Just Another Day in Paradise. Justine Davis
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think of anything she’d done that was more exciting than this.
Except maybe kiss Noah Rider.
She was not having much luck keeping her promise to put that behind her, she thought wryly. But at least she could make sure he didn’t know that.
She felt the change as the boat began to slow. She was sorry it was over, but that passed as she concentrated on what the man had told her about landing. As it turned out, she drifted down easily, slowly enough that she could even enjoy it. She ended up a bit off target from where they’d told her she’d land, but Noah was there, waiting. And when she hit, barely hard enough to stagger her, he was there to steady her, to keep her clear of the chaos of lines and sail.
Just as he had five years ago, he kept her balanced and safe.
She drew in a deep breath, knowing she was grinning like a kid.
“How was it?” he asked.
“Looks like I’m buying dinner,” she said.
Rider ran a hand through his hair wearily. It wasn’t that anything was really going wrong. In fact, the most important things were progressing right on schedule. It was the little things that were not quite coming together and driving him nuts.
The best thing he could say was that it wasn’t because of any of the Redstone people: it was people on the outside who were falling down on the job. The man who was supposed to have run the final test on the air-conditioning system had been delayed. And two important shipments of extra bedsheets—Redstone Resorts always triple sheeted the beds, so no blanket ever touched a guest’s skin—and the last of the gym equipment were held up in Arethusa, something about a bomb scare. He made a note to put that in his next report to Redstone. If the unrest kept escalating, they might have to make other arrangements.
He glanced at his watch as he’d been doing all afternoon. Still plenty of time before dinner. His mouth twisted wryly; he was acting like a teenager with a hot date. But he couldn’t deny he was eager—and apprehensive—about dinner with Paige tonight. They’d kept it light, under the guise of a bet being paid off, but he knew she could have gotten out of it if she’d wanted to, since she’d never actually agreed to that part of it.
But she hadn’t. And he wasn’t sure why. Was she only trying to show him she was keeping to their agreement? Or did she want to—
“Mr. Rider?”
He glanced up to find Elan Kiskeya, the young man they’d decided to give a shot at replacing Bohio, in his doorway.
“Come on in,” he said, glad enough of the interruption.
“I won’t keep you,” the young man said. “I just wanted to tell you the elevator system is ready for you to check.”
“Already?” Rider asked, surprised.
“Yes, sir.” Kiskeya’s voice was full of pride. And rightfully so, Rider thought.
“Good job, Elan. I figured we were a couple of days away on that.”
“Thank you. And thank you again for taking a chance on me.”
“No…thank you,” Rider answered. “You’re making me look good. I’ll be sure they hear about you at Redstone.”
“Thank you. I already enjoy working for them.”
He liked it when a gamble paid off, Rider thought as the young man hastened away, off to work even harder, he guessed. When Josh had first given him the power to make field promotions, he’d been wary; personnel wasn’t his field. But he’d been right more than he’d been wrong, and that was all Josh asked.
In a way, Rider thought, he was in a unique position to understand the vast scope of Josh’s vision. He’d come directly from an earthquake-ravaged part of the Middle East, where Redstone was helping finance a massive rebuilding effort, to this place catering to the movers and shakers. He found it to be an education in itself. And after nearly fifteen years Rider was as impressed as he had been in the beginning.
He decided abruptly that three hours in this office dealing with paperwork and details was enough for today, and got to his feet. He needed to check the generator tests, and then he’d stop by and sign off on Kiskeya’s work. By then Barry would be waiting—and probably fussing—to start the final check on the rooms in the north building, and after that he’d head back. He’d already told Rudy to fire up the grill for his special meal.
By the time he finished, including some reinforcement of his appreciation for Kiskeya’s good job, he was running late. He took the shortcut back to the main building where his room was, cutting through the garden.
He froze in front of a hibiscus bush when some leaves rustled off to his left. A much more definite rustle than just the current slight breeze. In a burst of idiocy his brain ran through the list of creatures native to the island—iguanas, the odd but harmless mastiff bat, tiger beetles—even though he already knew none of them were particularly threatening to humans.
He held his breath and listened with a hunter’s ears. The old, long-unused skills came back surprisingly well. Something large, and tall, the sounds were coming from at least a couple of feet above the ground. Only one thing fitted that description on the island. And then the breeze shifted slightly, he caught the smell of cigarette smoke, and he knew he was right.
He turned and took a careful step, then another, moving silently, in the old stalking way, past the hibiscus and into the tropical grass that was the flowering bush’s backdrop. There he found his quarry; a boy crouched hiding in the thicket of tall grasses, smoking a cigarette.
Or trying to; the face he was making and the sudden burst of smothered coughing told Rider he hadn’t been at it long.
“Get rid of the butt of that cancer stick somewhere else,” he said.
The boy let out a strangled yelp and scrambled to his feet. His baseball cap fell backward off his head. The sunglasses he wore slipped to the end of his nose. The cigarette dropped onto his shirt, and he swatted it wildly. It hit the ground, glowing orange. The boy instinctively moved his foot to crush it out, but stopped abruptly, apparently remembering shoes hadn’t been in his wardrobe today.
Rider stepped on the cigarette, but didn’t grind it. He picked it up, and handed it back to the boy.
“Tell me you didn’t get that here.”
“Huh?”
Rider tried again. “Where’d you get the cigarette?”
“Oh. I brought it from home.”
“Good.”
“Huh?”
“I didn’t want to have to fire somebody.”
The boy looked blank. “Fire somebody?”
“For selling them to an underage kid.”
The boy stiffened. “I’m not a kid.”
“Prove it. Be smart enough not to smoke.”
“Yeah, yeah,” the boy muttered in the tone of one who’d heard it all before. As perhaps he had. Then he gave Rider a sideways look. “You’re Rider, aren’t you? The big kahuna around here?”
“I’m Rider, at least,” he agreed.
“I remember you.”
Rider blinked. He hadn’t met any of the children on the island yet, so how could—
It hit him then. “You’re Kyle?”
The boy nodded. “I remember when you were there. When my dad died.”
He said it levelly enough, but Rider could hear the lingering pain behind the words.
“That was a tough time.”
“My mom said you made sure he got brought home.”
“I