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  Luckily Simon had an entire staff to do those things for him now.

  Zane strode into the lion’s den. That’s what everyone liked to call it behind Simon’s back.

  Very few people ever saw the inside of his sanctuary. Simon liked his privacy, and Zane understood why. However, at the moment, the last thing Zane was worried about was protecting the sanctity of Simon’s hidey-hole.

  “Simon!” Zane bellowed walking into the center of the room.

  “Took you longer to get here than I expected.”

  Simon’s slow drawl came from behind. Zane spun in surprise and immediately felt his body falling into a fighting stance. He was going soft, if Simon could startle him.

  “What the hell are you doing? She started a false fire alarm. She might not have stolen anything—yet—but she did break into several guest rooms. And you’re rewarding her with an upgrade? I can’t do my job if you countermand every decision I try to make.”

  Simon walked across the smooth wooden floor to a bar set into the far wall. Leaning over and reaching behind it, he pulled out two glasses and a bottle of brandy. “Want some?”

  “No, I do not want a drink!”

  He shook his head, frowning and said, “You really should relax more, Zane. You’re going to have a heart attack before you’re forty.”

  The dark amber liquid splashed into the bulb of the glass. “As we speak, her bags are being transferred to the Crow’s Nest, where you can look through them before sending them to her new room. And I’m surprised you haven’t realized that the room I upgraded her to happens to be located in a corner and covered by two more cameras than her previous location.”

  Simon looked up at him, narrowing his eyes over the edge of the glass as he took a sip. “You’re welcome. Hey, look, I managed to play the good cop to your bad cop. Without any training, too.”

  Great. He’d gone from working for the CIA to playing cops and robbers with a man who had a Peter Pan complex. Never mind that Simon had made a smart move. One Zane should have thought of. He really was getting soft.

  Simon clapped his hand on to Zane’s shoulder. “Give it a rest, man. Didn’t your mom ever tell you not to frown? Your face could stick that way.”

  “I’m not frowning.”

  “The hell you say. I’ve known you for how long?”

  “Too long,” Zane mumbled.

  “Exactly. I can tell the minute you start castigating yourself. You get this really ugly furrow in the center of your forehead. Used to get the same thing when I went after some girl you liked at the bar.”

  Zane growled deep in the back of his throat. A warning they both knew Simon would ignore. Their relationship had always been complicated. They annoyed the hell out of each other, had always been competitors for everything and each would take a bullet for the other without a second thought. Neither of them had siblings, and Zane often thought they filled that role for each other.

  Simon pulled no punches, and Zane trusted him to tell the truth…whether he wanted to hear it or not.

  Zane turned to leave. He was halfway out before Simon’s voice stopped him.

  “Let me know if you find any red lace panties. I could use a little distraction right now. That woman is quite a firecracker, and I wouldn’t mind getting a little singed.”

  Zane’s hands wrapped into fists as he spun on his heel. Simon lounged against the bar, a taunting half smile and a twinkle in his eye. Zane relaxed his body again.

  “Bastard.”

  The man had always known which buttons to push.

  ELLE RUMMAGED FRANTICALLY through her luggage, looking for the picture she’d torn from the magazine. She’d been staring at it every night for the past two months and now that she couldn’t find it, panic began to rise in her chest. She needed that picture. It held the only clues she had to finding her grandmother’s painting.

  She tore into her suitcase, flinging clothing every which way, hoping that she’d simply missed it the first time.

  She never should have let them touch her things!

  A warm wave of relief flooded through her. There, placed neatly at the very bottom of her suitcase sat what she was looking for. Picking it up, Elle ran the pad of her thumb across the glossy image. How had she missed it the first time?

  The picture was fairly large, taking up most of the space on the page.

  She had to admit, the ad had done its job. She’d wanted to come to Escape even before she’d noticed the painting hanging on the wall in the background.

  The vista the camera lens let the audience into was just as breathtaking as the lush tropical surroundings that stood outside the walls. The angle the photographer had chosen accentuated the perspective, elongating the lines of the comfortable living room, through what she assumed was a bedroom and out the floor-to-ceiling windows to the ocean beyond.

  All of the furniture was heavy wood, looking as if the pieces had stood there through years of love and use. Tranquil blues and greens decorated the walls and dotted every surface. And in between two towering bookshelves hung the painting of her grandmother, somehow even more lavish surrounded by the tropical beauty outside.

  The artist in Elle could appreciate the composition and structure of the photograph. The way the photographer had staged the shot to convey a feeling of lush peace and beauty. The little girl she’d never really got to be wanted the only memento of her grandmother back so desperately her lungs tightened with the need to run screaming through the place, ripping doors open until she found what she’d come for.

  But that would just land her back inside the dank, cramped space with Officer Zane standing over her, asking questions she really didn’t want to answer.

  Instead, she concentrated on trying to find some clue within the picture. A clue she hadn’t found the hundreds of times she’d stared at it before.

  The entire resort had a sort of lived-in feel, as if you were vacationing with a long-lost aunt who just happened to be a billionaire. Each of the guest rooms that occupied the French plantation house was decorated differently…which should have made her search easier, but so far hadn’t. Yes, she’d been able to glance into each of the rooms she’d seen and know whether or not it was the one. But there were so many of them and she had no way to narrow down her search. Not to mention that once she had searched the rooms inside, she had to cover all of the bungalows reserved exclusively for couples, the common areas and the restricted spaces.

  She hadn’t gotten into nearly enough rooms today. And to make matters worse, she had no doubt that Zane had been telling the truth and would be watching her every move now.

  Elle sighed, mentally rearranging her schedule in her head. She had a couple of commissioned paintings she should be working on, but both clients could be put off for a little while. An Atlanta gallery had expressed interest in a showing. But that was months away. Really, there were worse places on the planet to be stuck than an exotic Caribbean island.

  The place was stunning. And her upgraded room had a killer view.

  Unfortunately, it didn’t contain her grandmother’s painting, either. That would have made her life too easy.

  Flopping back onto the bed, she let her body sink into the luxurious comforter. She stared up at the beautiful crown molding that ringed the ceiling and, for the first time, admitted she hadn’t exactly planned. She could hear her dad’s voice in her head now. “You went off half-cocked again, didn’t you, girl?” Even in her own brain, the stern voice couldn’t disguise the indulgent humor beneath.

  So, she was guilty of rushing into things, of responding passionately to a situation before she’d fully thought out the consequences. There were certainly worse ways to interact with the world. She could have a stick up her ass like Officer Zane. She’d bet he thought out every angle for absolutely every decision before he took a single step.

  Mind-blowing.

  A vision of him standing over her flitted through her mind. Unwanted warmth snaked through her body to pool between her thighs. S
o he was…ruggedly handsome. That didn’t give him the right to push her around the way he had. Well, okay, maybe he did have the right, but she wasn’t about to admit that out loud. She forced the image of his towering body and tight jaw out of her mind. She didn’t have time to indulge in pointless yearnings.

  What she needed was a plan.

  And in the absence of one, a margarita. Or five. The answer would come to her. It always did.

  “YOU SHOULD TAKE A break.”

  “No.” Zane didn’t even bother turning around to look at Marcy. His eyes were glued to the screen in front of him and the woman who currently filled it.

  She’d been sitting at the bar for the past two hours. Alone. Sipping on several frothy drinks and ignoring the several men who had tried to pick her up.

  “She isn’t going anywhere, Zane. The last ferry has run for the day.”

  “I promised I’d be watching her and I intend to do just that.”

  “Who’d you promise? We both know Simon didn’t ask you to do this. Leave the poor woman alone.”

  Poor woman, his left nut. The screen might have washed everything to varying shades of gray and white, but his mind remembered the vivid color of her hair and the unsettling combination of her gray eyes. They were so pale. So piercing. And they hid a secret he was determined to figure out.

  “Don’t make me put you on administrative leave for the next forty-eight hours.”

  His head whipped around to look at the compact fireball of a woman standing behind him. No doubt about it, Marcy was small but she packed a hell of a punch. And they both knew she didn’t bluff worth a damn. If she said it, she meant it.

  Zane thought about threatening her with Simon, but decided not to. Technically Simon might own the place, but everyone knew that Marcy ran it. He had no desire to get on her bad side by throwing his friendship with their boss in her face. Besides, he wasn’t entirely certain that Simon would choose him over Marcy. After all, he could find another head of security tomorrow, but Marcy…she’d be damn hard to replace.

  He was curious, though. “Why would you do that?”

  “So that my week doesn’t go to hell because you’re bored and can’t admit that you miss your old life.”

  “I do not miss my old life.” Rather, there were things about his old life that he didn’t miss, such as seeing murdered bodies or chasing terrorists and drug dealers and rapists. And knowing that for every bad guy they caught, another was ready to step up and take his place.

  The guilt of knowing he’d failed Felicity, his fiancée, had been the last straw. Her death was entirely his fault and there was nothing he could do to change it.

  “It does not escape my notice that you didn’t protest being bored. I’m sending Tom in here in five minutes. If I don’t see you walking through this doorway, heading to your own cottage five minutes after that, then consider yourself benched.”

  Zane fought the urge to grumble as Marcy disappeared and he waited for Tom to arrive. Now that he’d been booted, he could admit that his eyes were starting to sting from watching the grainy screen for hours.

  He scanned all six of the monitors, taking in the normal vista of swaying palm trees, necking couples, and water lapping against sand. Until his gaze returned to the picture of Giselle Monroe. As he watched, yet another guy drunk with rum-soaked bravado sat on the bar stool beside her. Zane could see the man’s mouth moving.

  Giselle flicked her gaze to the guy for no more than half a breath before dismissing him again. She didn’t even bother wasting words, simply shook her head in response to whatever the young buck had asked her.

  Zane almost felt sorry for the guy as he stood from the bar and walked back to the cluster of his friends, to be razed for the rest of the night, Zane had no doubt.

  She’d been doing that all evening. What kind of woman came to a singles resort specifically designed to facilitate vacation flings and then turned down every man who made a pass at her?

  One who wasn’t here for a hookup, obviously. So what was she here for? The question he desperately wanted an answer to burned inside his chest.

  The lock clicked behind him, signaling that Tom had arrived to relieve him from the Nest.

  Zane quickly made a decision. What could it hurt if he stopped at the bar himself just to check on things? After all, it was his job to make sure all ran smoothly.

  DAMN, SHE WAS TIRED OF fending off drunk men. If one more guy came up to her with some lame pickup line and an offer to “fulfill all her fantasies” she was going to knock someone’s block off.

  All around her, desperate women in skintight clothing, inch-thick makeup and sky-high heels giggled and hair tossed. Pathetic.

  She could feel the presence of another male as he slid onto the empty stool beside her. It had been vacant most of the night. And that’s how she preferred it.

  Without turning around, she said, “Don’t bother. I’m not interested. Try the blonde at the other end of the bar.”

  That one was definitely looking for a quick lay…probably with more than one man. Possibly at one time.

  “Does that mean you won’t accept my apology drink?”

  Her head whipped around. The dark voice slipped down her spine as if he’d dropped an ice cube straight from the drink in front of him down her exposed nape.

  He still had on the same clothes—dark black jeans and a tight black T-shirt—but somehow he looked more laid-back than he had before. Maybe it was just the change in scenery. Everything looked laid-back with a thatched roof over your head and a fruity drink in your hand. As opposed to adorned with handcuffs inside a utility closet.

  “No, thank you.”

  Her voice was tighter than she’d meant it to be. He was making a peace offering, after all. But it was hard to take the gesture at face value. He was up to something and she wouldn’t put it past the hard-ass she’d met earlier today to slip something into her drink. Like truth serum.

  Elle deliberately turned her head away, presenting him with her back, as she’d done with every other man who’d sat beside her tonight. Unlike the rest of them, Officer Zane settled into the chair anyway, throwing his arm over the rounded edge of the back and signaling to the bartender. Magically another of the frothy pink concoctions she’d been drinking all night appeared at her elbow.

  She frowned, throwing a daggered look over her shoulder. “You don’t take no very well, do you?”

  “Not usually. And you don’t mingle very well.” He threw a hand out behind them, gesturing to the crowd of rowdy twenty- and thirtysomething singles laughing and having a good time.

  “Maybe I just don’t feel like chatting right now.”

  “What kind of woman comes to a resort that specializes in providing fertile hunting grounds for prowling singles, and doesn’t bother to actually prowl?”

  A flush of anger and embarrassment suffused her skin and, before she could stop herself, she swung around in her chair to fully face him.

  “I don’t know. The kind who had her hands unjustly handcuffed to a chair a few hours ago. Let’s just say, I’m not exactly in a partying mood.”

  “Oh, we both know my actions were justified.”

  “So much for that apology.”

  He shrugged. “I tried.”

  “Let me guess, the mystery man made you do this. I bet it galls the hell out of you that he believes me.”

  Elle’s gaze strayed to his lips as they twisted momentarily into a grimace. There was something enticing about the expression, about the way his upper lip was slightly larger than the bottom and the corners pulled down even when he wasn’t frowning. Which, from what she’d seen, wasn’t very often.

  “Jeez, you guys are all the same.”

  “And what’s that supposed to mean?”

  “The minute they tell you they don’t need you on the force anymore—you’re too old, you’re injured, you made some bonehead mistake—you all turn mean and nasty. Can’t stand to sit with your hands under your ass, useless and re
stless.”

  He raised a single eyebrow, but didn’t say anything.

  “So, what was it? My guess is you got shot, because you’re way too young to be benched at a desk, and despite the fact that you’re acting outside of orders at the moment, you’re too by the book for a bonehead mistake.”

  She regretted the words almost the minute they left her mouth. She looked into his eyes and saw the pain lurking there, deep in the back. She’d hit her mark, all right and injured an already wounded man.

  She didn’t want to feel guilty, not about hurting the good officer. But she couldn’t help it. She’d grown up around guys exactly like him. They were all tough as nails. Until they weren’t.

  “I’m sorry.” The words were low as they left her lips. Part of her hoped the loud music and laughing crowd would drown them out. The other part knew she wouldn’t sleep tonight because of the guilt if he didn’t hear them.

  “I’m sorry,” she said louder.

  His eyes cut across at her from beneath smoky lashes. “I heard you the first time.”

  Elle sighed. “Yeah, well, I wasn’t sure.”

  “Not your fault.”

  “Maybe.” Picking up the glass in front of her, she threw it back and let the semimelted rum-soaked ice fill her mouth.

  “You wanna make it up to me? Tell me what you were really doing this afternoon.”

  She wasn’t feeling that guilty.

  “I already told you.”

  “And we both know that was a lie.”

  This time, it was her turn to shrug.

  “Then I guess you’re just going to have to add this to your long list of disappointments.”

  Elle pushed up from the bar, ignoring the way it spun lazily around her. She wobbled on her low-slung heels for a moment before the world finally righted itself.

  “Are you okay?”

  Before she could blink, Zane was standing beside her, his hand wrapped around her elbow again. The moment felt like déjà vu in a not very pleasant way.