Tropical Tiger Spy (Shifting Sands Resort 1)

Chapter One

Amber Allen leaned out the open window of the shuttle and drew in a breath of the fragrant jungle air. She could identify most of the plants by sight, but their scents couldn't be conveyed in textbooks.

"Mr. Big owns the whole island," Jimmy, the scruffy man who had met her at the airport, shouted over the sound of the engine and crashing waves. "About a quarter of it was developed for the resort in the eighties, and his estate takes up another quarter of it. If you're lucky, you might get a tour."

He gave Amber a sleazy smile over his shoulder, suggesting that he personally could get her such a treat. "The rest is left natural jungle, except the airstrip you came in on."

Amber wanted to ask if the island owner's name was really Mr. Big, but loathed the idea of encouraging Jimmy to keep talking. She had already made the mistake of mentioning her love of plants in a conversational way, and Jimmy had taken it as if she had batted her eyelashes and asked him to tell her everything.

He made another hairpin turn, around a switchback with a steep cliff on one side, barely shrouded in trailing greenery, and a rocky plunge to the ocean on the other. The road was scarcely wide enough for the rusty van, and had potholes large enough to swallow a bus.

"Scarlet took over the resort about three years back," Jimmy continued, as if Amber weren't studiously ignoring him to concentrate on staying in her seat. "She cleaned up the old cottages right nice, and made it a shifters-only haven. We get animal folk from all over now, got a British boar couple, and a chinchilla from Singapore. There's a Siberian tiger, but I'd guess he's from the East Coast by his accent, not Siberia. Russian name, though."

Amber flinched despite herself, and looked up in alarm. She wasn't sure she could get used to the idea of a place where she could speak freely about being a shifter.

"You didn't say what kind of shifter you were," Jimmy said invitingly, meeting her eyes in the mirror.

"A cat," Amber said vaguely, glad when he had to break their eye contact to navigate the narrow, bumpy road.

"Here kitty, kitty," Jimmy laughed, and Amber forced a smile, though she found it nothing but creepy. "How'd you hear about us?"

"I found out about it from my roommate," Amber said reluctantly, clinging to her armrest and her bag as the shuttle whipped around another blind corner. None of the seatbelts worked, and she was beginning to wish that she had resisted her roommate Alice's suggestion that a tropical vacation was just what she needed a little more strenuously. At least she should have insisted on something more traditional when her friend had encouraged this rather peculiar destination.

"That's usually how it is," Jimmy said sagely. "Can't exactly take an ad out in an airline magazine, you know, but sometimes a guest will suggest someone else to contact." Amber found the idea unsettling, but didn't comment further.

Miraculously, the road straightened, widened, and then opened out into a gorgeous verdant lawn, with lush landscaping peppered with low walls of dark volcanic rock and brilliantly flowering bushes. A tasteful sign announced, "Shifting Sands Island Resort." Below, it emphasized, "Private Property. Residents Only. No trespassing. No hunting."

"Here we go!" Jimmy pulled up to a wall that Amber realized after a moment was actually a building, with a green tile roof masked in thick greenery.

There was no actual door into the building, just an open arch that went down a few steps into a little covered porch, which in turn opened into a charming little courtyard with a fountain and pots of plants everywhere. Amber couldn't stop herself from carefully touching spiky blossoms and stroking the green pitchers. There were orchids and hydrangeas and passion flowers. She paused at a brilliant red flower and frowned at its colorful leaves.

"The courtyard is the only place we will grow this kind of ginger," a voice behind her said. "It's a very popular ornamental on the mainland, but is very invasive, and has choked out the native ginger strain. Even in pots, it can seed out wild if you leave it freely in the wind."

"I've read about the problems they're having with it in Hawaii," Amber said, turning to face the voice.

“You'd have to talk to our gardener Graham about that,” the woman said dismissively. "I'm Scarlet."

She had hair as vivid as the ginger back in a neat bun, a shade that was more likely to be dyed than natural, but it matched her coloring perfectly. Her skin was unexpectedly pale for the latitude, and her eyes were flinty emerald green. Amber couldn't decide if she was very old, or very young–she could have been either. She wore tailored khaki pants and a spotless white blouse. Everything about her said 'no nonsense,' right down to her perfectly shaped nails, showing just a hint of clear coat. Even her posture was perfect.

"Do you have more bags, Ms. Allen?" Scarlet asked.

"Ah, no," Amber said, keenly aware of her travel-wrinkled clothes and the chips in the bright nail polish she had impulsively applied before leaving home. "I decided to travel just with carry-ons."

That earned her a brief smile of approval. "A wise decision," Scarlet said mildly, turning to lead Amber through another archway. "Shifting Sands supplies the finest in all the consumables you should need, we have complete laundry facilities, and the clothing-optional setting means you need very little. Please don't hesitate to let the staff know if you find that there is anything you need."

The room Amber was led into was clearly an office, with an actual door, and a desk and a tidy bookcase. Windows beyond the desk looked down over the jungle, and Amber caught a glimpse of ocean before sitting in the chair she was gestured to.