8. Bottomless Secrets
CHAPTER 8
bottomless secrets
BELLE
I had secured a ticket for the boat that would get me off Reef Harbor the following morning at the hotel front desk after Mick walked me over from the jail cell.
I was a little melancholy about leaving, but I knew that I had to get back to my life, my work, and most importantly, looking for Dr. Nicholas Augustus.
After I took a shower and washed the tequila and jail cell away, I managed to get Lady Arabella Augustus on the phone in that small space between my bed and the window where I got two bars of signal. Speaking to her was like trying to catch sand in a sieve. She was charming, yes, but her answers to even my simplest questions had a way of meandering off course and drifting into topics I hadn't even remotely brought up.
"So, you mentioned that your son, Dr. Augustus, was doing some work in the Reef Harbor area?" I asked for the third time, keeping my tone patient.
I had spent the past two days asking everyone if they knew of an elusive scientist hiding out in Reef Harbor, and while I'd met some colorful locals, none of them led me any closer to Dr. Nicholas Augustus .
"Ah, yes! That darling boy of mine. So, very talented. You know, I always thought he'd make a marvelous professional cricketer with his upper body strength, but no, no, he chose the sciences. I think it's because he's half American. I was married to a Yankee as they call them." She giggled, a sort of tinkling, airy sound. "He's my little genius, you know!"
"Who? Your husband?"
"No, darling, my son."
"Yes, of course," I replied, forcing a polite smile even though she couldn't see me. "And is he…in Reef Harbor?"
"Oh, he's somewhere out on an island. I wish he'd come back to civilization but…well, I do worry he spends too much time outside. He simply hates sunscreen, and with his skin? Honestly, it's a tragedy."
I rubbed my forehead, feeling a headache coming on. "So he's staying in Reef Harbor then?"
"Mm, I think so, dear. But I really don't know, I'm afraid! But yes, he's there. Maybe. Who knows. Was it last year that he mentioned going there? Or maybe…," she trailed off, seemingly lost in her own fog of memories. "I've always said my boy is a romantic at heart. Very drawn to the ocean, loves the beach but then who doesn't, though I prefer the C?te d'Azur. The French Riviera is so elegant and civilized, don't you think?"
"Yes, of course. Lady Augustus, did he mention a place he likes on this island?"
She laughed. It was a lilting sound. "I don't think so, darling."
"What's his favorite drink?" I asked as inspiration struck me.
"My boy loves his Scotch."
Okay, so I just needed to find out where they had good scotch on the island and ask around.
"But then he also likes a pint of beer," she continued. "And very partial to tequila. Oh my God, you must think he's an alcoholic. But he's not. Now my second husband, he was an alcoholic and?—"
"Lady Augustus? Lady Augustus?" I made a crackling sound with a piece of paper and hung up.
I was getting a sinking feeling that I was on the wrong island. When I'd asked Chief Jenkins when he was letting me out of my cell this morning if he knew of a scientist type who lived in Reef Harbor he'd looked at me like I'd grown horns and then asked me to get out and not get into trouble again.
Mick knew everyone. If he claimed he didn't know anyone who could be one of the greatest scientific minds of our generation, then he didn't. But, of course, they wouldn't run in the same circles, would they? One was a genius, and the last time I'd seen Mick, he'd been chatting with the hotel security guard about betting on the next big lizard race.
I went out of the hotel and walked to the Coral Cove, coming up with a plan. Dr. Nicholas Augustus was a highly-respected scientist, likely drawn to upscale places where he could network with like minds (or enjoy some quiet exclusivity) and drink good Scotch.
"I told you, gal, there isn't no one like that here. Can you see one of those people hangin' out with,"—she waved a hand at Cato who was drinking a pink cocktail with an umbrella in it at eleven in the morning—"the kinda folks who come here?"
"Who serves the best Scotch on the island?" I asked.
"The Tropicana Club," Mick said as he swaggered in. "You clean up nice, Babycakes." He leaned and sniffed me. "Hmm…not a whiff of tequila."
"I'm done with alcohol…for a lifetime," I vowed.
"Yeah, that's what they all say in the morning." Mick took off his sunglasses and set them on the bar counter. Ray-Ban? I knew my accessories, and those were expensive. Mick was an enigma wrapped in a…sexy, sexy body. I licked my lips.
"RiRi, darlin', can I get a double espresso." He sat on a barstool next to Cato and grabbed my hand and pulled. I landed on his lap.
Now, I wasn't the kind of girl who sat on the laps of…well, anyone. I just didn't do that kind of thing.
"You want something, darlin'?" RiRi asked me.
"Same as Mick." I leaned into him because why the hell not. I'd never had a summer or holiday fling, and there was something intoxicating about it. It came with a time limit whether you liked that or not, and that allowed you to be uninhibited. I felt that I was being me for the first time in my life.
The fact that I was a crazy lush wasn't news—but that I was desperate to live and not just survive was. I'd been feeling the start of burnout at work—the rigor of it, the numerous failures that were part and parcel of working in pharmaceutical research, the endless diseases, the people you couldn't save—because you could never save enough, ever .
My sister said I needed to learn to compartmentalize. That I shouldn't allow people in clinical trials to be more than their patient IDs—but that was not how I was constructed. Anna had not understood why I was chasing down Dr. Augustus.
"Work on something else," she suggested.
"But this can save two lives at least, those that I know of."
"You can't do clinical trials without him signing off on the use of his patent, and he's disappeared. Why waste your time? Start up a new project."
I may have to do that anyway, I thought forlornly because I'd not been able to find the elusive Dr. Augustus, which meant that I couldn't convince him to sign the documents I needed for me to use his patent. I'd also come up with a fantasy that when I met him I'd be able to convince him to come back with me and become part of the team that would use his process to save lives—but that was now becoming more and more improbable. I'd go home tomorrow, and that was that.
"It's my last day on the island." I sipped my espresso.
Mick's hand on my waist tightened. "Yeah. Wanna do something special?"
I smiled at him. "I need to try real hard to find Dr. Augustus."
RiRi, Cato, and Mick all groaned.
"Give it up, will ya, gal?" RiRi muttered. "He ain't on this island."
"Why do you want him so bad? Mick told us you aren't engaged to him." Cato inquired.
"I…I need him to sign some papers and…I need him to succeed in my job." I finished my espresso and sighed deeply.
"You need him for your job?" Mick asked. There was a hardness in his voice I hadn't heard before.
I nodded. "Yes."
"Why him?"
"He was one of the founders of the company I work for. He…well, he wasn't the visible partner. He did the research side of things. He had his own lab and…," I saw curiosity in Mick's eyes instead of boredom because people didn't want to hear about science usually, "he's a genius. I need him to give me permission to use one of his patents. It's vital for the success of a project."
"You gonna make a lot of money off this?" RiRi asked, her tone stiff.
I shrugged. "Don't need money…but it's important…you know for my career, and it will save lives."
"You said career first," Cato remarked.
"I'm a scientist. My career is my life, it's…," I took a deep breath, "I don't expect you to understand."
"Why? Because you're so high falutin'?" RiRi's tone was now acrimonious .
"God no," I spluttered. "No. I...I'm a nerd, okay? My life is my work. I…this is the first time I've had any fun in a really long time. I am not high anything. I'm just a very boring and dull person who works eighty hours a week."
RiRi rolled her eyes. "Now you make me feel like a bitch, gal."
"You're not a bitch," I stated firmly. "They call me one at work."
"You?" Cato blinked.
"I'm called Lady Freeze at work."
"You?" Mick pulled away to look at my face.
"I'm way serious in the lab. I don't drink at work," I explained. "Maybe I should."
"Maybe you should," Cato agreed.
"I just…I'm dedicated to my work."
"And your career," Mick said, and even though he'd promised he wouldn't judge me, I could hear it in his tone, a disdain for someone who was only interested in their job. I heard it often enough.
She has no life.
She's always working, and she expects all of us, too.
Does she sleep in the lab?
She needs to get laid.
She ripped me a new one because I got those numbers wrong.
And on and on it went.
"Considering your shoes, I wouldn't expect that." RiRi leaned over the bar.
If I had one vice, it was footwear. I bought them online and never returned any of them, even those that didn't fit. I kept them all and wore a few. At work, sneakers were my best choice, but when I was out and about as I was now, I packed more shoes than clothes. And since I'd lost my sandals the previous night (I couldn't find them now), that had turned out to be a good thing.
I was wearing a pair of Aquazzura sandals, which were sexy, simple, and practical. I'd even managed to get a pedicure with Anna before I came here, so my feet didn't look like sad, dried-up, cracked-up cookies but lush and delicate, even though I'd gone with colorless nail paint. I didn't have time for a mani-pedi on the regular—but once in a while, my sister made sure I got some maintenance work done.
"What's that supposed to mean?" I wiggled my toes, suddenly self-conscious under their stares.
"Those look like sandals for someone who actually knows how to have fun.” She smirked. "Not some corporate ice queen who breathes...what is it you do again? Gene stuff?"
"Gene therapy," I said, unable to hold back a laugh. "And I am fun…well, here I am."
Mick gave me a sidelong glance, a playful glint in his eyes. "I can vouch for that."
I flushed. "Well…I feel like I'm behaving like someone else. It must be the Reef Harbor water."
"Or alcohol." Cato raised his empty cocktail glass. "Make me another, RiRi darlin'."
"What are you drinking?" I asked.
"Sex On The Beach," Cato deadpanned.
"Of course it is." I rolled my eyes.
"Or maybe this is the real you," Mick suggested thoughtfully, "The Lady Freeze is fake?"
"I wish." I slid off his lap, suddenly feeling much closer to home than before. I was here for just one more night. That's all I had of this feeling of being Belle The Lush. I didn't want to derail that. "The woman I'm here now is…well, I feel like I'm pretending to be someone I'm not."
"I do that every fuckin' day," Cato stated.
"I can hardly keep one persona straight—so not doin' two? Man, that sounds like a lotta work." RiRi set Cato's cocktail in front of him .
"I call bullshit on Lady Freeze being the real you." Mick rose and leaned in close, his voice a low tease.
Moisture pooled between my legs. We hadn't had sex last night. What we'd had was intimacy, laying together on that uncomfortable bench, holding each other close, spilling secrets. Well, I spilled mine; I don't think he told me anything about himself. In fact, I knew very little about Mick except he had a long and thick dick, and he knew how to use it.
Oh, come on, Belle. You also know he's sweet, funny, and caring.
"Babycakes, what's your plan for today?" Mick asked his hands in his board shorts pockets.
"I want to hit the Tropicana Club and see if maybe Dr. Augustus was sighted there. I spoke with his mother, and she said he drinks Scotch."
Mick arched an eyebrow. "You know his mother ?"
I squirmed. "Well, I kinda cyber stalked her and made contact. She's the one who told me he might be here, and now she says she thinks he is here but isn't sure. She's a nice lady, but she can be a bit flaky."
"No doubt," Mick muttered under his breath.
I gave him a quizzical look. "What?"
"Nothing, Babycakes. You want company?" he asked, his smile indulgent.
"Don't you have to work?"
"Not today." He grabbed his sunglasses.
"I…I don't have a car. I was going to call for a taxi."
"I got it covered." Mick put his arm around my shoulder. "See you later, RiRi, Cato."
I smiled at Mick, and he winked at me indulgently. It made me feel warm, not just between my legs but inside, deep down. It made me feel like maybe I was more than the work-obsessed Lady Freeze everyone back home thought I was. Maybe Mick's Babycakes was also me and not an anomaly .
We walked to his place, and from the back of his hut, he rolled out a scooter.
"What's that?" I asked, afraid, very afraid that he was intending for us to ride on that thing.
"It's a Vespa."
"I can see that. You don't have a car?"
"Don't need a car."
The Vespa was a faded sea foam green, chipped in places, with mismatched mirrors and a few dings that looked like souvenirs from its long life on island roads.
Its chrome trim had seen better days, but Mick had clearly kept it running with the kind of care only a local would give—a couple of bungee cords held the storage compartment closed, and the seat was patched with electrical tape. The little scooter was comically small for Mick's tall frame, and I could already imagine us wobbling down the bumpy island paths with me clinging to him for dear life.
Mick patted the seat like it was a prized steed. "She's sturdy, doesn't mind a few bumps. Perfect for getting around Reef Harbor."
I didn't bother to hide my skepticism, eyeing the worn-out wheels. "I'm not sure sturdy is the word I'd use and?—"
"Oh, come on, Lady Freeze, melt a little," Mick coaxed.
"Don't we need helmets?"
"Why?"
I sighed. "Mick, 'cause it's a safety thing."
Mick grinned. "This thing does thirty-five miles an hour downhill, so relax. Hop on, Babycakes."
Fucking hell! I was scared, yes, but I was also tempted, and today, as it had been since I came to the island, temptation continued its winning streak.
I clambered on the Vespa behind him.
"We gonna tour the island and have a little fun and—" he began .
"We need to find—" I cut him off.
"And," Mick stressed, interrupting me as I had him, "I gotta tell you, Dr. Augustus might not be hiding where you think he is."
I wrapped my arms around his waist, my chin tucked over his shoulder. "I have to try."
"Your career mean so much to you?"
"It's not just my career," I whispered. It was also the lives of two little children. Actually, their lives were more important than any paper I could ever publish.
The Vespa hummed to life, sounding like a sewing machine. We rolled down a narrow path, the salty breeze immediately whipping through my hair and filling my lungs with ocean-spiced air that I knew I'd miss when I got back to Cambridge. The road was lined with tropical plants bursting in bright reds, pinks, and oranges, and the deeper we went, the more the island opened up in front of me. We passed by old shacks with tin roofs painted in colors that had faded under the sun but still managed to look cheerful. Kids with bare feet and big grins ran by, waving at us, and Mick gave them a casual nod like he knew every single one of them. He probably did.
I held onto him as we hit a stretch that cut along a cliff edge. To my left, the ocean stretched out like an endless sheet of dark blue glass. It was breathtaking; waves crashed against the rocks below, scattering sea spray into the air.
Mick took a hand off the handlebars for a moment to point to a massive banyan tree draped with vines, where a couple of parrots squawked at us from above.
"Locals call that one Old Man Green ," he shouted over the wind. "Legend has it, he's been around for hundreds of years."
"Hands on the steering wheel," I screamed.
"This isn't a car, Babycakes, no steering wheel." He held both his hands up in the air. "Look, no hands."
"Famous last words," I muttered and pinched his waist .
He laughed and set his hands back where they belonged.
We passed tiny market stalls where women wearing wide-brimmed hats sold coconuts, carved trinkets, and reef shells. Then Mick turned us onto a side path, weaving through thick greenery until we emerged into a bustling area of shops and bars, the Tropicana Club ahead of us, which looked like something out of Las Vegas.
Its electric pink and green sign flickered over the door, lighting up the faces of people spilling out onto the street, laughing and swaying to the beat of island music. Mick slowed as we approached, and I could feel the bass thrumming underfoot, the notes of reggae mixing with laughter and chatter in the humid night air.
For a moment, I forgot my work, forgot Dr. Augustus, forgot everything except the sensation of being pressed against Mick, the two of us moving through the island's vibrant heart, its pulsing energy thrumming all around us.
"Captain Mick, how are you doin', man ?" A large man serving drinks at the bar pulled Mick against the bar to give him a bro hug.
"Good. How's it hangin', Tano?"
"A little to the left," Tano replied, laughing loudly. He then eyed me. "Well, well, who's the pretty lady."
I held out my hand. "Belle."
Tano took my hand and kissed my knuckles. "Any friend of Mick is a close friend of mine," he said silkily.
I pulled my hand away. "Flattered, but I try to sleep with only one beach bum at a time."
Tano laughed, not taking offense at the beach bum remark. "What can I do you for?"
"A couple of rum punches, if you're mixing." Mick leaned an elbow on the bar.
Tano winked, already reaching for a shaker. "Coming right up. And trust me, little lady, my punch'll knock you right off that stool if you're not careful."
"Is it as potent at RiRi's Reef Harbor Surprise?" I asked.
Tano made a face. "Baby, nothin' is as potent as that shit RiRi mixes. Speakin' of potent, how is the Sexy Mama doin'." He grinned at me. "RiRi and I, we go way back."
"Everyone on this island goes way back with Tano," a waitress who dropped her tray next to Mick remarked dryly. "How you doin', Captain Mick? I hear that you spent the night in da pokey."
"She did." Mick pointed at me. "I just kept her company."
The waitress, a dark woman with a voluptuous body, gave me a once-over. "Yeah, I can see why you'd want to keep her company. Two Island Breezes and one Sex on the Beach for table five, Tano." She dropped a ticket in front of the bartender.
As Tano began mixing drinks, I scanned the chalkboard behind him, taking in the day's menu scrawled in bright pink and green. I better eat I decided if I was drinking. "And maybe…two of those seafood platters?"
Tano nodded approvingly. "Good choice. Best conch fritters and shrimp skewers you'll find on this side of the island.”
“Tell me”—he slid the finished cocktails toward us—"what you think."
I took a sip of the punch—strong, just as promised—before answering, "It's very good and very strong, so I'm glad I'll be getting some food in before I consume too much of this."
Tano laughed.
"Hey.” I looked at the waitress. “Ah, I wanted to check if you've ever heard of a Dr. Nicholas Augustus."
Both Tano and the waitress gave me a blank look.
"He's a scientist," I added, knowing the chances of them having spotted him were bleak, considering how they were staring at me.
"He live here?" Tano asked.
"That's what I've been told," and then added excitedly, "He likes Scotch. You know anyone who drinks really good Scotch?"
"This one here does." The waitress elbowed Mick.
My shoulders slumped.
"What's he look like?" Tano asked softly.
I exchanged a look with Mick and shrugged. "I don't…actually know. I tried looking him up, but it's like the guy erased his entire Internet existence. No social media, no press photos, nothing. Just his name on a few old papers and patents."
"Ah, a ghost-type," Tano said, shaking his head. "Plenty of strange folk come through Reef Harbor, but can't say I've met a ghostly science guy. You're sure he's on this island?"
"No, I'm not sure," I admitted, laughing a little.
Tano chuckled, his deep laugh rolling out over the bar. "Gal, you're lookin' for a man who wants to stay hidden—that much is clear. Still, I'll keep my eyes peeled for any mysterious scientists. You never know; this island's got a funny way of hiding people and showing ‘em when it's least expected."
As he slid two plates of seafood platters toward us, I stifled a sigh.
I'd half-hoped Tano might somehow know something, anything, that could help me so I could get back to work. But looking at Mick beside me, his warm smile, the way he nudged my drink toward me with a quiet " cheers ," I had to admit that I wasn't quite as eager to leave Reef Harbor as I wanted to be.
After lunch, Mick led me to the dance floor despite my insistence that I had two left feet. The music thumped through my chest, and Mick moved with an easy, unselfconscious rhythm. He had a half-smirk on his face as he pulled me close.
"Just follow my lead, Babycakes," he said over the music, laughter in his eyes. "Trust me."
"Yeah, right." I rolled my eyes. Trust Mick Bottom? I wasn't certifiable.
"Why the long face?" He grabbed my waist and flung me from one side of him to the other.
The man sure knew how to lead.
"I need to find this guy and go home. And I'd really hoped someone would know something here."
"Come on, even you knew this was a Hail Mary."
I felt foolish. "Maybe he likes to unwind with a little live music and neon lights?"
Mick laughed. "Maybe he's into nude beaches."
I frowned. "Do you have any of those here?"
"Of course we do," Mick chuckled.
"Maybe…he's?—"
"Sipping a cocktail in a private booth here, analyzing everyone's dance moves scientifically ?" Mick joked.
"He's not that kinda scientist."
"What kind is he?"
"The kind I can't find," I murmured in self-deprecation.
Next, Mick suggested the Sunset Bar, so we sped off along the winding roads, the salty sea breeze whipping through my hair as I clung to him, watching the ocean stretch out beside us.
I'd never felt so free.
Mick pointed out little spots along the way—a secluded beach where he and his buddies held their annual Sandcastle Showdown (yes, apparently, that was a real thing); the old fish shack where they still served " the best conch fritters you'll ever taste ," and even a hidden trail to the tallest point on the island, where you could see the entire shoreline on a clear day, which most days here were.
At the Sunset Bar, Mick ordered us cocktails, and we perched on stools, looking out over the ocean as the sky began to paint itself in shades of gold and pink.
"I wish I didn't have to leave tomorrow." The beauty of the island was mesmerizing, and I dreaded the idea of going back to cold and nasty Cambridge, which, according to the weather app on my phone, would have some snow and a whole hell of a lot of wind, as was normal for November.
"Then don't go."
"I have to," I groaned. "I have a lab. I have projects running. I have to."
"Don't you have other people who can take care of things for a while?"
Yes, I did. In fact, everything was fine as per the last emails I had managed to check when I had some signal.
"I feel guilty for having fun while everyone is working," I confessed.
"When was the last time you were on vacation?" Mick asked.
I licked my lips. "Two years ago…I went to Antarctica for a month in the summer. I was collecting samples for…anyway, it's been two years."
Mick shook his head. "How about holidays?"
"Yeah…I mean, I go to my sister's for Thanksgiving Dinner and Christmas Day lunch."
"Christ." Mick ran a hand over his face. "Why do you have to work so much?"
"My work is important."
"It's just making money. How much do you need?" There was judgment in his tone, and I didn't like it.
"Everyone has bills to pay, Mick," I protested. "Plus, I love my job…I like what I do. I make a difference in the lives of people. I'm helping to cure diseases."
"Really?" he challenged. "How many diseases have you cured?"
"That's not fair." I shook my head. "Gene therapy takes time. Clinical trials, precision targeting, working with patient safety in mind…all of it adds up."
"But how many, Belle?"
I took a breath. "Not cured, exactly, but I've developed therapies that mitigate, or slow the progression of, two different diseases."
He raised an eyebrow. "How long have you been doing this?"
"A decade," I admitted, my voice barely a whisper. I was thirty, and I'd started research at twenty, fresh out of my master's program. I'd always been the smarty pants , the youngest researcher in my field, eager to change the world.
"So, ten years and two diseases?" he asked dismissively.
"Well…yes. But the specifics are complex." I felt flustered and annoyed with him. "Right now, we're focused on one disease for clinical trials: gene therapy for Sanfilippo Syndrome, a rare genetic disorder. In preclinical stages, we've successfully slowed its progression by inserting a corrective gene, but the approval process feels like it takes an eternity." I let out a breath, knowing how technical it sounded. "It's not a cure, exactly, but it could give these kids a better chance—a longer life."
"So, you're curing fuck all," Mick threw back at me.
"Hey, I?—"
"Ten years and how many vacations?" He was angry now.
"You know what, Mick, I don't need your judgment, okay?" I rose, and he tugged me down.
"Sit down and finish your fuckin' drink." He pushed my cocktail closer. "And enjoy your time off. You work all the time; at least take a break without feeling guilty. I hate this shit you corporate types put yourself through. You work damn hard for very little in return, Belle; live a little, will you before you burn the fuck out? Please ."
I softened. "I know it doesn't sound like we do much, but if I can buy patients precious time, maybe even a chance at a longer future, what I do is worth it." I sipped my drink. "But you're right. I should also learn how to have fun."
"Good," he grumbled.
"So, any suggestions on how I can have fun?" I teased.
How could this man I'd met only days ago see so clearly what even I hadn't— that I was emotionally and mentally drained, teetering on the edge of burnout? My family, as close as we were, had missed the signs entirely. So had I, until I came to Reef Harbor.
"Yeah." He smiled at me, though his eyes remained narrow. He stroked a finger down my cheek. "I'm going to fuck your brains out."
The man certainly had a way with words!