“I'm happy to remove myself,” he said with automatic defensiveness, but even as he said it, he wasn't sure how he would do so. He had no money, no identity – he had undoubtedly been given up for dead by now, by his team and by his family.
A piece of paper materialized in Scarlet's hand as she outstretched it to him.
He took it, but didn't look at it, not wanting to show weakness by breaking their eye contact first.
“Those are the current contact numbers of the members of your unit,” Scarlet said.
Neal had to look at the paper in shock then, nearly dropping it. How did she even know about them? He had been vague about his life before Beehag's zoo, and discouraged discussion about it vehemently.
“There’s also the number for your niece,” Scarlet went on, as if she hadn't noticed his utter and complete shock. “I thought that might be easier than contacting your sister directly.”
She stood and brushed off her skirt, looking as cool as could be in the muggy afternoon heat.
“I don't need your charity,” Neal lied to her, crumpling the paper into his pocket as if he didn't care.
“Of course not,” Scarlet replied. “I haven't given you any. But as a temporary member of my staff, please be reminded that I will not tolerate rudeness to my guests.”
It made Neal feel prickly and angry and ashamed to think that she knew about that, too.
She left before he could find an appropriate rebuttal.
He was diving into his pocket before she was even out of sight, smoothing out the page and staring at the numbers as if they were ciphers to the locks in his head.
There was a landline in the staff building, but he wasn't sure he was ready to make any of the calls.
But there was one call he was ready to make.
Chapter Seven
Mary stared at the magazine article until the words stopped making sense.
She couldn't even have said what it was about; every effort to read seemed to drift off into fantasizing about the red-haired pool cleaner. She couldn't stop thinking about the way his bare muscles gleaned in the tropical sun, and she kept remembering the frightful snarl as he pushed away from her.
She looked down at her skin, still pale against her utilitarian blue one-piece, and frowned at the curve of her hips and legs, resisting the impulse to pull a towel over herself. Maybe he was disappointed by her. Maybe he didn't want her for a mate. Maybe he wanted one of the taller, richer, tanned guests, in their tiny two-pieces and sparkly high heels.
Mary shook her head and put the magazine down. As familiar as the idea was, she couldn't bring herself to entirely believe it. Not after seeing into his eyes. He had wanted her as badly as she wanted him.
“You need a drink, honey?”
Settling into the deck chair beside her was a woman so enormous that Mary half-expected the chair to collapse, rolls of golden flesh barely contained by a fluttery, bright orange bikini.
“I'm sorry?”
“A drink,” the woman suggested, lowering her sunglasses to peer at Mary with brilliant blue eyes. “Tex makes a margarita to die for.”
“Oh, I couldn't,” Mary said, flustered by the woman's intense gaze. “I don't really... I wouldn't...”
That earned her a tolerant smile. “Well, I'm on vacation,” the woman chuckled, and she waved an imperious arm in the air towards the bar deck above them that made her chair creak in protest.
She must have caught someone's eyes, and her order must have been expected, because very shortly, Mary heard the distant whine of a blender over the waves crashing on the beach below them.
“I'm Magnolia, darling.” The woman's offered hand was perfectly manicured, and her handshake was firm but gentle. Several jeweled rings decked her thick fingers.
“Mary,” she answered, bemused, wondering what Magnolia took from her own handshake.
“You're in a knot about something,” Magnolia suggested casually, leaning back into her chair and dropping her sunglasses back into place.
Mary had braced herself for casual conversation, and was prepared to reveal the unstimulating truth that she was a math teacher from the Midwest and then talk about the lovely weather.