Shelter in the Tropics

by Cara Lockwood

Tack grinned, all easiness once more. “Now, if you wouldn’t mind, move your boat, please.”

  Terry nodded reluctantly. “Fine. Sure.” He shook his head. “Is this any way to treat a friend who offered you help?”

  “What help?” Cate spat.

  “Oh...Mark didn’t tell you?”

  Now Cate felt her guard rise. “Tell me what?”

  “I offered to buy you out. Seems maybe you’re in the red? A little bit of love under old Terry, and that resort will be hopping with tourists.”

  Cate felt suddenly light-headed. Terry had approached Mark about buying the resort? Why hadn’t Mark mentioned it? She felt suddenly hot and cold all at once. Was Mark trying to work a deal behind her back? Cate mentally shook herself. He wouldn’t do that. Not to her.

  Yet he’d invested as much of his life’s savings into the place as she had. Would he want to cut and run?

  She could feel Tack’s eyes on her, assessing. She wished he hadn’t heard the last part of this conversation.

  “Seems like you two should talk,” Terry said. “Because what I really want is something Mark can’t sell me. I think you and I both know about the little beachside property Mark has nothing to do with.”

  Cate froze. Nobody was supposed to know about that little parcel of land. Well, Mark did, but it had been her side investment. She’d paid cash, proceeds from the jewelry she’d sold.

  She felt a twinge of guilt and then instantly pressed it down. That money was hers. Fair and square. She didn’t steal it.

  “I’m not selling,” Cate said, resolute.

  “Suit yourself.” Terry just grinned at her, showing a row of yellow teeth. God, she hated that man. She could feel Tack studying her, and Cate tried to keep her face neutral.

  Stiffly, Cate returned to her boat, and Tack followed.

  “What was that about?” Tack asked as Cate took the helm of her boat once more, watching Terry pull up the anchor so he could move.

  “Nothing,” Cate said, hoping that she was right.

  * * *

  THE MOOD ON board the boat for the rest of the morning felt muted as Cate struggled to put on a brave face. Tack could see her try to shrug off Mr. Gold Chain’s remarks. She tried hard, but he could read every emotion on her face. He wondered how such a good liar had such a bad poker face.

  Clearly, she was having money troubles, sealed by the fact that Terry offered to buy the place. Tack knew she had a lack of visitors. Anyone paying attention could see the hotel was less than half full, and yet he thought that was by design. According to Rick Allen, Cate stole enough cash and bearer bonds to be set up indefinitely. Millions, if his total was accurate. Had she gone through all that in just three years?

  Maybe she used it all to buy the land that Terry mentioned.

  That’s the only hiding place that made sense.

  She certainly didn’t spend money on herself. Tack looked once more at her frayed jean shorts and worn flip-flops. Even the tour boat they were on had clearly seen better days. Some of the paint was peeling off the side, a few of the cushions had rips. Something about this wasn’t adding up. Did she hide away the money? Was it somewhere she could get it if she needed to flee? Maybe she was just trying not to draw attention to herself. So far, she’d been meticulous in covering her tracks, and spending a lot of cash could certainly raise a red flag.

  Another mystery. Just like the kiss they’d shared earlier. He wasn’t sure how that had happened. He had not been planning it, but the woman was just so damn kissable. She’d been so close to him and so impossible to resist. Yet, he knew it was a mistake. He couldn’t bed a woman who’d tried to kill her husband.

  He shouldn’t feel anything but disgust, and yet...that was not the feeling she stirred in him. He’d been really worried when she’d hit her head on the ladder, and then...when Mr. Gold Chain was being so obnoxious, he had felt protective of her. It was probably just his upbringing by a mother who insisted that it was his job to look after ladies—to open doors, to protect them when he could. And Cate sure did need protection.

  Yet the way she kissed him, it just screamed want. And need. He’d had every intention of kissing her, but once he did, he’d lost a little of himself, lost the tight rein of control he always kept on himself. He hadn’t intended to want her as much as she wanted him. It was supposed to be a game, a ruse, to ensure she let down her guard with him. It was all part of the investigation, until his body decided it wasn’t.

  He kept a rigid control of himself for a reason. When he let emotions get the best of him, bad things happened. Like when he’d hit his commanding officer. That had led to a court-martial. But the weasel had deserved it.

  Adeeb’s brother had died because Derek Hollie refused to let Tack save him. Then Derek conveniently scrapped all of Adeeb’s paperwork for the visa promised to him by Uncle Sam. By the time Tack realized the mistake, the visas had run out, the program had been nixed. There were none left for Adeeb.

  Cate Allen was supposed to be the answer to his problems, but right now, she was making things far more complicated than he liked. He thought he was certain he’d been the one playing her, yet now he wasn’t so sure. He couldn’t let himself start thinking she was just your average girl. Nothing about her was average. Or safe.

  “This is our last stop before I get you back to the resort for lunch,” Cate said, pulling the boat into another small inlet. Tack didn’t want the morning to end. He told himself it was because he wasn’t done trying to pry information from her, but the truth was, he liked her company.

  Tack glanced at the small town not far from their diving spot. He saw open-air cantinas and cafés, as well as a string of brightly colored shop awnings. “I have a better idea,” he said. “Why don’t we skip the snorkeling and head over there for lunch?”

  Cate shaded her eyes from the bright sun overhead and blinked at the shore. “Smuggler’s Cove? You want to eat there?”

  “Sounds exciting. Will there be pirates?”

  Cate snorted. “Hardly. Unless you call the tourist-shop owners pirates. Though, they will rob you blind for shell jewelry boxes and shot glasses.”

  “Sounds perfect. I thought this was an island tour, after all. Aren’t you going to show me around?”

  Cate studied Tack, wary. “There’s a nice seafood place there. But it’s pricey. All the restaurants in Smuggler’s Cove are pricey. It’s the gentrified part of the island.”

  “I’m paying,” Tack said.

  “I don’t need...”

  “I said I’m paying.” Tack grinned, and he could see Cate relenting.

  “But I’m not dressed for...”

  Tack glanced at the people walking down the small cobblestone streets. “Looks like they’re all dressed like us,” he said. “Aren’t shoes dressing up on an island?”

  Cate sighed, and Tack knew then that he had her. She’d run out of excuses. “Fine,” she said.

  CHAPTER SIX

  TACK STEERED A reluctant Cate to the restaurant she’d pointed out, keeping a hand on her elbow in case she decided to bolt. Now that he had more uninterrupted time with her, he wondered what he was doing. What are you doing taking the prime suspect to a fancy lunch? All he needed was a DNA sample. Hair, saliva, it didn’t matter. Deliver that to Allen. Get Adeeb’s visa. All debts repaid. No man left behind in that godforsaken desert.

  None of that required glazed scallops and baby carrots. And it wasn’t like she was going to flat-out admit to him that she was Cate Allen. Tack knew that. Knew socializing with the woman was a lost cause.

  So why am I doing it?

  Tack knew why. Because he’d kissed the woman, and he wanted to do it again.

  Plain and simple.

  He was in dangerous territory. Beyond dangerous. Careful, he told himself. Don’t let her pretty smile c
loud your judgment. She was a mark, not a potential hookup.

  He couldn’t afford to be wrong again, either. He’d sent Allen four DNA samples in the last year, all of them negative. He’d been wrong before. But he’d never felt this sure. Still, Allen had made it clear his patience was running out. And time had long since been running out for Adeeb. How much longer could he avoid death? With most of the marines out of Afghanistan, the Taliban was on the rise again. And they had long memories.

  “Table for two, please,” Tack told the hostess, who sat them with a smile on the open, outdoor table in front, shaded by a banana tree. Cate walked in front of him, her muscled, tanned calves working with each step, and he thought he could watch her walk for as long as she’d let him. They sat down together at the tiny little wicker table, so small their knees bumped beneath.

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” Cate said, and tried to scrunch to the side, but wound up bumping into another chair at the next table.

  “I don’t mind.” Tack didn’t. He could feel her knees against his all day. What am I doing? Get it together. “So, you lived in Chicago, right?”

  Chicago was where Rick lived.

  Cate’s head snapped up, her eyes wide. “N-no.”

  She was like an open book. Amazing, really. How did a woman who manipulated her ex and hatched a grand scheme to forge a new identity lie so badly?

  “Are you sure? I thought you said something about...”

  “No. Definitely not. I grew up in Minnesota.” Cate snatched the menu from the table and stared at it, as if it was written in another language. Absently, she rubbed her finger along the scar on her chin. He studied the small white mark, wondering once more where she’d got it.

  “My mistake.” Tack smiled, happy to see her squirm. She’s Cate Allen. She has to be.

  “The salmon is excellent here,” she said, keeping her eyes fixed on the menu. “So is the shrimp salad.”

  “I’ll have the salmon, then.” He didn’t even pick up the menu as he kept studying her. “So, how long have you owned the resort?”

  She looked relieved for the question that had nothing to do with Chicago. “Two years,” she said. “Almost three. Mark’s my business partner. We decided we’d had enough of Minnesota winters.” She gave a rueful smile. “Mark always said everybody waits until they’re old to retire someplace nice, but why not do it when you’re young enough to enjoy it?”

  “That’s pretty great. And lucky that you had the funds to do it.” Tack let the words sit there, watching her face carefully for signs of...he didn’t know what. Guilt? Remorse? Discomfort? She launched the resort on stolen funds, after all.

  Cate glanced back down at the menu. “I was lucky with some investments,” she said, noncommittal.

  Investments. That’s what she called stealing.

  “But...I take it business isn’t as good as you want it to be.”

  Cate squirmed. “No. The cruise ships have really taken a bite out of our business, unfortunately, and...” She drifted off. The waitress appeared and took their order. Tack took the liberty of ordering a bottle of wine, to Cate’s surprise. If he wanted answers, wine could only help. In vino veritas.

  “Do you think Mark would try to sell behind your back?”

  Cate glanced at him sharply, eyes wary. “Why do you say that?”

  “I heard what Terry said.” The waitress returned with the bottle, pouring them both a glass and then setting the already sweating bottle of white in an ice bucket on the table. The humidity of the afternoon began to creep into the air, fighting the cool breeze rolling in from the sea.

  “Mark wouldn’t go behind my back like that.” Cate sounded resolute. She stared at him, mouth set in a thin line.

  “You sound sure.”

  “Mark and I...go way back.” There was that note of protectiveness again. Were they having an affair? Something about those two seemed more than friends. She took a big swig of her wine, shifting uncomfortably.

  “You seem protective of him.”

  “He’s my partner.” She glanced away from him. Some tourists in Bermuda shorts carrying shopping bags ambled by the main walk near the patio, and she focused on them.

  “More than just a business partner?” Tack leaned forward, taking a sip of the crisp wine.

  “What are you implying?” Cate drank some more.

  “You know what.”

  “No. Of course not! He’s married!” she exclaimed, looking a little shocked and a bit offended. “I told you.”

  “As if that ever stopped two people in love or lust before.” Tack laughed.

  “I don’t date married men.” Her eyes flashed resolve.

  “Okay, okay.” Tack raised his hands in surrender. “Look, in my experience, people cheat.”

  “All people? You can’t be serious.”

  “Well, my commanding officer cheated on his wife. Many times.” One more reason Derek Hollie deserved that punch in the face. He’d take another dishonorable discharge if he could get Derek alone in a room without the MP for five minutes.

  Still, why was he talking about Hollie? He hadn’t meant for any of that to come up. This wasn’t about revealing his secrets; it was about hers. Yet sitting across from her, he just wanted to share. He didn’t know why. Next, he’d be telling her about Adeeb, about the deal he struck with her ex-husband.

  “Really?” Cate thought about that. “My ex also cheated. A lot. I know what that feels like.”

  “I would never cheat on you.” Where did that come from? It popped out of his mouth completely unbidden. He wished he could say it was a ploy, a way of gaining her trust, but his gut told him it was actually the truth. When did he become such a starry-eyed romantic for goodness’ sake? He was a tough-as-nails marine who never talked about his feelings, but sitting across this gorgeous blonde, all he wanted to do was tell her how pretty she was. Clearly, he’d gone soft.

  “So you and Mark aren’t...that,” he said, trying to steer the conversation back to her. “But you sure seem close.”

  “We are. But I’m close to his wife, too. They’re my best friends in the world. You know those people who would do anything for you? No matter what? The friends you could call in the middle of the night, even, and they’d come right over? Mark and Carol are like that for me.”

  Tack thought about it. He knew friends like that. Like Adeeb. He would jump on a grenade for him. And actually did. Thank God the thing had been a dud.

  Tack nodded. “So, Mark wouldn’t sell out from under you, but what if he’s right and you have to sell?”

  “I can’t.” She shook her head resolutely, wisps of her honey-blond hair coming loose from its ponytail. She swiped back a tendril and tucked it behind her ear.

  The waitress came back, setting piping hot salmon dishes in front them. Tack took a bite of the delicate fish, and it melted on his tongue. Cate dug into hers like a starving prisoner. She was either hungry for food or a distraction. Of course, he was the one who ended up distracted, watching her take small bites with that sensual mouth of hers. He remembered the taste of her lips—sweet, like cherry lip balm.

  “You said you were lucky in investments. So, why not just dip into those reserve funds?” The millions you’ve got stashed away somewhere.

  “I put most of what I had in the resort and the rest in land nearby,” she said, flatly, taking another bite and washing it down with a generous helping of wine. “There are no reserve funds.”

  Tack wasn’t sure what to believe. Could that be possible? He didn’t see how. Not unless she actually stuffed her money into the walls of the guest rooms. They fell into a short silence, and Tack watched her eat. Maybe her game was to try to lure in new tourists with her sad story. Maybe she fleeced every new guy who came through.

  “Interested in any investors?” he asked, testing his theor
y. “I’ve done well for myself as a private contractor, and I also know a few friends who have more money than they know what to do with.”

  Cate shook her head. “That’s nice of you, really. But no. I don’t want investors.” She said it in a way that left no room for argument. The fact that she didn’t take the low-hanging fruit made Tack wonder if he’d read her wrong. “Even with Mark, it’s a sixty-forty partnership. I have the final say.”

  The woman clearly liked to be in control. Tack felt his mind wander suddenly to their kiss. He wondered if she liked to hold the reins in bed, too. He imagined her on top of him, and all the many ways she could make him beg for more.

  “Why no partners?” Focus. “Investors could help.”

  “I made the mistake once of trusting the wrong person to—” she hesitated “—to look after me.” She frowned and absently touched the white line of the scar on her chin. A nervous tick? he wondered. “I’m not going to do that again.”

  Now he wondered if she was talking about Rick. Sure seemed like it.

  “That scar,” he said, “on your chin. How’d you get it?”

  The question took her completely by surprise. She actually covered her entire chin with the palm of her hand, as if by doing so she could make the question go away.

  “What scar?” Her green eyes darted from side to side. Boy, she was a terrible liar.

  “The one you keep...touching.”

  “Oh? This?” She rubbed her finger once more across the small, raised line. “Nothing. An old...accident.” She wouldn’t look at him and instead focused on the remaining food on her plate. She was absolutely lying to him. But why? Because she probably got that in the struggle. The struggle when she tried to kill her husband. The night she left. Rick Allen had told him all about it. How her well-laid plans had gone to hell.

  “You touch it a lot.” Guilt, he thought. Pure guilt.

  “I...I do?” Realizing she was just at that second rubbing her finger across it, she quickly thrust her hands into her lap. Then she glanced at her wine and reached for it, taking a long sip. She shrugged and then glanced at her watch. “Oh, we’re late!” she exclaimed, desperate to change the subject. “If we leave now, we’ll be half an hour late to dock, and I’m sure you had other things to do this afternoon.”