by Jo Leigh
“Pepper?” he murmured. “Open your eyes.”
When she did, he saw that they were wide and misted with desire. “Say my name.”
“Cole.”
He had to strap down on his control. Then he said, “I’m going to touch you inside now.” He slipped a finger beneath the edge of her suit and into her. When the soft wet heat tightened around his finger, he nearly lost it. “I’m touching you just the way you touched yourself in the bedroom. Do you have any idea how much I wanted to do this?”
She arched high against his hand and he held her as the orgasm moved through her.
Afterward, he wasn’t sure how he managed to rid them both of their suits. All that he could think of was being inside of her. Being a part of her. When he’d settled himself over her, he framed her face with his hands. “Open your eyes.”
When she did, he said, “Say my name. Tell me you want me.”
“Cole, I want you.”
9
Friday, February 13—6:00 p.m.
“DAMMIT!” Butch slammed down his phone and tossed the cigar he’d just ruined across the room.
H ducked, then gathered up the shreds of the mutilated cigar and disposed of them. “Problem?”
Butch rose from his desk and began to pace. “The problem is that woman. Damn her.”
“I take it that Irene Rossi caught the connecting flight to Eden Island by mistake?” H asked.
“Yeah.” Butch reached in his pocket for a cigar, then recalled that he’d already destroyed it. “But Angelo says the camp boss lady lost her. She claims Renie checked into the hotel with a Mr. Johansson, and then the two of them disappeared. They don’t know where she is. What kind of a place are they running? She claims that couples disappear all the time, that they’re encouraged to do that.” His voice turned falsetto again. “What better way to seek out all the sensual delights that Eden has to offer.”
Butch whirled and pointed a finger at H. “And she’s with a man. I’m going to go over there myself.”
“You’ve forgotten your meeting with Evan Atwell.”
Butch stopped short at the door to his office. “What do I care about that? I want Renie.”
H said nothing, and for a moment Butch concentrated on what he’d just blurted out. He wanted Renie. Could that be true?
“Don’t say a word,” he said to H. And the man wouldn’t. That was why Butch liked him, why they made such good partners in business. H never interrupted when Butch was thinking something through. “I just want to make sure she’s safe,” Butch said.
“Of course. But Angelo’s very competent. And Mr. Vanetti will be at our meeting in Atwell’s suite to verify the authenticity of the painting. If that goes well, as I assume it will, we’re joining Atwell at nine-thirty to discuss a price.”
“All right. I’ll stay here and take the meetings.”
“Shall I inform Pepper Rossi that her aunt is on Eden Island and that we’re going to bring her here just as soon as possible?”
“Yes.” Then Butch added, “Dammit! What’s Renie up to?”
H said nothing.
Butch began pacing again. “Why couldn’t she just have understood that we should continue to go on as we were? She has her life—a good one—and I have mine here. It’s worked for forty years. And getting together might ruin all that. We’re too different. If we get together, it could turn out to be a disaster, and I don’t want to lose her. She can’t know what her friendship has meant to me. Why can’t she understand that?”
This time H spoke. “She’s a woman. They’re different than we are. And not just biologically. They think differently, too.”
“Tell me about it.” Butch opened the drawer of his desk and took out a new cigar. “And isn’t it the French who say, ‘Vive la différence’?”
“That they do.”
“Well, they’re stupid. And speaking of the French, have you gotten anything back yet on the Frenchman with Evan Atwell?”
“I’m still working on it,” H said.
PEPPER SWEPT HER HANDS back and forth in the water with just enough force to keep herself afloat. Cole was treading water only a few feet away.
“You told me that you were taking me to paradise, but I thought you were talking about the sailing,” she said.
“You didn’t think I was talking about my masterful techniques as a lover?”
The feigned look of insult on his face had her laughing, and if his hands hadn’t gripped her waist just then, she would have slipped beneath the surface of the lagoon.
“Well, that too,” she said. “But I’ve never been anywhere quite this beautiful.” They’d rowed the sailboat to a spot where the lagoon had widened into a pool of sorts. Water poured from an outcrop of rocks above in a sheer curtain that fell a few feet from them. There was a small cave behind the waterfall that they had yet to explore. And flowers she’d never seen before bloomed everywhere. She cupped water in her hand, lifted it, and then let it fall back into the lagoon. “This color—it can’t be real.”
“It’s as real as the place,” he said.
Treading water again, she glanced around. She was aware of the stillness, of the dappled sunlight that managed to make its way through the canopy of palms overhead, of the soft splash of the waterfall. But most of all, she was aware of the fact that her legs were almost brushing Cole’s beneath the water. She might not be sure of the reality of her surroundings, but she was sure that Cole was real.
And both the man and the place would be gone at the end of twenty-four hours. Something twisted around her heart.
“Adam and Elena must have come here often.”
“You’re fascinated by their story, aren’t you?” Cole asked. “Do you know how it ended?”
She shook her head. “I didn’t read that far. But what chance did they have of a happy ending? They reminded me of my parents. It must be hard to find love and then lose it.”
“Yes, I suppose it is.”
A cell phone rang. But before Cole moved away to the shore, she had seen the shutters come down over his eyes. She wondered how often he’d found the love of a family and then lost it. Turning in the water, she watched him pull himself out of the lagoon. He was so different than what she’d expected him to be.
“Yeah?” He spoke the one word into his cell and then listened.
It had to be Butch or H, Pepper thought. Had they located Irene? It shocked her to realize that she hadn’t thought much about either her aunt or the Monet since they’d begun sailing. She’d better remember that she’d come to this island on a mission. After swimming to the side of the lagoon, she climbed out and sat beside him.
“Okay, I’ll let her know,” Cole said. “Thanks.”
Pepper let her gaze sweep the lagoon. Lovely as it was, this was just an interlude. The reality was a missing Monet.
Cole closed the phone and was about to set it down when it rang again. “Yeah?”
There was a brief silence. Then Cole said, “Interesting. I can’t talk right now.”
This time when he disconnected, he turned to her and said, “Your aunt is somewhere on Eden Island. According to the woman who runs the place, she’s gone off with a man to find a way off the island. Castellano’s man is looking for them and he’ll bring your aunt back here.”
Pepper frowned. “Irene has gone off with a man? I don’t think so. She’s crazy about Butch. What if someone’s kidnapped her? I’m getting that feeling again that something’s wrong. Maybe we should—”
Cole touched her arm when she started to stand up. “I think Castellano has it covered. And I don’t think she’s been kidnapped. According to Butch, your aunt has been highly visible and made quite a stir about getting back here ASAP. A kidnapper would hardly allow that.”
She searched his face. “You’re sure?”
“Since Butch isn’t going over there himself, I’m betting that Angelo is highly capable. Butch is clearly besotted with your aunt.”
“You think?”
“He had blood in his eyes when he came crashing into our bedroom. If you hadn’t grabbed that gun, he might have shot me first and asked questions later.”
“Suppose you’re right and Butch really is head over heels. I know for a fact that she’s over the top when it comes to him. So why don’t they just get together? Instead, she’s stolen a priceless painting. And a man who’s gone straight for forty years is thinking of shooting people. What’s wrong with them?”
“People do stupid things when they’re in love. Shakespeare used to call it madness—and he got a lot of mileage out of that theme in his comedies and tragedies, not to mention the sonnets.”
Pepper stared at him again. “I would never have pegged you for a Shakespeare scholar.”
“I’m not. I’ve just worked a lot of jobs where I’ve had time to read.”
“Stakeouts?”
“Yeah. You could call them that.” He plucked a flower from one of the plants that grew along the edge of the lagoon and tucked it behind her ear.
When she realized that he wasn’t going to elaborate, she asked, “Why did you come to work at Rossi Investigations?”
He studied her for a moment, then nodded. “Okay, I guess you deserve to know that. I came because your brother offered me the job, and I wanted to get out of government work.”
It wasn’t the whole answer. She was certain of it. And she suddenly realized how little she knew about him. “What kind of work did you do for the CIA?”
Once again he hesitated. Then he said, “I killed people for them.”
Her eyes widened. “You worked black ops?”
His mouth twisted wryly. “Nothing that adventurous. Mostly, I worked on a hostage rescue team as a sniper. I was often called in for situations where I had to wait hours on end to get the right shot. I never missed.”
Something cold and hard in his voice had her taking his hand and linking her fingers with his. “That had to be a lonely life. No wonder you wanted to get away from it.”
She thought of the family gatherings Peter insisted on having every Sunday at his house, and for the first time, she tried to see them the way Cole would see them. Matt was in charge of the grill, Luke mixed the drinks, and her father made an audience out of everyone as he prepared fresh pasta. Italian music blared out of a speaker system, and neighbors were invited so that they wouldn’t complain.
Compared to the sedate gatherings at her grandmother’s, the dinner was loud and confusing and somehow welcoming at the same time. It had held an almost overwhelming attraction for her. She’d wanted so much to belong, to fit in. But now she realized that considering his background, those Sunday get-togethers must have been equally appealing to Cole.
Thinking about it, she slipped her arm around his waist and leaned her head against his shoulder.
COLE FOUND THE GESTURE almost unbearably sweet. Understanding. He’d never asked it of anyone. Never expected it. He put his arm around Pepper’s shoulder and simply held her. How could she do this to him—push buttons that had feelings he couldn’t even identify moving through him? Perhaps, he’d never understand why or how she affected him this way. Maybe it wasn’t important to understand. Maybe he only had to accept.
For a while they sat in silence except for the fall of the water and the whisper of the palm leaves above them. Cole could feel precious minutes slipping away. He wished that they had nothing more to do than sit here and make love again. But there was the Monet. It would ease his mind a great deal if they knew for sure that Irene had it. And he wanted to know more about the Frenchman with Evan Atwell.
“I’ve been thinking about Evan Atwell and his friend,” Pepper said.
Meeting her eyes, he smiled. “Me, too. Great minds evidently think alike.”
“If they’re a couple coming here to celebrate Valentine’s Day, why didn’t they come on the same plane?”
“Good point.”
“And I’ve thought about something else. I don’t know why I didn’t remember sooner—I’ve been so focused on Irene and you.”
“What is it?”
“Irene said that there was someone else on the hotel roof when she got there that night.”
“Another thief?”
“Looked that way to her. She shot him with a tranquilizer.”
Cole stared at her for a minute. Finally he shook his head. “I don’t imagine that made her very popular with the other thief. But it does throw a slightly different light on the situation.”
“That’s what I was thinking. There were two thieves after the Monet that night. What if there still are? What if the other thief stole the painting from Irene and then sent her off to that island?”
“We won’t know that for sure until Irene arrives. Unless you want to tell Butch the whole story and ask him point blank if he’s been contacted about a Monet.”
She shook her head. “No. Not until Irene gets here. If she still has the painting, I want her to be able to give it to him. So I guess we just have to wait.”
He handed her his cell, and she shot him a curious look.
“There’s something that you can do. Right after Butch called, I got a report from Luke.”
“He found out who this Frenchman is?” Pepper asked.
Cole shook his head. “So far, he’s learned that Evan hasn’t been seen around town with anyone who fits this man’s description.”
“Could H and Butch be wrong about them being a couple?”
Cole shook his head. “I wouldn’t bet on it. It’s more likely that Evan and his friend have been very discreet. How would Mrs. Atwell feel if her son were to come out of the closet?”
She paused to consider his questions. “Not good, I suspect. Maybe that’s why he wanted to continue to date as friends after I broke up with him. If Evan and the Frenchman wanted to keep their relationship a secret, this island is secluded and far away from Mommy.” She glanced around. “It’s the perfect place for a clandestine tryst.” She turned to Cole. “And that could be the only reason they’re here.”
“Could be,” Cole agreed. “But…”
“The timing’s very suspicious. Why this island at this particular time, right after Evan’s painting is stolen? It all keeps coming back to that.”
“Bingo.” He nodded at the cell phone. “Luke could use a name.”
She stared at him. “You’re letting me get the name?”
“It’s your case.”
She hesitated for a moment, deciding who to call. There was Butch or H. But both might have questions about why she wanted to know the name of Evan Atwell’s companion. In the end she dialed the resort number and asked for the reception desk. Luck was with her and she got the same young woman who’d registered her.
“Escapade Resort. Marlene speaking.”
“Marlene, this is Pepper Rossi. I’m not sure you remember me.”
“Of course I do, Ms. Rossi. What can I do for you? Mr. Castellano says that you’re to have anything you want during your stay on the island.”
All the better, she thought. “I have a request that you might find a bit unusual. Can you give me the name of the man who’s staying with Evan Atwell? Evan and I are old friends, and I want to arrange to have a gift basket made up. But I need the name of his friend so that I can put both names on the card.”
“No problem. It’ll take me just a minute to look it up.”
Pepper kept her fingers crossed and counted to ten.
“Here it is. Jean Claude Rambeau. Would you like me to take care of the basket for you?”
“No. I want to make some of the selections in the gift shop myself. But thank you, Marlene. Oh, one more thing. Can you find out what Evan’s plans are for the evening? I’d like to have the basket delivered shortly before midnight.”
“I’ll check with Tommy.”
Placing her hand over the phone, she said to Cole, “I have an idea.”
“Tommy says they have reservations at the poolside café at nine-thirty,” Marlene said. “Then at mid
night, they’re having a late supper in the main dining room.”
“Thanks, Marlene.” She handed the cell phone back to Cole. “Evan’s friend is Jean Claude Rambeau.”
Cole punched in numbers and relayed the name to Luke. Then he turned to her. “Good job.”
“Thanks.”
“What’s the idea you had when you were talking to Marlene?”
“I’m thinking of accidentally running into Evan this evening. Maybe that would stir things up.”
He smiled at her. “Not a bad idea.”
“How would you have gotten Jean Claude’s name?” she asked.
“I would have probably called Butch.”
“I thought he might have questions.”
“Good point. And he could have offered a name but chose not to.”
“Do you think Butch is hiding something?” she asked.
“I think he’s an astute businessman who plays his cards very close to his chest. Calling the receptionist was a nice move, by the way.”
“How long will it take Luke to check out Jean Claude?”
“Hard to say, but your brother is the best. You’re a lot like him, you know.”
“Me?”
The shock on her face had a little flare of anger shooting through him. “Didn’t your family in Philadelphia ever tell you when you’d done something right?”
“No. But I didn’t give them much cause. I really wasn’t cut out to be a debutante. I had to keep pretending to be one. I kept imagining myself as tall, blond and beautiful—like Britney Spears or Paris Hilton or Jessica Simpson. The game got old.”
He took her chin in his hand and turned it so that she had to meet his eyes. “Why are you still playing the same game with your brothers and your father?”
