believe me when I say he has natural talent. I almost orgasmed after the first lesson.”

  “I said PG,” Grace said over a giggle. “But I’m jealous.”

  “That was PG. Tianna’s a great instructor. You and Harvard should take her class.”

  “If you can promise me the same result, I’m there.”

  “There’s a dance tonight after dinner in the ballroom.”

  Grace giggled. “Think we can convince the guys to go?”

  “We won’t have to convince them.” She shrugged. “It will give them an opportunity to observe the guests and the staff.” She turned back to Trista. “Maybe you should ask Diesel.”

  “Are you crazy? I told you he values his personal space and dancing requires that I invade it.”

  “It would allow you guys to get to know each other.”

  “Nuh-uh, a nice conversation would be sufficient.”

  “Sorry to interrupt.” Grace placed a hand on her forearm. “Bailey, who is this man jogging toward us?”

  She leaned forward. “Paul Bickel, the Transportation Director at the resort.” She smiled as he approached. “Hey, Paul.”

  He nodded. “Ladies. You haven’t seen the resort’s excursion boat, have you?”

  She quickly glanced down the beach at the now-empty slip at the dock. “Come to think of it, no. I don’t remember seeing it at all since we’ve been out here.” She looked at her friends. “Have you guys?”

  Both women shook their heads in the negative.

  “Did the scuba diving excursion run longer than expected?”

  “No, we didn’t have any participants today. I came down to get the boat ready for the sunset cruise.”

  “What about the others?”

  “All accounted for.” He cracked a smile. “I’m sure it’s here somewhere. Enjoy the sun.”

  “Thanks.”

  As soon as he left the area, Trista asked the exact question that she, too, tossed around in her brain.

  “Where else would it be rather than tied to the dock?”

  “I have no idea. Cleaning and repairs are done right there.”

  “Sounds to me like someone took it for a joyride.”

  “Probably, or an excursion went out without notifying Paul.” She shrugged. “It’s happened in the past.”

  Grace handed her a bottle of sunscreen. “You’re pink.”

  “Thanks.” She poured a handful and then glanced at Trista while she smeared the cream over both legs. “I’m glad you changed your mind about coming to the island.”

  Her friend didn’t move behind her dark lenses. “Didn’t have a choice. Diesel gave marching orders.”

  “And you followed?”

  Trista lifted her glasses with one hand. “He changed the alarm code. It was either stay a prisoner in the house or follow the plan.”

  “Actually, it’s Gracie’s fault.”

  “Sorry,” Grace mumbled.

  Bailey giggled. “I’m only kidding. It’s not your fault that some maniac decided to trash your house and then Ice went overboard and insisted I upgrade my system.”

  Trista laughed. “Well, you’re definitely safe inside those walls.”

  “Bailes, I still can’t believe you conned Ice into dancing.” Grace released a soft sigh.

  “It wasn’t a con. I had to go into the water, remember?”

  “We heard,” Trista drawled. “And you obviously enjoyed it.”

  Did I ever. “I did, and speaking of water how about we take a dip?”

  “Sure.” Trista stood and grinned
as she tossed her glasses on her lounger. “You won’t have quite the magical experience with us, but we won’t let you drown.”

  ***

  Later that evening, Diesel picked up his beer and took a long draw, never moving his attention from the woman on the dance floor. Her knee-length, yellow sundress wrapped her body like a glove, tight enough to accent her sexy curves but not so much as to restrict her movement. As her dance partner spun her away from him and then back again, his gaze moved to her full breasts, held in place by the tightened, buttoned bodice. Cut into a V, the neckline allowed just a peek of the creamy, tanned flesh – just enough to make his mouth dry. He lifted the bottle and took another swig. Keeping an eye on Trista might be the death of him.

  “You snooze, you lose, Captain.”

  Without moving his gaze, he was quick to answer Harvard’s jab. “Who says I lost?”

  “No one. She’s just pressed up against that Italian Stallion instead of you.”

  “Who is he?”

  “I have no idea. I was just making an observation.”

  He smirked as the music slowed. Italian Stallion, right.

  “I don’t lose.”

  He turned and handed the cold, sweating bottle to his teammate and covered the distance to the dance floor with determined, sure steps, confident that crashing the party would bring him sheer pleasure. And when he tapped Trista’s dance partner on the shoulder, he didn’t have to utter a word. With a quick thank you to Trista, the other man wasted no time in leaving the area. Diesel closed the gap by grasping her hips and easing her against him.

  She lifted both eyebrows while she draped both arms around his neck. “You’re full of surprises.”

  “How so?”

  She shrugged. “I didn’t quite expect dancing to be your thing.”

  “It isn’t.”

  “Yet your very impressive groin is pressed against me and so far, you’ve avoided stepping on my toes.”

  “Impressive, huh?”

  She giggled and rolled her eyes. “I just complimented you on your dancing technique.”

  He shrugged. “Have you noticed anything suspicious around here?”

  “Other than you dancing? No.”

  “What about at the beach?”

  “Bailey’s appearance at the beach was suspicious until we figured out her reasoning, but nothing else other than the missing boat.”

  He nodded and moved a palm to the small of her back, her muscle tone evident from beneath her clothing. Obviously, she had spent some time in the gym. He mentally grinned. Most likely on a yoga mat.

  “Do you think that was suspicious?” she prodded.

  Hell yeah, he thought it was suspicious but then again, nothing escaped suspicion with him – including why he currently had her body pressed to his. Another time.

  “Maybe.”

  “Are you always this talkative, or just with me?”

  “I thought we were dancing.”

  She frowned. “We are, but don’t you usually talk while you dance?”

  “I don’t dance, remember?”

  “Yet, we are.” She tilted her head to one side. “Why exactly are we dancing, Captain Clark?”

  He ignored the brush of her breasts against his chest. Hell. Every time she called him Captain, his cock saluted her.

  “I don’t trust your previous partner.”

  “Ah, I see. Do you know him?”

  “Not personally.”

  “Then maybe you’re not aware that he’s an Italian dignitary. I’m perfectly safe dancing with him.”

  He smirked at Harvard’s earlier description. Italian Stallion just about summed it up. He pulled her flush against him, trying his damndest to keep his attention away from her chest while he lowered his head to speak low into her ear.

  “I’m aware that Mr. Milanesi is employed by the Italian government. I also know that he enjoys jet-setting around the globe while he leaves hordes of women in his wake.”

  “Hordes?” He didn’t miss the tone of doubt in her soft voice.

  “Hordes. He’s quite the persuasive playboy.”

  “You’ve done your homework.”

  “Always.”

  “Is there any other man I should avoid?”

  “All of them.”

  He swallowed hard as the order slid past his lips before he could stop it. Damn those breasts. There was absolutely no way out of it now; she’d take full advantage to make him absolutely miserable.

  She eased herself back away from him and lifted a hand to trace the outline of his jawbone with a fingernail. “Well then, I’m glad to hear that you’ve decided to keep me entertained for the evening.” She gave him a smile that nearly forced him to his knees. “We’re going to have loads of fun.”

  ***

  He stood in the doorway of the room that hosted the night’s festivities and gazed at the crowd to assure he could account for anyone who might possibly interfere with his duty. He must act swiftly but also make perfectly sure that he caused no suspicion. Much to his satisfaction, the place was packed with people who appeared adequately distracted. Relieved that escaping detection would be the least of his worries, he turned and left the area with determined, swift footsteps.

  He exited the building, careful to stay in the shadows and avoid the cameras. He knew the path well and closed the distance to his destination quickly. It wasn’t until he discovered another presence that his confidence wavered.

  With a lump in his throat, he realized in horror that yet another person had become a threat to the objective. Now the poor sucker would have to be eliminated. He ran a hand over the top of his head. Why did curiosity always push someone to intervene?

  Hidden in the dark shadows, he waited for the inevitable moment to make his move. Confidence once again overtook him and allowed him to focus on the task at hand. What a shame there wasn’t another plan of action.

  He reached into his pocket, extracted his cell phone, and squeezed the button on one side to illuminate the screen. Assured the device was adequately muted, he returned it to his pocket.

  He glanced back at the target who continued his activity as if he had endless time to complete it. Little did he know, that was not the case. Time was of the essence. The boat would arrive soon.

  He squeezed both hands into fists while a brief wave of compassion passed over him. Perhaps he had acted too compulsively, maybe a short delay would allow him to reformulate his plan. Would his action really take care of the situation? Could he make a call to buy some time? He released a resigned sigh. Unfortunately, it was too late for compassion.

  Anger and disgust boiled his blood. Once again, he found himself backed into a corner with only one alternative and he had no option other than to proceed. No more regret, no more hesitation. The consequences were what they were.

  Determined to make the act as quick and painless as possible, he bent to retrieve his chosen weapon and eased out of the shadows. Adrenaline gave him the necessary power and speed to confront the unsuspecting target.

  Within seconds, the victim lay motionless.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  At O-six-hundred the next morning, Ice sat at a corner table in the dining room, amazed by the number of guests already present at the early hour. Up until today, the place had been a ghost town until O-eight-hundred.

  He glanced at Bailey, her hands wrapped around a steaming mug and her head bent as if she attempted to inhale the caffeine from the coffee inside. She now nursed her third cup and he still wasn’t convinced she was aware of her surroundings. He actually felt guilty about nudging her out of bed, but for purely selfish reasons. If he’d had his way, he would’ve awaken her slowly, taking ample time to coax her body into cooperation. By the time she was fully awake, he would have given her a whole different reason to stay in bed. Unfortunately, they weren’t alone anymore and he knew for a fact that Diesel would’ve dragged him out, bare ass and all, if he hadn’t reported early.

  He smirked and nudged Bailey’s arm
with an elbow. “This place is jumping this morning.”

  “Hmmm.” She lifted her cup, swallowed a swig of the brew, and then returned it to the table. “My guess is that most everyone’s been up all night.”

  He glanced at Diesel who sat directly across from him and next to Trista. “Did you close the place down last night?”

  “No.” As usual, the Captain offered no further explanation.

  But Trista did.

  “Actually, there were quite a few couples still dancing when we left. The party seemed to be in full swing, even at two o’clock a.m.”

  Bailey jumped right in on the interrogation. “You didn’t get into the suite until two?”

  “Two forty-five.”

  “How do you function?” Bailey mumbled.

  His tongue itched to question Diesel about the forty-five-minute interval, but he decided not to push. Harvard, however, didn’t hesitate.

  “Did you observe anything suspicious from the dance floor, Captain?”

  “No.”

  Ice shrugged. Harvard gave it a good shot but Diesel’s short, direct response wasn’t unexpected.

  Grace slipped her hand into Harvard’s. “What’s on the agenda today?”

  “More questions.” Harvard glanced at him. “I want to review the security tapes from the ballroom last night.”

  He bit back a smirk at his friend’s tenacity. If the captain kept any secrets about his activity last night, they were about to be discovered. As if she read his mind, Bailey squeezed his thigh beneath the table.

  He opened his mouth to at least play innocent when he heard the sound of banging pots and pans crashing against something solid coming from the kitchen. Loud, verbal expletives – American and foreign – sprinted through the air and kitchen staff soon streamed into the dining room.

  Diesel stood first. “Time to go to work.”

  “Come on.” Ice grabbed Bailey’s hand and urged her to stand. “We’ll probably need your help.”

  With Diesel and Harvard behind them, he and Bailey made it across the room first and approached a stocky man dressed in a white jacket and a white chef’s hat. Visibly shaken, his pallor matched his attire.