Tropical Tryst: 25 All New and Exclusive Sexy Reads

by Nicole Morgan

  “Ms. Prosser has an alibi for that, too. Guess Ada was in Columbus overnight, getting some kind of governor’s award for her work on the county’s stray dog population. There’s even a picture of her and Ms. Prosser in the local paper.”

  “What about Liv’s car?”

  “It was supposed to be in the shop all weekend. Ada remembers because they had to borrow a neighbor’s vehicle.” Darcy inhales noisily. “Wanna take a guess about which garage Ms. Prosser used?”

  “Gardiner’s,” I say. The auto mechanic shop where Tucker worked during the summer.

  “Bingo. So at this point I’m thinking I don’t need to dig any further on the alibi front. I mean, I could, but we have the gist.”

  “I agree,” I say.

  “And remember the option I raised—the one where I said Ms. Prosser could be using a proxy to attack you?”

  “Yup.”

  “That’s highly unlikely, since it looks like Ms. Prosser’s vehicle was being taken when her back was turned. So…now I decide to move onto finding the other woman. I ask Ada for a list of females who might have had it in for her daughter, or who might have wanted to keep you two split.” He clears his throat. “Don’t know how to tell you this…”

  I close my eyes. “Just say it.”

  “Seems Ms. Prosser was always a bit on the reserved side, but after you left, she really pulled into herself.”

  “Go on,” I say, when he halts.

  “Apparently a lot of people mistook her quietness for snobbery before you arrived. But after… Well, they thought she got even more uppity because she dated you. Thought she got too big for her britches, was how her mom put it. So Ms. Prosser became a bigger target of ridicule. I guess what I’m saying is that there was no shortage of female candidates who wanted to take her down a peg. And if you allow for the possibility of a wig, that makes for a shit-ton of female suspects.”

  This is beginning to feel like a mystery with no solution. “Is there any way to narrow it down?”

  “Course,” he says cheerfully. “Because we know the mystery woman had to be connected to Tucker. To drive the vehicle, she had to be somewhat local at the time. We know her physical build. From how she moved, we know she was probably fairly young at the time. So…with help from Ada and one of her friends, I constructed a list of candidates and crossed ’em out one by one. And when all was said and done, I was left with one woman.”

  “You’re kidding? Who?” I am shocked. I thought Darcy was gearing up to tell me he’d need another couple of weeks to get to the bottom of things.

  “Cynthia Fisher. Know her?”

  I take a minute, but I’m drawing a total blank. When I say as much to Darcy, he says, “She was a year ahead of Olivia in high school. Also—drum roll please—a known southpaw.”

  “How in the world did you find that out?” My respect for Darcy’s investigative skills is growing astronomically.

  “That would be why I’ve expensed you for high tea today, and why I’m blaming you if my pinkie won’t return to its normal position. The friend of Ada’s I mentioned? She’s a former high school principal with a thing for Earl Grey and cucumber sandwiches. She knew both girls. Also, she confirmed the photo looked like Ms. Fisher.”

  “Did you talk to this…Cynthia?”

  “Nope.”

  “Well, don’t stop now,” I say. “Do you need travel expenses? Because I’m good for them.” When I go to Liv to explain everything, I want this nailed down.

  “Thanks but that’s not going to help.” Darcy clears his throat. “She passed.”

  “Damn,” I say. “After all that build-up I’m disappointed.” Crushed, more like.

  “Indeed. But I think we can assume she was involved—not to the level of reasonable doubt—but enough to be confident. Remember how the pranks were escalating, then suddenly stopped? And then there’s nothing for years, until this possible rash of events in Jamaica?”

  “Where Tucker is staying.”

  “Exactly. Well, the last known event in the States happened July fourteenth. A week later, Ms. Fisher was dead from an overdose. And not long after that, Acheson was working as co-op student in Boise, making it awfully hard for him to drop by Jacksonville for a little misdemeanor mischief.”

  AFTER THAT, things go kind of blank for a while.

  I think I hung up from Darcy after promising to pay for a side of beef instead of a measly porterhouse.

  The rattan love seat from the villa roof somehow ends up bobbing in the ocean. Since I’m the only one who could have tossed it there, I fish it out and call Reginald with an apology and offer to pay for its replacement.

  I am seized with a variety of violent and contradictory impulses.

  I want to beat up Tucker.

  I want to go to Stonybrook and make trouble for everyone who seized upon an excuse to pull Liv down into the mud.

  I want to talk to Liv.

  Most of all, I know I have to make this right for her. The one person I can count on for rational help in that department, at least professionally, is Yolanda. I take off for her room at a run.

  CHAPTER 16

  FINN

  M y face must be thunderous, because when she answers the door, Yolanda takes one look before turning and leading me inside. She walks to the dresser where a tall, slender man in shirtsleeves is fiddling with cufflinks.

  “I’m sorry, baby,” she says, and rises on her toes to give him a peck on the lips. “Looks like you’re eating alone tonight.”

  Only then do I notice she’s in full dress regalia, with a smart updo, a long white gown, and high heels that look like they’ve been tied to her feet with spider webs.

  DeShawn, a corporate lawyer who does legal work for Wakefield from time to time, is similarly gussied up.

  “I didn’t realize you were here,” I say to him.

  “Caught the first plane after court let out yesterday,” he says. “Needed a little quality time with my girl.” He quirks his eyebrows meaningfully at me. “Got me some, too.” He hums a few bars of Afternoon Delight and executes a few dance steps as Yolanda laughs.

  “That was just a deposit,” she says, and they kiss again. “You want the goods, you gotta stick around.”

  I would be nauseated if it wasn’t so nice to see what a solid marriage looks like. Besides, Yolanda works hard for Wakefield. She deserves every bit of happiness she gets.

  “I’m sorry to take her away from you, man,” I say. “You guys don’t get much time together.”

  “Make up for it in her compensation package,” he says with a wink. He slaps me on the shoulder on his way to the door. “If you’re done early, come find me. I’ll be enjoying the seafood.”

  Yolanda watches him leave with a smile on her lips. I’ve often wondered what our employees would think if they could glimpse her like this. Her soft expression makes her almost unrecognizable from the woman who leads the retreats.

  When the door closes behind DeShawn, she turns her attention to me and the dreaminess fades from her eyes. “This is going to take a few minutes, yes?”

  I nod.

  “Then plant your butt in that chair and talk loud. I’m going to change.” She grabs a few items of clothing and slips behind the opaque curtain, which is all that separates the washroom area from the bedroom.

  While she changes, I tell her everything that seems relevant, beginning with how I met Liv, to our separation when my dad got sick. I tell her about the odd streak of bad luck in Jamaica, to my engagement of Darcy, to this evening’s revelations.

  I’m finishing as she emerges from the bathroom. She’s now wearing a pinstripe skirt suit and has swapped her heels for more businesslike shoes. Even her makeup is subdued. She looks like she’s prepared for a board meeting.

  “Something wrong?” she asks as she sinks into the armchair opposite.

  “I thought you were changing into athletic wear.” Her uniform of choice when she isn’t at work.

  “Say what?” She gives me a
major dose of stink-eye. “Since when do I dress down for a meeting with an employee?”

  So she’s going to talk to Liv tonight. I feel an instant rush of relief and take my first deep breath since Darcy’s call.

  I decide to cut to the chase. “I want him out.”

  She stretches out her legs and crosses them at the ankle while admiring her shoes. “For what? A decade-old scheme that he may or may not have been involved in?”

  “Oh, he was involved in it, all right.”

  Her eyes shift back to me. “Got any proof I’m not aware of? I could make the case that this Cynthia was the real culprit, and you’re tarring Tucker with the same brush you used on poor Olivia. Besides—” she shakes her head “—that’s not how you run the company. It’s unfair to Tucker and beneath you. You can’t violate your standards and expect Olivia to respect you.”

  This is exactly why I came to Yolanda for help. But I hate that she’s right. “He’s a snake.”

  “I don’t disagree. A coiled cobra in a basket. But she’s not a stupid woman. Why is she playing the flute for him?”

  The very question I have asked myself a thousand times.

  I sink down and bury my head in my hands. “I love her, Yolanda.”

  “I know.”

  “I loved her from the first time I saw her.” And the next. She’d come strolling up the driveway and all I’d done was help her mom with the dogs, but the way she looked at me? I felt like the most powerful man alive. “You know, she didn’t want to take a chance on me but I worked on her until she took a leap of faith. And at the first real test of how we’d handle it all, I was the one who caved. Me. With the education and the fancy home and all the money.”

  “And the abusive, dead father, and the grasping stepmother, and the struggling company you inherited at twenty-three…”

  “Twenty-four,” I say.

  One eyebrow goes up. “Oh, so much better.”

  I shake my head at her. “I knew you’d say that, but you’re letting me off too easy.”

  “Am I?”

  “The worst of it is, I yelled at her and called her crazy because I felt embarrassed in front of my friend.”

  “I know,” she says.

  “I don’t know if Liv can ever forgive me. I promised to love her forever, but she suffered extra because of me. I need to make it right.”

  “Which is exactly why you’re going to back off and let me handle this. The professional part of this, anyway.”

  “That feels like a cop-out,” I say.

  She leans forward and stabs the table with a manicured nail. “You go in there, we’ll end up with a couple of lawsuits and you’ll lose her.” She holds my gaze. “I mean it, Finn. If there’s ever a time to honor our agreement, this is it. You handle the money—”

  “And you handle the people. I know.” I heave a sigh. “Just…please tell me you have something on him. A way to get her away from him.”

  “I’ve done my homework. I haven’t liked their dynamic from the first.” She sinks back in her chair and watches, hands folded calmly in her lap, while I wear a groove in the tiled floor.

  When I’m finally ready to capitulate, I say, “All right. But before you go, there’s one more piece of information you need.”

  “Which is…?”

  “I need your laptop,” I say.

  She pulls her computer from the room safe and keys in the password. Then she swivels it to me, watching as I log onto the Wakefield site. “If this is about their personnel files, I’ve already been through them with a fine-toothed comb. And then some. Especially for Olivia.”

  While she details her preparation, which is designed to reassure me that she knows what she’s doing, I find the document I’m seeking. I click and highlight the relevant parts.

  “I know you saw this before,” I say, “but you probably didn’t appreciate the significance.” I hadn’t, though I should have.

  Yolanda adjusts the angle of the screen and puts one palm on the table. After a few moments of scrolling, she makes a humming sound, which in Yolanda terms is equivalent to a Tarzan yell. “Nice work, Sherlock. I missed that, but it explains so much.” She straightens and fixes me with a gimlet gaze. “Now, while I try to rescue your girlfriend from a mess of her own making, go for a run or something. You’re making me nervous with all that damn flop sweat.”

  CHAPTER 17

  LIV

  N ear dinnertime, when Yolanda knocks on my hotel door, I consider not answering. I can see through the peephole that she is carrying a laptop and dressed like she’s heading to a power lunch. Hasn’t Wakefield consumed enough of my day?

  Plus, she’s not my favorite person at the moment, and I’m in a foul mood, feeling raw, exposed and lonely after this afternoon’s events.

  But she doesn’t leave after a decent interval and through the peephole, I see her waylay one of the staff. By her gestures, she’s grilling them about my present location. How long before she concocts a pretext to have them check my room?

  “Good evening, Olivia,” she says when I crack the door. “Do you have a few minutes to talk?”

  “I’m not feeling chatty right now,” I say, as the staff person fades away.

  Yolanda nods. “You’re upset about this afternoon. Normally we’d have gotten to your concerns in debriefing, but the work emergency interfered. I’m deeply sorry for that. I don’t like leaving people to twist in the wind.”

  She seems sincere. There’s none of her brashness or larger-than-life COO personality on display tonight. Am I getting the psychologist persona, then?

  As if that’s likely to be better.

  When I don’t move, she adds, “If you’d prefer a professional setting, I can get the resort to loan me an office.” Her eyes skim over my tank top and pajama bottoms. “Or you could change. We could move to a restaurant and hope for privacy.”

  I heave a sigh. “Let’s get this over with.” It’s clear she isn’t going to leave until we talk, and as I had been about to order room service, anything that could get me in trouble has already been tidied away.

  She follows me into the room, past the washroom and bed, into the alcove. She notices the extra table I had brought in—a twin of the room’s standard-issue table. When pushed together as they are now, both tables form a sufficiently large surface for me to spread out my drawings. She also notices the pile of colored markers I use in my work, and the giant pile of eraser shavings.

  Let her notice, I decide. If she asks, I’ll just say I’m an amateur artist who values her privacy.

  When we’re each seated in a chair and she has declined the offer of a drink, she folds her hands in her lap.

  “Okay,” she says calmly. “Hit me with your concerns.”

  So I recap everything I said to my team up on the rope, and then some. I conclude with my concerns about Georgia. “Bottom line, you set her up to feel humiliated and isolated.”

  Throughout my recitation she has listened without interrupting, her face shifting only to demonstrate her careful attendance. Now she nods once. Twice. Then as calmly as if she’s asking me to pass the salt, she says, “Georgia was a plant.”

  After a pause, I manage, “Pardon?”

  “You heard me correctly. I assure you, her psyche is completely intact. In fact, though she might not look like it now, at one time Georgia was a topnotch climber. I’m told she could rappel and spelunk with the best of them.”

  I’m still reeling. “Sam?” I manage.

  “He doesn’t have her skills, but he’s not afraid of heights, either.”

  “Then w—”

  “Why have them pretend?” Yolanda shrugs. “Come to the debriefing tomorrow, where I’ll explain the official reason. But unofficially, I like to have a good understanding of how employees will react under stress. I want to know their vulnerabilities. Ah,” she says, noting my growing stiffness. “I see you don’t like that answer, either.”

  I say nothing, chewing my lip.

  “Come on
, now. Don’t stop when you’ve caught a good tailwind. Be honest about why that bothers you so much.”

  She wants honesty? Then she’ll get it. “Because you’re weaponizing psychology. You’re using your position to coerce people into running down a maze, then seeing which cheese they prefer.”

  “Hmmm.” She permits herself a small smile. “It’s obvious you and Finn have a shared history. He’s been known to use the lab rat analogy himself, though he hasn’t come up with the cheese line.” Her smile broadens to a mischievous grin. “Yet.”

  The smile vanishes and she recrosses her legs. “But obviously I don’t agree. You see, ultimately I take what I learn and use it for protective purposes. For instance, there are times when Wakefield has an opportunity to accomplish something extraordinary. Something that will really benefit the company if we pursue it and pull it off.” Her fingers begin to play with the edge of the laptop she had deposited on the table. “When I understand how an employee functions, especially within a team, I can decline the opportunity if it’s going to be too much—just take it right off the table. Or I can tailor my request to accommodate what they can manage. Or get them into counseling if they cope in a less than healthful manner.” She pauses. “Drink too much, for example.”

  My heart begins to pound. That was a veiled comment about Tucker, I know it.

  “Why are you here?” I ask. “You didn’t come to talk about ethics and philosophy.”

  Her eyebrows rise. “No. You’re quite right. I’ve come to offer you a job.”

  I inhale as a sharp jolt runs through my body. “I have a job,” I say carefully.

  “No, you have a position. One which, I’m sure you’re aware, because you’re a bright woman, doesn’t really fit within the department.”

  “But it suits my unique psychology,” I say. “My predisposing weaknesses.”