Irene put both hands on his chest and gave him a hard shove. “Names mean a lot to me. I’m going to Escapade Island.”
“You got the wrong, plane, lady.”
Peering around Happy, Irene looked at Mr. Tanned-and-Buff in the aisle seat.
“You just landed on Eden Island,” he continued. “Escapade Island is about twenty-five or thirty miles south. On a clear day, you can see it on the horizon.”
“Shit,” Irene muttered.
“It’s fate, Irene. I was really worried about embarking on this new phase of my life on Friday the thirteenth, but when your son brought you on board and helped you into the seat next to mine, I was sure you were my destiny.”
When he reached for her hands again, Irene slapped his away and curled her fingers into the front of his shirt. “Listen up, Happy. I want some answers. Exactly how did I get on this plane?”
“The flight attendant rolled you in a wheelchair. You were pretty out of it. She said your son had explained that you’d taken some meds because you were terrified of flying, and they were making you very drowsy.”
“Drowsy.” That would explain her fuzzy memories or lack of them. But she certainly hadn’t taken any meds. “Which flight attendant?”
Happy pointed to a slender, pretty blonde who was beaming a smile at the departing passengers.
Irene had some questions for her, but her path was temporarily blocked. When Happy gripped her wrists, she swatted his hands away. “Hands off, or I’ll hurt you.”
His eyes gleamed into hers. “Oh, good. I’ve never experimented with the pain/pleasure thing before.”
This time when he made a grab for her hand, Irene wrapped her fingers around one of his thumbs and bent it back. “Hands off, I said.”
“Owww.” Happy’s breath hitched and then he closed his eyes and sighed. “Oooooh, that’s good. That’s very good. I knew I was right to book this trip.”
As passengers in the rows around began to file more quickly off the plane, Irene’s mind finally cleared. She’d been drugged and someone pretending to be her “son” had put her in a wheelchair and gotten her on this plane. Who? Could Butch have found out she was coming and decided to do this to her?
No. The final wisp of fog in her brain finally cleared and her stomach rolled. Whoever had done this to her was more likely after the Monet. Jumping up, she scrambled over Happy to get into the aisle. One glance into the empty overhead compartment pushed her panic button. “My suitcase.” Leaning down, she grabbed Happy by the shirt again. “I had a carry-on. Where is it?”
For the first time since she’d seen him, Happy frowned. “You didn’t have any suitcase.”
Oh no, Irene thought.
Whirling, she ran up the now empty aisle to where the flight attendant still stood beaming her smile. “Your wheelchair is waiting.”
“I won’t be needing it,” Irene said. “Describe my son for me.”
The flight attendant’s smile wavered a bit. Probably she thought she was dealing with a looney tune. Who else would ask for a description of her own son? But whatever thoughts were in her mind, she said, “He was a very nice man.”
Irene managed not to scream. “What exactly did he look like?”
“He was tall and dark with a goatee and he was wearing one of those French-looking hats. What do they call them?”
“A beret?”
“Yes, that’s it. And he spoke with a French accent. So intriguing.”
“Yeah,” Irene muttered. She was intrigued all right. And her mind was racing. The description the attendant had given her matched a man who’d sat one chair down from her in the airport bar. Had he been close enough to slip something into her beer? Short of being sold into white slavery—which she didn’t think she was a candidate for—there was only one reason to drug her.
The Monet.
“He didn’t happen to give you my suitcase, did he?”
“No.”
Damn. Someone had drugged her, swiped the Monet, and put her on a plane to sex camp with a man who thought she was a dominatrix. Could things possibly get worse?
Happy tugged at her elbow. “If there’s a problem, you can room with me, Irene.”
Irene had a feeling things could get a lot worse.
3
Friday, February 13—1:30 p.m.
“TWO ISLAND FLINGS,” Cole said to the beaming Gari. Pepper smiled at the young man who’d greeted her so enthusiastically at the airport. He’d made a beeline for their table the moment that Cole had chosen it.
“Excellent choice.” Gari said. “One drink and you will reveal all your secrets to each other.”
Oh, good, Pepper thought. As if Cole’s proximity weren’t making it hard enough for her to concentrate, now she was going to drink a truth serum.
He’d stuck as close as a guardian angel since they’d arrived at the hotel, and right now he was in the chair next to hers, sitting so close that she was more aware of the heat of his body than she was of the sunlight pouring down on them. Why did he have to look so damn good? The khaki-colored T-shirt and shorts only emphasized the tanned skin and the subtly muscled body that until now had always been disguised by clothes. Just looking at him had her mouth going dry. Although he didn’t look like a body builder, if this man blocked your path, you wouldn’t get past him.
And her body didn’t want to get past him. Her palms were literally itching to touch him. She fisted her hands in her lap, shocked at the sudden rush of greed streaming through her. The problem with that kiss in the penthouse suite was that she hadn’t had time to really touch him. And she wanted to. All over.
“Pepper?”
“Hmm?” She shifted her gaze to his face and tried to gather her scattered thoughts.
“I asked if you were hungry.”
Starved was the word that popped into her mind. But the craving inside of her wasn’t for food. Focus, she told herself as she drew in a deep breath.
“Sure. Food would be good.” She hadn’t had anything to eat but airline snacks since she’d boarded the red-eye from San Francisco. Maybe eating something would help to keep her mind on…her aunt, the Monet. Touching Cole Buchanan was not on her current to-do list, she reminded herself.
Cole turned to Gari. “Pack us up a little picnic, including a Thermos with a refill of the Island Fling.”
“Absolutely.”
Food wasn’t going to help a bit if she continued to sit there looking at Cole Buchanan. She put some effort into shifting her gaze away from him. She had two immediate problems: figuring out how to locate Irene and deciding how much she dared tell Cole. Time was definitely running out on the latter. Cole hadn’t pressed her since they’d arrived at the resort. But the inquisition was coming. The setup was perfect. He’d chosen a table on the ocean side of the pool terrace where they were alone.
Most of the other customers of the poolside café had chosen tables on the resort side where palm trees and potted plants offered plenty of shade. As her gaze skimmed them, she recognized several people she’d flown in with, including the cowboy who’d nearly run her down at the airport. He’d evidently caught up with his “lady.” The couple who’d stopped traffic by kissing were also there, and they were still wearing those long coats.
She shot a quick glance at Cole and found that he was looking at her in that quiet, patient way that he had. Anxiety tightened into a hard little knot in her stomach. How much could she afford to tell Cole Buchanan? She still hadn’t decided. It would certainly help if she could find out how much he knew and what he was thinking. There’d been a lot of stuff in her PI class on “reading” other people. But this man was a pro. She wasn’t going to “read” anything he didn’t want her to.
“Confession is good for the soul,” he murmured.
Her eyes immediately narrowed. “I don’t have anything to confess.” But now that she was looking at him again, she was tempted to just lay the whole problem in his lap. That would mean betraying Irene though—and she couldn’t.
“Where’s the Monet?” Cole asked.
“I have no idea.”
The simple truth of that statement made her stomach clench, and a bubble of panic rose in her throat. She really didn’t know where Irene and the painting were.
And she had no doubt that he was “reading” her with great success. Break time, she decided. Deliberately, she shifted her gaze inland to the poolside bar again. It was built on two levels so that it could service swimmers as well as guests who preferred dry land.
Gari was standing on the dry land side, and when he spotted her, he sent a two-fingered salute. He was wearing the same blue flowered shirt and white shorts that he’d worn at the airport and that the receptionist had worn when Pepper had registered in her aunt’s bungalow. It seemed to be the resort staff’s uniform.
She’d had to think quickly when Cole had escorted her to the registration line. She hadn’t booked a room for herself since she’d intended to stick like fly paper to her aunt once they’d both arrived on the island.