24 Hours Bundle

by Jo Leigh

  7

  Friday, February 13—4:00 p.m.—Eden Island

  “WE’RE GETTING OFF THIS island,” Irene said, urging Happy along the shoreline.

  “I don’t see why you’re so upset. You’ve got a room, and look at this place. It’s paradise.”

  Irene glanced around. The sun sent sparks off the water that nearly blinded her to the shadow on the horizon that was Escapade Island. “This island is the wrong paradise.” She pointed to across the water. “I have to get over there.”

  She just had to figure out a way to do it, and her first stop was going to be the marina she’d spotted from the room she and Happy had been assigned to in the hotel.

  “You heard our commander-in-chief,” Happy said.

  Irene snorted. “That’s a very apt description of her. She’s running a regular sex boot camp here. Did you see those ‘morning exercises’ she’s recommending?”

  “Yeah.” Happy’s smile widened. “I thought they looked exciting.”

  “They looked anatomically impossible.”

  “We won’t know until we try, will we? And besides, the morning exercises are only the first step in exploring your inner sex goddess.”

  Irene clenched her fingers into fists. She had never met a man in her life who exuded such positive energy. It made her want to slap him. But he might start moaning again.

  “Look, Happy.” She suppressed the urge to grab him by the shirt. “Let me make this clear. We’re not trying out anything. The only person I’m interested in exploring my inner sex goddess with is on Escapade Island. My goal right now is to get there.”

  “But our commander-in-chief says that these little mix-ups occur all the time. People board the wrong plane in Miami once or twice a week. As she told us, there are a couple of guests stranded on Escapade Island who will be coming here tomorrow, and you can go back on the same boat.”

  “I can’t wait until tomorrow.” While the drill sergeant had been giving her opening spiel, Irene had had time to think about the Monet. She was willing to bet that whoever had drugged her and dumped her on the plane to Camp E.D.E.N. was now on Escapade Island. After all, a man who collected French Impressionists resided there. Butch had never kept that a secret. There’d even been mention made in the travel magazine that had written up his resort.

  But she was putting the missing Monet out of her mind for the moment. First things first. She had to get to Escapade Island, and then she’d figure out what to do about the Monet. “There’s got to be a boat that we can rent or borrow. Or steal.”

  “I don’t know,” Happy said. “She seemed pretty firm about it.”

  Irene shot him a withering glance. “That’s because firm is her credo. If Hitler were ever reincarnated as a woman, she’d be him.” Just your type, she thought. But she didn’t say it. She didn’t want to start him moaning again. As annoying as Happy Johansson was, it had occurred to her that he might have his uses. For one thing, she’d learned that he was a sailor, and she’d never operated a boat in her life.

  When they rounded a curve of the shoreline and the marina came into view, she quickened her pace. “There’s a boat—the one with the canopy.”

  Happy shook his head. “That’s a paddle boat, and there’s no way that you can paddle to Escapade Island. I wouldn’t recommend it even along the shoreline.”

  Irene pointed to the canoes. “What about those?”

  Happy shook his head again. “Not seaworthy enough. The commander-in-chief told you that the only boats available were for the lagoons.”

  “We’re getting off this place somehow.” The sun was still so hot that the horizon was hazy. But she could see the outline of Escapade Island in the distance, beckoning to her. It was so close. She had to get there. She couldn’t and wouldn’t let Butch buy a stolen painting. At the very least, she had to warn him. At best, she was going to steal it back. However that played out, she was not going to let anything stop her from having a little face-to-face chat with Butch Castellano.

  When they reached the dock, a man stepped out of the small shack near the water. He was short, stocky and bald. He spit tobacco into a wave, then said, “Can I help you?”

  “I need to rent a boat to get to Escapade Island,” Irene said.

  The man sent another spit of chew into an oncoming wave. “I’ve only got boats for the lagoons.”

  “Told you,” Happy murmured.

  Irene glared at Happy until he cleared his throat and asked, “Surely you’ve got something—perhaps a small sailboat?”

  The man shook his head again. “Got no call for them. People who come to this island aren’t much into boating. They have other interests.”

  Before he turned away, Irene grabbed his shirt and gave him a little shake. Behind her, she heard Happy moan.

  “Isn’t she something?” Happy asked.

  Irene ignored him. “There’s got to be someone on this island who has a seaworthy boat we could use.”

  The man, more alarmed than threatened, raised his arms in surrender. “There’s a lady on the other side of the island who has a motorized raft. You might be able to get across on that.”

  “How do I get there?” Irene asked, releasing him.

  He took a step back, smoothing his shirt. “There’s no taxi service, so you’ll have to walk along the shore. It’s about seven or eight miles.”

  Turning, Irene gave Happy a shove. “Let’s go.”

  “I love it when you shove me.”

  Irene swallowed a groan. He was a sailor, she reminded herself. And she needed to get to Escapade Island ASAP. Urging him along, she started walking along the white sand beach.

  WHERE THE HELL WAS Renie? Butch’s question echoed in Cole’s mind as Pepper served drinks from the mini-bar to Butch Castellano and his bodyguard, H. The large man had requested them to drop the “Mister.” Pepper was filling them in on the fact that she’d lost Irene in the Miami airport.

  She’d pulled Cole aside in the bedroom while they were dressing and asked him not to mention the Monet. Her plan was to enlist Butch’s help to locate her aunt, but they wouldn’t tell him about the painting. Not until her aunt was here on the island. He’d told her it was her call, her case.

  Since Butch had asked his original question, they’d all moved from the bedroom into the living room. Butch was drinking beer, and H was sipping from a bottle of water.

  When Pepper finished with her story, Butch said, “So let me get this straight. You followed your aunt here? Why?”

  Pepper’s cheeks colored. “She was coming to see you. And you’d told her not to come. I wanted to make sure she was all right.”

  After regarding her steadily for a moment, Butch nodded. “Fair enough. Then you lost her somewhere in the Miami airport and she didn’t show up on the connecting flight. This guy with a French accent and a goatee was the last to board.”

  “And this French guy was the same man I saw here with Evan Atwell.”

  Butch’s eyes narrowed. “You know Atwell?”

  Pepper nodded again. “I used to date him.”

  Butch grunted and said, “Good thing you stopped. He’s gay.”

  Pepper stared at him. “No, he’s not.”

  “He and the Frenchman are a couple, right, H?” Butch asked.

  “That would be my guess,” H said.

  “Evan and the man with the goatee?” Pepper asked.

  “They’re sharing the penthouse suite at the main hotel,” H said with a small apologetic shrug. “That’s not conclusive, but this is a couples resort.”

  Cole tucked the piece of information away. He’d had a hunch that might be the case, but Butch’s and H’s near certainty convinced him. Both men seemed to be very astute.

  “Well,” Pepper said. Cole knew her well enough now that he could tell she was processing the information, using hindsight to put it together with what she already knew. But what he noticed most was that she didn’t seem at all upset about the fact that Evan Atwell might be gay.


  “I’m still worried about Aunt Irene,” Pepper said. “She’s not booked on tomorrow’s flight, and she hasn’t chartered a plane from the Miami airport. The more I think about it, the more I wonder if she really missed the plane. What if something else happened to her?”

  “Foul play?” Butch frowned.

  “I don’t know. But I do know that she was dead set on getting to this island today. She wanted very much to see you, and she’s a very focused woman.”

  Butch glanced at H. “Maybe she got on the plane to Eden Island by mistake. How many misplaced guests do we have right now?”

  “Four. The cowboy and his lady friend and the two streakers.”

  Pepper’s mouth turned up in a wry grin. “We had a glimpse of those streakers.”

  “They’re running a very specialized resort over there on Eden,” H explained. “They advertise it as a sex camp. It’s very hedonistic, from what I gather. With the similarity in names, we often have mix-ups. Guests have a pina colada on their layover in Miami and get on the wrong plane. Every morning, one of our locals runs a boat between the two islands to relocate the misplaced guests.”

  Pepper turned to Butch. “Can you find out if that’s what happened?”

  “Yeah.” As he spoke, Butch punched numbers into his cell phone. A minute ticked by and he finally repocketed the phone. “The boss lady who runs the place doesn’t always pick up her phone.” He raised his voice an octave. “She has better things to do like participating in an orgy.” He spoke in a normal tone as he rose. “I’ll send Angelo right over there. If Renie’s on that island, he’ll bring her back.”

  Cole gave H his cell phone number, and then Butch and his sidekick went out the door. Moving toward Pepper, Cole said, “I thought they’d never leave.”

  When he took her hand, she gripped his fingers tightly. “The more I think about it, the more worried I am about Irene.”

  “She might very well have just taken the wrong flight. Besides, from what I’ve observed, she’s pretty capable of taking care of herself. And….” Cole lifted her hand and pressed a kiss to her palm. “Worrying never solved anything.”

  “What about Evan? Shouldn’t we be trying to figure out why he’s here and who this French guy is?”

  “I have a confession to make. I called Luke while you were in the bathroom and he’s trying to get a line on the Frenchman. I didn’t mention either you or Irene. We have some time with regard to Evan and his friend, I think. After all, they aren’t going anywhere. They’ll still be here tomorrow, at least until noon.” He pressed another kiss to her palm and gave himself the pleasure of hearing her breath escape on a sigh. “So there’s really nothing either of us can do right now. If Irene’s on that island, Butch will locate her. And I have a feeling that she’ll be here on Escapade Island with the Monet a lot sooner than tomorrow at noon.” Which meant that their time together might very well be less than twenty-four hours. He was stunned at how that thought pained him. He wanted every last minute he could have with Pepper almost as much as he wanted the Monet.

  “In the meantime, I bet I can take your mind off of Irene and Evan,” he said.

  She smiled at him. “I’ll just bet you can.”

  But when she turned toward the bedroom, he pulled her toward the outside door. “C’mon.”

  “But we didn’t finish…the fantasy. You didn’t finish…”

  Cole turned and the concern he saw in her eyes melted something deep inside of him. “Don’t worry.” He leaned down to brush his lips over hers. “We will. I will.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “To paradise,” he promised.

  SHE WAS DEFINITELY in paradise, Pepper thought as Cole sent the sailboat skimming across the cove. The boat itself was a rental and only built for two people, three at the most. The sun was a bright yellow ball in the sky, the sand on the shore was a nearly blinding shade of white, and the water beneath the boat was impossibly clear and blue. She could even see the ripples in the sand that the movement of the sea had made.

  But it was the speed rather than the beauty that she found so exhilarating. So freeing. Worries, responsibilities, even her anxiety about Irene and the Monet—everything was whipped away by the wind. Cole was right. They couldn’t have put a better man than Butch on the task of locating her. Then Irene could give the painting to Butch, and Butch could give it back. And if that little scenario didn’t go as smoothly as Irene had predicted, Pepper would find a way to handle it.

  Out here on the water, she somehow felt confident of that. And that was the only difference. Time, which had seemed to slow since she’d first set foot on the airport tarmac, had almost ceased to exist. She wondered if that was what it must have been like in the original paradise.

  “Perfect,” she murmured.

  And so was the man who sat with his hand on the tiller. Through the amber-tinted sunglasses she wore, he looked like some kind of bronzed god. He was lean and hard, and dangerous. For some reason it was the dangerous quality that had appealed to her from the beginning. In a million years, she wouldn’t have suspected that she’d be attracted to that type. Maybe she took after her Aunt Irene in that regard.

  Droplets of spray glinted on Cole’s skin, and she found herself wanting to taste them. She was almost getting used to the heat that grew within her whenever she looked at him. Almost.

  He looked so natural sitting there guiding the boat across the water, as if he’d been born to do. But then he always looked so competent, so at ease. She envied that quality about him the most. And perhaps that was what drew her.

  What else? She’d never before tried to analyze the attraction she felt for him. This was a man who’d desired her, pleasured her. She’d been held against that lean, hard body, pressed beneath it, and yet she knew very little about him.

  She hadn’t wanted to know about him. Once she’d read his résumé, she’d convinced herself that the less she knew the better. But now, she was curious. What had she learned since she’d come to the island?

  “Penny for your thoughts,” Cole said.

  “I’m thinking that you’re a surprising man.”

  “In what way?”

  “For starters, you went along with my slave girl/plantation owner fantasy.”

  He smiled slowly. “That was my pleasure. I enjoyed meeting Elena.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Really?”

  He threw back his head and laughed. The bright sound was whipped away by the wind. “I believe I detect a note of jealousy in your voice.”

  She lifted her chin and lied. “Not at all. I’m just thinking of all the ways I’m going to enjoy Adam.”

  “Good. Adam is thinking about his next meeting with Elena right now. He’s thinking of just how he’s going to touch her.”

  Pepper felt her insides begin to melt.

  “Would you like to know where I’m going to touch Elena?”

  Throat dry, Pepper could only nod.

  “I’m going to touch her throat where that pulse beats so fast. It beats that way whenever she’s near me, and I want to feel it against my finger. I want to taste it.”

  Pepper felt her hands tighten on the edge of her seat. She was so hot, and the breeze was doing nothing to cool her.

  “But what I really want to do, what I thought about doing all morning while I sat through a boring meeting in my father’s office, is that I’m going to touch Elena just the way I asked her to touch herself the last time we were together.”

  The image that filled her mind was so vivid that Pepper had to grip the edge of her seat hard or she would have slid right to the floor of the boat. How could he affect her this way with words alone? And he knew exactly what he was doing to her. She could tell in the intent way he was looking at her.

  “I wish we weren’t on this boat,” he murmured. “I wish I could make you come again right now.”

  If he kept talking, he might be able to do just that, Pepper thought.

  “Duck your head,” he said in a diffe
rent tone. “I’m going to bring her around.”

  She did, and the boom just missed her head. The glance she got of the shore as the boat turned told her that they’d come very close to some rocks that were jutting out into the water at the edge of the cove. It gave her some satisfaction that he must have been as distracted by the fantasy as she’d been.

  When she met his eyes, he was smiling at her. “We’d better keep Adam and Elena apart until we decide to beach this little boat.” He tilted his head. “Why did it surprise you that I would go along with your fantasy?” he asked.

  She thought for a moment, then said, “I didn’t expect you to be…fun.” Or perceptive or sensitive, she added silently.

  “Why not?”

  “You’re always so quiet. At those Sunday gatherings, you’re always on the sidelines, watching my father make pasta or Matt fire up the grill. And then there’s your résumé. Ex-CIA? I’ve always thought that working for that outfit would be pretty grim. No offense.”

  “You’re right. The CIA doesn’t offer a lot of laughs. That’s one of the reasons I took Luke up on his job offer.”

  “More laughs?”

  “Less grimness.”

  “You must have gotten at least a few chuckles getting me out of scrapes.”

  His smile widened. “I did enjoy the Parakeet Caper.”

  The corners of Pepper’s mouth twitched. He was referring to her attempt to lure a flyaway parakeet off of the roof of a house. She’d climbed a nearby tree to try to talk the bird down. And then she’d gotten the idea of climbing along one of the limbs and onto the roof. A half hour later, she’d finally gotten the bird to trust her, but then she’d discovered that there was no way she was getting off the roof unless she could fly.

  The Allibrandi family had called Rossi Investigations and, of course, Cole had come to her rescue.

  “It wasn’t funny at the time,” Pepper pointed out.

  “Hey.” Cole threw up a hand. “I didn’t laugh, did I?”

  No, he hadn’t laughed at her—not ever. Not even when Luke and Matt had told that story and others at their Sunday gatherings. It occurred to her then that she owed Cole Buchanan for that and for other things.