24 Hours Bundle

by Jo Leigh

She shot a quick glance at Cole and found that he was looking at her in that quiet, patient way that he had. Anxiety tightened into a hard little knot in her stomach. How much could she afford to tell Cole Buchanan? She still hadn’t decided. It would certainly help if she could find out how much he knew and what he was thinking. There’d been a lot of stuff in her PI class on “reading” other people. But this man was a pro. She wasn’t going to “read” anything he didn’t want her to.

  “Confession is good for the soul,” he murmured.

  Her eyes immediately narrowed. “I don’t have anything to confess.” But now that she was looking at him again, she was tempted to just lay the whole problem in his lap. That would mean betraying Irene though—and she couldn’t.

  “Where’s the Monet?” Cole asked.

  “I have no idea.”

  The simple truth of that statement made her stomach clench, and a bubble of panic rose in her throat. She really didn’t know where Irene and the painting were.

  And she had no doubt that he was “reading” her with great success. Break time, she decided. Deliberately, she shifted her gaze inland to the poolside bar again. It was built on two levels so that it could service swimmers as well as guests who preferred dry land.

  Gari was standing on the dry land side, and when he spotted her, he sent a two-fingered salute. He was wearing the same blue flowered shirt and white shorts that he’d worn at the airport and that the receptionist had worn when Pepper had registered in her aunt’s bungalow. It seemed to be the resort staff’s uniform.

  She’d had to think quickly when Cole had escorted her to the registration line. She hadn’t booked a room for herself since she’d intended to stick like fly paper to her aunt once they’d both arrived on the island.

  The young woman behind the registration desk hadn’t batted an eye when the name on the credit card had been Pepper Rossi instead of Irene. Thank heavens, Cole had slipped into the gift shop, and so he’d missed the whole transaction.

  “Enjoy.” Gari set down two scooped-out pineapples filled with pink liquid and topped with a straw and a colorful, little umbrella. Remembering what the young man had said, Pepper eyed the drink doubtfully.

  “Try it. You’ll like it,” Cole said.

  “That’s what I’m afraid of,” she replied.

  “And take these.” He pressed two pills into her hand.

  When she met his eyes, he continued, “Aspirin. You rubbed your temples three times while you were standing in the registration line, so I got some from the gift shop.”

  Oh, good, Pepper thought. Not only did the man have eyes like a hawk and truth serum at the ready, but he was going to turn out to be a mind reader too. And she’d been so hoping her luck had changed. She popped the aspirin into her mouth and took the first taste of her Island Fling.

  Smooth, sweet, and tangy, the liquid slid easily down her throat, and she was very tempted to take another swallow. Then another and another.

  “Dangerous,” she murmured. She’d had a similar reaction the first time she’d had a chocolate milkshake. She’d given in to temptation and drained the glass then.

  And she’d had the same reaction to Cole the first time she’d kissed him. Would she find it impossible to stop when she kissed him again?

  She’d automatically thought when, not if, she mused staring down into the drink. Her mind seemed to be in tune with her body on that point. Very deliberately, she pushed the pineapple away.

  “Why don’t you tell me what’s going on?” Cole asked.

  She turned to look at him. It was a definite mistake, but she couldn’t keep her eyes averted forever. His dark hair was still windblown from the ride, and his eyes were camouflaged by sunglasses. The now almost familiar itching sensation in her palms had her clenching her hands into fists again.

  If there was ever a time to pretend to be someone else, this was it. But for the first time in her life, she didn’t think it would help to try and be someone else. She didn’t think there was any way to escape this overwhelming attraction.

  He took a sip of his Island Fling, then set it back on the table. But he said nothing.

  In one part of her mind, she knew exactly what he was doing. Lesson number five in PI school had been on interrogating witnesses. One of the suggested techniques was silence. If the interrogator said nothing, often the person being questioned would be tempted to fill up that silence.

  Cole Buchanan looked so competent, and she’d gotten herself and her family into one huge mess. Each minute she sat in the sunshine, listening to the play of waves on the nearby sand, increased her desire to tell him everything.

  But she couldn’t tell him about Irene and her forty-year long-distance affair with Butch Castellano. Even if he could understand, she didn’t want to betray her aunt. Irene had never told anyone—not even her brother and nephews—about her relationship with the former criminal. Only Pepper knew about the letters they’d exchanged over the years. Irene trusted her, and Pepper cherished that trust. No one had ever had faith in her the way Irene did. She’d never known her mother, but Pepper wanted to believe that her mom would have confided in her and trusted in her the way her aunt did.

  Plus, if she told Cole everything and asked for his help, how would she ever prove to her family that she was good enough to work at Rossi Investigations? And what if he didn’t understand why Aunt Irene had felt she had to steal the painting? No, she couldn’t do it.

  This time she let out a sigh as she took another sip of her Island Fling. Then she set it carefully back on the table. “Nothing’s going on.”

  Cole leaned a bit closer. “Liar. Let’s start with what I already know.”

  She was reaching for her pineapple, but he beat her to it and placed it out of her reach. “I wanted to loosen your tongue, but I don’t want you incoherent.”

  She frowned at the pineapple. “That lethal, huh?”

  “According to Butch Castellano, the owner, they don’t call it the Island Fling for nothing.”

  “You’ve met Butch?” That couldn’t be good, she thought. “How…how long have you been here?”

  “I arrived yesterday evening.”

  She frowned at him. “Gari told me there’s only one flight here a day and it gets in at noon.”

  “Yeah. This isn’t the easiest place to get to. I arranged to charter a small plane right after you booked your ticket for today.”

  “Ah.” Pepper’s mind was racing. Perhaps that’s what Irene had done. She glanced up at the sky. If she could just get away from Cole and make a few phone calls…

  “I wanted to do a little investigating before you got here,” Cole continued.

  Her gaze flew back to his. What could he have found out? As far as she knew, Butch wasn’t aware that Irene was bringing the painting. And Cole hadn’t mentioned her aunt’s name yet.

  “I don’t have all the pieces, but I have enough to tell you that you won’t get away with it.”

  She lifted her chin. She wasn’t sure what she would have said because the half-formed thought flew out of her mind the instant she looked beyond Cole’s shoulder. Two men were climbing the steps to the poolside café, and she recognized one of them instantly as Evan Atwell.

  There was no mistaking that almost white blond hair. It had always made her think a little of Spike on Buffy the Vampire Slayer. It took her a moment longer to place the tall man with the goatee and the beret as the man who’d taken the last seat on the plane.

  As the two men stepped onto the terrace, she gripped Cole’s arm and pitched her voice low. “Don’t turn your head. Evan Atwell is coming up the steps from the beach. What on earth is he doing here?”

  IT WAS COLE’S TURN TO frown as he studied her carefully. He could have sworn that it was bewilderment and concern he heard in her voice. With his free hand, he pulled the oversize sunglasses down her nose so that he could see her eyes. “You should know. You came here to meet him.”

  Her eyes widened in what he could have sworn was sur
prise. “No.” Then lowering her voice, she continued, “Why would I do that?”

  “Because he’s your lover.”

  She frowned at him. “No, he’s not. We were never lovers. And we broke up three months ago.”

  It was Cole’s turn to frown. “You’re still bringing him to your father’s Sunday dinners.”

  Color rose in her cheeks. “Evan wanted to continue to see me as a friend. His mother liked me, and he’s working up the courage to tell her we’ve broken up.”

  She’d broken up with Evan. And they’d never been lovers. A flood of feelings poured in, but Cole pushed them aside. There was no time to sort through them now. What in hell was wrong with Evan Atwell? he wondered. This man had dated the woman for three months without becoming her lover. He wouldn’t have lasted through one night. Hell, he wouldn’t have lasted through one kiss if the damn Monet hadn’t disappeared.

  Leaning back, he studied her for a moment. Gut instinct told him she was telling the truth. She was blushing as if he’d pulled something out of her that she didn’t want to admit. His whole interpretation of the facts surrounding the disappearance of the Monet had centered on his belief that Pepper and Evan were lovers. And he’d been so sure. This threw a whole new light on the evidence.

  Cole had never known his instinct to fail him. But Pepper Rossi had been clouding his senses from day one.

  Pushing her glasses back up on her nose, she leaned in to him. “Let’s get out of here. I don’t want him to see me.”

  “Why not?”

  She glanced at the two men who were making their way to the shade at the other side of the pool. “I’m not sure. It’s just so odd that he’s here. His mother’s priceless Monet has been stolen. You’d think he’d be in San Francisco, holding her hand or at the very least pestering my brothers to find it.”

  “‘Of all the gin joints in all the world’…?”

  “Yeah.” She grinned at him. “Exactly.”

  Cole simply stared at her. This time the flood of feelings wasn’t so easily ignored. She’d never before looked at him in that easy intimate way. Come to think of it, she’d never smiled at him so openly and genuinely. He felt something inside of him opening.

  “C’mon,” she said, rising.

  He took her hand as he drew her toward the bar. While he settled their bill and they waited for the picnic basket he’d ordered, she kept her back to Evan Atwell and peppered Cole with whispered questions.

  “Did he sit down at a table?” she asked.

  “Yes.”

  “What is he doing?”

  “Just sitting with his companion.”

  “Very informative.” Pepper risked a quick look, then turned back to him.

  “Told you so,” he said.

  “It’ll be just a few more minutes,” said Gari. “We had to send someone up to the main kitchen for a Thermos.”

  Pepper pulled on Cole’s arm. “We can skip the Island Fling. Let’s get out of here before Evan recognizes us.”

  “Relax,” he murmured. “I think your true identity is safe as long as you wear that wig.”

  “You’re not wearing a wig,” she hissed.

  Before he could reply, a woman at a nearby table gasped. Someone else choked and started coughing. By the time Cole caught sight of the nude man and woman who were running around the far end of the pool, others had begun to applaud. One man cheered.

  Pepper grabbed his T-shirt with two fists. “What?”

  “A couple of streakers,” Cole said.

  She turned then. “The trench coat couple. I wondered why they wouldn’t take them off.”

  “They have now.” The coats were draped over the chairs they’d been sitting on. The elderly couple reached the beach and ran hand in hand across the sand. Some of the guests had risen from their chairs and the applause was blossoming into a standing ovation.

  Pepper began to laugh uncontrollably. Her shoulders shook and she let out such a sweetly delighted sound, he had to smile.

  “I’ll be…all right,” she gasped just before a fresh wave of giggles took over.

  “Take your time,” Cole murmured. He couldn’t recall ever hearing her laugh before, and he found himself simply enjoying the bubbly sound of it. She was always so serious, so wound up and focused. Even in the picture that Luke had originally shown him, she’d had a serious expression. “If it helps any, they’re out of sight.”

  “Good,” she mumbled. Then another giggle erupted. “That’s…good. I think I’m all right now. Did Evan see me?”

  “We’re both safe. Everyone was looking at the streakers. Now they’re talking about them.”

  When Pepper finally looked up at him, there was a look in her eyes that he’d never seen before. There was no trace of the wariness that he’d always detected, and for a moment he thought of nothing, of no one, but her. The realization streamed through him that he was in very deep trouble. Missing Monet or not, he was not going to be able to keep his hands off of her much longer.

  He rubbed his thumb over the corner of her mouth. “Pepper, I—”

  She took a step back from him, the wariness back in her eyes. “We should make our getaway. I personally don’t need any more of that Island Fling concoction.”

  Cole might have been persuaded to abandon the picnic basket they were waiting for too if it hadn’t been for the two men who were walking straight toward Evan’s table. Instead, he drew Pepper with him behind a trio of potted palms that provided shade on the terrace. “Curiouser and curiouser.”

  “What?” Pepper hissed. “Is someone else taking off their clothes?” She pulled down a palm branch so she could peek over it.

  Several beats went by before Cole spoke. He wanted to give her time to absorb the newcomers. The shorter man was Butch Castellano. As they watched, Butch sat down in one of the chairs at Evan’s table and took out a cigar. The other, larger man moved behind him.

  Once he’d figured out where Pepper was headed, Cole had researched the island and its owner. In his youth, Butch Castellano had acquired quite a rap sheet. Born into a prominent New Jersey crime family, he’d had a brief but successful career before his luck had run out. Either the young Butch hadn’t been very smart or he’d taken the fall for someone higher up in the organization. Cole favored the latter explanation since, from what he could gather, the man had been smart enough to accumulate a fortune in prison while playing the stock market.

  Butch Castellano reminded him of Al Pacino—one tough Italian. Now in his early sixties, he’d kept fit in prison, and whatever he lacked in stature was more than compensated for by the air of toughness that emanated from him. The fact that Butch was wearing shorts, flip flops and a shirt with tropical fish swimming across it did nothing to dampen that impression.

  Butch’s bodyguard wasn’t any less formidable. Referred to as Mr. H by the staff, the man was well over six feet tall with the kind of body that Arnold Schwarzenegger used to have. He was wearing a variation of the Escapade resort uniform, white shorts and a blue tank, several gold chains and one diamond earring.

  Pepper tugged his arm. “Very colorful. Who are they?”

  Once again, he used one finger to pull her sunglasses down so that he could see her eyes. “You don’t know?”

  She shook her head. “No. You haven’t given me a lot of time to socialize since I got here.”

  “That’s your host, Butch Castellano, and his assistant slash bodyguard, Mr. H.”

  There was a quick flash of something in her eyes. It disappeared quickly, but if he had to guess, he would have said it was surprise. So she didn’t know Butch Castellano? If that was true, then his theory about what was going on definitely needed revising.

  After studying the two men for a moment, she said, “So that’s Butch.” Then she turned to him again. “Let’s go to the beach. I need to think.”

  So do I, Cole thought as he gathered up the picnic basket from the bar. So do I.

  At the foot of the short flight of steps that led to t
he beach, Pepper took her shoes off and tucked them into her duffel. Without the three-inch heels, the top of her head didn’t come up to his shoulder, and Cole found himself remembering how small and fragile she’d felt in his arms two days ago. But the set of her chin and the way she faced problems head on testified to strength too.

  And she was smart. She might act on impulse and get herself into scrapes, but she was definitely one smart cookie. If she wasn’t involved in the theft, then what was she doing on the island? Had she helped Evan steal the painting because she was his friend?

  Somehow he didn’t think so. Even in his fairly short acquaintance with her, he knew she valued her family. Most of the scrapes she got herself into were an accidental consequence of her efforts to please them. He strongly doubted that she would place a friendship with Evan Atwell above that.

  Another thought suddenly occurred to him. Was she here to somehow save Evan’s sorry ass? No. He rejected that idea as quickly as it had formed in his mind. She’d seemed honestly surprised to see Evan when he’d appeared in the poolside café.

  As they walked together in silence, Cole tried to clear his mind of the swirling thoughts. Long ago, he’d learned that if he just had enough patience, the answer would come to him. He glanced down at Pepper. Besides, he didn’t want to think about the Monet right now. Instead, he wanted very much simply to enjoy the moment.

  He hadn’t released her hand, and she hadn’t pulled away from him either. A gull swooped down toward the sea and then climbed swiftly back up to the azure-blue expanse of the sky. He watched it until the bird’s wings were only a wispy pencil stroke of gray.

  Had the slower pace of island life gotten to him? Or was it simply that it felt right somehow to be walking here in this place, with this woman? All Cole was sure of was that nothing, not even the theft of the Monet, seemed as urgent as it had back in San Francisco.

  Though they’d been walking for some time, it wasn’t until they reached a long outcrop of rocks that Cole realized they’d rounded a point of land that blocked off any view of the hotel. The beach here wasn’t as pristine as the stretch in front of the resort. Shells of all sizes, broken palm leaves, and chunks of driftwood lay along the shoreline.