Page 8 of A Quick Stop in Paradise

“Hey there,” I said, stepping down from the suite door and onto the boardwalk that ran in front of the rooms. The night air was brisk but still warm around us, and I could hear the lively activity bustling from the direction of the pool and the café, but tucked into this corner under the shade of palm trees and behind thick bushes, it was just the two of us. “Did everything go all right with the shipment to Grandma’s suite?”

She smiled politely at me. I recognized that smile—universal sign language forbad news that I don’t want to have to be the one to break.“Sorry to do this late at night, but could I ask you to come talk about something?”

“Uh, sure.” I glanced around. “Did something happen?”

“My friend is better able to explain. She’s at the bar.”

“Sure… let me just tell my partner.”

Allison put her hands up. “I already explained to him.”

This was weird. Uncomfortable to say the least. A staff member out of uniform trying to direct me away somewhere while making sure I didn’t tell my partner anything about it? I took a half step back. “Well… just to let him know how to contact me if he needs anything,” I said, and I swiped my card to open the door before Allison could say anything. I pushed inside, slipping the door shut quietly behind me, and Shane looked up from his laptop, sitting by where the back door was open a crack to let the ocean breeze rustle his short, dark hair.

“Everything okay with your mafia contact?” he said, and I shrugged.

“She wants me to go talk to her friend at the bar…”

Shane frowned, studying me before he stood up. “Don’t go anywhere with her,” he said, and I did a double take.

“What—I don’t think it’s a kidnapping plot, Shane.”

“Look, you can’t be too careful. Places like this—it’s an expensive resort in a poorer area. The people working here will be a lot less well-off than the guests.”

I wrinkled my nose. “Oh my god, Shane, just because someone’s working-class doesn’t make them a criminal.”

“I’m not saying that, I’m saying they’re perfect recruiting grounds for traffickers to pay locals fortunes to prey on rich guests. I’m not even saying she is, just that it’s better safe than sorry. Either I go with you or you don’t go at all. We should probably make a point of that anyway… it’s safer for you to move around with me than going around by yourself.”

I folded my arms. “It’s a vacation resort, for crying out loud, Shane. We’d have heard about it if there were kidnapping plots against guests here. You know it’s overwhelmingly poor and disenfranchised people who get trafficked, right? Not young, well-off white women snatched out from under their family’s nose?”

“Even so, it’s just good sense,” he said, gesturing to the door. “Let’s go tell her together that you’re not going anywhere without me.”

What was even happening right now? Shane was normally so… hands-off. Content to just mind his own business and let me mind mine, and he trusted me to handle things myself. Suddenly it was all him being the weird one right now, and I had to wonder if maybe—well, if she wanted me specifically to see me away from my partner, and Shane was reacting like this to the prospect, maybe she had a good reason for it.

I hugged myself. “Okay, let’s not do that,” I said. “We’re going to make her think you’re controlling me in some creepy way if you do that. I’ll go tell her myself.”

He pursed his lips, but he sighed. “Have it your way, Ryan,” he said, and I stepped out of the door, pulling it shut lightly behind me. Allison gave me an anxious look, and I took a deep breath before I spoke.

“Let’s go see your friend,” I said, and she nodded quickly.

“Sorry about all this,” she said, and she turned and led me in the direction of the bar.

“No hints what this is about?” I said, and she shrugged.

“It’s best if Brooklyn tells you.”

No chance it was something weird after all—the pool was packed too full of people right now for any funny business, groups lingering at the edges with drinks in hand, talking and laughing, squeezing in around where the bar was alive with activity. Allison took me around to where a woman I recognized from the bar earlier sat in a shaded corner, holding a tall drink in both hands.

She was a gorgeous woman, dark hair in a messy bob that gave her a wildly playful kind of look, tall and lean, with sharp features and light gray eyes, a sculpted brow, and the kind of picture-perfect sharp, dramatic lines to her lips that made her look like she should have had them stark red for a vampire movie poster. Together with the loose black tank top showing her half-sleeve tattoos on one arm and a full sleeve on the other, it was no wonder she was easy to remember from earlier. She glanced up at the two of us as we approached, sitting up taller in her seat, and she gestured me to the seat next to her. “Hey,” she said, her voice a low, almost masculine sort of warm buzz. “Ryan Bell, right?”

“That’s right. You’re Allison’s friend Brooklyn?”

“Brooklyn Sterling. Make fun of me for the name if you like, I know it’s a lot. Wanted to say thanks before anything else for making Allison’s day a little brighter earlier. Do you want a drink? On me.”

“I’m good, thanks. And just happy to help… I forgot to fill out that survey.” I leaned over the bar, relaxing a little. “So, what did you want to see me about?”

She tented her hands on the bar top, pursing her lips. “Look, I want you to know this isn’t an easy topic, and however you react is fine. I’m a career bartender. I’ve seen every kind of reaction to everything. If you want to throw something at me, that’s fine. A man staying in suite 36 flirted with me and tried to take me back to his room for sex. Allison had mentioned earlier someone staying in suite 36 with a boyfriend, so I backed out when I saw the room number—I thought you should know.”

I stared at her, blankly, for a second, just going through it and repeating the words in my own head, and I think it reflected badly on me and my mental state, the health of my relationship, that my first reaction was to laugh. I kept the laugh on the inside, still just staring, before I finally formed the words, “Shane? You mean—what?” I shook my head. “You’re telling me Shane tried to cheat on me with you.”

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