All the drama and intrigue of the last few weeks— Floyd’s sudden exodus, to say nothing of the four bourbons he’d imbibed—had all finally caught up with him. His head grew heavier and heavier until his chin rested on his chest, and he began to snore softly. But no sooner had he entered dreamland—a tropical paradise where nubile young women found him irresistible and anticipated his every desire than his fantasy was rudely interrupted.
Daniel had also nodded off. His dreams were of a lovely, long-limbed creature possessed of delicate features and pale, ash brown hair. He could see the two of them, strolling hand in hand from the Casa Rio main house to the ocean pier. The moon was incredibly bright, a huge, luminous orb that became ever more intense until it blinded him.
Suddenly, the cabin lights came on, and Daniel awoke with a start. “This is the captain,” a male voice broadcast from the speaker system. “There is a package on board, which must be returned to Miami.” A low rumble of irate voices followed this announcement.
“We’re very sorry for this inconvenience. Unfortunately, we have no alternative but to turn back. Passengers are asked to deplane at the terminal and remain there with their boarding passes. We will do everything in our power to get you back in the air as soon as possible.”
Floyd was immediately rendered both clear-headed and terrified. Was he the package? His wig was itching his scalp, driving him to distraction, and all he wanted was to snatch it off his noggin. But he dared not do so and risk being identified.
When the restive child seated several seats behind him yowled disconsolately, Daniel couldn’t help but think of Kara. Having commandeered his private jet, she was off on holiday in the islands, living the lifestyle he’d provided her. For the thousandth time, he cursed her.
Second Street in Holetown, Saint James Parish, was where it was happening. A mix of tourists, winter residents, and native islanders thronged the narrow streets and swelled the open-air bistros from which a cacophony of melodies spilled. Rock, reggae, pop, even show tunes combined to create a jumbled mix that fairly pulsed in the air. It was a wild party that occurred with clocklike regularity when the sun went down, and the booze didn’t stop pouring until the last reveler either departed or was carried off. There were no loyalties in Holetown. Nobody stayed in one club for any length of time. It was a moveable feast—one that was sampled on the go—a smorgasbord of food, drink, and musical styles.
Kara preferred to start with a shrimp cocktail appetizer and a couple of gin and tonics served up at the Elbow Room—an eating and drinking establishment with no pretensions. There were plenty of tables inside, but the deck was where the action was.
It was a beautiful, mild evening, and a live reggae band provided a calypso beat. The wooden tables and chairs were scarred and discolored from years of abuse, to say nothing of the elements, but Kara wasn’t there for the ambiance. On her last jaunt to the islands, she’d had a fling with Ben, the smoldering-eyed bartender whom she’d happily taken to her bed. Naturally, she’d hoped there might be a repeat performance in her boudoir tonight.
Now that didn’t seem likely.
Sid, the Elbow Room proprietor, was a squat, rough-looking fellow who, on rare occasions, made an appearance from his tiny back office. Alicia, the perky brunette waiting tables, was Sid’s only daughter. Kara couldn’t help but notice the chemistry between the barmaid and Ben. What was even harder to miss was the half-carat diamond ring sparkling on the server’s finger.
In her three months’ absence, Kara hadn’t expected Ben to keep celibate while pining away, waiting for her return. But now, the two drinks she’d downed had gone straight to her head, and her former ebullience devolved into pique. Laney and Becca attempted to lift Kara’s spirits—to whisk her away to another club—but she would have none of it. Instead, she glared at Ben.
From the bar, Ben smiled weakly in Kara’s direction.
Kara waved Alicia over and ordered another round. “What a beautiful ring,” she gushed disingenuously, making sure Alicia got an eyeful of the enormous, yellow diamond on her finger. But Alicia remained blissfully unaware of the undercurrents that threatened to unhinge poor Ben.
“Thank you,” Alicia said. “Ben popped the question three weeks ago.”
“Lucky you,” Kara said, archly. “When’s the wedding?”
“In October, just a little over five months. I’ve got a million things to do between now and then.”
“Well, congrats,” Laney said as Alicia turned to go.
“Make sure I get an invitation,” Kara muttered darkly. Just then, a pair of hot-looking men strode into the bar, and Kara forgot about all Ben. Here was fresh meat, and she appraised the two shamelessly.
They were as different as day and night; one was fair and well-muscled, the other dark and slender, but fate had blessed them with movie-star good looks, and the two projected an air of arrogance that bespoke lives of privilege and pricey educations. Laney and Becca exchanged looks of relief. A diversion is exactly what was needed to prevent the evening from turning into a complete disaster.
As if their meeting had been prearranged, the men crossed directly to the three girls. Which came as no surprise, for Kara and Laney were, easily, the most attractive women in the joint.
Kara pretended to ignore the men, feigning a fascination with the lime in her cocktail. But Laney was an open book, and she smiled sweetly at them. Becca grinned impishly, eager for the drama that would surely transpire.
“Hello ladies,” the sandy-haired Adonis teased in his clipped British accent. “Where have you been all my life?” He flashed his perfect white teeth and leaned in toward the women.
On closer inspection, Kara decided he was the older of the two. He was tan, and the white creases at the corners of his eyes told her he was in his early forties.
“Hi yourself,” Becca growled. “Anyone care to dance?” She bobbed her head to the beat and widened her eyes, ever the clown.
“Not just yet,” the blonde said, dismissing her. He focused his considerable charm on Kara. Thrusting an arm out in her direction, he said, “How do, Luv? I’m Charles Draper.” He arched an eyebrow rakishly, and Kara marveled at his boldness. “But you can call me Charlie.”
Kara took his hand in hers. “I’m Kara Armstrong,” she said, a notable lack of enthusiasm in her voice. “You can call me Kara.” She extricated her hand, turned away from Charles, and offered it to his companion. “Hello there.”
The slender chap favored Kara with a cocky smirk. “Hello. I’m Trevor.” It was obvious this fellow didn’t take himself too seriously, unlike the slick Charles. And with his exotic mix of native and Eurasian features—wide, sensuous lips, narrow aristocratic nose, and slightly slanted oval eyes—Kara found him instantly appealing. That he appeared to be a good ten years her junior only added to his allure. It had been a long time since she’d bedded a kid in his twenties. Kara practically salivated at the thought of his stamina between the sheets. She gestured toward her two companions. “And these are my friends, Laney and Becca.”
Charles smiled tightly and turned his attention to Laney. She fixed him with a conspiratorial grin, and he responded by giving her a none-too-subtle once-over. Unlike Kara—with her white-blonde hair and a figure that came on like gangbusters—Laney was possessed of quiet beauty. “I think they’re playing our song.” Charles extended a hand and Laney allowed herself to be led to the dancefloor.
“What do you say?” Trevor asked Kara. “Shall we join them?”
Kara threw her head back and laughed as she rose from her chair.
Becca watched her companions dancing with their new partners, and her high spirits plummeted. They hadn’t been in Holetown an hour, and everyone was pairing up except for her. Not like that was an unusual occurrence. But this was her vacation, her Becca gets her groove time, and it just wasn’t happening. She could see it in her mind’s eye: They’d all reassemble back at Sweet Dreamer, and she’d be the odd girl out. It was so degrading. Becca let her gaze drift over the dance floor and to the patio beyond. Then finally, her eyes came to rest on a tall, fleshy young man. He was well-groomed and pleasant looking with a mass of wheat-colored hair, and he was standing before a table staring in her direction.
Becca gasped, did a double-take. The dude was checking her out! The sadder but wiser girl, Becca, had no illusions; he was probably wasted. Heck, she was a little tipsy herself, but the two of them could dance, couldn’t they?
Becca pasted a seductive smile to her face and crooked her index finger, mustering all her considerable sexual charms into these gestures. The fellow stepped back a pace and put a hand to his chest. “Me?” he mouthed. Becca traced a finger around her lips and arched a brow, and the fellow nodded his head and waved her over.
“Okay, buddy,” Becca muttered as she sashayed to him, “the mountain comes to Mohammad.”
How was she to know she’d hit the jackpot?
Daniel massaged the back of his neck. This was turning into a nightmare. He closed his laptop and deposited it in his briefcase. The baby was screaming now, and he wanted to add his voice to the caterwauling. Instead, as soon as the passengers seated ahead of him darted to the aisle and collected their things from the overheads, he hustled out of his own seat and hiked out of the airplane onto the jet bridge.
Floyd’s brain was soggy, but he still couldn’t fool himself into believing that this was nothing more than an annoying, minor setback. Surely, agents had been dispatched to apprehend him at the gate. When he emerged from the jet bridge, Floyd breathed a ragged sigh of relief. No authorities were lying in wait. In fact, no one seemed to take any notice of him. Floyd slithered into a seat in the terminal and snatched up a Miami Herald that some traveler had discarded. He held the newspaper in front of his face and tried to concentrate on the headlines. After a few minutes, he tossed the daily aside, too wound up to read. Might as well find the Sky Miles Lounge, he decided, wait it out with a Maker’s Mark to keep him company. Why the hell not? If he were going to jail, he should at least enjoy his last hours of freedom.
Floyd gathered up his valise and strode down the concourse. He had nearly reached his destination when a pair of uniformed police officers swept past him heading in the opposite direction. Turtle-like, the attorney retracted his chin into his collar and hiked toward the Sky Mile Lounge.
They were after him!
He slinked up to the bar, took a seat, and hastily withdrew a five-dollar bill from his wallet. As he tucked it into the tip jar, his eyes met those of the bartender.
Like magic, the bartender hustled in his direction. “What’ll it’ll be, sir?”
“A Maker’s on ice.” Floyd mopped his brow.
“Coming right up.”
Floyd shot a sidelong glance at the man on his right, and his eyes widened when the fellow looked his way. “Weren’t we on the same plane? Business Class?” he asked.
“Yep,” Daniel said. “Not my lucky day.”
The bartender placed Floyd’s drink before him. “Here you are, sir.”
Floyd took a swig and then swiveled in Daniel’s direction. “Nor mine, either. I need to get out of here. I have an important meeting with new clients, and now this. I’ll never make it.”
“Yeah, same story here,” Daniel said. “Lousy luck.”
“You can say that again.”
“Where’re you headed?”
“The Dominican Republic.”
“No kidding? I was on my way to Barbados. I have a place there. But unfortunately, my soon-to-be ex-wife is trying to wrangle it away from me. Anyway, I have some business matters I need to attend to.” Daniel tossed a hand in the air. “Divorce,” he said, as though that was the perfect explanation. Then he raised his glass and favored Floyd with a wry half-smile.
“I hear you. I’m cutting loose myself.” Floyd caught himself. It wouldn’t do to reveal his personal history. The less said, the better. “For a few days, that is. But, man, I need to get to my meeting. A potential new client, money on the table.”
“Yeah? Well, I just got an update on my cell. Our flight’s been canceled. We’re not flying out until nine tomorrow morning.”
“Oh, God.” Floyd mopped his brow with the back of a trembling hand.
Daniel sipped his wine and then cut his eyes to the buffet where a very large, rugged-looking fellow was filling a plate.
“I don’t believe it,” he exclaimed under his breath.
“What?”
“I know that guy.” Daniel nodded toward the buffet. “Small world.”
“Yeah?”
“He’s a pilot.”
“So?” Floyd shrugged.
“Private jet. Charter.”
“Ah.” Floyd pivoted in his seat to better eye the new arrival.
The pilot glanced around the lounge, looking for a place to sit, and Daniel raised an arm, catching his eye. A grin of recognition split the man’s face, and he strode toward the bar.
“Buzz! How are you, my man?” Daniel clapped a hand on the large man’s shoulder. “Join us.”
“Danny. Long time no see, buddy.” The pilot set his plate on the marble countertop and slid his bulky frame into the empty stool on Daniel’s right.
The bartender came to stand before Buzz. “Sir?”
“Let me buy you a drink,” Daniel said, expansively.
“I believe they’re on the house,” Buzz smirked. “Clint, how about a Monkey 47 on the rocks?” he said to the barman.
“Come here often?” Daniel quipped, his voice dripping sarcasm.
Buzz raised and then lowered his brows dismissively. “My stomping grounds.”
Floyd hung on this exchange. His scalp itched something fierce, and his heart was racing. He knew he had to vanish and quickly, or he’d be spending the next ten to twenty years behind bars.
“What brings you here, like I don’t know?” the pilot asked.
“I have to make a quick trip to Barbados,” Daniel said, “to tie up some loose ends.”
“I figured it was something like that.” Buzz wrapped his fingers around the highball the bartender placed before him.
“And you?” Daniel raised his glass in a toast.
“Just flew in from Tobago.” Buzz clicked glasses with Daniel. “Have a few days to kill before my next charter.”
Daniel nodded, digesting this piece of information. “Say. You wouldn’t be up for a quick hop back to the islands, would you?” Daniel asked, as though the thought had just occurred to him.
Buzz took a long pull of gin. “Depends,” he finally said. “I might be.”
“How soon could we get out of here?”
The pilot withdrew his cellphone from his back pocket and glanced at the display. “It’s nearly ten. The good news is, I don’t have to file a flight plan, but there’s still paperwork, and I’ll need to have the plane fueled. That’ll take me about two hours.” He looked up, mentally calculating. “Add another half hour to grab a cab and drive to Opa Locka. I’d say we could be in the air no later than one.”
“What’s your price?”
“How many passengers?”
“Two,” Floyd said.
“Oh, sorry. This is…” Daniel looked first to Floyd, then to Buzz.
“Fl… Uh,” Floyd stumbled. “Frank Hoover.”
“Frank and I were on the same plane, and now we’re grounded until tomorrow,” Daniel explained.
“I need to be in Santo Domingo for a one o’clock meeting,” Floyd added.
“I’d be landing at both Saidor and Grantley Adams Airports?”
Daniel looked at Floyd, who nodded. “Guess so,” he said.
“Five thousand dollars an hour plus fuel and my return flight…” Buzz did a quick calculation in his head. “Twenty Gs should do it.”
“Count me in,” Floyd said, barely able to contain his elation.
“Me, too,” Daniel said.
“Let’s get on the road, gentlemen.” Buzz gulped down the rest of his drink and pushed away from the bar. “Or, rather, in the air.”
“And get the hell out of Dodge,” Floyd mumbled under his breath.
The following day, Laney awoke to the sound of laughter wafting up the massive, stone stairwell from somewhere below. Languorously, she extended an arm across the Egyptian cotton sheets, seeking her most agreeable bedmate, but her quest was not rewarded. Laney rolled over and eyed the empty space beside her. Surely, she hadn’t dreamt that night of incredible lovemaking. She put a hand to her throbbing head. Anything was possible in the islands, she thought, as her mushy brain scrambled to recall the events of the last twelve hours. Then another peal of laughter—this time definitely male—assailed her ears, and Laney scrambled out of bed and dashed to the perfectly appointed, en suite marble bath. The party was starting without her, and she didn’t want to miss out on one moment.
Peering into the vanity mirror, she quickly assessed the damage. Her eyes were bloodshot, but nothing that a dose of Visine couldn’t remedy. Otherwise, her night of indiscretion had left no telltale evidence of the debauched lifestyle upon which she’d embarked. Except for her swollen lips, that is. But hey, she thought, she’d have had to fork over eight hundred dollars to achieve the same effect with Botox.
Hastily, she applied eyeliner, a bit of bronzer, and some lip gloss. Then she finger-combed her hair, deciding that the disheveled look would be a good one, given her present circumstances. After donning a white, cotton lace cover-up and a pair of gold-colored sandals, she dashed down the stairs and then cut through the foyer, pausing for a second to eye the two pairs of men’s shoes neatly aligned next to the doormat. What considerate houseguests, she thought, a small smile lighting up her face.
Laney followed her ears out onto the terrace. There, she found the threesome enjoying a simple breakfast of fresh fruit and tall glasses of orange juice. Kara, looking dewy as a rosebud, sat between muscle-bound Charles and the winsomely handsome waif, Trevor. The three had their heads together, and Laney felt like an intruder, but she gave herself a mental shove and sauntered toward them. “Hi, guys,” she said. “What’s happening?”
“Good morning, sleepyhead.” Charles pivoted, holding his arms out to her. “Come to Papa, baby.”
Laney ducked her head, but complied, flouncing herself down on the brawny specimen’s lap. She was more straightlaced than either Kara or Becca, hadn’t ever been married, although she’d shacked up with a couple of losers. Manners and good breeding were important in her book. But now, Laney threw caution to the wind. These were the islands, she told herself, and what happens in the islands, stays in the islands.
Charlie’s arms encircled her narrow waist, and Laney molded herself against his broad chest. How nice it was to simply be a sexual being, she thought, knowing in her heart she would soon regret this momentary lapse yet incapable of preventing it.
Trevor rose from his perch and gyrated his heartbreakingly slender hips in a poor burlesque. “Hey there, girlfriend, how are you feeling this morning?” he sang to Kara.
Kara burst out laughing. Trevor looked like nothing more than a skinny and very comely Geisha.
Charles nuzzled Laney’s neck, gently running a hand up and down her bare arm, and Laney felt as though she were about to purr. But in the next instant, her warm fuzzy feeling vanished when she realized something was amiss!
“Where is Becca?” She bolted upright, and the top of her head smacked into Charlie’s chin. “Oh, my God, did we leave her in Holetown? With that… that guy?”
“What guy?” Charlie asked.
“She left of her own accord,” Kara said, ignoring Charles. “Becca’s a grown woman. We can’t be expected to run roughshod over her if she doesn’t want to cooperate.”
“What the hell does that mean?” Laney disentangled herself from Charlie’s embrace. “Are you telling me you just let her go?”
“What man?” Charlie asked. “Let her go where?”
“You didn’t see him?” Laney asked. Charles shook his head.
“I think you’re overreacting,” Kara said. “Becca is a big girl.”
“A really big girl,” Charles added.
Laney spun around and cuffed him playfully, but there was steel in her voice when she cautioned, “Don’t go there. She’s a splendid girl, and we shouldn’t have left her. Who knows? Perhaps the natives have formed a new secret cult or something.”
“Not funny on so many levels,” Charles confided grimly.
“I wasn’t serious!” Laney peered up at him. “What do you mean?”
Trevor had stopped dancing, his expression somber. “I know nothing, but here’s my take,” he said as he reclaimed his chair. “Becca seems like a… a bigger-than-life kind of personality.”
“Right you are,” Kara said.
“And a heck of a girl…” Charlie added, eyeing Laney warily.
“True on both accounts,” Laney agreed.
“But…”
“But what?” Laney asked.
Suddenly, Charles seemed unable to contain himself. He bounded out of his seat and began pacing. Laney came to stand before him, crossing her wraith-thin arms over her chest and stopping him in his tracks.
“What?” Kara asked, suddenly alarmed.
“It’s the islands, for heaven’s sake,” Trevor said. “Rich girls from the states are fair game.”
“Fair game?” Kara scoffed. “I think not. Besides, Becca isn’t rich.”
“Oh, yes, she is,” Charles said. “In the eyes of many a local—someone who may have experienced racism and disenfranchisement—she is that very thing. Don’t get me wrong. Barbados has made great strides leveling the playing field with equal opportunities for persons of all races, genders, and faiths. Slowly… very slowly, this island is working through its past. It’s a lugubrious process and, for many, one which has not yielded parity fast enough. I’m afraid there are plenty of fellows who would see in Becca—a wealthy gal from the U.S. of A.—a ticket to a better life.”
“He’s absolutely right.” Trevor agreed. “Which leads us to present circumstances. Your missing friend is a well-to-do and extremely vulnerable woman.”
“Come on,” Kara interjected. “We’re talking Becca, here. Vulnerable? She’s a tough broad, and no one can take her seriously. What could possibly happen to her?”
“You know, darling,” Charles said, in his crisp British-island accent. “For all your supposed sophistication, you’re incredibly obtuse. Kidnappers, outlaws, ne’er-do-wells? I imagine they’d consider Becca—”
“An opportunity ripe for the plucking,” Trevor interjected.
“Oh, my God,” Laney exclaimed. “What are we going to do?”
Floyd had barely been able to mask his conflicting emotions when they’d stocked up on snacks and drinks at a convenience store and then taken a cab to the Miami Opa Locka Executive Airport. His nerves were raw; he was sleep-deprived and drunk. How had he once again avoided discovery and near-certain apprehension? He felt giddy when he bounded up the boarding ramp and into the compact aircraft. The universe had provided him with yet another escape route.
The Cessna 400 single-engine was a model of efficiency. With its six luxurious seats and ergonomic table-workstations, it was the perfect aircraft for short jaunts of five hours duration or less, and, as Buzz had determined, ideal for island-hopping.
Daniel settled into a seat just behind the cockpit, and Floyd selected one kitty-corner and a row back from his. “Not bad, huh?” Daniel pivoted to eye Floyd.
Floyd was giving Daniel a thumbs up by way of response when Buzz emerged from the cockpit.
“You’re in luck—no customs, no flight plan. Gentlemen, we’re all set to take off. You two all stowed?”
“Yes sir, captain,” Daniel said.
“Good.” Buzz eyed Floyd. “We’ll land at Saidor first, which should take a little under an hour and a half flight time. You’ll be first to go, Frank.”
Floyd merely nodded, afraid that if he were to speak, his voice would crack.
“Cash up front, my man,” Buzz said. “Not that I don’t trust you, but we don’t have a history like this big oaf and me.” The pilot grinned at Daniel.
“Understood,” Floyd rasped, digging his wallet from his back pocket. Carefully, he counted out the bills and then handed a thick wad to Buzz, never happier to say goodbye to so much cash.
Buzz palmed the stack of greenbacks and then turned to Daniel. “If you don’t mind, I might hang with you for a day or two in Barbados. Maybe take a little rest and relaxation.”
“Fine by me, Buzz,” Daniel said. “In fact, why don’t we just plan on you flying me back to Vero? That is if your schedule allows it.”
Buzz nodded slowly, appearing to weigh the pros and cons of this proposition. “That should work,” he said.
“Great!”
Kara, her pale skin slathered in sunscreen, reclined on the teak settee. “Do you want to go shopping in Bridgetown?” she asked, tossing her Blackberry aside.
Laney, looking sun-dazzled—her eyes unfocused as she drifted in the vanishing-edge pool—shook her head no.
“I’m not in the right frame of mind,” she said. “I am so worried.”
“I know. Me, too.” Kara sighed. “I wish there were something we could do.”
“Yeah. I feel utterly helpless.”
“Me? I feel guilty. So involved with myself, how could I have let this happen?” Kara hugged her knees.
“Don’t beat yourself—”
“Hey, girlfriends!”
At the sound of Becca’s gruff voice, Laney’s head shot up.
“Becca!” Kara jumped to her feet, gaping at the vision of her impish girlfriend returned and, seemingly, none the worse for wear. She leaped up off the settee and rushed to embrace her. “Where have you been?”
Laney paddled to the side of the pool. “Becca! What the hell?” she cried. “You should have called or texted. We were freaking out, figured the natives had abducted you.”
Becca laughed, putting a hand to her mouth and affecting a remorseful demeanor, but Laney was not appeased.
“I’m serious!” She climbed out of the pool, all the while shooting daggers at her friend.
“Laney’s right.” Kara rocked back on her heels and crossed her arms before her. “We were worried sick. What the hell happened to you?”
“I’m serious, too,” Becca said, giving Laney her undivided attention. “Because your suppositions weren’t far from the truth.”
Laney wrapped her arms about the unrepentant reprobate. Then she drew back, balled up her fist, and cuffed her lightly on the shoulder. “Spill, you little twerp.”
Kara grabbed Becca’s wrist and dragged her to the loggia, and Laney trailed after them. “That’s right.” Kara sat back down on the settee. “Come clean, and maybe we’ll forgive you.”
“What were you thinking?” Laney took a seat in a wrought iron patio chair. “We were beside ourselves.”
“It’s like this….” Becca flopped down next to Kara. “Would you believe it if I told you I hooked up with a wonderful man?”
Laney rolled her eyes, and Kara shook her head impatiently. “Do tell,” she said, scowling at her impetuous friend.
“It’s true,” Becca said. “He seems completely gaga over me. And get a load of this. He’s from one of the wealthiest families on the island.”
“No way!” Laney cried, scooting her chair closer.
“You’re pulling one over on us, right?” Kara asked.
Becca raised a palm. “Scout’s honor. You should see his estate.” She glanced around, grimacing. “I mean, it makes this place look like Holetown.”
“I do not believe it,” Laney exclaimed.
“Well, it’s true. Anyway…” Becca looked smug, “let’s just say that Rob Barrow and I hit it off.”
Kara giggled. “You hussy.”
“And who could blame me?” Becca retorted. “He’s cute, a good dancer, wealthy, and not snobby in the least. The boy is beyond adorable. So sweet, I could eat him with a spoon.”
“Uh-huh,” Laney said. “And so loaded, it might as well be a silver one.”
“Now, now. Pull in your claws.” Becca pretended to scold. “I’ll have you know I genuinely like this dude. He’s not all snooty and full of himself. A real cutie. You’ll see.”
Kara shook her head in amazement and leaned back on the sofa. “Well, you deserve all of it,” she said, beaming at her girlfriend.
“I’ll second that,” Laney agreed. “He’s one lucky son of a gun.”
“Yep. And we’re all invited to the Barbados Yacht Club for lunch.”
“What?” Kara unfolded her legs. “Impossible.”
“Why do you say that?” Becca asked.
“Gauche American chicks don’t just get invited to the Barbados Yacht Club. That place is a bastion of patrician, old-island money and tradition.”
“Then they must have loosened their standards, for I can assure you, we’re invited.”
Laney squealed and scrambled out of her chair. “What time?”
“Rob is sending a car around for us at twelve-thirty.”
Kara bolted, making a beeline to the house. “I need a shower!”
“Ditto that.” Laney followed close on Kara’s heels. “What does one wear to the Yacht Club?”
“How would I know?” Becca hurried after her friends. “Boating togs? Sperry Top-Siders?”
The Barbados Yacht Club was an unpretentious looking, low-slung, sun-bleached structure, but the harbor beyond was magnificent—a silver-spangled expanse of blue where vessels of every size and complexion were moored. When the shiny Rolls Royce pulled up in front of the building, the girls tumbled out of the grand automobile only to come face-to-face with Charles and Trevor.
“Fancy meeting you here,” Trevor quipped, stepping forward and taking Kara’s hand.
Looking dumbfounded, Kara said, “I believe that’s my line.”
“Hello, beautiful,” Charles beamed at Laney.
“Hello yourself.” Laney knit her brows, fixing him with a puzzled expression.
In the meantime, Rob had bounded down the steps and come to stand beside Becca. “Surprise, darling.” Obviously pleased with himself, he beamed at her.
“I’ll say,” Kara skewered Trever with a pointed look.
“What gives?” Laney asked Charles.
“It’s like this,” Charles rushed to explain, “no one mentioned the fact that you—” He broke off to eye Becca.
Trevor interrupted. “That you had hooked up with our old—”
“Really old,” Charlie continued, “and illustrious school chum, Rob.”
“How could you not have seen us at the club?” Becca asked. “We were on the dancefloor, not thirty feet away from you.”
“We were dancing.” Trevor fixed Kara with his dark, almond-shaped eyes. “Slow-dancing. Just getting acquainted.” He turned back to Becca. “Sorry, Becca, but you were not on my radar.”
“Same here,” Charles said. “And I’m not ashamed to admit it: I had other things on my mind.” He favored Laney with a wolf-like leer. “Who could blame me?”
They were seated at a round dining table next to a window from where they were afforded spectacular views of Port St. Charles. Another couple had joined them, elegantly trim, Jules, a fellow Codrington graduate, and his girlfriend, Sara, who, except for the fact that she was curvy in all the right places, could have been Trevor’s twin. They were eight young people in high spirits enjoying their privilege and good looks, to say nothing of the gorgeous day that life had generously bestowed upon them.
“Now, let me get this straight,” Jules said, eying Rob. “You and Becca hooked up at the Elbow Room?”
“Yes,” Barrow admitted, casting an endearingly hangdog look in Becca’s direction.
“Well, that’s auspicious,” Sara said, her charming accent clearly conveying otherwise.
“I realize you find it crass and common,” Rob said. “But it was there, in those humble surroundings, that I found the woman of my dreams.” He gazed adoringly at Becca, and she grinned back at him. Rob pivoted to glare at Sara. “So, don’t go and spoil it, Miss Hoity-Toity!”
Kara and Laney could barely suppress giggles, while a chastened Sara smiled tightly.
“Lookin’ for love in all the wrong places,” Kara sang in a small voice.
“Hopin’ to find a friend and a lover,” Laney chimed in.
“I bless the day I discover…” Rob took up the refrain.
“And there you go,” Trevor exclaimed. “Will wonders never cease?”
“But that doesn’t let a certain someone off the hook.” Charles looked to Trevor for support, a mischievous smirk on his face.
“Oh no.” Trevor caught the ball and ran with it. “Our sweet little Becca was a very bad girl.”
“Yes,” Kara agreed, her brow lowering as she eyed her gal pal. “She put us through untold anguish.”
“Pacing the floor, wringing hands.” Laney emoted, clutching a fist to her chest. “Not knowing if she were dead or alive.”
Becca’s gravelly voice cut through the dramatics. “Don’t lay it on too thick. I know y’all were too busy pursuing other ventures to worry about the likes of poor little ole me.” She wrinkled her nose and squeezed Rob’s hand. “So don’t give me grief.”
“Ha-ha,” Jules laughed. “What an agreeable story.”
“Yes,” Rob said. “Let’s toast.” He raised his glass, and everyone followed suit. “To my American Beauty Rose. To Becca.”
Kara and Laney looked at one another and grinned. Could life get any crazier?