Chapter 21
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Max watched waves ripple on the cool blue water as the ferry from Wedding Island made its way to St. Patrice.
The note had changed their plans for the day.
Instead of showing her wedding dress to her family, Violet was with Rodrigo and Max on their way to meet up with the rest of Benson Security.
Even Abasi had managed to get away for the afternoon to join them, although he had to pretend he didn't know them until they reached the safe house.
Rodrigo worried Damien was having them tailed.
They were on the top deck of the boat, sitting on one of the blue painted benches fixed to the deck.
Violet was quiet, occupied with her thoughts.
It didn't take a genius IQ to understand the weird soda gift and note were directly connected to the dead guard.
Max just wasn't sure how—yet. The only thing he knew for sure was that Violet was deeply concerned.
So much so, she appeared to have shut down entirely. And he couldn't have that.
He turned toward her, angling a leg behind her back so she was cradled in the V of his legs. Cocooned by him. He pulled her gently against his chest and held her, letting the rhythm of the boat soothe them. All the while aware that Damien’s guy could be watching.
"You want to talk about it?" Max asked Violet as the gulls squawked overhead.
"Why must you talk about everything?" she said, but the protest was half-hearted at best.
"Who wrote the note? And why can't they spell you're?"
Okay, this time her lip quirked, as though she wanted to smile but it was a step too far. "Trust a writer to notice the spelling."
"It was appalling," he pointed out.
Salt spray kissed their skin as the relentless Caribbean sun bore down on their heads. He made a mental note to pick up some hats. For a while, they sat together in silence as the boat hummed and bobbed on the water. In the distance, the small port of St. Patrice grew larger.
Violet shifted in his arms. "What made you so sure I didn't kill the guard?"
The question surprised him. "You said you just hurt his arm."
"I say a lot of things. Why believe this?"
Was she serious? "You wouldn't lie about something like this. You'd have come right out and told us, then probably asked for help stashing the corpse."
"What makes you think I didn't lose my temper, kill him, then try to cover it up?"
"Because I’m still alive.” He smiled at her.
“And I've made you lose your temper more than anyone around you since we met.
I have no doubt you could take out any man, if you had to, but you have control over your actions.
I'm living proof." He beamed widely, as though he'd achieved something.
And honestly, he was pretty sure a Pulitzer wouldn't have felt so good.
"You have no sense of self-preservation," she grumbled.
"That's why I need a bodyguard," he told her, beginning to think he might need one for more than the mission. In fact, he might need one permanently. He tightened his arms at the thought.
Violet lapsed into silence again as the port loomed closer. You could make out the white colonial buildings lining the waterfront, most of which were used for government business, such as it was in St. Patrice.
"Before I left the police force in Glasgow," Violet said quietly. "I had a stalker."
His arms flexed in response to her words.
She carried on. "He seemed to have set himself up as some sort of guardian angel and would attack anyone who threatened me.
I'd question a suspect and, if they became aggressive, he'd appear when I was done and give them a warning, usually of the physical kind.
I tried hunting him, but none of the people he'd hurt would talk, and there were never any witnesses.
"Then, one day, someone I was chasing managed to get in a couple of serious blows before escaping.
It was the worst I'd been hurt on the job since I started.
" She looked up at Max, her eyes black and filled with shadows.
"He was found beaten to death a few hours later.
The only clue left at the scene was the words, your welcome, written in chalk beside the body.
It happened twice more after that. Anytime a perp hit me and got away, he turned up dead.
The stalker killed three men before the force decided I was a liability and put me on desk duty. "
“You couldn't go back on the streets with him still out there, could you? Which meant you couldn't be a detective anymore."
She gave her head a sad little shake. "No. The official line was that as soon as he was caught, I'd be reinstated. But the investigation died off pretty fast and, seeing as I wasn't on the street, there were no future attacks to give the detectives new leads."
"Do you think that's what he wanted? To get you off the streets?"
"I think he wanted to protect me. I think he wanted me to keep doing my job.
" She hesitated and her voice became even quieter.
"I'd had one or two issues with my official back up before my guardian angel appeared.
My partner, Donny, was an arse of the highest order, who was more interested in copping a feel than in making sure I was safe when we were on the job.
I think the attacker noticed I was dangerously unsupported and stepped in to fill the void. "
He tucked her hair behind her ear. "It's twisted but also kinda noble."
There was no letup in her gaze. "He killed three men, Max. Nothing noble in that."
"I know, you're right. I'm still glad somebody had your back."
"Anyway," Violet said. "I couldn't do my job, so I left and joined the Scottish office of Benson Security.
I initially thought they could help me find the guy who was behind the killings, but it didn't work out.
There was no sign of him, no matter how hard we looked.
Lake thought he might have gone to prison or was in a secure mental health unit. "
"But you couldn't go back to the police force unless you found him," Max said.
"Nope. In the end, I gave up looking for him and took a job with the London office of Benson Security, then moved to Houston when they opened the new office there.
I was trying to keep a low profile, just in case he ever came looking for me again, but it didn't sit right with me that the guy was never found.
I just hoped he was locked away somewhere, or dead.
But to be safe, I didn't advertise my location. "
Max slid a hand under her hair to rub the back of her neck. Unsurprisingly, it was solid with tension. "Unfortunately, your family did the job for you."
She let out a heavy sigh. "They were not subtle about spreading the news about me getting married in the Caribbean.
Mum even put a sign on the shop door saying they were closed for my wedding.
My nieces posted on social media and my sister called everyone she's ever known to share the news.
" She gave him a rueful look. "Even if my stalker only vaguely kept an eye out for me to surface, he couldn't have missed the news that I was in the Caribbean. "
Max had to agree. "Would have been far too easy to follow your family straight to you."
"They're not exactly covert," she scoffed.
"No." Max grinned at the thought as the boat came up alongside the dock. "So, what now?" he said as they untangled themselves and stood.
"Now, we face Rochelle," Violet said as though she was going to the gallows.
Max did the only thing he could think to do under the circumstances. He took her hand and offered her what little support he could. A strange warmth unfurled within him when she didn't refuse his touch.
Progress, he thought. Toward what, he didn't know and hardly dared hope.
They had too many other things to deal with before they even considered what was happening between them.
And there was definitely something happening, even if it would take torture to make Violet admit it.
Sadly, the timing couldn't have been worse, because Max couldn't afford to get distracted by the oh-so-tempting Violet Lee, not when he was this close to bringing down Damien Poole.
"A stalker?" Rochelle was not happy, and it was clear the long trip from Houston hadn't helped her disposition either. "And I'm only hearing about this now?"
Violet folded her arms and waited for Rochelle to get over the fact she'd been kept in the dark. She'd given the woman a summary of her history with the killer, now all Rochelle had to do was come to terms with the news. There was nothing more she could add.
"To be fair," Max said, obviously thinking he had something to add. "She thought he was dead or in prison." He caught Violet's eye and winced. "Which she could tell you herself because she doesn't need some man speaking for her." He pointed to a wicker chair. "I'll be over here not butting in."
Wise move.
Violet stared out of the window while Rochelle vented.
After almost a year working together, she knew that sometimes her boss needed to get things out of her system first before they could move on.
She'd been exactly the same after Violet had shot out a couple of cars, filled with gang members, when they'd attacked their office.
All Rochelle needed was a minute to adjust to the news of the latest glitch in their mission and she'd be fine.
The house the team had rented for the op was a spacious two-story affair on the edge of St. Patrice's town center.
It had dark wooden floors, dated but modern furniture, and a generous kitchen.
It didn't have a view of the sea or any perfect palm trees growing beside it.
Nor was it painted pristine white. Instead, the building was a deep blue with crooked yellow shutters she bet didn't even close properly.
Just being in the house made her soul sigh with relief.
The thought of going back to Wedding Island's plastic perfection set her teeth on edge.
"Okay," Rochelle said, having run out of steam. "Maybe Evan can pull some prints from the soda can and we'll get an identity on this stalker of yours."
Good, they'd moved on from processing to action. It took long enough.
"I hope so," she said. "This is the first time we've managed to get anything that might have prints. He never left any behind in Glasgow, but I've got a feeling this guy will be in the system somewhere."
"You're going with Lake's theory that he's been in prison?" Rochelle was dressed for the weather in a cream linen dress that looked both summery and somehow authoritative.
"That or maybe military training." Violet frowned with frustration. "I can't explain it, but the way he hit those guys, the mess he left behind, it felt methodical. As though he knew what he was doing."
Rochelle walked over to the window, looking out at the street beneath them where the stalls of a fruit market lined the road, each one bursting with the color of the Caribbean's real treasure, papaya, bananas, pineapples… It made Violet's mouth water just looking at the overflowing tables.
"What makes you think military rather than martial arts training," Rochelle said.
"The fact he hasn't been caught," Violet replied. "Guy's a ghost."
Rodrigo spoke up from where he was sitting at the kitchen counter. "Even the waiter who gave Violet the note couldn't describe him properly. Said he was average everything and polite. I'm with Violet on this. It looks like this guy has had some training in how to blend."
"Great," Rochelle said, far from pleased. "Exactly what we need. A loose cannon in a situation that could explode at any second anyway."
There was noise from the doorway before the two missing triplets entered, arms full of fruit from the street below. They looked very pleased with themselves.
"This place is awesome," Harris said, grinning at them. "Have you seen the size of this papaya? It's like ten times the size of the ones we used to get in Scotland."
Violet couldn't help but wonder how adding the other triplets to the mix was going to make things better instead of worse.
One was hard enough to control, but three…
Plus, she wasn't impressed with their disguises.
Harris had dyed his hair black, worn brown contacts, and appeared to have donned a fake beard.
Logan had bleached his hair blonde and added a pair of glasses.
They were still carbon copies in every other way, only now they looked like they were playing dress up.
Maybe if they were never seen together the new looks would work, but that was still pushing it.
The still ginger triplet spoke up from the corner he'd turned into his new command center—essentially the dining table.
"I can't get any clean prints off the can," he said. "Sorry, but the guy's too careful to leave anything of use behind."
"Typical," Violet muttered. Just when she thought she'd caught a break.
Rochelle cleared her throat, looking pained.
Violet knew that look. "Don't even think about sidelining me. The stalker may be a loose cannon but my cover as Max's bride is too well established to pull me now."
"Might be a good idea if you stayed away from confrontation though," Rochelle said. "We don't want any more dead bodies turning up."
Violet wanted to scream with frustration. Instead, she stared at her boss and said, "I'll do what I can."
Violet had a job to do, and if it meant breaking a few bones to keep Max safe then that’s what she had to do. Who knows? Maybe one of those altercations would be enough to draw out her stalker so she could deal with him once and for all. The thought cheered her no end.
"I don't need the Irn Bru for anything else," Evan called over to her. "You can drink it if you'd like." He held up the can, still dusty from print powder.
Violet gave him an incredulous look. "Thanks, but I don't want to drink the gift my stalker gave me."
"I call dibs!" Harris snatched it from his brother, popped the top and glugged it down. "Ah, Scotland," he said before burping loudly.
Rochelle hung her head and muttered something Violet couldn't make out but sounded a tad despairing.
Katrina, who'd been sitting on the sofa, headphones on, listening in on the bugs they'd planted, suddenly called for silence.
"You need to hear this," she told them before disconnecting her headphones.
A second later, Damien's voice filled the room.
Violet smiled with satisfaction. At least something good had come from their visit to the florist.