Chapter 1
Tayla Faraday’s first glimpse of Isadora Island eased her fears. At least temporarily. She gripped the cool, top-deck railing of the ferry as it eased to a stop in crystal clear waters. The pristine shoreline made her wish she’d traveled to the remote Caribbean isle for a vacation. Or business. Instead of her white-knuckle reality.
Her online search revealed little about the island’s inhabitants, or its establishments. And yet, her first impression was what she, somehow, expected. Breathtaking. Dreamlike. She just wasn’t sure what sort of dream Isadora Island would prove to be.
Nestled among the dozen of isles belonging to the tiny island country of Morghana, Isadora Island offered more palms than people, more beach than buildings, and more questions than answers.
And that’s what she needed most from this supposed utopia. Answers.
Exquisite cuisine and spa services were not why she was here—though a massage would feel amazing right now. She’d changed planes three times before landing in Morghana’s quaint airport, only to find the trip to Isadora required an additional ferry ride. The worries that prompted this abrupt trip gave way to exhaustion by the middle of her second flight. Now, she just wanted to wash away her day of travel in a hot shower before facing whatever awaited her on the secluded paradise.
“Miss Faraday?” A young valet greeted her the moment she stepped onto the pier. For a fraction of a moment, she wondered how he knew which passenger was her. But only a dozen people disembarked the ferry, and she was the only woman traveling alone. He’d made a safe assumption.
“Yes. Hello.”
“I hope your trip was comfortable.”
No, it wasn’t. “Well, I’m glad to finally be here.” She looked at the dark clouds overhead. “I was hoping for some sun though.”
“Oh, the sun is here. It’s always here. Always shining. The clouds just block our view from time to time.”
Huh. Was he trying to be profound or something? Her brain was too tired to rally an appropriate response to that.
“May I take your luggage?”
“Yes, thank you.” She tried to sound more polite than she felt. Either he didn’t notice her stress or pretended not to.
“The Mandeville Hotel is only a three-minute trip by golf cart.” He indicated their transportation a few feet away and placed her luggage in the back of the cart—with infinitely more care than anyone at an airport ever had.
Three minutes sounded nice. “Thank you.” She climbed aboard the all-white cart, trying to remember which pocket of her carry-on still held enough cash to tip the courteous young man—who was doing a masterful job treating her like the royalty she wasn’t, instead of the exhausted mess that she was.
She tried to enjoy the tropical scenery as she was whisked away to The Mandeville. But the frightening questions that robbed her of rest on the long flights today wouldn’t be kept at bay much longer. First, she needed to sleep. And shower. And eat. She could do all that behind a locked and bolted door at the hotel. She should be safe there. Then, after she’d refreshed, she could get her bearings and form a plan.
“I assure you, Mr. Drakos, we are taking your situation very seriously.” Jason Bridger watched his client take another sip of whiskey, presumably to calm his nerves. It was having the opposite effect.
“One man,“ Drakos sat at his ridiculously large dining table and shouted. “Someone is trying to kill me, and your boss sentone manto investigate. Thenhe disappearsand your boss sendsyou.“ He jabbed a finger toward Jason, as if accusing him of something. “Only you. No, no, Mr. Bridger, I do not think your boss is taking my predicament seriously!“ His words began to slur.
“Mr. Drakos,” Jason stepped to the table and moved the whiskey out of Drakos’ reach. “This is not helping. We need you clearheaded to help with our investigation. As to your concern, if you recall, you hired WhiteRock because we’re discreet. If I showed up with a large team, we would tip off whoever may be trying to harm you. If they’re still on Isadora. You have your personal security. Let them do their jobs. Keep them close. Let us do the investigating.”
Drakos gave a weary nod.
Jason picked up two room keys from the dining table. “Which is which?”
“Gus Branch was in room three twelve. I arranged for you to be in room three twenty-four. Both corner suites. So, between the two, you should have an ample view of the area around The Mandeville.” His hands made feeble circular motions in the air, indicating the entirety of his hotel. “You can have access to my other two resorts as well, but I don’t know that Mr. Branch ever went to either of them. I only met with him here. Twice.”
The stout resort owner looked scared. And desperate. Unlike his pronounced mustache. Black as pitch, it boasted a confident personality all its own. Drakos likely thought the meticulously shaped facial hair made him look sophisticated. It did not.
Jason felt bad for him, but words wouldn’t provide Alec Drakos any relief at this point. Jason just needed to do his job and resolve the situation.
“That was good thinking. About the two corner suites, Mr. Drakos.” He pocketed the keys. “I’ll keep in touch. Try to get some rest. And remember what I said. Stay close to your security.”
Drakos nodded and waved him away with a look of very little confidence.
Jason left Drakos’ private residence wing of The Mandeville Hotel to drop off his luggage in his room, but there was no time to rest, or enjoy his luxurious accommodations. He needed to hurry to the lobby to meet with the staffer who would give him access to The Mandeville’s security camera footage.
Gus Branch should’ve reported back to WhiteRock nearly twenty-four hours ago. Field work could be unpredictable, and Gus was never the best at checking in on-the-dot, but after six hours past his scheduled check-in call, his boss, WhiteRock Security Director, Eric Kitts, started to worry. After eight hours, Eric called Jason.
Hopefully, Eric was worried for nothing. Gus’s assignment wasn’t supposed to be dangerous. Alec Drakos was convinced someone was trying to kill him, but Eric was equally convinced Drakos was simply paranoid.
