Take It Down. Kira Sinclair
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of whatever was going to come next.
And if there hadn’t been an audience, Zane might have slipped quietly out of the room and let it happen. The two of them had been striking enough sparks off each other lately to light the bonfire they held on the beach. But they weren’t alone, so …
On silent feet, Zane moved between Marcy’s glaring gaze and Simon’s impish grin and said quietly, “Not the time or place, guys,” tipping his head to the spectators.
Simon looked over Marcy’s shoulder at the people staring, and his lips tightened into a straight line. Oh, that was worse. Marcy pissed he could handle. Simon angry was unusual and therefore infinitely more volatile. Even though Zane was an ex-CIA agent trained in fifty ways to kill with household objects, he tried to avoid Simon when the man’s temper flared.
Simon’s eyes narrowed as he looked around Zane to Marcy. “I don’t want strangers in my space. I need to work.”
Marcy snorted. Probably not the smartest thing she’d ever done. Zane widened his stance and braced for the consequences.
“Well, you’re going to have to wait. The marketing director for the campaign specifically asked to photograph your private rooms, Simon. And you agreed.”
“I did?”
“Yes. You’re on the highest floor, with the best view. From this vantage point, we can show a luxurious room with the jungle behind surrounded by deep blue water.”
It was uncomfortable, being at the center of their angry standoff. They stared at each other, through him, but Zane figured this way at least he wouldn’t have to witness a murder.
“You’re not going to go away until I let them do this, are you?” Simon finally asked.
“Nope,” Marcy responded.
“Fine,” Simon said, whirling around on his heels and heading for the door. “But I start throwing people out the window if you’re not done in an hour.”
Most people might think Simon was kidding. It was hard to take a man who dressed like a surfer seriously. But Zane knew firsthand that surf-god exterior hid a spine of steel and a drive to succeed. Hell, even he forgot sometimes. It was easy when Simon smiled that crooked grin.
With a huff, Marcy prowled over to his former corner and stood there, glaring at the production crew. They quickly found something to do and somewhere else to look.
Crossing his arms and returning to the piece of wall he’d been holding up, Zane didn’t look at her, either, when he asked, “Want to talk about it?”
“Some days I want to kill him,” she grumbled.
“I know.”
“How do you stand him? How can you still be his friend after all these years?”
“Because he’d give me the shirt off his back if I needed it. Practically did. He’s loyal to the people he cares about, Marcy. Trust me when I say you don’t know the whole story.”
She shot him a pointed look. “No one will tell me.”
Zane raised his hands in an unarmed gesture. “Not my story to tell.”
“He just…drives me insane. He knows how important this photo shoot is. And he knows what I went through to get this set up in time. If Colt and Lena were here, I might be tempted to wring their necks.…”
“You know that’s not true.” Zane bumped her hip with his own, hoping to jar a smile from her. “You liked those two. And you could have refused to sell the photographs back to Colt. But you didn’t. Admit it, you have a romantic soft spot beneath that drill-sergeant exterior.”
The ghost of a smile played at the edges of her lips. “If you breathe a word of that to Simon, I’ll kill you.”
“I’m shaking in my shoes.”
1
ZANE STARED OUT THE CLOSED window to the panoramic picture of tropical beauty and sighed. It was perfect and he was bored.
He shouldn’t be. This laid-back, no pressure lifestyle was exactly what he’d signed up for—the complete opposite of the life he’d left behind.
For good reason.
He swiveled in his desk chair until his full attention returned to the bank of security screens that occupied the wall in front of him. He should probably run back the tapes to check those sixty seconds he’d been distracted. But he wouldn’t. In the eighteen months he’d been on the island, not a single exciting thing had ever shown up on those screens.
And why would it? The resort—the only thing on Île du Coeur—might have plenty to take, but there was only one way off the island. The chances of a thief being caught before the ferry arrived were pretty damn good. Especially with him on the job. None of their guests had ever had so much as a candy wrapper taken. The worst thing he’d had to deal with since he’d set foot on the island was a drunk who’d fallen through one of the thatched huts along the beach.
The only thing hurt had been the hut.
Zane looked at the timer in the bottom right corner of one of the screens and registered that Tom, his replacement, would be there in about twenty minutes. So far the boy was working out, and Zane was happy he’d hired him.
After Tom arrived, Zane planned on walking the grounds, checking that no guests from the couples side of the resort had left their cabana doors standing open in their romance-fueled haze.
The resort specialized in adult vacations. Singles came not only to relax but to also meet other successful singles. They tended to stay in the main building of the resort. Couples came for the romantic, secluded atmosphere Escape excelled at creating. And since they usually wanted more privacy, they occupied the bungalows on the far side of the resort. In between were various buildings and shared amenities—a bar, five-star restaurant, gym and spa, water sports equipment and instructors, tennis courts, a large pool complex and, of course, the beach and jungle. Somehow the entire resort managed to maintain an untouched, romantic feel, while still offering the latest in modern amenities.
Part of that could be attributed to the remnants of the French plantation house, the face of the entire complex. The house itself had been expanded and updated over the years, but it still retained the air of gentility and mystery. The public rooms were more than two hundred years old, keeping their period pine floors and rich interiors. The guest rooms had been added on to the back of the existing house at least fifty years ago when it had first been converted to a resort. Since then, the structures had been updated and modernized several times over, the latest when Simon purchased the place.
After Zane had verified that everything and everyone was locked up tight, he was going to head to his own quarters at the back of the resort to see if there was anything interesting on TV.
That was his plan.
Until sirens began blaring overhead. Zane jackknifed in his chair, his eyes immediately sharpening and scanning the bank of monitors before him.
The information screen blinked fire zone six just as the telephone at his elbow rang. He punched a command into the system, his screens filling with every camera they had in zone six. Nothing. No flames. No smoke. All he saw was panicked guests running around. He shook his head at the pandemonium. Picking up the ringing line, he spoke to the nice woman from the alarm company on the other end.
Insurance required they maintain the service, although he had no idea why. No one from St. Lucia could get here in time to be of any help. Even with boats, it would take the fire department forty minutes to reach the island.
However, they were prepared. Even now, the head of the grounds crew was mobilizing the pump truck that they painstakingly tested once every month.
Not that Zane thought they’d need it.
Dropping the phone into the cradle, he immediately snatched it back