"Fine, I suppose I can get away for an hour. I expect the full use of the hour.”
"Oh, you'll get it.”
"I'll see you in a bit.”
She ended the call, and that was the end of the recording.
I shared a look with JD. At least we had a little more dirt on the two of them.
Isabella kept tabs on Marguerite’s phone and tracked it to Sandpiper Point. We followed to the upscale marina, pulled into the parking lot, and found a place to park with a clear view. I'm not quite sure how Mark afforded it, but he had a 127-foot Holloway Marine flybridge yacht with sleek, modern lines, Arctic white trim, and a navy hull. I'm sure it was technically owned by Aqus, written off as a research vessel, or some deep-sea exploration yacht.
Jack hopped out of the Porsche and grabbed his camera bag from the front trunk. He pulled out his camera and a telephoto lens, then climbed back into the car. From where we were parked, we had a clear shot of theChimera. It was an apt name for the superyacht.
Jack lensed up Marguerite as she crossed the passerelle to greet Mark. He snapped photos in rapid succession as Mark took her hand and pulled her close. He gave a quick look around, then kissed her lips.
"Did you get that?" I asked.
"I sure did," Jack replied.
"That didn't look like an innocent kiss to me.”
Mark pulled Marguerite into the salon. With the sun beaming bright, it was easy to see into the salon, despite the tinted windows.
Mark didn’t waste any time getting down to business. The two staggered across the room, locked at the lips, peeling off each other's clothes. Soon, Mark pulled off Marguerite’s sports bra, revealing all-natural endowments that had just the right amount of gravity-defying bounce. His hands cupped glorious handfuls and tweaked pert peaks. He didn't waste any time turning her around, bending her over, and pulling down those yoga pants. Marguerite braced herself against the bulkhead by the window as Mark hurried to unbutton his pants and give his HR department a nightmare.
Jack continued to snap photos as Mark played hide the sausage. At the rate he was going, he wasn't going to last an hour. Not with Marguerite. Something told me she was going to be sorely disappointed. But for some unknown reason, she kept coming back to him. This wasn't their first encounter. That was obvious.
With a devilish grin, Jack said, "How do you think Mark's wife is gonna feel about these photos?”
I smiled. "Let's find out.”
54
Iwasn't in the business of breaking up marriages, but I needed to break this case. Turning Mark's wife against him might just be the key that unlocks the door.
Mark was definitely living high on the hog. His Stingray Bay mansion didn't come cheap. Perhaps he was funneling money from the nonprofit. Maybe the nonprofit owned the property, and he was just living in it.
Jack parked at the curb, and we walked up to the courtyard gate, past the circular drive that was home to a white convertible Jaguar F-type. I rang the video doorbell.
A few moments later, a woman's voice crackled through the speaker. "Can I help you?"
I flashed my badge and made introductions. "I'm hoping you can help us. It's rather urgent we speak.”
"Mark isn't here right now. I'm not sure what I can help you with.”
"It won't take long.”
She hesitated for a moment. "Alright. I'll be there in just a second."
The line crackled as she disconnected.
I shared a look with Jack. I hated to break the bad news like this. I felt terrible for her. But maybe she already knew.
The gate buzzed, and we stepped inside and walked to the front porch. A small fountain trickled water, and the hedges inside the court were expertly manicured.
Claire pulled open the door a moment later. She was an attractive woman in her mid-30s with curly blonde hair, fair skin, and narrow tawny eyes that darted between the two of us with concern. "Is something wrong? Is Mark okay?”
"He's fine. There's nothing to worry about.”
