Элин Хильдебранд - What Happens in Paradise

Russ said, “If I quit, things will change. For the worse, initially, and then for the better.”

“Quit,” I said.

November 19, 2018

My hand is shaking as I write this. I’m thinking about calling the police, but the police here on St. John won’t be able to do anything. I need to call the FBI. But if I do that, I might get Russ in trouble.

I was waiting tables at La Tapa tonight when Tilda told me there was a one-top, a man, who had asked for me specifically. This was the downside of being mentioned by name so frequently on TripAdvisor. Complete strangers pretended they knew me.

“He’s ridiculously hot,” Tilda said. “In a Clooney-meets-Satan kind of way.”

That description should have tipped me off but it was a busy night and I didn’t have time to think. I approached the table and noted only that Tilda’s description was accurate; the guy was attractive but scary-looking. Sharply dressed, too sharp for the Virgin Islands.

“Hello,” I said. “Welcome to La Tapa.” I handed him a menu and the wine list. “Can I get you started with sparkling, still, or tap water?”

He looked up. “Hello, Rosie,” he said.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “Do I know you?”

In the split second before he spoke, it clicked: Todd Croft.

“Todd Croft,” he said.

I wanted to scream. I did a quick survey of the restaurant. Who could help me? Skip was behind the bar. There was no way he could handle this. Ayers could, maybe. Or Tilda.

Or me. I could handle this.

“What are you doing here?” I said.

“How old is your daughter now?” he asked. “Twelve?”

The mention of Maia made me bend down and get in his face. “Get out of here,” I whispered. “This is my island. Mine, not yours. If your intention was to come in here and threaten me or threaten my family, I would think again. I know people.”

He seemed amused by that. “Do you?”

“Yes,” I said. “I do.” I was thinking of Oscar. If I took twenty or thirty thousand dollars from the drawer, could I get Oscar to board Bluebeard in the middle of the night and shoot Todd Croft, or at least scare him to death?

I half feared Todd would try to hire him. They were both pirates.

“Russ is finished with you,” I said.

“He’s not, though,” Todd said. He pushed back from the table and stood. “That’s what I came to tell you. Russ isn’t finished with me. He doesn’t seem to see it that way, however, so I need you to talk some sense into him.” He gave me a tight smile. “There’s big money in it for you if you’re persuasive.”

“If you want a burger,” I said, in a voice loud enough to draw attention from nearby tables, “you should try the Tap and Still across the street. Thanks for stopping in.”

With that, I snapped up his menu, corralled Ayers from table 11, and dragged her into the kitchen to do a shot of beer.

“Who was that?” she asked. “He was hot.”

I longed to tell Ayers the truth. She’s my best friend and she doesn’t know the first thing about me. By choosing to be with Russ, I’m hiding from everyone else.

“Some creeper,” I said. “I sent him packing.”

December 31, 2018

Russ came back the day after Christmas with a leather and black pearl choker for me—not an engagement ring. I gave him a framed photograph of me and him in the hammock that I had taken with Maia’s selfie stick. He was happy with his present. I was less happy with mine, which he could tell.

“I have until the new year, January first,” he said. “Right? That was the ultimatum?”

I didn’t like the word ultimatum or the fact that I had issued one, but I nodded.

I’d told him about Todd Croft coming to La Tapa, and Russ had assured me that everything was going to be all right. He’d had a confidential talk with Stephen Johnson, Todd’s partner, and he’d told Russ that he would smooth things over with Todd. There was no reason Russ couldn’t make a seamless exit as long as he signed a confidentiality agreement and a noncompete.

This came as a relief to me, and it made sense. Stephen was an attorney.

“Let’s celebrate New Year’s Eve at the villa,” Russ said. “And then go over to Anegada on the first. Stephen has offered to take us by helicopter.”

“I’ve always wanted to ride in a helicopter,” I admitted. “Should we take Maia?”

He kissed my nose. “Next time,” he said. “This trip is just for us.”

Just for us; I liked the way that sounded. He would extract himself from Ascension with the help of coolheaded, legal-minded Stephen Johnson, and we would go to Anegada to stay in the pristine white clapboard cottage—where, maybe, oh please, a diamond ring would be waiting for me.

When I went home to pack, I heard Maia and Joanie giggling in Maia’s room. I tapped on the door.

They were sprawled across Maia’s bed, both on their phones, which I didn’t love, but what I did love was the evidence of their bath-bomb business strewn about—the Epsom salts, the food coloring, the citric acid, the tropical fragrances.

I chatted with the girls for a minute—they were starting to have crushes on boys—and then I gave Maia a squeeze and a kiss and wished her a happy New Year.

“I love you, Mama,” she said.

I left the room but then I peeked back in. I wanted very badly to tell Maia the truth: I was going to Anegada with Russ because he planned to propose! We were going to be a real family!

But instead, I simply caught her eye and mouthed, I love you.

And I closed the door.

Irene

Irene watches Huck’s back as he leaves. What is she doing? She’s asking for more time because she’s scared. She has never felt so drawn to a man in her life and it’s terrifying; she doesn’t like the sensation of losing control.

But what did Russ’s accident teach her? What is the number-one thing?

She’s alive.

She, Irene Hagen Steele, has today and God knows how many days after. Why not spend those days falling headlong in love with Captain Sam Powers?

“Hey, Huck?” she says.

But he has disappeared down the stairs.

She shakes her head. Go to bed, Irene, she thinks. You can talk to Huck in the morning.

Yes, that’s a smart idea—but even as she decides this, she’s walking toward the villa stairs, envisioning kissing Huck through the open window of his truck.

And then she sees a flash of light. Headlights, more than one pair, are coming up the hill.

“Huck?” she calls out.

The headlights get closer, and before Irene can process what’s happening, four black SUVs pull into the driveway.

What must be ten people climb out of the cars and start up the steps. Irene’s instinct is to back up all the way to the far railing of the deck.

The first person to arrive at the top is a woman, red-haired, attractive. She flashes her badge and a piece of paper that could be a shopping list for all Irene can tell; she’d need her glasses to read it.

“Hello?” Irene says. “Can I help you?”

“I’m Agent Vasco, and as of right now, this villa, one Lovers Lane, is the property of the United States government.” She looks at Irene, not unkindly. “Mrs. Steele?”

Irene nods.

“Your husband, Russell Steele, bought this property as well as the property at thirty Church Street, Iowa City, Iowa, with illegally acquired funds. We’ve arrested Todd Croft and charged him with one hundred and seventeen counts of fraud, money-laundering, and tax evasion for a total of over three point five billion dollars. He named your husband, Russell Steele, as a coconspirator, and he has documentation to prove it. I’m afraid we have to seize both properties.”

“Wait,” Irene says. “You’re taking this house?”