Cara Lockwood - Shelter In The Tropics

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.