She’s beet-red in the face and just as pretty, if not prettier, than I remember her being that night in the bar. She’s wearing espresso-brown slacks and a beige blouse, paired with navy blue ballerina shoes with gold bows. Teardrop pearl earrings drape from her ears. She’s nicely put together.
This look is different from the careless surfer woman I picked up in the bar two weeks ago, but I didn’t pick her up because I thought she was pretty. I think most women are pretty, so that wasn’t the reason. Besides, I’ve been thinking about her for quite some time. That’s unusual. Seeing her here shocks me.
When she simply stares, I prompt her again. “What are you doing in my house?”
“I didn’t know it was your house.”
“My name is on the plaque above the doorbell.”
“I used the door knocker. You know, the lion one.” She turns her hand into a claw.
Not sure what to make of the claw gesture, I ignore it. “Is that all?”
“No. I mean, I saw the plaque after Val hired me. But I didn’t recognize your name because we didn’t exchange names.”
“Sunshine,” I recall calling her because of her upbeat personality. “You’re right. Fair enough. But as you moved around the house, you must’ve seen our family photos.”
She shakes her head. “I haven’t, no.”
“Val hasn’t dined with you in the formal room?”
She shakes her head.
At least there’s that. The last time a stranger walked into my house, we invited her into our life and celebrated her birthday. My best friend left me for her and her (very cute) baby, which she delivered in Nashville, Tennessee. I’m back here alone, dealing with the mess my best friend created after he got himself arrested for killing (torturing and mutilating) the man who kidnapped the woman he now wants to marry.
Granted, Troy was a nice woman, pregnant and mistreated, so I did wish her well, but not at the cost of my best friend or his safety. Miro is an indispensable asset.
Needless to say, the last stranger I let into my house cost me a fortune, if friends and family are measured in fortunes. And they are to me.
I won’t make the same mistake twice.
“You were supposed to leave for the States the next morning,” I say.
She nods. “Yes, sir, but as Val said, a woman jumped me and took all my money and papers and my passport.” She lifts her shirt and shows me a yellow bruise under her ribs. “One of them punched me in the face, but Val called Dr. Chen, who prescribed me a cream.”
“When did this happen?”
“The night I left the hotel.”
“You mean the night you snuck out of my bed?”
She nods. I like to make her squirm because I don’t think she’s affected by the night we shared, and that’s pissing me off. I’m over here getting hard just from looking at her, and she’s over there grimacing like I’m just another mean boss.
“I told you to stay the night. I meant the entire night. You didn’t have to leave. I wasn’t going to bother you by asking you to spend the day with me, I promise. Besides, you shouldn’t walk alone at night even here.”
“I know. I won’t do it again.”
“Did Val call anyone to report the mugging?”
She nods. “The police came.”
“Any leads?”
“Yes, but the police think they were tourists like me. They seem to have left the island, so case closed.”
“Of course they were tourists, Ms. Wilder. Locals don’t commit such crimes.”
She frowns. “But is that really true?”
