She’s got nowhere left to run

After a year of searching, ex-marine turned private eye Tack Reeves has finally located Cate Allen. She’s traded in her high heels for flip-flops but Tack would recognize the stunning beauty anywhere. He just needs proof. Posing as a tourist at her Caribbean resort is the perfect cover. Except that the closer Tack gets to Cate, the less his case makes sense...and their intense attraction is only fueling the confusion. When he learns that the mom and her four-year-old son are hiding from her abusive ex, he vows to protect them. But Cate may not let him when she learns why he’s on the island...

“Cate. Cate Dalton, St. Anthony’s Resort,” she said, not missing a beat.

The lie came out of her mouth smooth as silk.

Cate. The woman hadn’t even changed her first name. Now it all seemed so obvious, but before, when he’d been rummaging through hundreds of records, he never would’ve guessed she’d done something so careless. Everything else, every bit of her trail, had been so carefully scrubbed. She’d left hardly any clues. But she’d kept her first name.

He wanted to know why.

A tiny little scar barely the length of a nickel ran across her chin. It hadn’t been in the photographs he’d pored over, and he wondered what it was from.

“We spoke on the phone,” she said. “This is your first time to the Caribbean?”

“That’s right.”

He could lie, too. No need to tell her he’d been hopping from island to island for the last four months, on one goose chase after another, starting to wonder if he needed to rethink his new career as a private eye.

Dear Reader,

I’m excited to share with you my new book, Shelter in the Tropics, a story about two people running from their pasts and desperately hoping for a fresh start. It takes place on a Caribbean island I created, St. Anthony’s, after the patron saint of lost things.

I loved the idea of a place where people who might be lost in different ways come to find themselves—and each other. This is the first story I wrote on this island, and I hope it won’t be the last!

Cate has fled an abusive relationship with her child, hoping to hide from her very powerful and very rich ex-husband, who will stop at nothing to get her and his son back. Tack Reeves, riddled by guilt from his service in Afghanistan and haunted by a dishonorable discharge, is a private eye hired by Cate’s ex.

Except Tack discovers very quickly that his own redemption might come by protecting Cate from the man who wants to destroy her.

Together, Cate and Tack must learn to face the demons of their pasts and move on. Together, they’ll find the strength to do it on this very special island.

I think life can be complicated and we all deserve second chances. Sometimes, the hardest thing to do is to forgive ourselves for mistakes we’ve made, but with love and patience, I believe we can do it. I hope you enjoy this book and St. Anthony’s Island.

Here’s to the restorative power of Caribbean sunshine, love and forgiveness!

All my best,

Cara

Shelter in the Tropics

Cara Lockwood

www.millsandboon.co.uk

CARA LOCKWOOD is the USA TODAY bestselling author of more than fourteen books, including I Do (But I Don’t), which was made into a Lifetime Original Movie. She’s written the Bard Academy series for young adults and has had her work translated into several languages around the world. Born and raised in Dallas, Cara now lives near Chicago with her two wonderful daughters. Find out more about her at caralockwood.com, friend her on Facebook, www.Facebook.com/authorcaralockwood, or follow her on Twitter, @caralockwood.

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Dedicated to my daughters, who challenge me to be my best self.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

Dear Reader

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Extract

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

St. Anthony’s Island, the Caribbean Sea

WELCOME TO THE Island of Lost Causes.

Tack Reeves couldn’t help but shake his head at the sign that greeted him at St. Anthony’s baggage claim. Looking around at the crowd of tourists in T-shirts and flip-flops, nothing seemed very lost about this tiny Caribbean airport. He grabbed his old faded olive green seabag from the ground near his feet and moved with the tourists, though his jeans and plain black T-shirt looked out of place in the sea of neon around him. People herded together like this reminded him of the markets in Kabul, Afghanistan, where it was impossible to tell the citizens in the crowd from the insurgents. He felt that old familiar steel ball of unease at the center of his stomach.

One redhead wearing too-high platform sandals bumped into him, making him flinch. She looked up, smiling sheepishly as she apologized for the accidental contact. The old Tack, the one before his sixth deployment, would’ve found time to talk to the twentysomething in the barely there sundress. Maybe even had the clothes off that fit little body before she’d managed to get her first tan lines. But those carefree days were long gone.

Besides, he had a job to do.

It was probably another dead end, like the dozens he’d run down in the last year. His target, Cate Allen, was like a ghost. Her billionaire husband had hired him to find her and his son, but after nearly a year of working the case, he was starting to think seriously the woman might be dead.

At the very least, she really, really, didn’t want to be found. He was following the latest lead to this small island, hoping this time he’d finally get a break. But it was a long shot. Cate Allen was a missing wife to a famously reclusive billionaire. He’d quietly offered ten million dollars for her return, but nobody knew about this except a chosen few. How he’d kept it out of the news was anyone’s guess, but Tack figured money had something to do with it. He steered clear of the other tank-top-clad college coeds on their way to spring break. At the end of the gleaming steel baggage carousels stood a group of drivers, holding up signs. One of them bore his name: Reeves.

He looked up at the woman holding it and for a second nearly froze in his tracks.

Could it be...?

On the surface, this woman looked nothing like Cate Allen, the dazzling, overly made-up brunette socialite, always in designer stilettos, Chanel suits and bright red lipstick. This woman screamed quintessential beach bum with the long blond hair in a loose braid down her back, the aviator sunglasses perched casually in the neckline of her scooped tee and the flip-flops on her feet exposing toes that lacked nail polish. But Tack had memorized the photos he’d trolled through online. He knew every laugh line, every little quirk of her face. His gut told him, This was her.

Nobody else had a dimple like that on her right cheek, that flirty “dare you to ask me to dance” upward quirk of her pouty lips. And no matter what she did, the woman couldn’t hide the fact that she was gorgeous. No matter how much she dressed down.

She hadn’t seen him yet, and for that Tack was grateful. He needed a minute to compose himself. He’d been hunting this woman for almost a year, and she’d stymied him at every turn. He couldn’t let himself be carried away. This could still be another dead end, the welling of hope in his chest just another precursor to disappointment.

And everything was riding on this case.

Her eyes met his then, and his knees locked up. They were greener than her photographs—a clear blue-green, like the Caribbean Sea. Damn, but she was so much more beautiful than her pictures. And they were near a perfect ten. He was just a few feet from her. She smiled at him, hesitant.

“Mr. Reeves?” she asked, and then her eyes widened a bit as he took another step closer. “You’re...tall,” she managed.

“Six-four,” Tack said. “Got my dad’s height and my mother’s forearms, just don’t tell her that,” he joked as he always did when people asked him why he was built like a tank. His mother was a big-boned woman who, years ago, didn’t mind getting after her boys with a wooden spoon when they got out of hand. The tough love apparently worked as she was now the proud mother of two marines and an army ranger.

Cate smiled, and the brightness of it took him by surprise. She certainly didn’t look like a woman with a backyard full of buried secrets. But then, the best liars always believed their own tales.

“You’re...?” He deliberately paused, studying her face.

“Cate. Cate Dalton, St. Anthony’s Resort,” she said, not missing a beat, the lie coming out of her mouth as smooth as silk.

Cate. The woman hadn’t even changed her first name. Now it all seemed so obvious, but before, when he’d been rummaging through hundreds of records, he never would’ve guessed she would’ve done something so careless. Everything else, every bit of her trail, had been so carefully scrubbed. She’d left hardly any clues. But she kept her first name.

He wanted to know why.

A little scar barely the length of a nickel ran across her chin. It hadn’t been in the photographs he’d pored through, and he wondered what it was from. “We spoke on the phone. This is your first time to the Caribbean?”

“That’s right.” He could lie, too. No need to tell her he’d been hopping from island to island for the last four months, on one goose chase after another, starting to think he needed to rethink his new career as a private eye. “Need a little R and R.”

“You’ll find it here. Where are you from?” she asked, beaming at him as she put on her sunglasses.

“Seattle.” The lie came smoothly. No need to tell her he lived in Chicago now, the same city her ex-husband, the real estate mogul, called home these days. Tack’s younger brother lived in Seattle. He visited often enough, and he’d be able to bluff his way through any further questions.

She nodded and beckoned for him to follow as she moved to the exit. She headed out the first sliding door to the bright tropical sunshine. Tack couldn’t help but watch her hips sway like a palm tree on a breezy beach. The sunlight shone on her tanned thighs, the bleached denim cutoffs hitting right at his favorite spot.

“Great view, isn’t it?” she asked him, nodding at the big blue sky above them and, in the distance, the sparkling aquamarine sea.

Tack, who couldn’t take her eyes off Cate’s just-short-enough shorts, nodded once. His view was spectacular.

Distant alarm bells in his brain told him his thoughts were wandering into dangerous territory. He needed to keep this all business. He had a job to do. A job that had more riding on it than just money.

They made their way to the small airport parking lot and an old, slightly battered minibus with St. Anthony’s Resort in faded blue paint on the side. She wasn’t exactly living the luxury resort life he’d thought she would be after taking off with so much cash. Clever, he thought. Wouldn’t be good to be flashing money around that she’d taken. Maybe she was smarter than he thought.

He stuffed his seabag into the luggage caddie behind the bus driver’s seat and settled into a worn blue bench where he could watch her drive. She climbed up into the big bus seat and looked like a child trying to reach the pedals.

“Okay, just want to apologize in advance,” she said. “I don’t normally do shuttle duty. My driver, Henry, is out today.”

Henry the driver? Maybe the socialite hasn’t wandered so far from the money, after all.

“He had to take his wife to the doctor, and I’m all left feet when it comes to driving the beast.”

“The beast?”

Cate patted the old, cracked dash affectionately. “This old girl doesn’t know how to quit, but she does know how to give one heck of a bumpy ride. You might want to fasten your seat belt.” With that, she threw the bus into gear and they launched out on the road, with Tack nearly flattened against the bus window as they jostled down the bumpy asphalt.

“Are you all right there, Mr. Reeves? Hope you don’t get carsick.”

“Nope. And call me Tack.” He stared at her decidedly not manicured nails and felt a flicker of doubt. He was 90 percent sure this was Cate Allen. But that left 10 percent uncertainty, and he didn’t like it.

He met her gaze in the oversize rearview mirror above her head.

“Sure...Tack. Unusual name.”

“Nickname, for tactical, I guess. You could say I’m a planner.” Nobody went over a mission like he did. He thought of every possible scenario far in advance. His unit thought he was crazy, but when the shit hit the fan, he was ready. He was never without a backup plan. “My parents named me Thomas, but nobody calls me that.”

“Tack.” His name sounded good coming from her pink lips. “I like it.”

He ought to be friendly, try to fish out some information, but he didn’t feel like letting down his guard. This woman, if she really was Cate Allen, was cunning and dangerous, he reminded himself, no matter how pretty her smile happened to be.

She shifted gears on the bus, and the beast protested with a black puff of smoke out the back. Tack wasn’t 100 percent sure they’d make it to the resort in this old clunker.

“You in the marines?” she asked nonchalantly, as if somehow his service were emblazoned on his forehead like a tattoo.

“Why do you say that?” He knew he sounded overly defensive. He needed to calm down. There was no way she’d be able to trace him to his employer, no way she’d find out what he was really doing on St. Anthony’s.

Cate glanced at him in the rearview, surprised. “Your luggage,” she said. “The seabag? My dad was a navy man. Let’s just say I saw a few of those in my time.”

Tack glanced at the olive-colored knapsack, wondering if he should lie, but decided not to, remembering the cardinal rule of deep cover: the truth was easier to remember. “Yeah, I used to be in the marines.”

“Where’d you serve?”

“Six tours of duty in Afghanistan.” And a dishonorable discharge. Tack wasn’t proud of that. Who would be? But if it came down to it, he’d do the same damn thing all over again. He’d take that court-martial, again and again. Sometimes, principle outranked rules.

“Well, thank you for your service,” Cate said.

He knew she probably meant well, but he wished she hadn’t said that. He’d served his country, and he’d gone through hell, so what? Lots of guys did. Lots of good men died. Some men served America who weren’t even in the armed forces. He thought of his brave translator, a local Afghan named Adeeb, who’d saved him more than once. Now, he was the one in trouble.

But this job could change all that. Allen had promised to help. That’s all that mattered. Tack had a job to do, and when he did it, everything would be made right.

Tack grew silent, watching as she steered the old clunker down the road. Still, why did she have to be so...nice?

She jostled them down a narrow, barely two-lane road with no lane markers and no shoulders. The tiny road wound up the coast, the view of the water brilliant below them. Cars drove on the left side here, probably because the island used to be British, before it was French and then Dutch. Battered trucks and rental hatchbacks passed them in the opposite direction. Just a line of wildflowers separated them from a plunge down a fairly steep cliff to the water below.

A loud bang shook Tack to his core, and for a second, he was right back in the godforsaken desert. Then he heard the rim of the front left tire hit the road with a deafening screech as they careened sharply to the left.

Cate went silent as her hands gripped the oversize steering wheel. The old minibus lurched dangerously close to the cliff face. Another foot and they’d be taking the shortcut to the beach, grille first. She struggled to keep the three good tires on the asphalt. Tack leaped to his feet. He leaned over the back of Cate’s seat and clutched the wheel. Her hands looked tiny compared to his as he gripped the plastic hard and tugged them away from the cliff. They managed to come to a precarious stop in the middle of the road.

“Oh, my God,” Cate breathed, her chest heaving. “We could’ve...”

“We didn’t,” Tack said, reaching over and throwing the vehicle into Park. “You okay?” He knew shock when he saw it, and Cate looked like she might faint. He moved over beside her in the open area between her and the accordion door of the minibus. “Hey, look at me.”

She stared numbly at him, eyes wide and pupils dilated. For a split second, she wasn’t a mark, and he wasn’t a detective. This was just a scared woman about to hyperventilate sitting in front of him.

“We’re okay,” he said.

Behind them, someone slammed on their brakes, honked and veered around them.

“I know.” She abruptly pulled her hands away and was herself once more, regaining her senses, almost as if she’d woken up from a daydream, or day nightmare. She flipped on her hazard lights and stood. “I’ve got a spare tire in the back. Hopefully, a jack that works.”

The record time she’d taken to recover from the near accident impressed him. This was a woman who didn’t crack under pressure.

Of course, women who try to kill their husbands usually don’t.

Tack glanced out the window and the other cars speeding around them. They wouldn’t be safe for long here, and they needed to get the minibus moving before someone slammed into them on this narrow road. Cate was already at the back panel, wrenching up the trapdoor and lugging out a near bald Michelin.

“Whoa, there,” Tack began. “I can help...”

“What? This old thing?” She grinned at him, a gorgeous, effortlessly flirty smile, and he felt his crotch grow tight. “I’ve got it.”

And it looked like she was going to take that tire and the partly rusted jack with the paint flecking off and fix this thing before Tack could even get a word in about it. When she leaned in to get the tire iron, Tack easily slipped it from her hands. No need to arm the woman. From what he’d heard, she was dangerous enough all on her own.

“Please, ma’am. I insist.”

* * *

CATE EYED THE muscled marine kneeling by the front tire of her ancient minibus and felt a ripple of unease. He attacked the rusted lug nuts, and she tried not to be distracted by the fact that the muscles in his forearms rippled when he loosened the nuts with hardly any effort. He glanced up and met her gaze, showing even white teeth, his brown eyes warm.

Bet he gets any girl he wants, she thought, feeling her own abdomen grow warm as she watched him wrench the old tire free, his biceps engaging as he lifted it up. Sexy ex-marine probably never gets told no. She felt a pull suddenly, a flush of desire run through her. How long had it been since she’d even had sex?

Normally, she was able to push those feelings aside, but watching the marine work made her mind go to places she thought she’d long since forgotten.

Relationships were too risky. One-night stands are fine. Anything more and you’re just asking for trouble, Cate.

But Cate wasn’t a one-night-stand kind of girl. Of course, after Rick Allen, she wasn’t sure forever love even existed. And, now, I can’t try for it, either. It’s too much of a risk.

She knew she’d be giving up things when she took her boy and ran. She’d gladly sacrifice forever love if it meant her boy would be safe. If it meant Rick Allen could never hurt him—or her—again. Being alone was better than being hurt. Better than being...controlled, imprisoned in her own house.

You’re mine, he’d said the night she left. You belong to me. You’ll never get away.

That had been more than three years ago. I did get away, Rick. I did. And I’m never going back.

She focused on Tack’s lean back, the muscles of his broad shoulders taut against the thin fabric of his shirt as he slipped the spare tire on the minibus. The loud whoosh of cars passing at speeds faster than they should whirred in her ears, yet she paid them no heed. Her whole focus was on Tack.

Something about this man made her feel distinctly off balance, and it wasn’t the fact that he had the body of a Greek god, either. He was tan, far too tan to be a mainlander who’d only just come to St. Anthony’s for a little getaway. As he turned his attention back to the tire, she saw the strip of red on his neck—a fresh sunburn. That’s not the kind of tan anybody gets in Seattle in February, she reasoned.

Could he be working for Rick?

As soon as the panic rose in in her throat, she swallowed it. Don’t be paranoid. Guilty people do that. Guilty people get jumpy, and jumpy people get caught. And you’re just being paranoid.

Of course he’s not working for Rick. Rick doesn’t know where you are. You’re fine.

For a bright second, she was back in her husband’s house, standing at the top of the stairs, clutching her baby boy. She’d never forget the sight of Rick’s body, lying motionless at the bottom of the marble landing, the fear and horror in her throat suffocating her. He’d been so terribly still, lying in that unnatural way, his leg bent at the wrong angle.

She felt her heart speed up, the blood thrumming through her veins, the panic of that night fresh in her mind. She had to will herself to calm down. She wasn’t there. She’d never be there again. Not if I can help it.

He glanced up at her, squinting against the sun, and flashed another smile. She forced herself to relax.

“So you live in Seattle. I love that city,” she said, trying not to sound like she was probing his backstory, which she was. “I went there once, after college. My roommate’s house overlooked the Sound. Was gorgeous. Where do you live?”

“A neighborhood called Wallingford,” he said, without so much as a hitch. “I’ve got a condo that looks out over Woodland Park. Ever been there?”

“No, I don’t think so. It was a long time since I went.” She bit her lip. So he passed the first test. He’s just a tourist, like any other tourist. Don’t go looking for trouble where there’s none. He tightened the lug nuts on the new tire, a small bead of sweat visible on his smooth forehead. He lowered the bus on the jack and popped up, swiping his hands free of dirt.

“That ought to get us there,” he said, and straightened. He was so damn tall. And those muscles. He took a step closer to her and without thinking, Cate backed up. He was too big, too...muscled... Too damn attractive. She felt his gravitational pull and the only way to break the spell was to somehow get out of his orbit. She took another step backward and a flash of alarm lit his face as he looked over her shoulder.

Before Cate knew it, he’d grabbed her by the shoulders and pressed her against the side of the minibus. Before she could even squeak, an oversize white delivery truck rumbled past. Too big for any one lane, its white cab would’ve knocked Cate flat if it weren’t for Tack.

She could feel him breathing as hard as she was, his fit, muscled stomach against her, her face nearly eye to eye with his chest. She could smell him—sweat and salt and the hint of some fresh scent, like laundry drying on the line. Cate ought to have been thinking about how she’d almost been killed by a truck, but instead, all she could think about was Tack’s hard body against hers, how every nerve ending in her body seemed to come alive. It felt like her body had been sleeping, and now, suddenly, every cell was awake, and they all wanted one thing. All she wanted to do was to press herself closer to him, to wrap her arms around his back and feel his sturdiness. She could feel his chest rise and fall and wondered if he felt it, too, this electric rush, this sudden, powerful want.

As she glanced up at his face, she saw his brown eyes studying hers, his eyebrows crinkled with worry.

“Are you okay?” he asked, keeping his body against hers, his bulk still protecting her from the rush of traffic behind him.

Considering all she wanted to do right at that moment was stand on her tiptoes and see if she could taste his lips, she already knew the answer to that question. I might never be okay again.

CHAPTER TWO

TACK WAS ALL too aware of Cate’s body against his, warm and pliant. The way she was looking at him right now made him want to kiss the life out of her, to make her moan with want. Nothing like a life-or-death situation to speed up the libido, he thought, but then wondered if saving her from a speeding truck had anything to do with the fact that he didn’t want to take his hands off her.

Her green eyes studied him, her pink lips parted as he waited for an answer.

“I...I’m fine,” she managed to say, but never broke eye contact. He’d always been able to read women, a talent he’d learned early when overnight in high school he’d grown a foot and put on thirty pounds of muscle. They’d gone from ignoring him to waiting at his locker, giggling and blushing all the while.

He could swear the way she craned her neck, the way she leaned into him, she wanted him. The thought sent a thrill down his spine. She wanted him. He had her pinned against the minibus, but she made no move to flee. Her eyes told him she wanted to stay right where she was.

The deep-seated satisfaction this little revelation brought him surprised even him. He wanted her to want him. He’d felt the desire to put his hands on her since he saw her waiting for him at the baggage claim.

He felt drawn closer to her and before he knew it, he was just inches away from her lips. All he’d have to do was drop down a little more...and he’d be kissing her. He wondered what she tasted like. He wanted to find out.

But he couldn’t. Not now.

With great reluctance, he pulled himself away. He saw a flicker of disappointment in her eyes. She wanted that kiss as much as I did. There was no doubt in Tack’s mind.

And then, another, not-so-nice thought popped into his mind. I could use that.

He wasn’t proud of himself for it. Didn’t like how the thought felt oily in his mind, but it was the truth. He had to use every advantage he had. He knew that better than anyone.

Tack watched Cate as she scurried to pick up the wrench and carried it back to the van. He reached out and grabbed the flat, easily lifting it and putting it underneath the carriage where the spare had been. They both climbed back into the minibus.

“Uh...we’re not too far from the resort,” she said, not looking him in the eye, a blush creeping up the side of her cheek as she settled into the driver’s seat once more.

Cate’s mobile phone came to life then, blaring an easy Caribbean tune, and Tack saw her grab the phone from her pocket. “Mark?” she breathed into the phone. “Yes, I’m on the way. Just had a flat, but...” She paused, listening. “No, a guest helped me change it.” For the briefest of seconds, Cate met Tack’s gaze and a deep blush swept her neck as she swiftly looked away. She might as well have been telling him how she felt about their almost-kiss. He wondered how a woman who wore her emotions so clearly on her face could plot to kill her husband, steal from him and flee the country with his only son. She looked to him like an open book.

Which was probably what made her so very dangerous.

Cate glanced away and pressed the phone to her ear. “We’re fine...Really...We’ll be there in two minutes...I will. I promise...Okay. Bye.”

She tucked the phone in her pocket and smiled sheepishly at Tack. “That’s my current business partner. He...” She paused. “He was just checking up on me. Wondering what was taking so long.”

“Protective?” More like possessive, Tack thought and then wondered why he felt a pang of jealousy.

“He just worries about me.” She smiled at Tack in the rearview mirror, but her answer didn’t make him feel any better. A man who called when a woman was ten minutes late from the airport had to be more than a business partner.

“Sounds like he cares about you. Boyfriend?” he asked, and wondered why the word felt so bitter on his tongue.

A laugh burst from Cate, and she shook her head. “Oh, no. Mark’s happily married. His wife, Carol, helps me run the resort, and they’ve got a fifteen-year-old daughter, Grace, who is an amazing high diver. Might even try to get a scholarship in the States.” Cate guided the minibus around the cliff bank and then took a right turn into what seemed like jungle.

The tightness in Tack’s chest eased.

“So, he’s not the boyfriend. Dating someone else? Or are you married?” Technically, he already knew she was divorced. Rick Allen had filed for divorce in her absence and had the courts push it through about a year ago.

Cate didn’t even flinch. “God, no,” she said, and laughed, flicking her long blond hair over one shoulder. The laugh sounded so genuine. “Too busy being a single mom,” she said lightly. No trace of irony in that at all.

“Oh, how old is your child?”

“He’s four,” she said, and he could hear the pride in her voice. “He’s an amazing swimmer. And so very sweet.”

“It’s probably none of my business, but...what happened to his dad?” Tack watched Cate carefully, studying her reflection in the rearview mirror and trying to pick up on any signs of discomfort, of deceit. Her narrow shoulders stiffened ever so slightly, he noted, but she kept her expression neutral.

“He died,” Cate said, voice flat. Her foot nudged the accelerator a little bit more. Seemed like she might want to get to the resort a bit faster.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked.”

“No. It’s okay.” Cate shrugged and then turned, throwing an almost too-bright smile over one tanned shoulder. “Looks like we’re here.”

Tack glanced out the window and realized they’d taken a turn and were now out of the thick brush and into a cleared parking lot, with a three-story, white brick hotel sitting about a hundred yards from the pristine beach. The blue-green water of the Caribbean sparkled in the sunlight, and a sole, mature palm tree offered shade for a few empty white lounge chairs. Beyond that lay a boat moored at a long wooden dock. Tack could just make out the name painted on the stern: Lost and Found.

Indeed, Cate Allen, he thought as he looked at the lithe blonde who shut off the minibus’s engine. You were lost, but now you’re found. He was more convinced than ever he’d found his target.

“Gorgeous view,” Tack said as he grabbed his seabag and slung it over one shoulder.

“We provided the clean sheets and breakfast buffet, but I can’t take credit for the view,” she said. “Mr. Reeves, if you’ll follow me? I’ll get you checked in.”

The formality wasn’t lost on Tack. He’d been kicked back from first-name basis to formal stranger. As the two walked into the hotel’s lobby, Tack felt a cool blast of air-conditioning, and the air smelled like coconut oil. White marble tile lined the floor, and dark wicker furniture made up the spacious check-in area. Tasteful, he thought. A man with gray, nearly white hair, wearing khaki Bermuda shorts, sprang up from the love seat.

“You okay, Cate?” he asked in gruff voice, concern etched in his face.

“Mark, I’m fine. Uh...Mr. Reeves helped with the flat.” Cate turned and nodded. “Mr. Reeves...this is Mark Gurda. He co-owns the resort with me.”

“Nice to meet you,” Tack said, and extended a hand, noticing that Mark eyed him with suspicion, taking in his build and his seabag.

“Marines, huh?” Mark said, but it didn’t sound like he approved.

“Yep.” Tack nodded. “Retired, though. If you can ever be retired from the marines.” He’d leave out the part about the dishonorable discharge. No need to split hairs.

Mark gave a curt nod but quickly shifted his attention back to Cate. “I...need to talk to you. Do you have a minute?”

Cate hesitated. The man wasn’t just a business partner, that much was clear. And Tack knew more than anyone that being married didn’t mean he wasn’t sleeping with Cate. He’d been hired to catch more than one cheating spouse. As Tack glanced down at Cate’s long, tanned legs, he thought, Who wouldn’t throw away marriage vows for that?

“Mr. Reeves, if you’ll head to the front desk...” Mark nodded curtly away from them, leaving no mistake about his meaning. Get lost. Tack eyed the older man. He hadn’t heard of Gurda before now. She must’ve met him after she’d run away, and somehow convinced him to invest in the resort. But, given all she was said to have stolen, why would she need a coinvestor? Tack would find out.

“May I help you, sir?” called a pretty fortyish woman with short, bobbed hair and a quick smile. She stood behind the front desk. Reluctantly, Tack left Mark, who was speaking in low tones to Cate about something he wanted to overhear. “Don’t mind my husband,” she added. “He’s gruff on the outside, but a teddy bear on the inside. I’m Carol Gurda. Welcome to St. Anthony’s Resort.” She tapped on the computer behind the desk, and when she looked up again, Tack was leaning on the counter near her. “Oh...my...you’re tall.” She craned her neck to look up at him. “Bet you get that a lot.”

Tack shrugged. “A little bit.” He grinned. While Carol looked up his reservation, Tack couldn’t help but glance over his shoulder at Mark and Cate. They’d walked off a few more paces and stood by the window, talking in low tones about something a little too serious for Tack’s liking. Lover’s tiff?

“Cate’s great, isn’t she? Just a doll,” Carol gushed, watching Tack watching Cate.

“She’s captured my attention, that’s for sure,” Tack said, which wasn’t a lie.

Carol eyed him with interest. “You’re staying for a week?” she asked him.

“So far,” he said smoothly. “But I’ve got a flexible schedule, so could I extend the trip if I wanted to?”

Carol brightened further. “Absolutely, you can.”

“I might want to get to know one particular local better.” He grinned at Carol and she returned the smile.

“Cate? You know, Cate’s just the best. I keep hoping she’ll find someone, though my husband tells me to quit meddling. That it’s none of my business, but look at her. Why is she single?”

“Indeed. She’s one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever seen,” Tack said. This was also not a lie.

Carol beamed as she grabbed the newly minted key card from the register. “Beautiful inside and out. She really is a sweetheart. Honestly.”

Here’s someone else who thinks she’s nice. Tack had interviewed every person he could find who knew Cate, down to her high school algebra teacher. They all said the same thing—about how sweet she was. Still, people could be fooled. Besides, what sweet person would take a son away from his father? It didn’t make sense.

“Are you single?” Carol asked, glancing at Tack’s empty ring finger.

“You running a matchmaking service?” Tack joked, and Carol grinned.

“Maybe.” Carol sighed. “I just want Cate to be happy. She’s been very—” she hesitated “—unlucky.”

“Her husband dying.”

Carol hesitated a beat too long.

“Right.” Carol nodded. She kept her eyes fixed on the computer screen in front of her.

“Sometimes feeling normal again takes a while,” he added. “My dad died when I was twelve, and it took me years to get over it.”

Instant pity registered on Carol’s face, and her mothering instincts seemed to take over. “Oh, you poor thing.”

“Bad things happen sometimes.” He shrugged. “If I did want to get to know her better...” Tack let the insinuation linger. “What would you suggest?”

Carol’s eyes brightened. “Well, dinner for guests starts at seven, but Cate...she always eats in the dining room around six.” Carol lowered her voice and leaned over the counter. “But you didn’t hear that from me.”

“Hear what? You told me what time dinner was, but darned if I just couldn’t remember.” They both shared a little laugh. “I’ll just be early to be on the safe side,” Tack said, exchanging a conspiratorial grin with Carol.

“I like you already,” Carol said, and handed him his room key.

CHAPTER THREE

HE’S GONE. MAYBE I can avoid him for the coming week he’s here, Cate thought as she watched Tack’s tall, lean form leave the lobby and felt a little breath of relief escape her. Something about him... And it wasn’t just his intelligent eyes and capable hands, either. Something about him just screamed trouble. Just because she went all gooey in his arms didn’t mean she ought to ignore her instincts. They’ve got me this far. I’ll need to keep my guard up. Cate almost laughed to herself. When did she ever let her guard down? She’d chosen a life where she now had to look over her shoulder every day. But it was better than the life she had with Rick. There was no doubt in her mind about that.

“Did you hear me?” Mark asked her as he drew her attention back to him. “We’re in the red, Cate. Big time. I’m not sure how we’re going to keep the lights on next month if we don’t get more guests here.”

Cate sighed. This was becoming nearly a daily conversation with Mark. “I know.”

“We need to do more marketing,” Mark insisted, tapping his open palm. “More Yelp. More social media.”

“No.” It came out harsher sounding than she intended. “And you know why.”

And he did. Mark had been there almost from the beginning of her escape. He was the one who got her a fake passport, who snuck her out of the country.

Cate had met Mark by chance at one of the big charity galas Rick so liked to attend. Her ex always wanted everyone to think he was so generous, so magnanimous. Cate remembered watching Rick from the corner of the elegantly appointed hotel ballroom, sipping a glass of expensive champagne, thinking about how she felt like she was suffocating.

“You’re mine,” he’d said in the limo ride over. He’d clutched at her arm in the back seat, his hand a metal cuff, his fingers digging into her flesh like teeth. “You and my son. Don’t you ever forget it.”

How could she ever? He treated his wife and son like possessions, toys that belonged to him, to do with as he pleased. To the outside world, he was the reclusive billionaire, the mysterious genius who’d turned over one amazing land deal after another but never granted an interview. But no one knew the dark, brooding, insecure man like Cate did. No one knew how much he secretly drank, how hard he worked to make the small, elite circle who did know him think he was charming, how desperate he was to keep things in his control. The lengths he’d go to make sure they stayed that way.

When she’d first met him, she thought he’d just loved her more than anyone else had loved her. He was dogged in his pursuit, determined to have her, and she’d been flattered. That was the truth of it. At first, she thought his intense interest was a compliment, a testament to his love. She never dreamed it would become so twisted.

Then, inexplicably, there at the ball, watching him surrounded by a small circle of admirers and sycophants, watching him pretend to be the man he wasn’t, she felt sick to her stomach. She’d glanced at herself in a mirrored column and saw to her dismay a bruise blooming on her upper arm. She realized she’d sweated off some of her concealer, and it was the middle of the summer so she wore no wrap for her sleeveless gown. How could she be so stupid? She felt exposed and desperate to cover it up.

“Are you all right?” Carol had asked, a woman she didn’t even know, with her husband by her side, a sympathetic look on his face.

It was that small act of kindness that underlined just how long it had been since someone was kind and considerate, that broke her. She started to lose it. Her hands shook. Tears sprung to her eyes, and tears would only wash away the caked concealer she’d used to cover the fading bruise on her cheek. Cate remembered Carol had somehow steered her to the bathroom. How she’d remarked on the bruise on her arm. “I don’t think you’re all right at all,” she’d said. “How can I help?”

She’d graciously accepted Carol’s tissues but told her she’d be fine.

“Here,” Carol had said, handing her a business card with their Caribbean address. The two had been in town only for the charity event, one they attended every year. “My husband used to be a lawyer. We can help you. When...it’s the right time.”

It was only a few months later, when everything went so terribly wrong, so out of control, that she reached out to them for help. She’d be eternally grateful they answered the call. She felt someone up there was looking out for her that night. A chance encounter with kind strangers would save her life. Yet even now, three years later, she was still scared, still worried that it wasn’t over.

“I know this doesn’t make sense,” she said. “I know we should do more advertising...but...”

“You’re scared.” Mark always seemed to know what she was thinking. “There’s no link to your old life. I made sure of that,” Mark said. She knew he was right. Before he retired early and moved his family to the Caribbean, Mark had spent his career helping clients set up shell companies so they could hide things they didn’t want found. But Rick Allen was never one to take no for an answer. He always used to say you don’t build a billion-dollar empire by giving up. How many different ways had he told her the Allen family didn’t have quit in their blood?

After what she’d done to him... After how she’d left him...

She shuddered. No, he’d never give up. Not now.

“We don’t have to use pictures of you. We could find a way to advertise this without...putting you out there. We have to do something.”

“I know. I know we do.” Cate felt the sudden weight on her shoulders. If they didn’t make this resort work, then what? Cate had pawned the jewelry she felt couldn’t be traced back to her. But she still had the quarter-million-dollar engagement ring. Though, if she sold that, she knew it would come back to her. He’d had it custom made, and probably had every major jeweler looking for it. She had more real estate, too, adjacent to the resort, but she’d been hoping to keep that. Expand the hotel in better times.

“Besides, maybe he’s stopped looking for you.” Mark met Cate’s gaze, but even he didn’t believe those words.

“You know he won’t.”

Mark sighed. “I know.” He glanced toward the hallway, where Tack had walked, and shook his head. “Maybe we should hire that new guest for extra muscle. He’s built like a wall and what is he? Like six-four? He feels like a cop.”

“He’s a former marine.”

“Yeah, I saw the seabag,” Mark said, and grinned. “If he were your bodyguard, you know who wouldn’t even dream of coming near you.”

“I’m not so desperate that I’m going to go recruiting our guests, Mark.” Though, she had to admit, the thought of Tack by her side made her shiver just a little. She glanced at her watch and realized it was time to pick up her son from preschool. “I need to get Avery. We’ll talk about this later?”

“We’ll have to,” Mark grumbled.

* * *

THE SMALL PRESCHOOL sat in a cluster of palm trees next door to the island’s only aquarium, a tiny but clean building mostly frequented by tourists with kids. A pretty glass mural of a sea turtle swimming in gleaming green water kicked back the light. In the parking lot, iguanas sunned themselves on the stucco path, not even bothering to move as Cate walked by, her big straw bag slung over one shoulder. The sound of little kids laughing found her, and she walked back around to the fenced-in play yard. She saw Avery climbing up the ladder of a slide, his curly blond hair flying into his eyes as he sped down the plastic chute.

“Mommy!” he cried as he saw her and bounded to the gate. Her heart felt like it might explode. She felt this way every time she looked at her son, unable to believe that such a sweet boy had come from her...and Rick. The minute he was born, Cate remembered vowing that she’d protect him from every harm the world had to offer. Even if that harm might come from his own father.

The preschool teacher nodded at Cate, recognizing her and opening the gate from the inside. Avery bounded into his mother’s arms and squeezed her neck tightly.

“Avery!” she cried as she scooped him up, giving him a kiss on the cheek. “How are you today, bud?”

“I made a crown!” he told her, showing her the construction-paper craft he’d decorated with markers and glitter. “It means I’m king!” His green eyes sparkled in delight.

“You sure are,” she said, and hugged him a little tighter, whipping his too long honey-colored hair from his face. “And the king needs a haircut.”

“Aw. Weally?” His adorable lisp temporarily disarmed her. As did the truly disappointed look in his green eyes. They were her green eyes. Every time she looked at Avery she saw herself. She was grateful for that. Though, of course, there were reminders of Rick. In the way Avery smiled sometimes, the expressions on his face. But Avery was all rainbows and sunshine, a bright ball of love and nothing like Rick in all the ways that mattered.

“Yes, really, sire. You need a cut.” She mussed his soft hair and he laughed. Cate carried him over to her little hatchback.

“Look, Mommy. Blue! My favorite color,” Avery said, grabbing the crown and showing her his scribbles. He might just be four, but he was an expert at diversional tactics.

“Blue is pretty, honey.” She was strapping him into his car seat when he held up the crown.

“Do you think Daddy likes blue?”

The question stopped her in her tracks. Avery had gone nearly a year without even mentioning his dad. Now, suddenly, here he was asking questions.

“I don’t know, sweetie.” She tried to keep her voice steady. Rick didn’t have a favorite color. Not that she knew of. If he did, he’d probably get a copyright and then declare that color off-limits to everyone else, she thought.

“Do you think there’s a lot of blue in heaven? Where Daddy lives?”

“I don’t know.” Cate felt rattled by the questions. More so than usual. She also felt an unexpected pang of guilt. Yes, she’d told her boy his father was dead. That was a lie, but what else could she do? Tell her perfect little boy the truth?

Your father is a monster.

No. She never wanted him to know that. Because Avery wasn’t anything like his father, and she planned to keep it that way.

“I bet you’re hungry,” she said instead. “Ready for dinner?”

Avery nodded. “Snack!” he demanded, opening up his hands.

Cate knew the fifteen-minute drive back to the resort would be a lot easier with a few crackers than without. Besides, the boy burned through calories. He needed to eat every ten minutes, so there was almost zero chance of spoiling his dinner.

“Want some graham crackers?”

“Yes!” he cried with enthusiasm. She grabbed the Ziploc snack bag filled with animal-shaped grahams and handed it to him. Feeling relieved, she made her way to the driver’s seat and looked forward to a nice, quiet dinner, before the rest of the guests. Not that there were that many, she thought. The resort was less than half full. It was one of the reasons Mark wanted to do more advertising. And she should, she guessed. She should get over this irrational idea that ads would somehow catch Rick’s attention.

She wouldn’t be in any of the ads, and she could use a picture of the resort on social media. She needed to let go of the fear that drove her. She knew it didn’t make sense. But fear never did.

She pulled up to the resort, noticing the mostly empty parking lot. Her stomach sank. What would she do if the resort went under? When she sold her jewelry—the only thing she took from Rick Allen—she’d put much of it into the hotel. Mark had suggested it. He could be the public face of the resort, and she could be a silent investor, hidden away from the public and from anyone who could recognize her.

Then it had been booming, and she thought it was a sound investment. Of course, that was before the island opened itself up to the big cruise ships. Now, fewer people came to St. Anthony’s to stay. Most opted for a floating hotel, and that meant letting staff go and her taking on a larger role in the resort. She saw two big liners off in the distance. She wondered how many of her guests they’d stolen in the last year.

How many different ways had Rick told her she wasn’t capable of doing anything on her own? There were the hundreds of small household decisions he’d called into question: How could you let the gardener plant those ugly shrubs? Am I wrong, or were you supposed to be supervising him? And then there was the time she wanted to try writing a novel, but he’d ridiculed her mercilessly and in front of others: Cate wants to write. God, can you imagine? A romance! Lord help us. He’d even had an opinion about what she wore: You don’t even know what looks good on you, Cate. How did you last this long with me? When she got upset, he’d tell her she was overreacting. That it was her fault. After all, there was never anything wrong with Rick Allen. The problem had to be with her.

She’d been with him five years, married for three, but in some ways it felt like a life sentence. His nagging voice in her head never quite seemed to go away. He was always telling her something was wrong with her—she wasn’t smart enough, wasn’t interesting enough, wasn’t pretty enough. She got now that it was his way of controlling her, just another aspect of the abuse. But while the bruises healed, the insults and criticisms just festered, wounds that never seemed to scab over.

Maybe I’m not smart enough to run this resort. Maybe Rick was right.

The second the evil thoughts weaseled their way into her head, she pushed them out once more. She was done letting Rick push her around, whether that was physically or in her own head. You’d never survive out there without me, he’d told her once. Well, that’s just not true, she thought, I’m surviving just fine.

She killed the ignition and glanced at the resort.

For now, at least.

Cate bustled Avery out of the car, carrying his fire truck backpack, and steered him straight into the lobby and to the dining room, where the dinner buffet was just being set up. She looked at all the food—the simple fish fillets and bright veggies prepared with such loving care by the cooks in the kitchen—and felt a bit of sadness. It was lovely, but couldn’t touch the amazing buffets of the good old days with fresh crab legs and delicate sushi rolls. The scaled-back buffet was a shadow of its former self. She steered Avery to his favorite spot, near the window looking out to the blue-green water, and turned to head back to the food.

She piled on chicken strips and apple slices, and then hesitated at the broccoli, wondering if it would be too much of a fight to get him to eat some. She felt a sudden presence by her elbow.

“Hi, Cate,” came the deep, unmistakably sexy voice. She knew before looking who stood there.

Cate nearly dropped the plate as she whirled away from the buffet. So much for avoiding the man.

“Tack,” she cried, surprised, her heart rate doubling as she took in his tall frame. The man moved like a big cat. She hadn’t even heard him approach. He’d changed and now wore a linen button-down, short-sleeved, pale blue shirt and khaki cargo shorts. His face broke into an easy smile, and she felt her stomach clench as she looked at his clean-shaven tanned face. She’d just seen him earlier that afternoon, but it seemed in that time he’d managed to get sexier, if such a thing was possible.

“Uh...the dining room is closed,” she managed to say, though the gruff way it came out made her want to kick herself. Why was she being so rude?

Tack grinned, and nodded at the buffet and the plate in her hands. “It looks pretty open to me.” He seemed completely unruffled by her, and even worse, he wasn’t leaving. “Mind if I...join you?”

“Uh...I’m eating with my son...” She nodded toward the table where Avery was happily pretending his snack cup was a car, and making it zoom across the table.

“I love kids,” Tack said smoothly. “I don’t want to brag, but I’ve been told I’m the world’s greatest uncle. I might just have a mug that says the same thing.”

He flashed another bright white smile, and all of the excuses as to why she wouldn’t want a handsome stranger to join her rushed from her mind.

She giggled a little, feeling like she was thirteen again and standing by the lockers in front of the cutest boy in school. Get it together, Cate. He’s not interested in you, anyway. You’re not nearly pretty enough for him. Not without all the expensive jewelry and clothes that Rick said made you an “eight” when you were naturally just a “six.”

Tack reached behind her to get a plate, and his strong arm brushed her elbow. She was hyperaware of every movement he made. She realized, suddenly, she was still holding her son’s half-filled plate, watching Tack reach for scalloped potatoes. She decided to leave the broccoli and opted for raw carrots instead, then headed back with a cup of juice to the table, where she plunked the plate in front of her little boy. He went for the chicken fingers first, naturally, and happily chomped his food while she turned back to the buffet. Deliberately, she started on the opposite side as far from Tack as she could get, though it wasn’t long before he was again by her side.

“What do you recommend?” he asked her, dark eyes studying her. Her mouth went a little dry beneath the intensity of his gaze.

“Everything is good,” she said. “But you should try the conch chowder. It’s the island specialty.” She nodded toward the soup bowl on the other side of the glass-partitioned buffet. She thought it would be better if she could move him from her side, but when he walked around, she realized now, he was right in front of her, glass buffet or not, and he was watching her even as he ladled soup into a small bowl. If he was going to study her like that, she might not be able to eat. Her once growling stomach now exploded into a riot of nerves. Why did the man make her so nervous?

She managed to keep her eyes on the broiled fish she scooped onto her plate, then she moved on to the steamed veggies. He watched her every move. She made the mistake of glancing up at him once, and they made eye contact. She held his gaze for a beat too long, unable to break free. It had been so long since a man had been this focused on her.

Not since Rick, she thought.

She glanced down at her own frumpy cutoffs, her faded T-shirt and flip-flops. She wasn’t even wearing any makeup, and she’d swept up her hair into a messy, careless knot at her nape. She had no idea why Tack studied her like he was trying to figure out a puzzle. It made her uneasy.

She hurriedly finished filling her plate and then scurried it back to her son’s table. The faster I eat, the faster I can get away from that man.

Cate sat and Tack followed, slipping into the chair opposite her. His shoulders were enormous, she decided, like a well-muscled wall, sitting in front of her. It was going to take effort to eat with this hulking man sitting at the table.

Avery just grinned at the stranger. “Hi! I’m Avery,” he said, beaming. The boy wasn’t the least bit shy. Raised in a resort, he was more than used to strangers. Mark had joked that they ought to put the boy out in the lobby as a concierge.

“Hi, Avery. I’m Tack.”

“Nice to meet you,” the precocious four-year-old said. He grinned. “You’ve got lots of muscles. Are you Captain America?”

“Avery,” Cate said reprovingly, feeling the blush of embarrassment creep up her neck. The air-conditioning suddenly seemed a little too weak in the room. Leave it to a preschooler to say exactly what’s on his mind.

“He’s in a superhero phase,” she said, apologetically.

“I’m not Captain America,” Tack said, trying to sound serious. “But I used to be a marine, actually. First Lieutenant Thomas Reeves, at your service. I might know a thing or two about saving the day.”

“I knew it! You are a superhero! Can you fly?”

“Oh, now you’ve started it,” Cate said, and Tack chuckled a little.

Over Tack’s shoulder, Cate saw Carol peek out from the door to the kitchen. The woman was spying! When she was caught, she gave Cate a huge thumbs-up, and that’s when Cate knew somehow that this was all Carol’s doing. It would be just like her to try to set her up on some kind of date. Carol was under the misguided impression that Cate was lonely, that she needed a man’s company. Cate had sworn off men. She didn’t trust herself to pick a good one, and she’d never, ever be beholden to one again.

Tack took a sip of soup and nodded his appreciation at the taste of the conch chowder.

“My daddy can fly,” Avery said suddenly. “He’s an angel in heaven.”

Cate nearly spit out her food. Tack coughed, as if the soup had gone down the wrong way. He coughed louder, face turning red as he gave his chest a hard pat.

“Is that right?” he managed to say, recovering.

Now Cate really wanted to be anywhere but here. Carol was still spying, and she sent her what she hoped was a look of stern disapproval.

“I don’t have a dad. Do you want to be my dad?” Avery asked.

“Avery! That’s not...” Cate wanted the ground to open her up and swallow her whole.

Tack laughed a little. “Don’t worry. It’s okay. Well, how about we see first if we can get through dinner, all right, champ?”

Cate had never felt more embarrassed in her whole life. The table sunk into silence then, the only sound the clink of Tack’s spoon on his soup bowl. Tack seemed to be preoccupied, no doubt thinking she was the most desperate woman on earth. She’d not put Avery up to that, though, she swore.

That’s when Cate saw Carol bustle out of the kitchen, seeming determined.

Oh, no. This was not going to be good.

“Everything all right here?” Carol said brightly. “Can I get you anything else?”

“No, we’re fine.” Cate wanted Carol to go away. Besides, this was a buffet, not table-side service.

“So, Mr. Reeves, I know it’s your first trip to St. Anthony’s. Do you snorkel?” She barreled on, not picking up on the cue from Tack’s now-somber face that he probably wasn’t interested in any tour. He looked like a man who wanted to escape. Not that Cate blamed him. Kids at all were a nonstarter for most men, but kids talking about dead fathers and wanting new dads were probably more serious deal breakers.

“Snorkel?” Tack looked momentarily taken aback.

Cate knew exactly what Carol was doing. She was talking about the boat tour around the island that Cate led every morning around ten.

“I’m sure Mr. Reeves has other things to do with his first morning on vacation,” Cate said.

Tack studied her. “Well, I...”

“Cate gives the best tours, and she knows the best snorkeling spots. She leads a group every morning...”

Cate mentally shook her head. No, Carol. No! She tried very hard to telepathically tell her friend to stop what she was doing. The last thing she needed was Tack on board her boat at nine in the morning.

“I love to snorkel. Sounds like fun.” Tack stared at Cate as he said that. Avery happily chomped his chicken tender and Carol just beamed, like she’d won a prize at the state fair. Oh, she’d won a prize, but it wasn’t anything she’d like, Cate thought. She’s going to get an earful when I get her alone.

“The boat is already full,” she lied. Only four other guests had booked a trip for the morning. And two of them were simply strong maybes. The boat could hold ten easily.

“One already canceled just this afternoon,” Carol said. “You’ve got room for one more.” The woman wasn’t going to let this go. The steely look in her eyes told her she was not going to be deterred from this matchmaking mission. Tack quirked an eyebrow, almost as if daring her to deny him now.

“All right,” Cate said, giving in. There was no use fighting them both.

CHAPTER FOUR

TACK LAY ON the soft bed in his room and stared at the second hand of the clock sitting on his nightstand as it ticked forward. The sunlight streamed in; he’d seen the slow progression of light since dawn. He’d been up since three in the morning, his usual wake-up call. He hadn’t sleep through a night since he’d left Afghanistan. And every time he woke up, he thought of Adeeb, fighting side by side with them in some of the worst firefights.

He sent up a little prayer that he was okay. That he’d eluded the Taliban another day.

Tack had met Adeeb when he was twenty-five and worked with him for three years straight on sensitive ops to find Taliban strongholds in Helmand Province, one of the most dangerous areas of Afghanistan. Adeeb, a lanky and thoughtful man, never once got rattled, not even under heavy gunfire.

Tack had been suspicious of the idea of a local translator at first. After all, what reason did he have to help the Americans? But Adeeb hated the Taliban and everything they stood for. “They are terrible people. They’re not about Islam, they’re about power.”

Adeeb had watched his sister be terrorized by the Taliban, and his family threatened when they tried to send her to school. He had every reason to hate them.

Still, Tack wasn’t sure. How could he trust a translator he just met? Sure, he’d volunteered and been vetted by the military, but still. Tack didn’t like wild cards, especially when the lives of his men were on the line.

On their first mission together, Tack and his team were looking for a Taliban leader who’d been causing a lot of trouble. Adeeb interviewed a local family, and after several minutes of discussion as Tack stood by, not understanding a word they said, Adeeb turned to Tack and said, “They told me he’s not here. But they’re lying, and here’s why. They have a son, and he was kidnapped by the Taliban last year. They’re scared.”

Adeeb had been right about everything from that day forward. He knew the bad guys from the good guys, he was smart, he was a fantastic read of people and he’d saved more marines than Tack could count, all by giving them lifesaving intel. He was worth his weight in gold.

But it didn’t take long after that before the threats from the Taliban came in. Phone calls, notes left at his house. They saw him as a traitor and planned to cut off his head. They said they wouldn’t stop there. They’d kill his entire family, all of his relatives. But nothing ever rattled the man, not the threats, not gunfire. He held firm in his beliefs. He told Tack that he believed the Taliban was ruining his country, and that he’d risk his life if need be to stop them. Let them do what they wanted, but he wasn’t going to let them ruin his country without a fight.

Tack respected the position. It was exactly what he would do if a group of extremists took over his own country.

The marines promised Adeeb and his family a visa to come to America, but they’d reneged on their promise. Scratch that. The marines hadn’t reneged on their promise, Tack’s sniveling coward of a commanding officer, Derek Hollie, had.

He checked his phone and found a message from Adeeb. Relief flooded Tack’s body. He only heard from the former translator a couple of times a week, when the man went close enough to town to get a signal.

We are fine. Wanted to let you know. Medeeha says thanks for the candy.

Medeeha was Adeeb’s little girl, who’d just turned three. Tack had sent a care package, as he did every month, filled with dry goods and treats. None of it would do any good if the Taliban found them. Tack quickly messaged back.

Keep safe, man. I haven’t forgotten my promise.

Tack had promised to bring Adeeb to the United States, and he wasn’t giving up on that. He’d left Helmand Province years ago feeling like he’d left one man behind, something he’d vowed never to do.

Adeeb had saved Tack more than once. Had saved all the men in his company more than once. And he helped the Americans at great personal peril after the Taliban labeled him a traitor. Tack knew better than anyone that the Taliban didn’t make idle threats.

Tack had lobbied his senators, wrote letters, did all he could think of to do to get a visa for his friend. Then he had found out that Rick Allen, major donor to political causes, might be able to get him the visa Adeeb so badly needed. That’s why Tack couldn’t fail. Not to mention, the ten-million-dollar reward money could help Adeeb and so many more resettle in the United States.

Tack breathed a sigh of relief that Adeeb and his family fought to live another day, and focused on the case at hand. Already, he’d taken too long in looking for the missing woman. Every day that went by was a day that Adeeb didn’t have.

He glanced at his watch. Time had slipped by, and he realized he ought to get a move on if he wanted to get to the dock for the promised tour. Better watch your back, Tack. She gets one whiff of who you work for, and she might throw you overboard.

He grinned at the thought. Let her try. He’d faced more cunning enemies before. But maybe not prettier ones, he thought, remembering her clear green eyes. He had to admit that.

He stepped into some swim trunks and an old tee, and then grabbed a baseball cap and shoved it on his head. He reached for his mesh bag where he kept his own flippers, mask and snorkel—he’d been scuba certified since even before he enlisted in the marines—and headed out of his room, maneuvering down the stairs and out to the lobby. The ocean was just past the resort pool and down the short stairs to the smooth, nearly white sand. He saw the twenty-foot boat with the blue canopy floating at the end of a long, wooden dock and headed that way. He expected to see a crowd of tourists but found the dock empty, except for Cate.

She wore a pair of worn cutoffs and a tank, the bright teal bikini strap tied at the back of her neck poking through. Her back was to him, and she was bent over an old red plastic cooler, working to lug it to the boat. For a few seconds, he watched her struggle with the heavy old red plastic box, admiring her muscled, tanned legs. The sound of the ocean and the rush of waves hitting the beach made it easy to sneak up on her. He put down his mesh snorkel bag.

“Can I help?” he asked, and watched her jump nearly a mile.

“God, you scared me,” she said, pushing her oversize sunglasses up on her nose and flattening the other hand against her chest. “Where did you come from?”

“Iowa,” he joked. “At least, that’s where I was born and raised, before I moved to Seattle.” She sent him a wry smile as she went back to her work with the cooler.

“Here, let me.” He easily lifted the cooler, packed with ice and drinks, and she stepped back, a little surprised.

“Uh...thanks,” she said, and he noticed she kept her attention focused on him. Good, that’s where it needed to be. “Just put it there.” She pointed to the stern, where a carved out little indention fit the cooler perfectly. He set it in. She hopped in after him and fastened straps around the cooler to make sure it didn’t fall overboard.

“I’ve got snorkel gear if you need it...” she began, turning to one of the seats of the boat. She flipped up the cushioned top to reveal mounds of flippers, snorkels and diving masks.

“I came prepared,” he said, nodding back to the dock. He hopped off the boat and grabbed his gear.

“Oh, I see.” She glanced anxiously about, looking unnerved and clearly distracted, or she would’ve noticed he already had gear. She glanced at the sports watch on her wrist and then back at the hotel, as she kept one foot on the dock and one resting on the stern of the boat.

“Where is everyone?” Tack asked, glancing around the empty boat.

“We were supposed to have at least one more couple join us today,” she explained. “The others have already dropped out, which is unusual, but...it happens. Did you see anyone else in the lobby on your way out?”

He shook his head. “No one in the lobby.”

“We can give them a few more minutes,” she said, biting her lip. Then her phone dinged with an incoming message and she pulled it out of the back pocket of her shorts. “Dammit,” she murmured, and then she glanced up apologetically. “Sorry. I...uh...” She peered at the screen of her phone. “Just one minute.”

She tapped her screen and then put the phone against her ear as she made a phone call. “Carol! It’s Cate. Are you sure they canceled?” She stood and anxiously paced the boat, putting a hand on her head and looking unnerved. “You’re sure that they canceled?”

The intonation wasn’t lost on Tack.

“Carol...if...” She stopped, listening. “Yes, but...maybe we should just reschedule the trip?” Tack, on high alert, listened in. She let out a long, defeated-sounding sigh. “All right then. Fine.” She hung up and angrily tucked the phone back in her pocket. Then she grinned at him sheepishly. “Looks like it’s just us.”

“Don’t sound so disappointed.” Tack grinned, and Cate barked an uneasy laugh. He slung his mesh diver’s bag onto the floor of the boat and as he did so, brushed her arm ever so slightly. She jumped back and almost toppled onto the bench. He reached out a hand to steady her, and he could just make out her wide-eyed surprise behind her tinted lenses. Oh, yes, this would be an interesting morning, of that he had no doubt.

“Uh...thanks.” She withdrew her arm and rubbed it, now looking anywhere but at him.

“Can you get that rope, please?” She tried to be all business, but he could tell she was rattled. He hopped off the boat and easily untied the line holding them to the dock. He stepped back on board and gave the boat a shove with his foot as Cate kicked on the motor and took the boat out to sea. She handled the controls with confidence. The waves slapped against the bow as the ship moved across the green water, sparkling in the sun.

“Where did you learn how to pilot a boat?” he called over the roar of the engine. Of course, he already knew the answer. He’d done his homework on Cate long before now. He already knew she’d grown up in a small town in Louisiana, near Cado Lake, known for cypress trees and a few alligators. While trying to track her down, he’d damn near interviewed every one of her relatives and nearly anybody else who’d ever known her.

Her dad scraped by repairing boats, and probably took her out on the lake more than once. Her mother worked various waitressing jobs. She came from no money. Hers was a typical Cinderella story, if Cinderella tried to murder Prince Charming.

Cate kept her attention on the water. “My dad,” she said. “Dad loved to fish. He taught me how to do both.”

Tack already knew that. He’d interviewed the man, a tattooed sixty-four-year-old who drank beer for breakfast, cursed worse than a sailor and still ran a tiny little bait shop off the small, dirt turnoff for the lake. It had been a shock to his system trying to imagine the spoiled, greedy socialite living in the bayou. Her father, and everybody else he interviewed from her childhood, praised her as having a heart the size of Texas. Tack never could make sense of how she’d gone bad, except that money did funny things to people. Even nice people.

Rick Allen had told him that she plotted to kill him because a prenup meant she’d get nothing if they divorced. His death was the only way she’d get out of the marriage with a single cent.

Cate’s father had told him in no uncertain terms that he had no idea where she’d gone. Hadn’t heard from her since she’d disappeared and hoped she was doing well, wherever she was.

Tack had assumed, given how drunk the man was by the end of the interview, that her daddy issues ran deep. Probably what made her so focused on squeezing her husband dry.

“Your dad taught you?” Tack still couldn’t see how the old man managed it. Unless he wasn’t drinking so much then. “That must’ve been nice.”

“Well, sure, but Dad always got so drunk he’d pass out, and I’d have to steer the boat back to the dock. What I really learned was how to handle a boat,” she said, without a trace of self-pity, which Tack found remarkable. Tack grew up on a farm in Iowa where self-pity was about the worst sin you could manage. Despite his better judgment, he found himself admiring Cate’s no-nonsense approach to her clearly less-than-stellar childhood.

“You don’t sound mad about it.”

Cate shrugged. “Just the way things were. Like my gran said, ‘You can cry about it, or you can get over it.’ And I never much liked crying.” Right then, Tack heard just the faintest trace of Louisiana in her accent, which in other times she so carefully tamped down. Before now, he never could imagine Cate fitting in down in the bayou, no matter the old picture her father had shown him of her in cutoff jeans and bare feet.

Of course, this Cate before him, the one who kicked off her flip-flips now and stood barefoot in her boat, maybe this Cate could’ve come from the bayou. He could imagine her, maybe, walking barefoot down by the muddy lakeshore.

This Cate reminded him of the girls back home in Iowa. Unassuming, no makeup, living on the family farm. It was the kind of girl he’d had a weak spot for since eighth grade.

He saw her shift her weight, the deliciously firm muscles in her calves rippling ever so slightly. He imagined what they’d feel like wrapped tightly around his waist, and felt himself becoming aroused. This woman was a walking visa to the United States for a brave man and his family, and he couldn’t forget it.

He rummaged around in his bag and dug out the waterproof camera and began clicking pictures of the resort. His mission today was to get as many of Cate as he could. He’d need some to send to his employer, to see if he thought the resemblance was as strong as he did. Granted, Mr. Allen had asked for a DNA sample, which Tack had yet to get, but in the meantime, pictures would be a start. He turned the camera toward Cate, and instantly she held up her hand in front of her face.

“Not me! You don’t want me in there ruining your shots.” She laughed, but there was a hard edge to her voice, a warning.

“But you’re the prettiest thing out here,” he said, and for a second she hesitated.

“I hate having my picture taken,” she said. And he knew it wasn’t a lie. You couldn’t hide too well if people started posting your picture on Facebook. Not when there’s a ten-million-dollar bounty on your safe return to the States.

Tack tried to click a few more, but she’d turned, showing him her back.

Cate kicked up the motor, making any more conversation futile as the wind whipped across the bow of the boat and the maw of the engine buzzed loudly in his ears. Soon enough, Cate turned the boat into a small cove and slowed.

“Welcome to Blue Bay,” she said, cutting the engine as the boat pulled into the small inlet, where she let it drift about twenty feet from shore. She released the anchor to steady the vessel. The bay was aptly named—the clear water looked more blue than green here, and when he glanced over the side of the boat, he could see brightly colored fish darting just below the surface along a large expanse of blue coral reefs.

Cate threw down the ladder from the back of the boat.

“Help yourself,” she said, gesturing to the water. “We can stay here as long as you’d like.”

Tack whipped off his T-shirt and noticed that Cate gawked at his bare chest before she quickly turned away. He worked hard keeping himself in shape, and he smiled to himself as he noticed her flushed face.

“You’re not coming in?” he asked.

“Oh...” She looked genuinely taken off guard. “Well, I...”

“I thought I paid for a guided tour.” He sat on the bench at the back of the boat, slipping on his flippers.

Cate studied him a moment as if trying to figure out a problem. “Sure. I’ll join you.” She kept her voice neutral as she unbuttoned her cutoffs and slipped out of them. She pulled her tank over her head and now it was Tack’s turn to stare. The woman was a tanned, toned masterpiece in perfect symmetry. He couldn’t help but stare at her belly button and the firm stomach that slipped down into her bright blue string bikini bottom. She sat and busied herself putting on her own gear. She attached a small knife belt to her thigh, and grabbed a small mesh bag.

“Fish food,” she explained as she held it up. “You ready?” He swallowed, his mouth suddenly very dry as he tried his best not to look at how well she filled out her bikini top.

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” he said as he maneuvered to the end of the boat, bypassed the ladder and leaped into the warm Caribbean Sea.

The rush of warm water enveloped him, and when Cate jumped in a few feet nearby, he swam to her, playfully splashing her with water.

“Hey!” she called, retaliating by slapping the water up to his face. He coughed and swiped at his eyes, and as she advanced, he caught her off guard by diving beneath the waves and grabbing hold of her waist.

He realized how fit she was, how taut her skin felt beneath his hands. When they came up for air, their bodies pressed together, water ran down their faces. All he really wanted to do was kiss her.

CHAPTER FIVE

CATE FELT TACK’S strong arms around her. For a second, she froze, wondering what would happen if Tack pressed his lips to hers. Would she let him kiss her? Would she slap him? Did she want him to kiss her? Then she got the impression they were both starting to sink. With neither of them able to touch bottom, kicking alone—even with fins—would not keep their heads above water for long.

“You’d better let go of me or we’re going to drown,” she cautioned him.

“It would be worth it,” he said, the flirting tone unmistakable.

Cate grinned, but then splashed him once more. He let go and she swam away, laughing. She realized she was actually having fun.

Swimming next to Tack, she wondered if a little fling would be good for her, after all. He was a tourist, so it’s not like there could be anything serious. A week at most? What was the harm in that?

Plus, there was something about the man that made her feel both at ease and anxious at the same time. He was built like a Renaissance statue, complete with chiseled abs. His muscles simply couldn’t be real. That’s what Cate told herself over and over again as they swam together in the fish-filled cove. She tried not to stare, but everywhere she looked, she saw his muscles working. His broad shoulder muscles tensed as he swam along the surface, and she wondered how easily he might be able to lift her up. Or carry me to his bed.

The thought popped up in her mind completely unwelcomed, and she squashed it down instantly. I can’t have a fling. I’ve got Avery to think about. And Tack’s a perfect stranger. Can’t be trusted.

For all she knew, he could be on Rick’s payroll.

The thought was paranoid and probably not true. She wondered when she’d stop thinking every stranger worked for Rick Allen. Maybe never.

Besides, if he were working for her husband, he’d have called in the cavalry by now, and Rick would be banging down her door. Right? He wouldn’t take a morning off to go snorkeling.

He dived down to the silty bottom and brought up a small shiny piece of metal. Trash from a fishing boat, most likely. He broke the surface of the water and Cate followed. He spat out his snorkel as he held out the hook and line.

“This doesn’t belong there,” he said, and grinned.

“You’ve probably done enough cleaning,” Cate said, nodding with approval to Tack’s small mesh bag, which he’d filled with trash. “Ready for a break?”

Tack nodded, and the two of them swam back to the boat. The wind kicked up, and as the boat rocked back and forth, it was a little bit harder to get the ladder, especially with the swells about three feet instead of one.

Tack nodded to the rocking boat.

“Ladies first,” he said. Cate felt like arguing. After all, he was her guest, but somehow, she knew she wouldn’t win. She swam for the ladder, which was bucking up and down, and she managed to get hold of it. The wind blew harder and the boat dipped dangerously to the right, and she slipped, bumping her head hard against the second rung. Stars blurred her vision and for a paralyzing second, she thought she’d black out...go under...drown.

Suddenly, though, Tack was there, keeping her from falling off the ladder, pressing his body against hers, his strong arms cinched around her, holding her in place. Cate felt the hardness of his muscles, the safety of his thick arms. They felt so...right. She leaned into him, her vision returning. She glanced up at him and saw the salt water dripping from his chin, his eyes trained on hers, worried.

“You okay?”

“Uh...yeah,” she managed to say as she worked on climbing awkwardly up the ladder—fins still on, wondering why she turned into the world’s biggest klutz anytime Tack was near her. Normally, she wasn’t so clumsy or careless. But how come every time Tack was around she found herself in peril? First the near car accident and now this. Honestly, he was going to think she was the clumsiest woman on earth. Tack eased himself on board, kicking off his fins on deck.

“You should sit down,” he said, taking her by the shoulder and maneuvering her to the nearest cushioned bench. She sat, still feeling a little bit dazed. Tack knelt in front of her, and she was more than aware the man was half naked, wearing only swim trunks. She glanced down at his navel, and immediately realized her mistake. The expanse of bare, tanned skin, with that tantalizing V running down like a welcoming arrow to his lap, made her want to reach out and touch it, feel just how taut the muscles were beneath the skin. “Let me take a look.”

“I’m fine.” Cate covered her forehead with her palm, the sting of the hit only just beginning to fade. She pulled her attention reluctantly from his chest and met his gaze. He ran a hand over his dark hair, wet from snorkeling.

“This is getting embarrassing. You rescuing me all the time.” Cate tried to sound playful but instead just sounded grumpy. “I really am not usually this accident prone.”

“Really?” Tack made a disgruntled sound in his throat to show her how little he believed that. “Let me look.” He gently peeled her hand away, assessing her forehead for damage. “You’re going to have a serious knot there, by the looks of things. But...” He trailed off, meeting her eyes once more. How did he get so close to her? There was an intensity there in his gaze, so powerful that she felt the need to break the stare, but then realized her mistake. Now she was focused on his lips, slightly parted, almost as if asking her to kiss him as he knelt in front of her.

And then, her brain simply shut off. She forgot to be anxious or worried, or overthink anything. She forgot why it was she avoided men, why she worked so hard all the time to keep herself carefully removed from anyone who might find out her dark secret. In that moment, instinct took over. She inched a little closer, their lips nearly touching.

She paused suddenly, right before they touched, suddenly frozen by second thoughts. What am I doing? Am I really going to kiss this man? But before she could back away, retreat, his lips covered hers, and she felt the rest of the world melt away. She could taste the salty sea and felt the gentle exploration of his mouth on hers. It had been a long time since she’d kissed anyone, and yet her mouth remembered exactly what to do.

He began gently, a tentative touch, his expert lips on hers in a perfect dance. She’d forgotten how intimate a kiss was, how amazing it could be, closing her eyes and letting the warm, delicious sensation overtake her. She pressed her lips against his, wrapping her hands around the back of his strong neck. Want ran through her body, hot and searing, as the kiss turned deeper. Her lips parted as she felt the delicious warm wetness of his tongue. She felt like a switch had been thrown, and her body came alive, wanting more, ever more.

He pulled her down to him, and she went, their chests pressing against one another as they knelt together on the boat. Wet from the water, his muscled chest slid against hers. She felt desire rise in her, a strong need she hadn’t felt in months. All she wanted to do was devour him, inch by inch.

Suddenly, a loud blast of a horn sounded, wrecking the moment. Cate pulled back, a little dazed, her eyes blinking back the bright sun. The horn sounded again, and she saw it came from a huge, white boat, blaring music and crowded with tourists, that had inched up to them, parking nearly right next to her smaller boat. She could hear the eighties hairband music blasting across the water.

Tack glared at the intrusion. Cate groaned.

“Great,” she murmured.

“You know that boat?”

“Unfortunately, I do.” Reluctantly, Cate pulled herself to her feet. Tack did the same. “Terry Blake owns that boat.”

His tour excursion service had beaten out hers—and many others—to deal exclusively with two of the major cruise lines. He was also probably the most obnoxious and full of himself man on the island. Terry, with his sleek bald head, ample gut and furry gray chest, didn’t care about anything but having a good time—and making sure all of his guests were usually hammered. He’d nearly clipped her boat more than once in these narrow coves. He was reckless and dangerous.

Then, she realized, he planned to block her in—putting his boat in between her and the sea, leaving her stuck between the shallow reef and the beach.

“He’s going to block us in.” She shouted Terry’s name, but there was no way the captain could hear her over the blare of the music. He saw her and waved, not bothering to try to listen as he let out three more obnoxiously loud blasts of the horn right in their ears.

Cate laid on her own horn multiple times, but the boat kept coming. It almost looked as if he’d collide with her, but at the last minute it cruised to a stop. With about six inches between the two boats now, Terry dropped anchor and about thirty loud, and most certainly already drunk, tourists half fell, half jumped off the boat.

“Terry! You need to move!” Cate shouted when the boat lurched to a stop.

He put his hand to his ear and gestured to the blaring music. He was shirtless, his big furry chest visible, as was the bright gold chain around his neck. Terry was a walking stereotype. “Can’t hear you, sweetheart,” he called.

Tack’s face flushed red with anger as he glared at the offending boat.

“I’ll handle this.” Tack climbed to the other boat with an easy long stride. Cate scrambled after him, not sure if she wanted Tack to clock Terry or if she should try to keep the peace.

Once on board, the smell of cheap mixed drinks hit her like a wave. The floor was also sticky with spilled mai tais.

“Cate!” Terry called, ignoring Tack. “Looks like you’re finally getting some—” he paused in a vulgar way to let his meaning be perfectly clear “—R and R.”

Cate decided to ignore that. “You’ve blocked us in, Terry. You have to move.”

“What? No introduction?” Terry looked offended. He also looked drunk. And it was just eleven in the morning. Did the man get up early to drink?

Tack frowned. “Tack,” he said, reaching out his hand. “And you are?”

“Terry.” He reached out a beefy hand and shook Tack’s, all the while assessing the man’s stature. “You’re tall.”

“I get that a lot.”

“Terry. Move your boat.” Cate felt the anger rising in her throat.

“What’s the rush? Why not stay awhile and have a drink.” Terry offered her a plastic pitcher filled with a dubious red liquid.

“No, thanks. I don’t drink while I’m working.” Cate took in Terry’s puffy, red face and bloodshot eyes. Definitely drunk.

“Didn’t look like you were working. I saw how you two were sucking face.” Terry leered at Cate, making her want to punch him in the face. He gave her a slow once-over, too, making Cate wish she’d thrown on a T-shirt to cover her bikini before she’d climbed on board his ship.

“I’m working. This is a guest at the resort.”

“Oh, I see. Is that how you’re luring guests to that ramshackle hut of yours? A little bit of sweet side action?”

Cate balled her fists at her sides, wanting to actually attack the man, but it was Tack who reached out and put his hand on Terry’s furry shoulder.

“That’s not very nice. I suggest you apologize,” he growled, his meaning and the threat clear. He squeezed the shoulder harder than he should have, and Terry blanched.

“Hey! I was just joking. Come on. It’s a joke. Yeah, I’m sorry. I’m sorry! Sheesh.” Terry put up his hands and backed away from Tack, who let him go.

Cate had never seen Terry so quick to comply, but then again he’d probably never faced 195 pounds of muscled ex-marine, either.

Tack grinned, all easiness once more. “Now, if you wouldn’t mind, move your boat, please.”

Terry nodded reluctantly. “Fine. Sure.” He shook his head. “Is this any way to treat a friend who offered you help?”

“What help?” Cate spat.

“Oh...Mark didn’t tell you?”

Now Cate felt her guard rise. “Tell me what?”

“I offered to buy you out. Seems maybe you’re in the red? A little bit of love under old Terry, and that resort will be hopping with tourists.”

Cate felt suddenly light-headed. Terry had approached Mark about buying the resort? Why hadn’t Mark mentioned it? She felt suddenly hot and cold all at once. Was Mark trying to work a deal behind her back? Cate mentally shook herself. He wouldn’t do that. Not to her.

Yet he’d invested as much of his life’s savings into the place as she had. Would he want to cut and run?

She could feel Tack’s eyes on her, assessing. She wished he hadn’t heard the last part of this conversation.

“Seems like you two should talk,” Terry said. “Because what I really want is something Mark can’t sell me. I think you and I both know about the little beachside property Mark has nothing to do with.”

Cate froze. Nobody was supposed to know about that little parcel of land. Well, Mark did, but it had been her side investment. She’d paid cash, proceeds from the jewelry she’d sold.

She felt a twinge of guilt and then instantly pressed it down. That money was hers. Fair and square. She didn’t steal it.

“I’m not selling,” Cate said, resolute.

“Suit yourself.” Terry just grinned at her, showing a row of yellow teeth. God, she hated that man. She could feel Tack studying her, and Cate tried to keep her face neutral.

Stiffly, Cate returned to her boat, and Tack followed.

“What was that about?” Tack asked as Cate took the helm of her boat once more, watching Terry pull up the anchor so he could move.

“Nothing,” Cate said, hoping that she was right.

* * *

THE MOOD ON board the boat for the rest of the morning felt muted as Cate struggled to put on a brave face. Tack could see her try to shrug off Mr. Gold Chain’s remarks. She tried hard, but he could read every emotion on her face. He wondered how such a good liar had such a bad poker face.

Clearly, she was having money troubles, sealed by the fact that Terry offered to buy the place. Tack knew she had a lack of visitors. Anyone paying attention could see the hotel was less than half full, and yet he thought that was by design. According to Rick Allen, Cate stole enough cash and bearer bonds to be set up indefinitely. Millions, if his total was accurate. Had she gone through all that in just three years?

Maybe she used it all to buy the land that Terry mentioned.

That’s the only hiding place that made sense.

She certainly didn’t spend money on herself. Tack looked once more at her frayed jean shorts and worn flip-flops. Even the tour boat they were on had clearly seen better days. Some of the paint was peeling off the side, a few of the cushions had rips. Something about this wasn’t adding up. Did she hide away the money? Was it somewhere she could get it if she needed to flee? Maybe she was just trying not to draw attention to herself. So far, she’d been meticulous in covering her tracks, and spending a lot of cash could certainly raise a red flag.

Another mystery. Just like the kiss they’d shared earlier. He wasn’t sure how that had happened. He had not been planning it, but the woman was just so damn kissable. She’d been so close to him and so impossible to resist. Yet, he knew it was a mistake. He couldn’t bed a woman who’d tried to kill her husband.

He shouldn’t feel anything but disgust, and yet...that was not the feeling she stirred in him. He’d been really worried when she’d hit her head on the ladder, and then...when Mr. Gold Chain was being so obnoxious, he had felt protective of her. It was probably just his upbringing by a mother who insisted that it was his job to look after ladies—to open doors, to protect them when he could. And Cate sure did need protection.

Yet the way she kissed him, it just screamed want. And need. He’d had every intention of kissing her, but once he did, he’d lost a little of himself, lost the tight rein of control he always kept on himself. He hadn’t intended to want her as much as she wanted him. It was supposed to be a game, a ruse, to ensure she let down her guard with him. It was all part of the investigation, until his body decided it wasn’t.

He kept a rigid control of himself for a reason. When he let emotions get the best of him, bad things happened. Like when he’d hit his commanding officer. That had led to a court-martial. But the weasel had deserved it.

Adeeb’s brother had died because Derek Hollie refused to let Tack save him. Then Derek conveniently scrapped all of Adeeb’s paperwork for the visa promised to him by Uncle Sam. By the time Tack realized the mistake, the visas had run out, the program had been nixed. There were none left for Adeeb.

Cate Allen was supposed to be the answer to his problems, but right now, she was making things far more complicated than he liked. He thought he was certain he’d been the one playing her, yet now he wasn’t so sure. He couldn’t let himself start thinking she was just your average girl. Nothing about her was average. Or safe.

“This is our last stop before I get you back to the resort for lunch,” Cate said, pulling the boat into another small inlet. Tack didn’t want the morning to end. He told himself it was because he wasn’t done trying to pry information from her, but the truth was, he liked her company.

Tack glanced at the small town not far from their diving spot. He saw open-air cantinas and cafés, as well as a string of brightly colored shop awnings. “I have a better idea,” he said. “Why don’t we skip the snorkeling and head over there for lunch?”

Cate shaded her eyes from the bright sun overhead and blinked at the shore. “Smuggler’s Cove? You want to eat there?”

“Sounds exciting. Will there be pirates?”

Cate snorted. “Hardly. Unless you call the tourist-shop owners pirates. Though, they will rob you blind for shell jewelry boxes and shot glasses.”

“Sounds perfect. I thought this was an island tour, after all. Aren’t you going to show me around?”

Cate studied Tack, wary. “There’s a nice seafood place there. But it’s pricey. All the restaurants in Smuggler’s Cove are pricey. It’s the gentrified part of the island.”

“I’m paying,” Tack said.

“I don’t need...”

“I said I’m paying.” Tack grinned, and he could see Cate relenting.

“But I’m not dressed for...”

Tack glanced at the people walking down the small cobblestone streets. “Looks like they’re all dressed like us,” he said. “Aren’t shoes dressing up on an island?”

Cate sighed, and Tack knew then that he had her. She’d run out of excuses. “Fine,” she said.

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