Page 48 of Dirty Daria
I let them know at check-in that we are federal agents here on a case and that we are armed. Better to be safe than sorry, especially in another country. Plus, having disclosed as much gives us access to the guest ledger and Tremblay’s room number, without needing to specifically ask about him and play our hand too early.
Somehow, we arrive before Tremblay and his wife, so after we drop our stuff off, I leave Reed in the room and go down to sit near the lobby and wait for him to check in. Even though Tremblay asked for a bodyguard, we didn’t requisition one for him. So, when he finally does arrive, I’m surprised to see him flanked by a couple of bruisers. They look like the stereotypical bodyguards you might see in a B-movie, all brawn and little brain.
Tremblay struts through the building with a fuck-ton more cocky confidence than he had before they were with him. He and Laurel check-in to their two-room penthouse suite, leaving the valets to follow with their luggage. So fucking pretentious. Carry your own goddamn bags, you pussy.
But I don’t say that aloud. Instead, I wait until they are in the elevator before taking the stairs to the third floor, where Reed and I have a room with a garden view and a small balcony that overlooks the green belt. I let myself inside only to find Reed finishing off his third minibar cocktail.
“You’re paying for every one of those on your own,” I tell him.
“What’s the matter, Mack? Having a tough time enjoying the vacation?”
“We aren’t on vacation, Reed. We are after your childhood friend for kidnapping innocent women and aiding in selling them into sexual slavery, remember?”
Low blow on my part, but I’m tired of Reed’s shit right now. He drank too much at the wedding and almost caused an issue. He drank too much on the plane and vomited all over the restroom, then passed out on the floor. I had to strip him down to his boxers and carry him into the bedroom while poor Vickie, the flight attendant, cleaned it up. Daria helped, but it’s still a crappy thing to have to do. Somehow, Vickie was able to launder his clothes before we landed, so Reed put them back on and was hardly the wiser.
Intellectually, I know I need to give him some time to adjust to the fact that his best friend is guilty of so many atrocities. And that he, as a criminal investigative agent, missed it. For over a year. Not that the two of them had daily contact, but I’m sure there’s still a part of Reed who thinks he should have been able to tell what was going on. Then to have to play along in the wedding festivities when all he wanted to do is walk away from David . . . well, it had to be difficult.
I’ve told him that no one could have foretold what was going on, not even the best agents in the world. But he doesn’t believe me. I think it might be worse for Reed because he’s so by the book. There’s no gray area for him, so anything that veered outside of white, should have been immediately noticeable. And it wasn’t.
“Hey, I’ve got the front desk on alert to let me know if Tremblay leaves the building, so I was gonna go check out the girl’s villa. See how jealous I can get. Wanna go with me?”
Reed shrugs like he doesn’t care, but still gets off the bed and slides his feet into his flip-flops. We look like a couple of beach bum chumps in our board shorts, T-shirts, and flip-flops. At least we blend, it just doesn’t leave a lot of places for a concealed weapon.
The front desk calls down to Daria’s villa to make sure we are “on the list” to visit. After which they give us a map of the property and the choice of walking or taking a golf cart. We opt for the golf cart and, like usual, I drive while Reed navigates. Only his slightly drunk ass gets us lost, which pisses him off, so by the time we get there he is in a shitty mood again.
Their door is wide open, and music is playing throughout the villa. Quinn is bouncing around the kitchenette making drinks in a blender.
“Hey, boys!” She skips over to us in a small and revealing bathing suit, her breasts still jiggling after the rest of her stops. Reed chokes on his tongue as I lean in and give her a kiss on the cheek.
“Hey, Cutie. Whatcha making?”
“Piña coladas. Want one?”
“Yes, I do.”
“Make mine a double,” Reed says clearing his throat.
Quinn, not to be deterred, leans in, and kisses him on the cheek after hugging me. His gaze falls to her cleavage and stays there.
“Eyes up here, big boy,” Quinn teases as she lifts his chin by her finger. She bops him on the tip of the nose with the same finger, then says, “D is on the patio. Wait until you see our view. Oh, and our pool. And the freakin’ patio. This place is amazing. I may never leave.” She flips the blender on before we have a chance to say anything else, so I leave Reed there to drool over her while I head to the deck.
Nothing could have prepared me for the view.
Daria glistening in the sun, reclining on a lounge chair, eyes closed, arms up over her head, one leg pulled up and bent at the knee, the other prone on the chair with her foot bobbing to the beat of the music. Her body clothed in what can only be described as the most minuscule of bikinis. I move to stand in her sun.
“Just give me my drink and get out of my sun, bitch. Or I’ll feed you to the sharks,” she says without opening her eyes.
I lean down near her head and say, “Can I be the shark and you can feed yourself to me?”
She jumps up and opens her eyes. “Mack?”
“Someone else around propositioning you, beautiful?”
“No,” she laughs and sits up fully, rearranging her legs so she’s sitting with them crossed beneath her.
Quinn comes out and hands Daria her drink, complete with a straw and an umbrella toothpick stuck in a pineapple wedge with a cherry.
“Wow, fancy,” Daria says.
