Barefoot With a Stranger (Barefoot Bay Undercover Book 2) (24 page)

“Sounds like Gabe,” she mused.

“Isa hated his language. She might have been Catholic, and she liked rosaries, I think. I don’t remember.” He fingered the beads. “I could never be sure this is the same one. But…” He stared at the red stone. There had been something unusual about it, but he couldn’t recall what it was.

“Why
else
would Ramos give it to me?”

“Good question.” He let go and looked at her. “And if you’re right, it gives some credibility to Ramos’s direction that we go to the
municipal
. Like he wants us to find this child.”

“Thank you,” she said, flouncing back on her seat in satisfaction.

“But with a…plan.”

She grinned. “You keep this up and I’m going to kiss you, Mal Harris.”

“I hope so.”

“And hope, too?” She leaned across the space and pecked his mouth. “I’ve created a monster.”

“Just don’t waltz in, all American and demanding and shit, and slap money in their hands until they open the file room.”

“Honey catches flies,” she agreed.

“And money.”

“Okay, I’ll be sweet, you be generous, and together, we are unstoppable.”

He looked at her for a long moment, swamped by her optimism and hope and plans and warmth. And before he opened the door, he had to kiss her. And she kissed him right back.

Unstoppable, indeed.

* * *

Gabe looked up at the tap on his office door, fighting the urge to cringe at the sight of Poppy’s bright smile, worn faithfully by the housekeeper-turned-spy he’d hired to keep an eye on things at the resort.

“Popcorn,” he said with his own smile, tempering the impact of a nickname she didn’t love. “Come to make sure I haven’t committed
hara-kiri
?”

Her smile faltered as she sauntered in uninvited, crossing her arms with her
Ima tell you what’s what
face that Gabe had grown to know preceded a lecture he likely didn’t want to hear.

“Nino had no right sharin’ that information with you, Mr. Gabriel.”

“Look, I know we’ve only been at this gig a few months, but you should know one thing by now: My grandfather tells me everything, Poppy. You tell him, you’re essentially telling me.” He gestured toward the chair. “Now sit down and let me assure you that I am not, in any way, depressed, sleep-deprived, or alcoholic. Just not a fan of pink flowers.”

She took the chair and angled her head, openly assessing him. “I’m proud of you, Mr. Gabriel.”

“For not needing a shrink?”

“For saying all that without dropping one F, B, S, H, or D bomb on me.”

“Don’t push your luck, woman.” He threw a glance at the swear jar on the bookshelf, overflowing since she might not be doing much to clean up his act, but she was definitely Hoovering his wallet. “But let’s get this straight. I’m not unhappy.”

She lifted two black caterpillar eyebrows, dubious of his pronouncement. “You’re not happy.”

How the hell did he respond to that? “Not everyone goes around belting out
Amazing Grace
and slinging joyful Bible quotes around like you do. But I’m okay, really.”

She looked like she was not buying what he was selling.

“Look,” he said. “I’ve had some shit happen.”

She pointed to the jar.

Damn it. He stood and opened his wallet, stuffing a five in, which was more than
shit
cost on the Poppy Price List. “I got credit now. Listen to me.” He came around the desk to lean on it and tower over her to make his point. But she looked directly up at him, a woman who didn’t fear a towering man. And he loved that about her.

“What do you want to say?” she demanded.

“That I appreciate your concern for my well-being.” He did, too, and the realization made him reach out and take her hand. “A lot. But not long ago I found out that someone I cared about…”

Died
.

“Passed,” he said.

“Lucky girl.”

He frowned at her. “How is she lucky? And how did you know it was a she, anyway?”

Poppy beamed. “She because of the look of love on your face. Lucky because she’s with the Lord, assuming she was saved. Was she saved?”

Not by him. And that was at the bottom of what hurt the most. “She collected rosaries,” he offered.

“Then she’s with the angels, including the one you’re named after.” She grinned. “He is a mighty angel.”

Not mighty enough, he thought glumly. “Okay, but I want you to know there’s nothing wrong with me except a little garden-variety…mourning.” Even that sounded a little weak to his ears. But what else could he call this torture he felt over losing Isa forever?

Poppy grabbed his hand in both of hers, her palms rough from housework, her grasp strong with conviction. “Mr. Gabriel, you know what you need, right?”

He braced for a conversion speech and an invitation to her church. Or maybe the name of a shrink who she knew happened to be staying at the resort.

“Young man, you need a little hair of the dog.”

“A drink? I thought you were counting my empties in the trash.”

“No, a little something of what your body is missing. A woman.”

“What?” He barked a laugh. “Is this St. Popsicle of the Blessed Virginity suggesting I drown my sorrows in sex?”

“Not
that
, Mr. Gabriel!” She looked horrified. “Just, you know, the nice company of a pretty lady.”

The only nice company he’d be interested in would have to be flat on her back. He wasn’t in the mood to chat up a woman for fun.

“Mr. Gabriel, you need love.”

And he
really
wasn’t in the mood for that.

He stared at her for a minute, wondering just how open he should be, something he rarely was. But this once, he didn’t feel like hiding the truth from this large, loving woman who always had his best interests at heart.

“I had love,” he finally said. “And it sucked.”

She twisted her head from side to side, tsking like a metronome.

“What?” he asked. “Is ‘suck’ on your list of bad words?”

“Child, you know what sucks?” She stood, practically pulling him closer. “The fact that you are holed up here on this island in this office with your ornery old grandfather and a nosy, fat black lady for companionship.”

He narrowed his eyes. “You’re not fat.”

She hooted. “Just like you’re not handsome, which you know you are.”

“Popcorn, if I could fall in love again, it would be with you.”

She gave him a gentle push away. “Shut your lying mouth, child. You ain’t looking hard enough. You should scour this resort and find yourself a sweet woman.”

He had a sweet woman, he wanted to scream. “I’m not here to find company,” he said instead.

“I know, I know. You’re here to hide folks who need hiding, change names, and create new lives. Why can’t you do that for yourself?”

Good fucking question. “I don’t need to hide, change my name, or make a new life, Pops. I just need to help other people do that.” He put his hands on her shoulders, forcing himself to stop oversharing. “And you are a great assistance in that regard. Do you need a raise?”

She
pfft
out a breath. “I need you to be joyful, is what. So spread your gorgeous self around the hungry female population of this place.”

“Think I could do every bridesmaid on the resort?”

“I don’t mean
do
, I mean
date
.”

Gabe shook his head. “I just told you why I’m not interested.”

“God doesn’t want you to be alone, Mr. Gabriel. And all I’m talking about is a harmless dinner date. How about that pretty lady staying in Rockrose this week? She’s all alone.”

Rockrose? The northernmost villa? Gabe thought back to the blonde he’d seen on the beach, checking him out. She wasn’t exactly hot, more of an ice queen, but something about her…no. Every woman was going to remind him of Isadora just so he could discover how grossly they fell short. “Sorry, she’s not my type.”

“Well, she’d like to be.” Poppy gave a smug little smile as she picked up some papers on his desk and made a show of straightening them. “That is, if I’m any good at reading human nature, and I do believe my ability to do just that is why you pay me so handsomely to find out everything that’s being said by guests and staff here at Casa Blanca.”

That was true; Poppy was the original busybody, but her style worked and worked well.

“So how do you know about this woman?” he asked.

“Jus’ doing my job. Getting people to talk, which, in this lady’s case, was quite easy. She must have seen you on the beach and wanted to know if you worked here or were staying here.”

“And you told her…”

“Nothing!” Her eyes popped wide. “Mr. Gabriel, I know better than that.”

“But my name came up?”

“No, no. She described you, all casual and chatty, you know, but I could see through that. And then she asked if I knew you. Showed me some pictures of the beach she took that you just
happened
to be in.”

What? A four alarm fire rang in his head. She had pictures of him?

“Of course, I said I wasn’t sure who she meant,” Poppy continued. “But the words she used were not from a woman who was casually noticing a man. Words like…handsome. And fine.”

“Really.” He had to know more about this woman, and not because she thought he was fine. “Rockrose, you say.”

“That little one-bedroom villa all the way at the end of the beach.”

“I know which one it is. Good work, Pop-Tart.” He stood and gave her a peck on the cheek before heading to the door.

Outside, he stole a golf cart from housekeeping and cut through the garden and down the resort path, making it to the edge of the Casa Blanca property in under ten minutes. Like many of the expensive villas, Rockrose was surrounded by thick foliage, set back to allow it to have privacy and a water view.

He approached the villa slowly, not completely sure what he’d say to the woman, but experience told him he’d figure it out when he had to. She was hunting him, and he wanted to know why.

At the villa, all was quiet, with no sign of life, no beach towels hanging over the deck, no sounds of activity.

He walked up to the front door and did the obvious, simple thing: He knocked. And as he did, he realized the door wasn’t latched. It pushed open at his tap, leading into the living area.

“Hello,” he called out. “Resort security.”

Nothing. The living room looked untouched, as if the maids had been there and the guest had long gone. He stepped into the kitchen area, finding it the same.

“Resort security. Is anyone here?”

Silence. The bedroom looked just as cleaned out as the rest, with no clothes in the closet, no personal items around. He pulled out his cell and dialed the front desk as he continued his inspection.

“Hey, it’s Gabe Rossi with McBain Security here,” he said. “I need to know the name of the guest currently staying in Rockrose.”

The Casa Blanca employee didn’t hesitate. “Ms. Wickham,” she said. “But she checked out about an hour ago.”

“First name?”

“I’m sorry, she just went by her last name. Veddy proper British,” she added with a fake accent.

“British? Okay, thanks.” He walked into the bathroom and stopped cold, closing his eyes as the scent almost knocked him over.

Damn it! God damn it, why did he come over here?

He dropped down on the closed toilet and let his head fall in his hands as the Chanel No. 5 slayed him. Son of a bitch, why did this woman have to wear
that
perfume? Why did he have to follow a dead end for no reason and get bombarded with memories of hot, long, sweet kisses and tropical nights on the beaches of Cuba? Why did he have to drown in this heartache and choke on his pain?

He didn’t know why. But he sat there for a good two hours and let the memories, and the lingering perfume, crush him.

Chapter Nineteen

Chessie followed Mal into the hostel bedroom, hoping the dark basement room and lower temperature would cool her down and assuage her bitter disappointment.

“How can a municipal office just close in the middle of the day and week?” she asked.

“You can’t really be surprised by now.”

“I’m not,” she replied. “Just so damn frustrated. Should I try Gabe again? It’s not like him not to answer the phone.”

“Don’t. You need to go outside to get a signal.” He put his hand on her shoulder and guided her into the room, his touch so warm and secure and comforting. “There’s nothing to tell him yet, Chessie. Get some rest. We haven’t slept for well over a day.”

She couldn’t argue with that. Exhaustion pressed on her heart, along with the events of the day. She sat on the bed for exactly three seconds, then fell back on a flat pillow and closed her eyes, asleep before she took her next breath.

When she woke, the room was still and shadowed, that dusky kind of dark when the world was slipping from evening to night. Through her lashes she spied Mal sitting on the edge of the bed, bare-chested again, wearing jeans with the top button undone.