Billionaire by the Sea

by Traci Hall

  The man’s eyes opened wide and he tightened her fingers over his wrist. “Touch that and die.”

  Chapter Two

  “I’m Maggie,” she gasped, pulling her hand free even as the man passed out again. Was he drunk? His words had a slur to them, but who knew how long he’d been on the beach? “I’m here to freaking help you,” she added, remembering the CPR rules. “Come on, guy, wake up again.”

  She shook his shoulder but he was out cold.

  With a heavy sigh, she got to her feet and tugged the cart across the sand. The wheels were made specifically to pull a lightweight board, not a board and a full-grown man. He didn’t have an ounce of fat on him. His trim abdomen led to lean hips beneath the snug silk boxers. Muscular thighs with a dusting of brown hair. Maggie forced her attention back to his face. A strong nose, no beard. Dark brows. How on earth had he ended up passed out here?

  She almost dumped him once to the sidewalk on her journey to the marina but quickly righted the cart, looking around for assistance. It was too early even for Celia at Ambrosia Café—she wouldn’t be in for another hour to start baking her breakfast quiches. Making sure the man’s hands were clear of the wheels, Maggie started again. Three blocks had never seemed so long. The stranger didn’t wake.

  At last the sign for Kohl’s Marina, freshly painted last year in turquoise and navy blue, came into view. After their dad’s death, the girls had poured their energy into revitalizing the place to ease the sorrow and a lot got spruced up. Maggie rounded the building, pulling the scantly clothed man behind her.

  Madeleine, in denim shorts and a loose tee, was rinsing saltwater off the hulls of the boats, blonde hair in a messy bun at her nape, feet bare. The sun wasn’t up yet, the sky a light, dull gray. Another thirty minutes and blue would emerge in tendrils, then oranges and pinks, her favorite time of the day. Pelicans roosted on the pilings of the docks, waiting for the fishermen to arrive before they bothered getting up for breakfast.

  “Madeleine!” Maggie called out, carefully bringing the paddleboard and cart down the three wooden steps to the dock. One of the pelicans ruffled a wing and cooed as if telling her to keep it down.

  Her sister turned off the spray and looked at her, blonde brows hiked. “What is that?”

  “A man.”

  Madeleine tapped her bare toe against the wooden dock, the hose loosely in hand. “Are you kidding me?”

  Her older sister had a quiet sense of humor, and hated to be the butt of a joke—which made her easy prey. Maggie dropped the handle of the cart, her muscles quivering with fatigue. “He was washed up.” She drew in a deep breath of salty air tinged with fish oil that rose to the surface of the inlet. “On the beach.” She bent over at the waist, one hand on her hip. “By the pier.”

  “Ooooh,” Madeleine said with interest. “He’s alive?” Leaving the hose on the dock, she came closer, her fingers immediately searching for a pulse at the stranger’s neck. “Barely,” she answered her own question. “Let’s get him inside. Did you call 911?”

  Maggie straightened, energy returning in a rush of adrenalin. “Nobody was on the beach. It was deserted—there was no way I could call.”

  “I hate it when you go out by yourself so early.”

  Maggie shrugged. “Pete would have come by eventually.” The sheriff’s office had a patrol on the beach every hour or so. Where they lived wasn’t wild like Ft. Lauderdale or Deerfield. They had a quieter section of paradise.

  Madeleine opened the wooden door that used to squeak but they’d oiled the hinges. Maggie kind of missed the noise that alerted her to customers better than a bell hanging over the door. She knelt down by the man on the board and shook his shoulder again.

  “Come on. Open your eyes for me.”

  His lids fluttered.

  She held her breath, willing him to wake.

  He licked his lips and winced. What was he thinking about? Maggie put her hand on his forearm to let him know he wasn’t alone.

  Madeleine paused at the threshold of the marina door, half in, half out. “Well?”

  Poor guy probably had a mouth full of sand. “Get him some water,” Maggie suggested. “That might bring him around.”

  Her sister ducked inside the shop and quickly returned with a chilled bottle from the cooler, the orange price tag on the side. Madeleine uncapped it and handed it down, then knelt beside him, her fingertip against the pulse point at his wrist.

  Maggie lifted the man’s head and gently pressed the bottle to his lower lip. He swallowed reflexively, then coughed.

  He was still unsteady, his eyes half-mast as he took the bottle from her grip and drained it.

  “Oh no,” Madeleine said, scooting back.

  Too much, too soon. Maggie jumped out of the way as he retched—a natural reflex after drinking half the ocean. She ran inside for a towel, rinsed it in the sink, and brought it back to him along with another bottle of water.

  His eyes were open now, and he looked from her to Madeleine in confusion. The girls were identical so she didn’t blame him. Wait until Mindy joined them.

  “Hi.” She handed him the towel and the bottle. “Just rinse your mouth this time. Your stomach might be upset. I’m Maggie.”

  “I heard you.”

  She nodded—seemed the CPR folks knew what they were doing. “What’s your name?”

  He opened his mouth to answer and then scowled. He looked down at his body, rinsed his mouth and spat, then wiped his face with the towel.

  “Your name?” Madeleine prodded.

  “I don’t remember.” He spoke in deep, scratchy tones probably caused by the salt water.

  Maggie looked over the stranger’s head at her sister. Was this for real?

  Madeleine shrugged and rose with fluid grace. “I’ll get the phone. We can call 911.”

  The man shook his head, his voice cracking. “No! No, don’t.” He took a deep breath. “I’m fine.”

  Maggie put her hand on his shoulder, calming him as best she could. Had he been partying too hard? His dark brown hair was trimmed, his watch, a Rolex, and silk boxers a sign that he had money and probably people searching for him. A bachelor party, she guessed. He seemed too old for spring break shenanigans. At least thirty.

  Why couldn’t he remember his name? “It’s okay. We just think you should go to the hospital or something to get checked out.” Maggie nodded at him with encouragement.

  “I’m all right.” His jaw set stubbornly.

  “I found you passed out on the sand by the pier. No clothes,” she said. “I think that’s cause for concern.” Maybe he didn’t want them to call anybody because he’d been doing something illegal...

  “You can’t remember your name,” Madeleine interjected in her no-nonsense way. “Were you taking drugs last night? On the beach with friends? Boating?”

  “I don’t do drugs.” The man’s frown formed deep grooves between his brows. “I don’t think. I feel awful, but not hospital awful.”

  Madeleine eyed Maggie. He can’t say here.

  Maggie heaved a sigh, hearing her sister’s unspoken words. But she felt responsible for the stranger, somehow. “Listen, let’s get you cleaned up. Maybe some breakfast will help bring back your memory. What do you remember last?”

  He tried to stand but his legs gave out, and he plopped back down on the paddleboard. “I don’t know.”

  Madeleine left them on the dock and opened the marina door wide. “Maggie, can I speak to you for a minute?”

  Maggie reluctantly rose and put her hand on the man’s shoulder to offer a light squeeze. What a night. Dad used to say God protected drunks and idiots. Which will he prove to be? “I’ll be back in a sec. Just rest.”

  She entered the marina, the smells of bait, coffee from the pot on the counter and ocean as familiar as her own skin. “God, I hope he didn’t cut loose at a bachelor party—what if he’s supposed to get married or something today?”

  My name is Michael. Yes, Michael. He sat on a surfboard
, no it was a paddleboard, in his underwear. He clasped his hand over the watch on his wrist. Good. The Rolex mattered but he couldn’t recall why. His brain was a mushy disaster of questions, a feeling that something was so wrong stronger than any coherent words. He couldn’t go to the police, or the hospital, but he didn’t know why. Am I a criminal?

  He stared at the marina…small, homey, on a canal of some sort. Thirty boats moored around a secluded wooden dock. Kohl’s Marina, the sign above the door read. Maggie—had she tried to steal his watch? No…she’d brought him here, she said, from the beach.

  Running his thumb along the jagged edge of the new paddleboard, he realized Maggie must have dragged him. She was tall, thin, and didn’t seem strong enough to pull a grown man across the street, but she had.

  He owed her.

  He didn’t like owing people. Do I? He thought back to what he knew about himself. My name is Michael. He said it aloud, just to make sure. “My name is Michael. Michael Livingston.” Ah, another piece of the puzzle in place.

  What do I do? What am I? He slowly stood up, his eyes on the lightening sky, going from gunmetal to dawn within seconds. Woozy, he put his hand to his temple and winced with pain.

  Where are my clothes?

  He had a vague memory of taking off his pants in the water. Why? Music, voices. Champagne. Maybe I drank too much? His stomach rolled in commiseration and he gratefully sipped at the water.

  I don’t know. But he felt like he had to take care, beware, as if he needed to hide until he figured all this out. Ridiculous, and yet, his intuition wouldn’t stay quiet.

  Would the sisters let him stay for a day or two? And just what will you pay them with? He looked at the watch. An expensive one he knew. He’d rather cut off his arm than part with it.

  His angel, Maggie, might be more willing to listen than the other one, Madeleine—she seemed too tough. He just needed to rest. If he could rest, then he could remember what was going on—but trying to think too hard gave him a sharp pain between his eyes.

  Stumbling to the marina door, he paused outside. The sisters were arguing.

  Maggie, with the rich tones of a voice actress, said, “Just let him have something to eat, okay? Chill out. I don’t think he’s dangerous. What kind of criminal wears silk boxers?”

  “You are being stupid. You don’t know this guy!”

  “I am being a good Samaritan. He obviously partied too hard. We’ve all been there, Madeleine.”

  “He’s not staying here. We have a business to run. We can’t have a guy in his underwear sprawled in front of the door.”

  “Fine,” Maggie said as a sound beeped. “He can stay on the boat, clean up there. We will be able to keep an eye on him from here.”

  “That’s a lousy idea.”

  “Give me a break, would you? This guy obviously has someone in his life that will be looking for him. Let’s just let him clean up and rest before kicking him out. Okay? It’s not like you to be so hard-hearted!”

  “It’s not that I don’t want to help him,” Madeleine conceded. “But he’s not a puppy, or a bird that you can nurse back to health. We should let the paramedics deal with it.”

  Feeling guilty for eavesdropping, he knocked on the wooden door and stepped inside. Warm, cozy, and looking like a throw-back to a fifties grocery store, the marina smelled like nirvana. “Coffee?”

  “Yes, come in.” Maggie pulled out a stool by a skinny laminated counter piled with cups, napkins and fake creamer. She opened a microwave door and pulled out a silver-wrapped something that made his mouth water. “Sausage and egg on a biscuit, okay?”

  “Thanks.” He sat while Madeleine poured him a plastic mug of coffee, then gestured to the condiments. Michael shook his head and sipped, the brew burning his tongue in the best way. He was alive, and it felt pretty damn good.

  “Have you remembered anything?” Maggie asked with empathy. Madeleine narrowed her eyes.

  “No,” he said, lying. “My head aches terribly.” That was the truth.

  Maggie’s expression softened. “Well, after you eat, we’ve decided to let you rest on our boat. Nothing special, but it’s got a shower, a change of clothes,” Madeleine inhaled sharply at his shoulder, “and a bunk. We can talk about the hospital when you wake up. Figure out who to contact.”

  He tightened his jaw at the kindness. Did he have someone at home, who loved him, as Maggie suggested? He bit into the sandwich, the biscuit flaking and wonderful.

  “Thank you,” he said after he’d finished it all, even the coffee. His stomach settled, but his head still was woozy, and he was off-balance. He hadn’t been this hungover in a very long time—he didn’t like it.

  After the food, he could barely keep his eyes open.

  “Come on.” Maggie put her arm around his waist and headed toward the door. “Let’s get you settled.”

  “I don’t know,” Madeleine said behind them. “We should call somebody.”

  “No!” Michael said with the last of his energy. “Please, not yet.”

  The ladies exchanged looks, then Maggie nodded. “Fine. But we will be checking on you to make sure you’re okay.”

  Michael’s body sagged with relief. “Thank you.” It was on the tip of his tongue to offer them a reward of some kind, but what did he have, other than his watch?

  Chapter Three

  On board their dad’s boat docked at the marina, Maggie, Mindy, and Madeleine all stared down at the sleeping stranger in the full-sized bed. Maggie, oddly protective, brought the thin sheet up over his waist. He’d discovered their dad’s t-shirts and shorts, kept there for emergencies, and it made Maggie feel good to know that they were going to use.

  “Is that Dad’s fishing tournament shirt?” Madeleine snapped. “He’s not keeping Dad’s clothes.”

  “Chill out, Madeleine. He’s gorgeous,” Mindy whispered, nudging Maggie. “Maybe you should keep him.”

  He’d cleaned up well, although Maggie was slightly worried about the bruise at his temple. She gently brushed a dark brown lock of hair away from the wound—he stirred but didn’t wake.

  Mindy’s boyfriend Neil was a nurse at Holy Cross and Mindy had told him the bare minimum about what had happened and he’d told her a) they should have called 911, and b) to make sure the guy was still breathing properly, and c) to check his pupils when he did wake up, to see if there was possible brain trauma.

  In the past six hours, Maggie had kept watch—in between working the register at the marina. Madeleine wasn’t happy about their unexpected guest and of course called their sister despite it being Mindy’s day off to tell her everything.

  “I didn’t realize he was so cute, but honestly, I was more worried about him being dead,” Maggie said.

  “Understandably,” Mindy agreed.

  Madeleine snorted. “Ted Bundy was handsome.”

  Maggie straightened the blanket at the edge of the bed. “I bet he was part of a bachelor party that went too far.”

  “I’ve checked the local news.” Madeleine twisted the silver anchor ring she wore on her left pointer finger. “Nothing.”

  “That’s odd.” Maggie studied his face. A dark shadow of growth along his jaw was just beginning to appear. His eyes had been a mix of bloodshot and hazel, his mouth full. “Maybe it’s like that movie, The Hangover, and the other guys are afraid to come forward and say anything.”

  Mindy laughed softly. “Life is not like the movies, Mags.”

  “I’m going back to work. You know, that thing we do to keep this rusty roof over our heads,” Madeleine said.

  “I’ll be right there.” Maggie stayed put, leaning against the wall. Should there be a time that they woke him up? Just to make sure he was okay? Sleep was healing, she’d read on the Internet. But, what if he had a concussion?

  “Take your time,” Mindy said, tucking her hand into the pocket of her sundress. “I’ll help with whatever needs doing.”

  “It’s your day off,” Maggie protested.

&nb
sp; “As if I could be anywhere else but here until our mystery is solved?” Mindy gave a small shake of her head. Then her sisters, neither in shoes, climbed to the upper deck and left the boat.

  Their dad’s baby was only a 30-foot cruiser, but it had a bed, shower, and refrigeration below the main deck. It was enough, he’d said, to keep him happy. A place to escape the house when it got too girly. Maggie perched on the round stool by the bed. Even in borrowed clothes, the stranger dressed the place up.

  Money, class and style oozed from his exfoliated pores.

  His eyes opened. Had he felt her perusal? She blushed as if caught peeking beneath the covers.

  Wearing a confused expression, he struggled to sit up, patting his chest, seemingly relieved to be clothed. He checked his watch and then looked at her. “I’m Michael,” he said.

  “You remember!” Good, that would hopefully calm Madeleine down. Her sister was acting as if the stranger was going to slaughter them all.

  “Some, but last night is still fuzzy. I think I was at a dinner…” He frowned as he tried to recall but came up empty.

  Maggie reached between them and touched his arm. “It’s a start. I’m supposed to check your pupils.” She got up and peered into his eyes. Not so bloodshot anymore, they were a gorgeous greenish brown with perfectly normal pupils. “Looks good.”

  “Who told you that?”

  “About the pupils? My sister’s boyfriend is a nurse.”

  He nodded, then swung his legs to the side of the bed, his face paling.

  “Not so fast, Michael.” She liked his name. It suited him. Steadfast. “I am dying to know whether or not you were at a bachelor party. With a bunch of your friends? Could that be the dinner you remember?”

  He pressed his thumb between his brows. “I…I don’t know.”

  She felt bad for pushing. “Sorry. It will come. Do you remember your last name?”

  Inhaling deeply, he thought for a moment. “Livingston. I live in Utah.”