When She Was Bad...

It had been over two hours since she’d checked in and so far she hadn’t gone to her bungalow. Butch pulled out his cigar and stuck it between his teeth. When he and H had checked out the poolside café, they’d come up empty. The waiter, Gari, claimed that no one answering the description he gave had been there. But then maybe his description was wrong. H was right. He hadn’t seen Renie for almost forty years. But her body size couldn’t have changed. She’d been a slender little thing. And fragile. The fact that she was sixty now and not twenty wouldn’t change that. And unless she dyed it, she’d have gray hair, he supposed. But it was hard to imagine her that way.

Butch pulled out a lighter, then shoved it back in his pocket. Where the hell was she? And what was she doing on his island with another man? Ever since he’d learned that she’d been with a man at the registration desk, his brain hadn’t been working right. He thought after forty years that he knew her. She’d always been the sweetest thing. For years, he’d kept her image in his mind. She was so pretty with that short, brown hair and those huge eyes. The first time he’d met her, he’d drowned in those eyes. Picturing her in his mind, knowing that she was waiting for him, had gotten him through those first years in prison. That and her letters. If he hadn’t already been in love with her, the letters she sent would have surely sunk him. He’d learned everything about her in those letters—her hopes, her dreams. In so many ways they’d never been apart.

And he wanted those letters to go on. But he had to admit that the sweet Renie that he’d pictured in his mind so many years ago was different than the woman who’d called him after he’d explained that they shouldn’t be together on his island. She’d sounded royally pissed. But she’d come around. She always did.

When he’d told her forty years ago that she should take her parents’ advice and build a life for herself out in San Francisco, she’d gone along with it. She hadn’t been angry with him. And she certainly hadn’t threatened him. But in the two hours since he’d learned she was on Escapade Island with a male companion, he’d had time to go over their last conversation in his mind. And what she’d said to him certainly constituted a threat. “Listen up, Butch. I’m going to prove you wrong. I let you push me away once. Not again. Just you wait!”

Just you wait. That wasn’t like his Renie at all. He turned to H who was seated behind his desk going over work schedules. “You’re sure she isn’t in the bungalow?”

“Angelo checked the rooms, and there wasn’t any sign that either she or her companion had been there.”

Her companion. Jealousy sliced through him. Butch bit down hard on his cigar. “Angelo’s still there?”

H nodded. “He’s outside the bungalow, keeping it under surveillance. Should I call him?”

“No.” Butch pulled the cigar out of his mouth. The end was chewed beyond repair. It was the third one he’d destroyed since he’d learned that Renie was on the island. Disgusted, he tossed it into a wastebasket. Then he ran his hands through his hair.

“Maybe we should send some men to comb the beaches. Maybe she went for a swim and ran into some trouble.”

H glanced up from the schedule he was working on. “Maybe she’s not as helpless as the woman you’re remembering.”

Butch whirled on him. “What are you saying?”

H shrugged. “I’ve watched her TV show.”

“How? It’s a local show.”

“I asked a friend to tape a few and send them to me in the event that you might want to see one.”

“Well, I don’t.”

H nodded and went back to work.

Butch reached for another cigar, then thought better of it. “You think I was wrong to break it off.” It wasn’t a question. Butch knew his old friend well enough to be pretty sure of what H’s feelings on the subject were.

“Wrong is a strong word.”

“What then?”

H glanced up. “I think you’re still in love with her.”

Butch threw up his hands. “Of course I am. That’s why I broke it off. She could do better than me. She should do better than me.”

“In the past forty years she’s stuck by you. That says something.”

“It says that she needs to be protected from her own stupidity. That’s what I’m doing.”

H’s cell phone rang. He picked it up from the desk and flipped it open. “Yeah?”

A moment later, he said to Butch, “They’ve just arrived at the bungalow. What do you want Angelo to do?”

They. This time, it was more than a stab of jealousy that he felt. It was a punch of pure fury that hit him right in the solar plexus. He drew in a deep breath. “Tell Angelo to wait.” Then he motioned to H to follow him.

On his way past his desk, Butch unlocked the top drawer, removed his gun, and tucked it into the waistband beneath his shirt. “I’ll handle this myself.”

COLE GLANCED AT THE bathroom door as he punched numbers into his cell phone. Pepper was still in the shower. He’d wanted very much to join her, but he’d talked himself into giving her time—into giving them both time.

He’d checked with the Miami airport, but Irene Rossi’s name was not on the list of passengers scheduled for tomorrow’s flight to Escapade Island. Not yet anyway. He’d also checked with the charter companies that flew out of the airport, but Irene hadn’t chartered a flight either, at least not from Miami.

That was worrisome and increased his concerns about where Irene Rossi actually was. He wasn’t going to share his concerns with Pepper yet. But missing a plane was one thing. Missing it while you were transporting a priceless painting was another.

Then there was the fact that ever since their arrival at the bungalow, he’d had a very clear feeling that they were being watched. If they were, the guy was a pro because so far Cole hadn’t been able to spot him. As a precaution, he’d locked the doors—not that they wouldn’t give under the right pressure—and his gun was on the bedside table right next to the candles he’d lit.

To keep himself occupied while he was waiting for Pepper, he’d set the scene for a seduction. He was a man who’d always known how to get what he wanted. His days of trying to figure out what to do about Pepper Rossi were over. He was going to use every amenity that the island had to offer in his campaign to persuade her to give their relationship a chance beyond the time they were going to spend on the island.

Not that he’d had to do much. Escapade Resort was a natural setting for seduction. Impatient that his call hadn’t connected yet, he disconnected and punched in the numbers again. As he waited, he glanced around the bedroom. The interior of the bungalow was a cool and dark escape from the sun beating down on the beach outside. Through the slatted shutters, he could hear the waves hitting the shore. There was a high surf on this side of the island. The bed was draped in mosquito netting that isolated whoever slept there from the outside world. No doubt about it, the people who ran the Escapade Resort knew romance. All he’d had to do was light the candles on the nightstand, pull a split of champagne out of the mini-bar, and pop the cork.

“Tell me you’re on your way back with the Monet.” Luke’s voice on the other end of the call had Cole reining in his thoughts.

“Not yet,” Cole said. “But I have a lead on it.”

“All of our jobs could depend on getting that painting back. If Althea Atwell sues us, we’re going to take a hell of a PR blow.”

“Yeah.”

“Got any idea yet who took it?”

Cole sidestepped the question. He wasn’t going to betray Pepper or her aunt, not even to his best friend and boss. “Evan Atwell is here on the island with a male companion.”

“You’re kidding.”

The stretch of silence on the other end of the line told Cole his distraction had worked. He could picture Luke, his eyes closed, leaning back in his chair, mulling that one over.

Of the two Rossi brothers, Luke was the one who had a gift for figuring things out. He was a genius when it came to anything electronic. Matt was more of an action man. If you were holed up in an alley being shot at, Matt was the Rossi you wanted at your side. But if there was a puzzle to solve, Luke was your man. Together, the brothers made a good team.

It occurred to him then that what Pepper had to do was find and use her strengths if she wanted to make a place for herself. He glanced toward the bathroom door. Perhaps their deal—that he would back off and let her handle this case—could help her to do that.

“So, genius boy, what do you think?” Cole finally asked.

“I’ve got several ideas. You think Atwell set up the robbery?”

“I think it would be an amazing coincidence if he was just here to take in the island’s amenities. Evan also had a meeting with Butch Castellano, the owner of the resort, and Mr. Castellano has a well-known reputation for collecting French Impressionists. Atwell’s companion wears a goatee and a French beret. It would help if you could get a line on him.”