GINA WILKINS - A Match for Celia

He should know. He’d been watching her for three days.

He pulled his attention away from her for a moment to glance around. They were still the only ones out this morning. It was off-season—the first week of November—so the exclusive, South Padre Island, Texas, resort wasn’t full, and the other guests generally preferred to sleep late. Reed and the pretty swimmer seemed to be the only early risers on this particular morning.

She reclaimed his attention by flipping into a turn and beginning another lap. She was obviously in very good shape. Not that he’d needed to watch her swim to know that.

He had just finished his first cup of coffee when she called it quits. He knew she was unaware that he’d been watching as she emerged from the pool by way of the steps closest to his table. Water streamed from her slender limbs, dripped from her hair. She looked young, pretty and sweetly appealing. Innocent.

Reed had reason to believe she wasn’t quite what she appeared.

He slipped on the horn-rimmed glasses that had been lying at his elbow and stood, reaching her just in time to place a towel into her outstretched hand. “Here you are.”

“Thank you,” she said, and buried her face in the luxuriously soft towel for a moment. When she looked up, her face dry and vision cleared, she saw him and her eyes widened. “Oh,” she said. “I thought you were a resort employee.”

“No. I was just sitting here having coffee and enjoying the morning. Will you join me for a cup?” He motioned to the carafe in the center of the table, and the extra cup sitting beside it.

During the past three days, he had made sure she’d seen him a time or two. He had made a point of smiling and nodding, letting her get used to seeing him as just another resort guest, but this was the first time he’d actually spoken to her. He wondered if he’d misjudged the timing.

Glancing at the table, the woman hesitated for a moment, then shrugged lightly. “Sure. Why not?”

She snatched a short, white terry-cloth kimono from the back of a chair and belted herself into it. Reed was aware of a faint sense of regret. The maillot fit her so nicely. Oddly enough, she was just as intriguing when wrapped in terry cloth, her wet hair plastered to her head, her face free of makeup and glowing from her exercise.

“I’m Reed Hollander,” he said, courteously holding a chair for her. “From Cleveland.”

“Celia Carson,” she replied, settling comfortably onto the colorful cushion of the wrought-iron chair. “From Percy. Arkansas,” she added with a smile.

“Percy, Arkansas?” he repeated, as though he hadn’t already known where she was from. “Is that anywhere near Little Rock?”

“An hour’s drive north. Have you been to Little Rock?”

“No,” he lied, thinking briefly of the two investigative trips he’d made to Arkansas in the past three months. “But I’ve heard it’s a nice place to visit.”

He was very good at that. Lying. He didn’t even have to think about it much, anymore.

“I’ve never been to Cleveland, either. I haven’t traveled much,” she said, and he wondered if she was as skilled at deception as he was.

“Are you enjoying the resort?”

“It’s a beautiful place. The staff is very nice.”

He didn’t bother to point out that she hadn’t exactly answered his question. “Quiet this morning, isn’t it?”

She glanced around them at the otherwise deserted pool area. “Very quiet. We seem to be the only ones who aren’t sleeping the morning away.”

“I don’t know about you, but I’m having a hard time breaking that up-early-for-the-office routine.”

She smiled. “Yes. So am I. This is my third day here and I still feel as though I should be doing something constructive with my time.”

“I know the feeling. It must take awhile to get used to the life of the idle rich.”

Celia tossed her dark, wet hair back over her shoulder and gave him a raised-eyebrow look. “So you’re a working stiff, too?”

“Tax accountant,” he replied with a faint sigh, as though aware that it wasn’t the most interesting career in the world.

“I work in a bank. Assistant loan officer.”

“Do you like your work?” he asked. He knew what she did for a living. Knew exactly how long she’d worked there. He wished he knew a few more details about her—like, just how involved was she with Damien Alexander?

Celia shrugged. “I like my work okay. It’s a job, and it pays well enough, compared to the average salary in my hometown.”

Reed poured them both a cup of coffee, handed hers to her, then lifted his own in a mock toast. “To all the working stiffs who had to punch a time clock this morning.”

She smiled, and lifted her own cup. “Bless their little hearts,” she added and took an appreciative sip of the steaming brew.

Satisfied that they’d gotten off to a good start, Reed set his cup down and leaned back in his chair. “This resort isn’t my normal style of vacation,” he admitted. “The trip was a birthday gift from my parents. They said they’re trying to get me out of my usual boring routines.”

“And what do you usually do on vacation?” Celia asked, probably just to be making casual conversation.

“I’m not sure,” he confessed, a bit sheepishly. “I haven’t had a vacation in so long I’ve sort of forgotten how.” That part, at least, was the truth. “What about you?”

“I usually spend my vacations visiting my parents in St. Louis.” She motioned around her. “This isn’t my usual style, either. I’m here as a, umm, as a guest of the owner.”

Reed lifted an eyebrow, feigning surprise. “Damien Alexander? You’re a friend of his?”

“Yes. Do you know him?”

Reed shook his head and gave her a wry smile. “I’m a working stiff, remember? I don’t usually mingle with the rich and famous. I’ve read about him, though, in the business and society pages.”

He could have sworn Celia’s cheeks pinkened, though she looked away too quickly for him to be quite sure. “He and I met through business,” she explained. “We’ve become friends. I haven’t even seen him since I arrived. He was called away for an emergency at one of his other resorts the same day I flew in.”

There was a bit of a stammer in her explanation. A touch of self-consciousness, as if she were worried about what he might be thinking.

She was either a very talented actress, or nothing more than the quiet-living, small-town woman his background checks had indicated her to be. In which case, Reed rather pitied her. Alexander had a reputation for being attracted to innocent, unsophisticated young women. By the time he lost interest and moved on, they were neither innocent nor naive, though they were often considerably better off financially. Alexander had never been accused of not being generous with his…friends.

Reed wondered how far Alexander had already taken Celia Carson in her introduction to the fast-lane lifestyle. And then he reminded himself that it made no difference to him. All he wanted to know was how deeply involved Celia Carson was with Damien Alexander’s less publicized financial dealings.

Celia didn’t linger after finishing her coffee. She thanked him politely for the invitation, told him it had been very nice meeting him, and said she had a few calls to make. And then she turned and walked away.

Reed knew where she was going. To the luxurious suite she’d been provided, located directly across the hall from Alexander’s own private rooms. Confident that she had never noticed him, Reed had watched her enter and leave that suite half-a-dozen times or more during the past three days. Always alone.

And the more he’d watched her, the more she’d fascinated him, despite his best efforts to view her as nothing more than another routine assignment. A handy tool for bringing down another dangerous, unconscionable crime organization, an organization Damien Alexander was suspected of masterminding.