Chapter 34
Remi had read the same paragraph five times and still couldn’t remember what swoony declaration of love the hero had said to the heroine. The e-reader rested in one hand, her reading glasses slipping low on her nose as she stared past the words on the screen and listened to the bungalow around her.
The Tango Lowlands were too quiet. It was a stark contrast to the daily madhouse of Black Spade Ranch.
The frenetic symphony of farm hands hollering across the field to each other, bleating from the goats, the grind of machinery in action was far away.
She missed it so much, and her mom and dad, the twins.
She hated that they were worrying about her right now.
But the chance that she might not have to leave the Palmchat Islands kept her grounded.
Everett had left early this morning, and any minute, he’d be back with news that might decide the rest of her life.
She could survive the quiet with only the sounds of humming insects, shifting palms, and the distant rush of water over stone for one more day.
She dropped the e-reader on the bed and stood, stretching her arms to the ceiling. Two romance novels were enough for one day. She’d try fantasy tomorrow or maybe sci-fi to mix things up.
“Remington …” The voice she loved floated from the outdoor deck.
She made it three steps before vanity tackled common sense.
Remi darted back to the mirror, dragged a hand over her shirt, and pulled the tie from her braid.
Her hair spilled loose over her shoulders, softer and wilder than the no-nonsense version she usually wore.
The woman in the glass looked flushed, hopeful, and entirely too excited for someone hiding from the police.
She hurried across the bungalow. By the time Everett was a foot from the door, she was already pulling it open.
He stood on the deck with a paper bag in one hand and a bottle of champagne in the other.
For one suspended second, all she did was look at him.
Fading sunlight cut through the trees behind him, catching the warm gold of his skin and turning his gray eyes almost translucent.
He wore dark pants and a pale linen shirt with the sleeves rolled to his forearms, casual in a way that should not have looked so devastating on a man built for tailored suits, danger, and impossible self-control.
Remi’s mouth went dry.
Which was annoying.
One glimpse of Everett Gilliam on a deck with lunch and champagne should not have been enough to make her knees consider mutiny. Why was she acting like those silly women in romance novels? Yes, she was definitely switching to sci-fi tomorrow.
His gaze moved over her face, and his expression softened.
That made it worse.
“You rushed outside to see me,” he said.
“I did not rush.”
“You nearly took the door off the hinges.”
“I was making sure you weren’t an intruder.”
“You rushed toward a possible intruder?”
“I was trying to get the jump on him. You know, take the element of surprise away.”
“Barefoot and with no weapon.”
“My roundhouse kick is lethal.”
He smiled. A real one this time. One that she hadn’t seen in years. Something had definitely changed while he was gone.
His arms opened, a welcome and encouraging invitation.
She stepped into him before she could think better of it, wrapping both arms around his waist and pressing her face to his chest. For years, he’d kept his distance from her, and now everything had flipped.
It was hard for her not to think about all of this going away.
Everett closed around her.
The bag rustled against her back. The champagne bottle bumped lightly against her hip. She didn’t care. His body was solid and warm, his shirt carrying the clean scent of sun, salt air, and Everett beneath it. He held her like he had been waiting to do it since the moment he left.
For a few breaths, everything disappeared, and it was the two of them. Like it always should’ve been.
“I missed you,” she said.
His fingers threaded through her hair, slow and careful. “I was only gone a few hours.”
“Still too long.” She stepped back from him, glancing down at what he was holding.
The paper bag was emblazoned with the Sugarcanes logo.
An upscale Kingtown restaurant she loved to visit whenever she was back in St. Felipe, and one of the few places on the island that knew what to do with goat meat besides ruin it.
“Tell me there’s mango goat cheesecake in that bag.”
“There’s mango goat cheesecake in this bag.”
“And you’re holding champagne.”
“You’re very observant.”
“Everett.” She narrowed her eyes. “Are we celebrating?”
He rested the items on the deck, then reached for her.
His hand caressed her face, then he leaned down and kissed her.
The first touch was soft enough to be sweet.
Then his free hand curved at the back of her neck, his mouth settled more fully over hers, and sweetness became something deeper, hungrier, impossible to mistake.
Remi gripped his shirt, feeling the hard muscle beneath the linen and wishing the fabric had the decency to disappear.
By the time he broke the kiss, she had to remind herself to breathe. She bit her bottom lip, loving the taste of him still on her mouth. “That was not an answer.”
“No,” he agreed. “It was an ‘I missed you, too.’”
“You could have said the words.”
“My way was more fun.”
She slid her hands up his chest and considered picking up where he left off. The problem was that touching him made her aware of how long it had been since she’d gotten to touch him.
Everett’s gaze sharpened, as if he knew every improper thought currently trying to sabotage her priorities. Said priorities being to find out what he was up to while he was gone, and how that connected to champagne and dinner from one of the best restaurants on the island.
Remi released him and stepped back. “You either have good news, or you’re trying to soften bad news with sugar and bubbles. Tell me which one before I show you my dangerous side.”
“You think you can take me on?” Everett asked, his arm muscles tightening, bulging as they hung at his sides.
Remi slid a finger along her shirt, unbuttoning one and then another. “I think I have a good idea of what your kryptonite is.”
“You, Remington, are not my kryptonite. You’re the prescription for everything I need and want …”
“So, I’m cocaine?”
Everett burst into laughter.
“Stop stalling and tell me what happened while you were out today. Is it good news or bad?”
“Good news.”
“Oh, thank God!” She knew better than to let hope run wild. Hope had been dangerous from the moment it returned to her. But Everett looked different. He was lighter, more relaxed, and resolutely focused. The tight edge he’d carried since Bobby’s death had eased into something steadier.
“Hunter came through for us,” he said. “He may have found the man who murdered Bobby and his mistress.”
“Are you serious?” Her heart lurched so hard she had to press a hand to her stomach. “I think I need to sit down.”
Remi stumbled past him and sat at the table. Everett joined her, sitting next to her as he spread the food containers out in front of them.
“Who did it?” Remi asked.
“Donald Eastman.”
The name meant nothing to her.
She shook her head. “Should I know him?”
“He was Lois Gaston’s husband.”
Remi stared at him. “The mistress’s husband?”
Everett peeled back the foil and eased the cork out with a pop that made her jump.
“Smooth,” he said.
“I’m wanted for murder. Sudden noises get a reaction.”
He poured champagne into two plastic flutes and handed her one. He tapped his flute against hers, then took a slow sip. She followed his lead, then asked, “What are we drinking to?”
“Rocco finding a critical detail that will force the cops to shift the focus away from you and onto Donald.”
Remi lowered the glass, her hand trembling. “Rocco is digging into this, too?”
“He snuck into the ME’s office and got information about their report to the cops,” Everett said, gray eyes dancing. “Lois was dead before she was stabbed.”
“Are you serious?” Remi lowered the plastic flute to the table. “How is that possible?”
“She had lethal amounts of a drug in her system that was her actual cause of death, and guess who is a pharmacist by trade?”
“Her husband …” Remi took a deep breath. This was good news for her. “Tell me everything.”
“Lois Gaston married Donald Eastman shortly before they moved to St. Killian six months ago,” he said. “She got a job as a legal assistant at a law firm there. The firm confirmed Bobby was a client and that Lois had been instructed to deliver documents to him the day they both died.”
“Was it Vale & Stratton?”
“That’s the one.”
“Bobby used them to incorporate his company and construct contracts for his clients. The legitimate ones, anyway. There was always someone dropping things by the house or his office,” she remembered. “So, it’s possible that Lois had been at the house before the Marengos showed up that night.”
“No, we don’t think so,” Everett said, then continued. “Her co-workers confirmed the rumors about Lois and Bobby having an affair. Something about his reaction to her the first time he met her at the office. The co-workers were pretty sure Donald knew about it, too.”
“I wasn’t a jealous wife, but he was perhaps a jealous husband?”
“That’s an understatement. Her coworkers said he called the office constantly, checking whether she was at work and getting angry when she was out on deliveries. I found security footage of Donald on St. Basil on at least one day Lois delivered documents to Bobby, but they weren’t together.”
“He followed her and watched as she cheated on him,” Remi surmised.
If she’d been a different kind of wife, maybe she would have become the woman the cops and media wanted her to be …
angry, humiliated, and pushed past reason by a cheating husband.
“The cops’ theory may be right. They just have the wrong spouse.
But why wouldn’t they look into him? Does he have an alibi for that night? ”