Chapter 29
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
"We're really married?" Violet wanted to shoot her new husband, then take him out into the ocean and dump his body where sharks could feast on him until there was nothing left.
"It was a shock to me too," Max said again. "I didn't read the package contents properly because I was in a hurry to book the wedding, and this was the only option still available for this weekend. I should have paid more attention."
"You think?" Violet paced the length of the dining and living room area in their bungalow. "Now instead of telling my family the whole thing was a lie to bring down a criminal, I need to tell them we have to get a divorce."
This was going to kill her mother. There hadn't been a divorce in their family in, well, ever.
There had been a suspicious poisoning when her great aunt got fed up with her abusive husband, but that was nowhere near as bad as divorce.
She stopped suddenly and considered Max.
Killing him would be more acceptable to her family.
"I don't like what you're thinking." Max pointed at her. "Don't do anything rash. We can fix this."
"How?" she snapped as she resumed pacing.
"As soon as we're back in North America we'll file for an annulment." He didn't sound very confident.
"That sounds suspiciously like a divorce only under another name," Violet said.
"Honestly, I don't know anything about this, but I can do some research." He reached for his laptop.
At the same time someone knocked the door.
"Don't move," Violet warned him. "I'm not done with you."
He sat at the dining table with the laptop in front of him. "I'm staying right here, Googling annulments."
Violet stalked to the door, checked the peephole, saw it was Rodrigo and threw it open.
"Good," Rodrigo said as he entered the bungalow. "You haven't killed him."
"I'm thinking about it," Violet said as Abasi followed Rodrigo into the room.
"I don't know what to say," Abasi said as he pulled out a chair at the table. He was still wearing his waiter uniform. "Usually, you'd offer congratulations, but I got a feeling commiserations are in order."
"Don't say anything," Violet ordered as she resumed stalking the length of the room. "Whatever you say will make it worse."
She'd made it through a long wedding lunch, in one of the island's poshest restaurants, with everyone happy and excited about the ceremony.
She'd spent hours forcing a fake smile, to the point her face hurt.
She'd eaten food she couldn't taste because shock had killed her taste buds.
Endured speeches she couldn't remember because all she could hear was the officiant saying, “Please sign here and we'll be ready to file your wedding certificate.”
She glared at Max. "I am very disappointed in you," she said.
"I feel that's fair," he replied, his eyes on the laptop screen.
She caught Rodrigo and Abasi sharing a worried look and pounced on it.
"What?" she demanded. "What was that? Do I have kids I don't know about too?"
"You might want to sit down," Rodrigo said as he remained standing at the head of the table. "And Max, close down your laptop for a minute."
Crap. This was serious.
"Who's dead?" she asked. Her team were fine and accounted for. Her heart missed a beat. "Is my family—"
"They're fine." Rodrigo smiled apologetically. "Katrina is keeping an eye on them."
"Then spit out whatever brought you here because the tension is making me want to hurt someone." She looked at Max. "Mainly you."
"I'm sorry," he said again. "I can keep saying it, but it won't change anything."
"Stop talking," Violet said.
"Abasi," Rodrigo said. "You want to bring us up to speed."
"Only if she promises not to hurt me," Abasi said seriously. "She's looking a little violent there. Maybe we should handcuff her to a chair before we get started."
"Maybe you should stop talking about me instead of to me," Violet said darkly.
"See?" Abasi pointed at her.
As Violet growled, Rodrigo sighed. "Just get on with it," he said.
"Fine." Abasi huffed out a breath and relaxed back into his chair, looking far from threatened.
"This morning, we overheard a call between Damien and his partner.
" That made Max sit up straight. "They don't think the island is a safe place to meet, so they've changed the location of the meeting for this evening.
It's happening on a boat moored off the other side of St. Patrice. "
The air rushed out of Max in a loud whoosh before he shot to his feet, both hands buried in his hair. "It's not happening here? Is this serious? It can't be. The meeting has to happen here. Otherwise…"
"We got married for nothing." Violet clenched her fists tight. "Why weren't we told about this before the wedding?"
Abasi rubbed a hand over the top of his shaven head.
"Rochelle wanted time to try to have the meeting changed back to Wedding Island.
She tried all of her contacts, in the hope of getting the authorities in the water and making it harder for Damien and his partner to meet in secret.
" He shook his head with regret. "She couldn't make it happen. "
Violet felt a tornado formed of rage build within her. "So, we've missed our opportunity to catch Damien with his partner?"
"Looks like," Abasi said with sympathy.
Max jerked back as though he'd been shot, then he strode to the wall of windows at the back of the bungalow, flung open the door and stepped outside. He stood, hands on hips, his head hanging down as the wind picked up around him and the sky darkened overhead.
Everything he'd worked for, every penny he'd spent, had evaporated with one phone call. All he had to show for his efforts was an empty bank account and a wife he hardly knew.
Even as angry as she felt, her heart still ached for him.
Above Max, ominous purple and gray clouds filled the sky as far as the eye could see.
They hung there, a heavy presence, cloaking the island in anxious anticipation.
Across the horizon, a faint sickly green line signaled that all was not well.
While the waters churned in a dark green and gray that was far from their usual optimistic blue.
Around Max, wind whipped the tops of the palm trees, as in the distance resort staff could be seen rushing back to the hotel, armed with furniture and umbrellas left behind by guests. The storm wasn't just an ominous portent anymore. It was a visible threat, and it was bearing down on them.
Beneath Max's feet, the paving stones of the patio still held the heat they'd collected that day.
Instead of burning his skin, it acted like a balm, soothing some of the roiling emotion threatening to overwhelm him.
Literally grounding him in the here-and-now, instead of letting him get lost in the what-could-have-been.
As the warm wind whipped at his face, he felt the first drops of rain on the top of his head.
They were heavy, weighted with expectation and dread.
Storms came in fast in the Caribbean. They often changed course just as quickly, making them unpredictable and dangerous.
What should have been a summer shower could turn out to be a devastating hurricane.
You never knew what you were going to get until it started. And by then it was too late to adapt.
Max recalled the facts he'd read on Caribbean weather while he'd been preparing for this trip.
He'd filed the information alongside statistics about Wedding Island and St. Patrice, and every detail he'd managed to dig up on Damien Poole.
So much information, in preparation for this one day. And it was all for nothing.
How could he have been so foolish as to think he could take on someone like Damien Poole?
Sandi had been right, all those years ago in college, when she'd said he was too powerful, too rich, too connected to challenge.
She'd seen the truth when he'd only ever seen injustice.
Men like Damien got away with whatever they felt like doing, not because they hid it, but because they lived lives that were so large, and so extravagant, and so ludicrous that no one ever believed they were really capable of being evil.
Even when confronted with the evidence, most people still shook their heads in disbelief.
The truth Max had never been able to accept was that rich, connected men were insulated from their crimes. They wrapped themselves in lawyers, red tape, legal filings that took up everyone's time, and newspaper reports singing their praises. They were untouchable. They were Teflon.
He had been delusional to think he could bring one of them down.
"You're getting wet," Violet said as she came to stand beside him.
She was still wearing the clothes he'd bought her for their wedding, only now her feet were bare. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he noted that somebody had painted her toenails the palest shade of pink. Must have been her sister, because Violet would never have done it herself.
"The rain's warm," she said looking up at the sky. "It's like standing in a massive outdoor shower. Only, this one might electrocute you at any minute."
As though sensing her words, thunder rumbled in the distance, but no lightning appeared.
"Rodrigo and Abasi have gone," she said.
"They're still working on a plan, and there's still a chance Rochelle will manage to get some police support in the water.
The meeting is scheduled for ten, so we've got until about nine before Damien leaves the island.
Assuming the weather will let him leave.
Who knows? He might even cancel and arrange to see his partner tomorrow instead.
It's looking pretty choppy out there. I wouldn't want to go sailing tonight. "
It dawned on him that Violet was trying to comfort him by taking the time to explain their options. If he'd been able, he would have smiled at her chatting away about plans when he knew she hated to explain anything.
"Abasi suggested we check out the florist's warehouse tonight, when Damien leaves the island. You never know, you might find enough evidence in there to write your story."
He didn't bother explaining he'd be hard pressed to tie it directly to the man even if he did. It would be far too easy for Damien to throw up his hands in horror and claim that whatever they found was the work of his staff, and he was disgusted it happened under his nose.
Teflon.
He had to face facts. A man should know when to quit.
And he should tell Violet he was done. Yet, he still couldn't get the words out of his mouth.
They stuck in his throat, making it harder to breathe.
He might never be able to voice the truth, no matter how long he lived—that Damien Poole had beat him.
"Evan managed to hack the security guard's phone," Violet was saying. "There might be something on there that'll help too. He's going through it now."
Max felt the rain pour through his hair and over his face to soak his shirt. Surface puddles formed around his toes. The weather was washing it all away—his hopes, his purpose, his mission. All gone. Down the drain. Like it'd never even existed.
He turned to face Violet. Man, she was beautiful, standing there soaked through, steely determination in her eyes along with just enough vulnerability to make a man want.
He reached out and cupped her face with both of his hands, then slowly, holding her gaze, leaned in to kiss her.
Rain mingled with the taste of her lips, feeling like tears on their skin.
Angling her, so her back was to the sea and anyone stupid enough to still be outside in the resort, Max deftly unbuttoned her vest and was unsurprised to find she'd gone to their wedding braless.
Grateful there was nothing between them, he covered her breast with his hand.
It felt slick and wet and hot in the rain.
He massaged the small mound, swallowing down the needy sounds she made, as his other hand slid around to flatten on her back and pull her closer.
Not close enough.
Never close enough.
Thunder rumbled overhead, nearer now. It sounded like the building rage of a massive tyrant. The grumbling before the eruption. The rain became heavier, until it was a waterspout, whipping around them and stinging their skin.
Max reluctantly broke the kiss, and taking Violet's hand, led her back into the bungalow. She clutched her vest closed as she followed, her eyes dark with passion and tinged with understanding.
He closed and locked the door before drawing the drapes, knowing Violet would approve.
And then he turned his attention to the woman waiting with uncharacteristic patience beside him.
Without so much as a word, he threaded his hands through her drenched hair and kissed her like she was life support, and he was in danger of dying.
Clumsy fingers tangled with the buttons of his shirt before she groaned with frustration and yanked it apart, sending what buttons were left flying around the room.
Max was much more restrained as he slid the vest over her shoulders, then unzipped her pants.
They slid over her hips and she stepped out of them.
All the while they shared desperate hungry kisses that never seemed to satiate their need.
When Violet fumbled with his belt and pants, Max took over and did short work of getting rid of them, kicking off his underwear at the same time.
Violet started to lower her lace panties, but he stopped her by gripping her backside in both hands and lifting her off her feet.
She wrapped her legs around his hips and her arms around his shoulders. And still the kiss went on.
The lace was a tease that drove him wild, and he slid his hands beneath it, searching for skin as he turned toward the bed.
He climbed onto the mattress and pressed her into the soft cotton sheets as he followed her down.
The lace was in his way now, so he grabbed it and tore.
Violet gasped against his lips and hiked one leg higher over his hips.
Max was a driven beast. There was only one thought in his head.
He needed to be inside Violet. He needed her with a ferocity he'd never before experienced, and it shook him to the core.
With one powerful thrust, he plunged inside her welcoming body, and, for an instant, time stopped.
His problems and disappointments faded to nothing.
All he could do was feel the soul-saving presence of the woman beneath him.
He inhaled her heady, addictive scent and sighed with pleasure.
And then he began to move.