The Mogul And The Muscle

We turned into the Bluewater enclave and stopped at the gate. I could see her speaking to the guard, then he waved me through after her. We drove down a street lined with palm trees, surrounded by lush landscaping.

I knew from my brief research on Cameron that she and three friends had developed Bluewater. They’d created a waterfront community with sprawling mansions, luxury condominiums, a private airfield, marina, and a village with high-end boutiques and restaurants. It was very exclusive—Cameron and her friends managed it personally—and it had a reputation for being home to the particularly quirky among Miami’s elite.

A bridge took us over a canal toward several sprawling waterfront estates. Cameron turned down the drive of the second one. She left her car in front of one of the four garage bays. I parked and met her at the steps of her enormous front porch.

Cameron’s office had been sleek and functional with only a few feminine details. More elegant than pretty. But her house was like a tropical resort. The circular driveway was lined with palm trees and an explosion of flowering plants. Solar lights lit a wooden path that led to the covered front porch. The design was reminiscent of a beach hut, only sturdier—and much, much larger.

I noted the locations of the security cameras, including potential blind spots.

She punched in a code and opened one of the wide double doors. I stepped inside, although the palm trees growing right through the floor made it look like a tropical oasis. The glass ceiling let in light and a fountain trickled in the center of the room. Lush plants were everywhere. It was decadent without being garish. Tropical without being cliché.

“Well, this is it,” she said.

“No butler to come take your coat?”

She glanced over her shoulder, giving me a wry grin. “It’s Miami. I don’t wear a coat often enough to need someone to help me take it off.”

I took a few steps, my shoes clicking on the hardwood floor.

“Do you need blueprints, or will an old-fashioned tour do the trick?” she asked.

“A tour is fine. I’ll get the blueprints later.”

She raised an eyebrow.

From the moment I’d realized her friends had conspired to hire me behind her back, I’d felt like she and I were locked in a chess match. She didn’t want to hire a bodyguard. And although I’d started my day thinking I didn’t want the job, my instincts were still tingling. Even here, there was a hint of danger lurking at the edges of Cameron Whitbury’s life. I could feel it. And it was going to drive me crazy until I figured out why.

Which meant I had to convince her to hire me.

She set her purse on a side table and gestured toward a wide staircase. “Shall we?”

I nodded and followed Cameron up the curved staircase.

“We can start up here,” she said as we walked. “There’s not much to show you in the way of security in here. Bluewater is gated, of course. And the house is outfitted with an alarm system and outdoor security cameras.”

The second floor had hardwoods and a subtle beach vibe. Blues and grays. Splashes of teal. Tasteful artwork, but no personal photos on display.

“Guest rooms,” she said, pointing out several doors. “They have private bathrooms. They don’t get used very much. Mostly by Daisy when she drinks too much.”

“Daisy Carter-Kincaid. One of your Bluewater development partners.”

She glanced over her shoulder. “You did your homework.”

“It’s my job.”

“Naturally.” She pointed to a set of double doors leading to a home gym. Floor-to-ceiling windows offered a view of Biscayne Bay. “That’s where Inda, my personal trainer, tortures me. There’s another bathroom through that door.”

We moved on past more guest rooms. Then a set of closed double doors.

She opened one side. “My bedroom. There’s a master bath and a closet through that other door.”

Enormous windows offered an expansive view of sparkling blue water. A single chair with a throw blanket draped over the back sat next to a small table with a stack of books. A plush rug took up most of the center of the room. Her king-sized bed was slightly rumpled, one corner of her fluffy white comforter pulled back, like she’d gotten out of bed this morning and left it that way.