Tropical Tiger Spy (Shifting Sands Resort 1)

“A what?”

Tony wasn't sure if Rick didn't know what a quoll was, or if he hadn't heard over the static on the line. “A quoll,” he repeated. “It's an Australian marsupial.” He wouldn't have known that himself, if it hadn't been noted on the form.

“I'm starting to see a pattern,” Rick said.

“Rare. All of the missing shifters are rare.”

“Like someone's ... collecting them?”

“Amber,” Tony said, ice in his throat. He dropped the phone, not even sure if he'd hung it up first, and bolted for the door. The files spilled off the desk behind him, but he didn't stop.

Chapter Fifteen

“A few of the guests” proved to be just three other people–the English boar couple who turned up their noses at Amber's sandy sandals and simple tank top, and a flinty-eyed man who spoke Spanish with Jimmy without acknowledging Amber's presence.

Nothing less than grateful for his company to spare her Jimmy's attention, Amber went for an empty seat in the far back of the van, even knowing that the bumps would be the worst there. She had a bottle of water, her phone in her pocket, and a straw hat–courtesy of the resort–to keep the worst of the sun from her face.

Most of the drive was through thick jungle, though, over a rain-pitted road that wandered seemingly randomly through gullies and along ridges, further than Amber would have guessed possible on an island of finite size. She had drained half her bottle by the time the road finally resolved into a driveway and passed through a set of heavy iron gates. To her surprise, there were g

uards at the gate, each carrying a formidable-looking rifle.

Maybe Mr. Big–Mr. Beehag–just really liked his privacy.

The van drove past the very large house to a second structure, much more modest, and Amber was happy to escape from the deafening metal box and stretch her legs again. She was glad for her hat here; the jungle had been cleared a good distance around the estate–which looked more like a compound to her eyes–and the sun was beating down. They were higher than she thought they would be, and she could see far out over the jungle, to the distant ocean beyond and below.

Mr Beehag proved to be younger than Amber had expected of an island-owning eccentric billionaire, with a quick smile that showed perfect white teeth. The teeth seemed odd paired with the sophisticated English accent. Amber couldn't help but compare him unfavorably with Tony, and wanted to kick herself for thinking about him again.

Surprisingly, he all but ignored the English couple, who introduced themselves as the Bellinghams, and took Amber's hand.

“Welcome to the arboretum,” he said smoothly. To her befuddlement, he kissed it. “You would be Amber, and you must call me Alistair.” It wasn't so much a suggestion as a command.

“All right,” Amber said, raising eyebrows at him. “Alistair, then. Thank you for having us here.”

She tried to include the others in her statement, but found that Jimmy and the Spanish-speaking man had both vanished.

The English boar couple looked unimpressed, but made vague polite noises.

“I assure you, the pleasure is mine!” Alistair's smile was distractingly white, and anything but vague.

Something about the way he looked at her made the tiny hairs at the back of Amber's neck rise, and she was glad when he led them all to the doors of the arboretum and unlocked them at a very modern-looking keypad.

The arboretum, at least, was everything that Jimmy had promised, and Amber was just as happy that he didn't reappear while Alistair showed them around.

The eccentric billionaire was an educated host, and he knew all of the plants in his collection. He had entertaining stories about most of them, and was clearly proud of some of the very exotic and rare flowers he had convinced to blossom.

Amber quickly forgot how oddly attentive he was, and found herself in easy conversation about fertilizer choices and the use of blooming chemicals. Costa Rica had a reputation for ecotourism and going organic, and Amber couldn't help but approve of the fact that Alistair was following that trend.

They were standing at the base of what Alistair insisted was one of the rarest palm varieties in the world when Amber realized that she hadn't noticed the other couple in an unusually long time–and also, she was starving! The sun was just beginning to descend towards the ocean.

“Did we lose the Bellinghams?” she asked. “And goodness, I should be getting back to the resort for dinner ...” Her water was long since gone; she had been using the empty bottle to keep her hands from fidgeting for some time.

“I am a shameful host,” Alistair said, with a glint in his eyes that made Amber suspect nothing was an accident. “We bored the Bellinghams back to the resort some hours ago; Jimmy took them. You must stay to supper with me while he returns, and I will show you the rest of my collection.”

Amber's curiosity was piqued; they had passed several sets of electronically locked doors that she had wondered about, and the walls were all much higher than privacy strictly demanded.

“I ...” she thought about Tony; was he wondering where she was?

I don't owe him anything, she told herself fiercely. It isn't a real relationship.