Chapter 38
Chapter Thirty-Eight
LEXI
When I wake up, it’s still dark. From afar, the sound of waves rolls in, but the birds aren’t up yet. I’ve slept fitfully, my mind too busy with everything going on. Roger and Deshni. Mia Fucking Reed. Tristan.
I cover my face with my hands and groan, glancing over at where he’s sprawled on his stomach. At some point Tristan came to bed, but I fell asleep without him by my side. It was lonely, and he didn’t pull me close as he normally would have done. Probably because I was already asleep.
Probably because last night was too intense.
Things felt so right that they were wrong—for me—as clearly Tristan didn’t feel the same vibes.
“Let me be everything I can be for you.” Essentially a fun time while we’re here.
I knew by the end of the evening, when Tristan freaked out about a baby, that we could never have more than these three months.
And even the time that remains might be too much for my heart.
I quietly slip from the bed and tiptoe to the bathroom. I showered mere hours ago, so I dress in a fresh uniform and go to the office. Tristan will wake up alone, but it’s not as if I can go anywhere. He knows where to find me.
I falter in my steps as I approach the office. The double glass doors are closed, but the lights are on, and Jem is already at her desk. What the hell? Doesn’t she sleep? After last night’s verbal sparring match in the canteen, she’s up to something. But what?
At least we’re not the only ones on the job already. Birds are announcing the start of another scorcher, and I can hear soft voices from the kitchen, the clang of a pot or pan. It doesn’t matter what’s going on in your life; the show must go on.
I open the door and Jem looks up, startled. “Why are you early?”
Lately we’ve been forgoing all pleasantries.
“Couldn’t sleep,” I tell her.
“Why’s that?” she prods.
I roll my eyes. Wouldn’t you want to know.
Despite everything else happening, my masochistic side needs to see if there are any emails from the lawyer or Evan, guiding me through this shitstorm.
Has St Chalamet cracked? Sheila’s updates have dwindled to zero.
Maybe she’s realized that her own employment at St Chalamet is at risk if she keeps playing informant.
I sink down at my desk, suddenly exhausted. This day is going to be a motherfucker. “What are you doing here so early?” I ask Jem as I switch my computer on. Dammit. With her here, I won’t be at liberty to scour the internet for news or do anything private.
“Just doing some prep work.”
“The upcoming wedding?” I ask. She might get on my nerves, but Jem is a fantastic manager.
“Among other things.”
I hate it when people sidestep and talk in circles. “I’m going to get coffee. You want some?”
“I’m good, thanks.”
Fine. Be good.
By the time I’ve had the obligatory chit-chat with the people in the staff canteen and kitchen, the sun’s up, and its heat caresses my cheek as I head down to the beach with my coffee in hand.
I can’t stomach sitting with Jem in that office right now.
I’m still digesting Deshni’s news and have no clue how we’re going to sort out the spa without her losing her stride.
I glance along the beach and spot a fellow human or two, guests who walked out when they woke to the relative cool of the morning.
This place is so peaceful, in total contrast to the hooting traffic jam in my head.
Everything and everybody aside, my mind keeps spiraling back to Tristan.
I sit down on the sand, wanting to cry. Yep.
Of all the bad moves of the past six months, he’s maybe the worst and will leave me with scars.
I take a long drink of coffee, hoping to swallow my tears down with it.
“Lexi.”
I look up. Tristan is in his running gear and has approached me without a sound.
I would have seen him if I hadn’t been so preoccupied with my heartache and the fact that I might have found him, but I’m going to lose him too, and without him ever knowing.
I mutter a terse hello into my cup and take another sip.
He drops down next to me. “You’re up early. I was—”
“I couldn’t sleep. This whole thing with Desh—”
“Why didn’t you wake me up?” He puts a hand on my knee. “We can talk it through.”
I wish he wouldn’t touch me like this, as if we belong to each other. I should keep things light and step away from this as soon as possible. Tristan isn’t that guy. “Honestly, I just need to get through today.”
“Lexi…” he starts, but he stalls as he looks to the sea.
My ears prick up, and my eyes try to find the source of the sound too. There. A speedboat heading straight in our direction.
“Who’s that?” I’m so tired I don’t know if I’m seeing straight. “At this time of the morning?”
Tristan stands, and I follow suit. “Looks like the coastguard.”
“Jeez, they make a lot of noise.” We’ve never had the coastguard come to the island like this before. A slow coil turns my stomach. “Why are they even here?”
“Who knows, but they’re patrolling these waters as if they’re waiting for something.”
I glance back toward the guest area. Waiters have paused their work to look. Along the beach, the odd guest is also staring at the boat plowing through the waves. “Tristan…”
I have a bad feeling. Jem at her desk so early. Jem telling me squat. Oh my God. That fist that keeps churning in my stomach gives me a punch from the inside out. “Jem’s done something. Last night—”
“Something’s definitely up. Something must have gone down during the night.” He reaches for my hand, but I pull away.
“This isn’t a joke.” I rush up the beach to the office.
I’m halfway there when Jem appears on the path.
“What’s going on?” I ask, noting her stiff demeanor.
“I’m on to you,” she says. “That’s what’s going on. And there’s no place to run, no place to hide.”
Chills streak down my spine. “What do you mean?” I turn to see Tristan still standing on the beach. The speedboat has anchored, and two uniformed coastguards are wading through the shallow waves. With them are two policemen in black uniform—holstered guns, batons, the works.
My throat squeezes as panic invades me, just like it did all those years ago. I have double vision of sorts. One image is that of the cops as they raided our house, arresting Dad at ten o’clock at night. This one is a fresh overlay, the tropical version. I’m going to be sick.
“Best we go to your cottage, Alexandra O’Reilly. We don’t want the guests to witness.” Jem has me by the elbow and tugs.
Tristan is walking up to the troop of law enforcement. Clueless.
“Tris!” I yell, but my voice croaks and gets lost in the distance between us.
“Don’t make a scene. They’ve got your fiancé,” Jem hisses. “Come with me. That’s Officer Odinga, the tall one. The fat one is Officer Mwamba. Between them, they’ll dig down to the root of this.”
“The root of what?” I tug, but Jem is pinching my arm painfully. Now Tristan is surrounded by the four men who don’t bother to shake his hand. Instead, one of the coastguards slaps a handcuff around his wrists.
Adrenaline spikes my blood, and I want to break free and sprint to him, but Jem’s nails dig into my arm, her other hand circling my wrist. “We’re all going to your cottage to see what’s going on there.”
What the actual…? The two police officers are hurrying along the beach in the direction of our cottage. Tristan stands tall, but the coastguards have him firmly by the shoulder, steering him along.
I sway on my feet, dizzy and sick to my stomach, and so shocked that I let Jem drag me into the forest, losing sight of Tristan. What if they hurt him?
We get to the cottage first, and Jem lets go of me by shoving me to a sofa. “Sit.”
I sink down onto the seat and watch in horror as the two police officers raid our room. They rip at the bed and open drawers, tossing the contents to the floor. One takes the other side of the room, and the other disappears into the closet.
“What’s going on?” I’m rattling like a leaf. “I don’t understand!”
“Uh,” Jem grunts. “What isn’t going on? All this pretending! You think I can’t see right through you?”
The coastguard walks up, Tristan in a firm hold between them. He is pale but his gaze immediately finds mine. “You’re okay, babes?” he asks.
“Babes.” Jem snorts. “As if you can fool me!”
I’m too stunned to speak, only gaping at her. “How?”
“How? How what? How did I know?” Jem’s voice pitches.
“Jem,” Tristan says, his voice calm as he speaks over her budding triumph. “What’s happening?”
“Here!” One of the policemen comes out of the closet, white powder on his fingers. “I’ve also found this. There’s a whole secret workstation here.” He holds several memory banks in his hands. “We’ll find everything we want on these.”
Tristan drops his head with a frown, then he starts to chuckle. “Seriously?”
Jem steps closer. “Officer Odinga, what is that powder?”
Now Tristan looks at me, a brow cocked, that sparkle back in his eye. “This is a bit dramatic for a spot of cornstarch.”
Officer Odinga lifts his finger to his nose, smells, and then taps his finger on his tongue, tasting. “Hmm… I’m not sure, but this isn’t—”
“Officer, you need to be one hundred percent sure,” Jem hisses. “Remember what happened last time.”
Last time? All those red flags wave at me, that whiff of something smelling off hitting me in the face, and then there was Matthias de Foch asking for the good stuff.
Holy Mother of God—I thought he only wanted weed, but this, this is a cocaine raid.
Officer Odinga takes a deep breath and gives Jem a resigned stare. “We’ll take this as evidence for the laboratory in Dar es Salaam.”
“Don’t get high now,” Tristan murmurs.
His little joke has no effect on the rest of the crowd, but I lose it, completely. How can Tristan be so blasé? We’re being raided by the police for drugs! Here, as foreigners! Doesn’t he know what happens to drug smugglers in foreign countries? “For fuck’s sake, Jem. Honestly. You—”
“Lexi.” Tristan’s tone is harsh. “Don’t.”
Don’t say a thing. The authority and threat in his voice cut sharply, and everybody jumps. We’re all looking at each other, waiting to see what happens next, and in those few seconds, the slow hum of the floatplane circles above.
“That would be the rest of the party,” Jem announces. The chill in her tone freezes me over.
I’m shivering. For the first time since arriving at Ne’emba, my fingers are white with cold. It’s the shock. First getting fired from St Chalamet. Then the Mia Reed disaster. Now my little stint with Tristan. Third time wasn’t the charm. And this is a million times worse than I ever imagined.