When She Was Bad...

“Look, Happy.” She suppressed the urge to grab him by the shirt. “Let me make this clear. We’re not trying out anything. The only person I’m interested in exploring my inner sex goddess with is on Escapade Island. My goal right now is to get there.”

“But our commander-in-chief says that these little mix-ups occur all the time. People board the wrong plane in Miami once or twice a week. As she told us, there are a couple of guests stranded on Escapade Island who will be coming here tomorrow, and you can go back on the same boat.”

“I can’t wait until tomorrow.” While the drill sergeant had been giving her opening spiel, Irene had had time to think about the Monet. She was willing to bet that whoever had drugged her and dumped her on the plane to Camp E.D.E.N. was now on Escapade Island. After all, a man who collected French Impressionists resided there. Butch had never kept that a secret. There’d even been mention made in the travel magazine that had written up his resort.

But she was putting the missing Monet out of her mind for the moment. First things first. She had to get to Escapade Island, and then she’d figure out what to do about the Monet. “There’s got to be a boat that we can rent or borrow. Or steal.”

“I don’t know,” Happy said. “She seemed pretty firm about it.”

Irene shot him a withering glance. “That’s because firm is her credo. If Hitler were ever reincarnated as a woman, she’d be him.” Just your type, she thought. But she didn’t say it. She didn’t want to start him moaning again. As annoying as Happy Johansson was, it had occurred to her that he might have his uses. For one thing, she’d learned that he was a sailor, and she’d never operated a boat in her life.

When they rounded a curve of the shoreline and the marina came into view, she quickened her pace. “There’s a boat—the one with the canopy.”

Happy shook his head. “That’s a paddle boat, and there’s no way that you can paddle to Escapade Island. I wouldn’t recommend it even along the shoreline.”

Irene pointed to the canoes. “What about those?”

Happy shook his head again. “Not seaworthy enough. The commander-in-chief told you that the only boats available were for the lagoons.”

“We’re getting off this place somehow.” The sun was still so hot that the horizon was hazy. But she could see the outline of Escapade Island in the distance, beckoning to her. It was so close. She had to get there. She couldn’t and wouldn’t let Butch buy a stolen painting. At the very least, she had to warn him. At best, she was going to steal it back. However that played out, she was not going to let anything stop her from having a little face-to-face chat with Butch Castellano.

When they reached the dock, a man stepped out of the small shack near the water. He was short, stocky and bald. He spit tobacco into a wave, then said, “Can I help you?”

“I need to rent a boat to get to Escapade Island,” Irene said.

The man sent another spit of chew into an oncoming wave. “I’ve only got boats for the lagoons.”

“Told you,” Happy murmured.

Irene glared at Happy until he cleared his throat and asked, “Surely you’ve got something—perhaps a small sailboat?”

The man shook his head again. “Got no call for them. People who come to this island aren’t much into boating. They have other interests.”

Before he turned away, Irene grabbed his shirt and gave him a little shake. Behind her, she heard Happy moan.

“Isn’t she something?” Happy asked.

Irene ignored him. “There’s got to be someone on this island who has a seaworthy boat we could use.”

The man, more alarmed than threatened, raised his arms in surrender. “There’s a lady on the other side of the island who has a motorized raft. You might be able to get across on that.”

“How do I get there?” Irene asked, releasing him.

He took a step back, smoothing his shirt. “There’s no taxi service, so you’ll have to walk along the shore. It’s about seven or eight miles.”

Turning, Irene gave Happy a shove. “Let’s go.”

“I love it when you shove me.”

Irene swallowed a groan. He was a sailor, she reminded herself. And she needed to get to Escapade Island ASAP. Urging him along, she started walking along the white sand beach.

WHERE THE HELL WAS Renie? Butch’s question echoed in Cole’s mind as Pepper served drinks from the mini-bar to Butch Castellano and his bodyguard, H. The large man had requested them to drop the “Mister.” Pepper was filling them in on the fact that she’d lost Irene in the Miami airport.

She’d pulled Cole aside in the bedroom while they were dressing and asked him not to mention the Monet. Her plan was to enlist Butch’s help to locate her aunt, but they wouldn’t tell him about the painting. Not until her aunt was here on the island. He’d told her it was her call, her case.

Since Butch had asked his original question, they’d all moved from the bedroom into the living room. Butch was drinking beer, and H was sipping from a bottle of water.

When Pepper finished with her story, Butch said, “So let me get this straight. You followed your aunt here? Why?”

Pepper’s cheeks colored. “She was coming to see you. And you’d told her not to come. I wanted to make sure she was all right.”

After regarding her steadily for a moment, Butch nodded. “Fair enough. Then you lost her somewhere in the Miami airport and she didn’t show up on the connecting flight. This guy with a French accent and a goatee was the last to board.”

“And this French guy was the same man I saw here with Evan Atwell.”

Butch’s eyes narrowed. “You know Atwell?”

Pepper nodded again. “I used to date him.”

Butch grunted and said, “Good thing you stopped. He’s gay.”

Pepper stared at him. “No, he’s not.”

“He and the Frenchman are a couple, right, H?” Butch asked.

“That would be my guess,” H said.

“Evan and the man with the goatee?” Pepper asked.

“They’re sharing the penthouse suite at the main hotel,” H said with a small apologetic shrug. “That’s not conclusive, but this is a couples resort.”

Cole tucked the piece of information away. He’d had a hunch that might be the case, but Butch’s and H’s near certainty convinced him. Both men seemed to be very astute.

“Well,” Pepper said. Cole knew her well enough now that he could tell she was processing the information, using hindsight to put it together with what she already knew. But what he noticed most was that she didn’t seem at all upset about the fact that Evan Atwell might be gay.

“I’m still worried about Aunt Irene,” Pepper said. “She’s not booked on tomorrow’s flight, and she hasn’t chartered a plane from the Miami airport. The more I think about it, the more I wonder if she really missed the plane. What if something else happened to her?”

“Foul play?” Butch frowned.

“I don’t know. But I do know that she was dead set on getting to this island today. She wanted very much to see you, and she’s a very focused woman.”

Butch glanced at H. “Maybe she got on the plane to Eden Island by mistake. How many misplaced guests do we have right now?”

“Four. The cowboy and his lady friend and the two streakers.”

Pepper’s mouth turned up in a wry grin. “We had a glimpse of those streakers.”

“They’re running a very specialized resort over there on Eden,” H explained. “They advertise it as a sex camp. It’s very hedonistic, from what I gather. With the similarity in names, we often have mix-ups. Guests have a pina colada on their layover in Miami and get on the wrong plane. Every morning, one of our locals runs a boat between the two islands to relocate the misplaced guests.”

Pepper turned to Butch. “Can you find out if that’s what happened?”

“Yeah.” As he spoke, Butch punched numbers into his cell phone. A minute ticked by and he finally repocketed the phone. “The boss lady who runs the place doesn’t always pick up her phone.” He raised his voice an octave. “She has better things to do like participating in an orgy.” He spoke in a normal tone as he rose. “I’ll send Angelo right over there. If Renie’s on that island, he’ll bring her back.”

Cole gave H his cell phone number, and then Butch and his sidekick went out the door. Moving toward Pepper, Cole said, “I thought they’d never leave.”

When he took her hand, she gripped his fingers tightly. “The more I think about it, the more worried I am about Irene.”

“She might very well have just taken the wrong flight. Besides, from what I’ve observed, she’s pretty capable of taking care of herself. And….” Cole lifted her hand and pressed a kiss to her palm. “Worrying never solved anything.”

“What about Evan? Shouldn’t we be trying to figure out why he’s here and who this French guy is?”