by Jo Leigh
Angelo cleared his throat. “That’s part of the good news. The man she was with is ex-navy and he sailed once in the America’s Cup. She should be in good hands.”
It didn’t sound like good news to Butch. He was almost afraid to ask what the bad news was. “And?” he prompted Angelo.
“The boat they borrowed started out on the far side of the island, and it’s nothing more than a motorized raft.”
“Shit,” Butch said
“You want I should try and find them?” Angelo asked.
“Hell, yes, I want you to find them. I want you to search every inch of the water between that damn island and this one.” By the time Butch flipped his phone shut, H had turned from the window.
“Trouble?”
“Hell, yes.” Butch began to pace. “She’s out there on a raft floating around with some ex-navy man who’s competed in the America’s Cup.”
“Sounds like she’s in good hands,” H said.
Butch whirled on him. “I don’t want her in someone else’s hands. What the hell has gotten into her?” He pounded a fist into his palm. “I want her right here in my hands.”
H said nothing. Butch badly wanted to throw something at him because he knew just what his friend and partner was thinking. “When she gets here, I’m going to tell her that.” He jabbed a finger at H. “And you’re going to handle the sailor.”
H said nothing for a moment, then reminded Butch, “Right now, we’ve got a meeting to go to.”
11
Friday, February 13—9:30 p.m.
IRENE LOOKED OUT OVER the water. It was dark, black in fact, and the moon was playing hide-and-seek behind an increasingly thick layer of clouds. But what worried her the most was that they were moving much more slowly than they had been an hour ago. No, that was an outright lie. What had her stomach tied in knots had nothing to do with the fact that they were presently stalled halfway to Escapade Island.
“I thought you were supposed to be some kind of super sailor,” Irene said, darting a glance at Happy.
“Even the best sailor needs a little help from the wind.”
Irene glanced up at the sails. They’d been filled before. Now they were flat. She’d already asked him if the motor could go any faster.
“Not to worry. Those clouds are a good sign. I expect the wind to pick up any moment.”
She decided to believe him. What choice did she have? He was the sailor.
“You got a plan for getting the Monet back?” Happy asked.
He was trying to distract her. All in all, he was a very nice man. How different her life might have been if at eighteen, she’d fallen in love with him. Instead, she’d fallen for Butch. “I figure I’ll locate the Frenchman, and then something will come to me.”
“If you need some help, you’ve got a volunteer.”
“Thanks. I suspect that my niece is on that island too, and she’ll help us out.”
“You think she’s on the island?”
“She was following me, and I’m assuming she made the right connection. Pepper’s a PI, a good one, and she wants to make sure the painting gets back to the owner.”
“She doesn’t trust you to take care of that?” Happy asked.
“She probably doesn’t trust Butch. And she’ll be concerned about me.”
For a few moments, the silence stretched between them. “I’m not worried about getting the Monet back. I’m a little worried about seeing Butch again.” In fact, her stomach felt like a troupe of circus acrobats was practicing in it.
Happy said nothing.
Irene let the silence stretch as she considered. The man was a good listener. She’d learned that much about him on the eight-mile hike along the beach. He rarely interrupted and he never judged or criticized. Maybe it would help to talk to him about what was bothering her.
“I’ve changed,” she said.
“So has he,” Happy said.
Irene gave a snort. “Not as much as I have. Men don’t as a rule. He’s probably still handsome. You don’t lose that as you age. I was never beautiful. But at least when I was younger, he thought I was pretty.”
“You’re a fine-looking woman, Irene. Besides, it sounds to me like he fell for more than your looks.”
“You think?”
“He sided with your parents and sent you away, didn’t he? That sounds like love to me.”
“Yeah it does, doesn’t it? I mean people make stupid decisions when they’re in love, don’t they?” Suddenly, she felt better.
“And they tend to see the people they fall in love with through rose-colored glasses.”
“Well, that should help some.” The wind suddenly picked up as if it was in tune with her spirits.
“Hang on,” Happy said as the sails filled.
Please, God, Irene prayed as the boat shot forward, Don’t let Butch be quite as stupid this time around.
AS GARI TOOK AWAY Pepper’s empty plate, she said, “That was marvelous.”
“Can I get you anything else?”
“Another bottle of champagne,” Cole said.
“Right away, sir.”
The moment that the waiter hurried away, Pepper leaned toward Cole. “If I drink any more champagne, I’m going to need a nap. And Evan and Jean Claude haven’t even arrived yet.”
“Don’t worry. I’m not going to uncork the bottle until midnight. I have some special plans for it.”
She smiled at him. “I can deal with that.”
She looked relaxed. That had been his plan. He had a pretty good idea that once her aunt arrived, the proverbial shit would hit the fan. His gut instinct told him that Irene would not have the Monet with her. This might be the last time they could spend like this while they were on the island.
Pepper rested her head against the back of the chair and pointed at the sky. “Look at the stars. There must be thousands up there. I never knew there were that many.”
Cole didn’t even bother to glance up. Ever since Gari had seated them at a table—the same one they’d been at earlier in the day—he hadn’t been able to look at much besides the woman who sat across from him. Lanterns were strung on the other side of the pool and around the bar, but here the illumination came from nature. And she was stunning in moonlight.
“Why can’t I see this many stars in San Francisco or in Philadelphia? I mean they have to be there, right? The galaxies just didn’t multiply overnight.”
“Light pollution. In a big city, you can’t see many stars because the intensity of the city lights blocks them.”
She rested her chin on her hands and studied him. “You’re a regular encyclopedia. Where did you learn that?”
He shrugged. “I took a wide variety of courses in college, and I already told you, I read a lot.” A glance at his watch told him that Evan and Jean Claude would arrive at any minute—if they kept their reservation.
“Why don’t we dance?” Without waiting for an answer, he took her hand and led her to the terrace above the pool bar where they’d cleared a space for dancing. The music was being provided by a local group, and the songs had catchy rhythmic beats.
As he drew her into his arms, she said, “You’re really into this date thing.”
“I’ve waited a long time.”
In a move that had her eyes widening, he swung her out and pulled her back into his arms. Then in a series of steps, he led her between other couples until they were at a railing that offered a view of the sea. She hadn’t missed a beat, and she was laughing and a little breathless as he swung her out again and pulled her back into his arms.
“You’re a good dancer,” she said.
“Good?” He made it sound like an insult. Then he twirled her out and this time he turned her in two fast circles before he drew her back.
“Where did you learn to do that? You must have taken lessons.”
“I did. When I was eighteen, I dated a dancer—Mary Jane Simonelli. She was older and she was eager to teach me everything she knew.”
> Pepper met his eyes and her laugh came quick and easy. “I’ll just bet she did.”
“Of course, I’ve practiced quite a bit since then.”
He ran his hand down her back and spread his fingers over her bottom to draw her closer.
“I can see.” Her eyes had darkened, and her breath had hitched.
“I also asked you to dance because I wanted to hold you like this.” For a few minutes, he indulged himself, keeping her pressed to him and letting her swamp his senses. This was what he’d wanted to do since she’d walked out of that dressing room. In the high heels, her hair just brushed his chin. The exotic scent of the flower she wore over her ear blended with a scent that was uniquely hers—something that promised spice and heat.
He ran one hand up her back and down again and felt a tremor move through her. All during dinner he’d been imagining how the silk of the sarong would compare to her skin. The material was smooth and cool. Her skin was even smoother and hot.
The bow at her shoulder taunted him as it had all evening. An instant—that’s all would it take for him to have her out of the whisper of silk she was wearing. Minutes—that was all he needed to lead her to a secluded place on the beach. She would go with him, and he could quench the fire that had begun to build in him again. Even as the images flooded his mind, he pressed her closer, moved his hips against her.
“Cole—”
“Mmm?” He leaned down and tasted the skin at her shoulder. It was sweet, hot. And another tremor moved through her.
“This isn’t dancing.”
He drew in a breath and tried to gather his thoughts. He’d promised her a date. And hadn’t he promised himself that he would take the time to seduce her? Still, it took all his resolve to create a little distance between them. “You mean Mary Jane Simonelli steered me wrong?”
“NO. I THINK SHE WAS probably a very skilled teacher.” Too skilled. Being a little jealous of an imaginary slave girl was one thing, but every time she imagined Mary Jane dancing with Cole, or even worse, making love with him, something inside of her twisted.
“If you tell me she taught you how to kiss, I might have to trace her and do something really nasty to her.”
With a laugh, he lifted her so that she was seated on the railing. “I’d rather you did something nasty to me. Shall I tell you what I have in mind?”
She narrowed her eyes. “Don’t tell me you’re into dominatrix stuff.”
He laughed. “I’ve never been tempted to try it. You know, you’re a pretty good dancer yourself.”
“My grandmother arranged for me to have private lessons with a young man who came to the house. I’d like to tell you that he looked like Patrick Swayze in Dirty Dancing, but he didn’t. And his behavior was depressingly proper.”
“I’m glad.” He snagged her fingers and raised them to his lips.
She shot him an amused look. “It was okay with me, too. He was at least thirty-five—ancient-looking to a sixteen-year-old. And he was a task master too. I had to do hours of ballet exercises at the bar to develop poise before we got to the ballroom stuff. But enough about me. I want to know something else that you’re good at.” She held up a hand when he opened his mouth. “Something that will surprise me.”
She’d been peppering him with questions all evening, claiming it was what people did on a first date. She’d pried out of him that he’d had a double major in college—literature and anthropology—and that he was widely read. They’d even discussed some of the books they’d both enjoyed.
So far he’d told her only what he wanted her to know. But he was surprised at how much he wanted to confide in her. He wondered why. Because she’d understand?
“I’m a pretty decent cook.”
Real surprise registered in her eyes. “No kidding. Where did you learn? No, wait—let me guess. You read cookbooks too.”
He smiled. “Some. But your brother Luke got me interested in cooking in college. We moved out of a dorm and into an apartment as soon as it was allowed, and he was always in the kitchen whipping up something. The rest I’ve picked up from watching cooking shows on TV. Where did you learn to cook?”
She wrinkled her nose. “I didn’t. My grandmother had a temperamental chef who never allowed anyone in the kitchen. But show me a place setting of silver, and I’m a real whiz kid. You cannot trip me up.”
“Time out,” Cole said. “Back up. You don’t cook, but you always bring something to the Sunday family gatherings at your dad’s.”
She leaned closer. “I just pretend I’m Julia Child when I’m in the kitchen and I whip something up.”
He studied her. “Liar.”
She laughed then and the sound carried, bright and carefree, on the breeze that was coming in from the sea. “You’re right. Although I did my best to pretend to be her. I even bought her original cookbook on French cooking. It was a disaster. I ended up dirtying every single pan in my kitchen and the result was still totally inedible. I would have signed up for a cooking class, but I was already taking the PI class. So I went to Plan B. My Pendleton background is good for something. I found a really good caterer, and I have this cordon bleu chef make something for me. Then I put it in one of my own bowls and take it to my father’s. I figured that was what you were doing, too.”
I could teach you to cook. Cole barely stopped himself from giving voice to the thought. If he offered now, it would bring up the topic of what their relationship might be when their time on the island was up. And he didn’t want to bring that into the discussion. Not yet. Not on a night when she was more relaxed than he’d ever seen her.
He could also point out to her that her brothers and her father wouldn’t care if she didn’t know how to cook. They loved her for who and what she was. But she wasn’t quite ready to accept that. She was still too afraid of not measuring up to their expectations.
No, he’d tell her neither of those things tonight.
“What are you an expert at?” he asked instead.
“Well…” She thought for a minute. “A lot of stuff, actually. A Pendleton had to know how to play the piano and tennis, how to dance and how to ride. Sometimes my grandmother would hire tutors to come to the house. Other times—like for the riding lessons—the chauffeur would drive me.”
In his mind, Cole pictured the young girl being driven to one lesson after another so that she would measure up to being a Pendleton. He was beginning to see why she was so determined to learn what she needed to know to fit in at Rossi Investigations. “It sounds like you had a busy life.”
“Actually, some of it was fun. I found that I liked learning new things. And I managed to add some lessons that were more interesting. I once snuck away to Atlantic City and took courses on how to play Black Jack and poker.”
His brows rose. “Those don’t sound like they’re on the Pendleton required list of skills.”
She grinned. “I told you I didn’t really fit in there.”
He thought of his own efforts and failures to fit in.
“You know, this first date thing is turning out well, I think. All told, we have more things in common than I would have thought.” She began to tick them off on her fingers. “Curiosity and a love of learning new things, though you’re self-taught and I’m a lesson freak, so we have different styles. And then there’s the fact that we both want very much to be a part of a family.”
His eyes narrowed. “You’re going to have to elaborate on that.”
She leaned toward him a little. “As a lit major, you must have read the Brontës. Remember Jane Eyre and Heathcliff?”
He nodded, wondering where she was going.
“Well, we’re like them—I’m Jane and you’re Heathcliff. We’re both on the outside looking in and wanting to fit in to a family. In this case, it’s the Rossis.”
“I’m not sure I like the analogy. Your ending is happy. Mine isn’t.”
“Don’t worry about it. You’re much more inventive and competent than Heathcliff ever was.”
>
He threw his head back and laughed. “Thanks for the compliment.”
She reached over to pat his hand on the railing. “That’s how it was meant. Heathcliff was pretty clueless as far as Catherine was concerned.”
He kept her hand when she would have withdrawn it and linked his fingers with hers. “You’re a surprising woman, Pepper Rossi.” Even in the moonlight, he could see the blush that rushed to her cheeks.
Suddenly Pepper’s eyes widened and she leaned closer. “Don’t turn around.”
“What?”
“Evan is finally here. He and Jean Claude are sitting down at a table on the other side of the pool.” She slid down from the railing and turned her back on the pool.
“Why don’t you want him to know you’re here? I thought your plan was to go over and surprise him.”
“I’ve revised it since I overheard them talking in the gift shop. I mean I can’t very well walk up and ask Evan if he’s selling the stolen Monet to Butch, can I? Well, I suppose I could, but I’m not sure his answer would be truthful. And besides, once I go up and let him know I’m here, my cards are all on the table, and he’s still holding all of his.”
“Right. What’s Plan B?”
She glanced up and met his eyes. “I’m going to do a little eavesdropping.”
“You’ve got good instincts.” He reversed their positions so that her back was to the railing and his back was to the pool. “Jean Claude is looking this way.”
Then his own gaze became riveted on the path that led down from the main hotel. “To borrow a phrase from Yogi Berra, it may be ‘déjà vu all over again.’ Butch and H are on their way down.” He watched where the two men headed. “They’re sitting down with Evan and Jean Claude.”
The look she shot him was filled with mischief. “C’mon. Let’s eavesdrop.”
“Your call,” he said as she took his hand and drew him along the edge of the dance floor.
