When She Was Bad...

“Told you so,” he said.

“It’ll be just a few more minutes,” said Gari. “We had to send someone up to the main kitchen for a Thermos.”

Pepper pulled on Cole’s arm. “We can skip the Island Fling. Let’s get out of here before Evan recognizes us.”

“Relax,” he murmured. “I think your true identity is safe as long as you wear that wig.”

“You’re not wearing a wig,” she hissed.

Before he could reply, a woman at a nearby table gasped. Someone else choked and started coughing. By the time Cole caught sight of the nude man and woman who were running around the far end of the pool, others had begun to applaud. One man cheered.

Pepper grabbed his T-shirt with two fists. “What?”

“A couple of streakers,” Cole said.

She turned then. “The trench coat couple. I wondered why they wouldn’t take them off.”

“They have now.” The coats were draped over the chairs they’d been sitting on. The elderly couple reached the beach and ran hand in hand across the sand. Some of the guests had risen from their chairs and the applause was blossoming into a standing ovation.

Pepper began to laugh uncontrollably. Her shoulders shook and she let out such a sweetly delighted sound, he had to smile.

“I’ll be…all right,” she gasped just before a fresh wave of giggles took over.

“Take your time,” Cole murmured. He couldn’t recall ever hearing her laugh before, and he found himself simply enjoying the bubbly sound of it. She was always so serious, so wound up and focused. Even in the picture that Luke had originally shown him, she’d had a serious expression. “If it helps any, they’re out of sight.”

“Good,” she mumbled. Then another giggle erupted. “That’s…good. I think I’m all right now. Did Evan see me?”

“We’re both safe. Everyone was looking at the streakers. Now they’re talking about them.”

When Pepper finally looked up at him, there was a look in her eyes that he’d never seen before. There was no trace of the wariness that he’d always detected, and for a moment he thought of nothing, of no one, but her. The realization streamed through him that he was in very deep trouble. Missing Monet or not, he was not going to be able to keep his hands off of her much longer.

He rubbed his thumb over the corner of her mouth. “Pepper, I—”

She took a step back from him, the wariness back in her eyes. “We should make our getaway. I personally don’t need any more of that Island Fling concoction.”

Cole might have been persuaded to abandon the picnic basket they were waiting for too if it hadn’t been for the two men who were walking straight toward Evan’s table. Instead, he drew Pepper with him behind a trio of potted palms that provided shade on the terrace. “Curiouser and curiouser.”

“What?” Pepper hissed. “Is someone else taking off their clothes?” She pulled down a palm branch so she could peek over it.

Several beats went by before Cole spoke. He wanted to give her time to absorb the newcomers. The shorter man was Butch Castellano. As they watched, Butch sat down in one of the chairs at Evan’s table and took out a cigar. The other, larger man moved behind him.

Once he’d figured out where Pepper was headed, Cole had researched the island and its owner. In his youth, Butch Castellano had acquired quite a rap sheet. Born into a prominent New Jersey crime family, he’d had a brief but successful career before his luck had run out. Either the young Butch hadn’t been very smart or he’d taken the fall for someone higher up in the organization. Cole favored the latter explanation since, from what he could gather, the man had been smart enough to accumulate a fortune in prison while playing the stock market.

Butch Castellano reminded him of Al Pacino—one tough Italian. Now in his early sixties, he’d kept fit in prison, and whatever he lacked in stature was more than compensated for by the air of toughness that emanated from him. The fact that Butch was wearing shorts, flip flops and a shirt with tropical fish swimming across it did nothing to dampen that impression.

Butch’s bodyguard wasn’t any less formidable. Referred to as Mr. H by the staff, the man was well over six feet tall with the kind of body that Arnold Schwarzenegger used to have. He was wearing a variation of the Escapade resort uniform, white shorts and a blue tank, several gold chains and one diamond earring.

Pepper tugged his arm. “Very colorful. Who are they?”

Once again, he used one finger to pull her sunglasses down so that he could see her eyes. “You don’t know?”

She shook her head. “No. You haven’t given me a lot of time to socialize since I got here.”

“That’s your host, Butch Castellano, and his assistant slash bodyguard, Mr. H.”

There was a quick flash of something in her eyes. It disappeared quickly, but if he had to guess, he would have said it was surprise. So she didn’t know Butch Castellano? If that was true, then his theory about what was going on definitely needed revising.

After studying the two men for a moment, she said, “So that’s Butch.” Then she turned to him again. “Let’s go to the beach. I need to think.”

So do I, Cole thought as he gathered up the picnic basket from the bar. So do I.

At the foot of the short flight of steps that led to the beach, Pepper took her shoes off and tucked them into her duffel. Without the three-inch heels, the top of her head didn’t come up to his shoulder, and Cole found himself remembering how small and fragile she’d felt in his arms two days ago. But the set of her chin and the way she faced problems head on testified to strength too.

And she was smart. She might act on impulse and get herself into scrapes, but she was definitely one smart cookie. If she wasn’t involved in the theft, then what was she doing on the island? Had she helped Evan steal the painting because she was his friend?

Somehow he didn’t think so. Even in his fairly short acquaintance with her, he knew she valued her family. Most of the scrapes she got herself into were an accidental consequence of her efforts to please them. He strongly doubted that she would place a friendship with Evan Atwell above that.

Another thought suddenly occurred to him. Was she here to somehow save Evan’s sorry ass? No. He rejected that idea as quickly as it had formed in his mind. She’d seemed honestly surprised to see Evan when he’d appeared in the poolside café.

As they walked together in silence, Cole tried to clear his mind of the swirling thoughts. Long ago, he’d learned that if he just had enough patience, the answer would come to him. He glanced down at Pepper. Besides, he didn’t want to think about the Monet right now. Instead, he wanted very much simply to enjoy the moment.

He hadn’t released her hand, and she hadn’t pulled away from him either. A gull swooped down toward the sea and then climbed swiftly back up to the azure-blue expanse of the sky. He watched it until the bird’s wings were only a wispy pencil stroke of gray.

Had the slower pace of island life gotten to him? Or was it simply that it felt right somehow to be walking here in this place, with this woman? All Cole was sure of was that nothing, not even the theft of the Monet, seemed as urgent as it had back in San Francisco.

Though they’d been walking for some time, it wasn’t until they reached a long outcrop of rocks that Cole realized they’d rounded a point of land that blocked off any view of the hotel. The beach here wasn’t as pristine as the stretch in front of the resort. Shells of all sizes, broken palm leaves, and chunks of driftwood lay along the shoreline.

When they reached the far side of the cluster of rocks, Pepper withdrew her hand from his, waded into the water and sat down on a large flat rock. He watched her shrug off the duffel she’d slung over her shoulder, fold her hands together, and look out to sea.

She was withdrawing, and he wasn’t about to let her do that. After slipping out of his shoes, he waded out and sat down on the rock next to her. “We have to talk.”

Though she stiffened, she didn’t move away, but merely turned to face him. “I wish you wouldn’t sit next to me. I find it difficult to think when you’re this close.”

Her words sent a thrill shooting through him, and giving into impulse, he ran one finger down one hoop at her ear. “It’s a mutual problem. But we’re both going to have to adapt. Perhaps we’ll even indulge some of the feelings we have for one another. I’m not going away.”

The sudden heat of desire that he saw in her eyes nearly had him losing focus. But he managed not to touch her.

“I’m going to stick to you like glue until I have the Monet back in San Francisco.”

She studied him for a minute. “What if I told you that I came here to take it back?”

“You stole it, and now you’re going to take it back?”

She frowned. “I didn’t steal it.”

His brows shot up. “You may not have personally carried it out of Atwell’s suite, but you kissed me to distract me long enough for your partner to steal it.”