Page 93 of Deep Tide

Leyla quickly turned away, and Siena stepped into the kitchen with a bag of frozen peaches.

“Oh, good,” Leyla said. “Could you take those up to the bar?”

“Sure.”

“Who told you we were up three guests?”

“The assistant was just in here. Jillian. Evidently, they picked up some strays at the club.”

“Women?”

“I assume.”

“Well, they probably won’t eat much. Everyone here looks like they’re a size zero.” Leyla grabbed a jar of maraschino cherries and handed it to her. “Take those up, too. He probably needs them.”

“Be right back. The short ribs are warming.”

Leyla checked the oven. Then she stepped to the island again and counted the apps on each tray. They were going to have to pace things.

She took a deep breath, trying to calm her nerves. The house was quiet, with only the faint thud of bass drifting down from upstairs. She glanced across the living room at the hallway. The door to the office was open now.

Leyla heard heels clomping down the inside staircase, and a moment later Jillian breezed into the room.

“How’s it going in here?” she asked.

“Good. Perfect. We’re about to serve the apps.”

“Listen, I have to run back to the club. Desiree left her Ray-Bans in the bar. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

“Sure.”

“Call me if you have any questions while I’m gone.”

“No problem. Oh, is there a guest bathroom I can use?”

“Down that hall on your left.” She nodded across the living room. “And there’s one up by the pool, too, if anyone asks.” She checked her watch. “Call me if you need anything, okay?”

She rushed out, and Leyla waited until she heard the front door shut. Then she wiped her hands on her apron and crossed the living room to the hallway. She walked to the bathroom, glancing at the office on her way.

She shut herself in the bathroom and looked at her reflection in the mirror.

She felt stressed, and it showed. Her cheeks were flushed. Her mascara was smudged. Strands of hair had come loose from her bun and clung to her sweaty neck. She grabbed a tissue from the marble holder on the vanity and dabbed her forehead. Then she tossed the tissue into the wastebasket and washed her hands with an expensive-looking bar of verbena soap.

She dug a lipstick from her apron. Leaning over the sink, a thought hit her like a slap. Had Amelia ever stood at this same mirror? Had she washed her hands with French-milled soap and maybe changed into a bikini and gone up to join Luc Gagnon in his pool?

Shuddering, Leyla tucked her lipstick away and walked out of the bathroom. The office beckoned her, and she glanced around before taking a tentative step through the open door. A glass desk and leather chair occupied the center of the room. The floor-to-ceiling window looked out over the beach, where dusk was falling. Leyla’s attention returned to the desk. A big map covered most of the surface beside an open laptop computer.

She stepped closer and saw that it wasn’t a map, but a schematic diagram of some kind. She studied the drawing, then glanced at the glowing green light on the laptop. If she tapped the mousepad, would the screen come to life? Probably not a good idea.

She glanced at the diagram again. On impulse, she pulled out her phone and snapped a photo of it. Why? She had no idea.

Although, she did. Whatever was on Gagnon’s desk, and on his computer, whatever his phone call had been about—all of it would be of interest to Sean. He would kill to be in her shoes right now. And why waste an opportunity to get a glimpse into Gagnon’s private sanctum?

Leyla’s phone vibrated, and she jumped, startled. She stepped to the door and peered into the hallway before returning to the bathroom to check her phone. Rogelio’s number showed on the screen. Probably something about the pastries for tomorrow. She let it go to voicemail, then reviewed the photo she’d just taken. The light wasn’t great, but she wasn’t going back in there.

Leyla stepped over and flushed the toilet, then turned on the faucet and let the water run for a minute. Eyeing her reflection one last time, she took a few calming breaths before stepping into the hallway.

It was quiet, with only the faint din of music coming from upstairs. Not a sound from the living room or the kitchen. She passed Gagnon’s office without looking this time and paused at the end of the hallway beside a row of photographs. Each picture was dramatically lit with an individual spotlight. The first picture showed a desert landscape and a climber scaling a sheer rock face. The second showed a skier atop a mountain, pole lifted in the air and pointed toward a helicopter. Leyla leaned closer. The skier was Gagnon. The third photograph showed a surfer cutting through the curl of a big blue wave.

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