Passion Key (A Romance & Suspense Series) Page 4

  She went back to the office, then checked out the pool area to see how her guests were doing, but there was no one there.

  However, parked near the turn off from the main road into her driveway, she saw a black sedan with tinted windows. Justine wasn’t sure why it caught her eye, but it seemed out of place.

  For a moment, she felt a tinge of panic.

  Could it be her ex-husband?

  No, no way. There would be no way for him to find her, plus, if he did, she highly doubted he would park just outside where she lived and watch her. No, he would probably come right in and–

  She did not want to think about that.

  Besides, most cars in the Keys had tinted windows, and if it was anybody watching her, it would probably be the FBI.

  Justine decided to ignore the car, and went into the office where she found a beautiful, brown-skinned young woman with startling green eyes waiting for her.

  “Hello,” Justine said.

  “Hi, are you Ms. Beaudry?” the girl said, with a lovely, lilting accent that struck Justine immediately as quite lovely.

  “Yes,” she said. “You must be Taye?”

  The Feds had told Justine they’d hired a girl to work full-time in the office.

  “I am,” she said.

  “I’ve been expecting you,” Justine said.

  They chatted for the better part of a half-hour and Justine learned that Taye had just moved to Passion Key a month ago and had answered a classified ad for the job of receptionist. She had been hired over the phone, contingent only upon a quick meeting with Ms. Beaudry.

  “You’re hired,” Justine said. She knew that the Bureau had already done an extensive background check on the girl.

  “How about you start tomorrow?” Justine said.

  “That would be great,” Taye answered.

  She left and Justine checked the answering machine for any messages or complaints from the guests but there weren’t any.

  Justine smiled. Well, having the Federal government working for you didn’t hurt, either. Agent Herring had told her that there was a specific division that “supported” businesses being used and/or run by people in “the program.” Free advertising was the best kind, Justine figured.

  She went back to her condo and let herself in.

  It smelled strongly of lidocaine.

  She fired up her laptop and checked her email. There were no messages from the FBI. So she assumed no news was good news.

  However, she couldn’t help herself so she Googled her husband’s name and only found a short article about a prison escape in rural Pennsylvania.

  So either the Feds had him stashed in a medium security type prison which posed little threat to the outside community, or they were actively squashing any stories about the escape to save face.

  Justine guessed it was probably both.

  Well, she had no intention of sitting around alone waiting to see what would happen, so she showered again, changed into a cute outfit of turquoise colored Capri pants, a light cotton blouse, her favorite flip flops and her Ray-bans.

  It was going to be her daily style of clothing. She could get used to it.

  She locked up her condo and walked up to the village.

  It was just past midday by now and most of the lunch places were still going strong, with people sitting outside, albeit in the shade, having salads and more than a fair share of beer and wine.

  That was one of the great things about the Keys. Every hour was happy hour.

  For today’s lunch she chose a more upscale restaurant called Ramona’s, not because she wanted an expensive meal, but more because she wanted to linger and the place had a nice outdoor seating area that surrounded a garden with a manmade waterfall and fountain.

  She ordered a light salad of mixed greens with a glass of chardonnay.

  Her leg felt a little better, probably from the walking.

  She dined alone and enjoyed the peace and quiet, and her food was delicious. People passing by the restaurant provided a steady stream of people-watching opportunities.

  Justine paid her bill, and then strolled around to a few of the shops. She spent some time looking around and realized she was awfully close to Archer Thorpe’s place.

  There was a hole-in-the-wall liquor store that prominently featured fine wines so she went inside and selected a reasonable but well-reviewed white and red, purchased them, then walked over to Archer’s shop.

  She stood in front, for some reason feeling her heart beating more quickly than usual. Even her palms were a little sweaty.

  Come on, Justine, you’re not a teenager anymore.

  Steadying herself, she rang the bell.

  Here goes nothing, she thought.

  13.

  The blank sheet of paper didn’t stay blank for long. Archer used a charcoal pencil begin to begin his sketch. He already had a vague shape in mind, but scratching the visual down on paper always helped him see the shapes and angles he needed to clarify before he could start any kind of actual carpentry work.

  What he had in mind was a table made of cypress, not too finished, but not overly rustic either. He had a nice batch of river cypress that was at least one hundred years old. It was sometimes called pecky cypress because the wood at some point in its life had been invaded by a fungus that created pockets of black when finished. He considered them badges of honor for a life well-lived. Archer always thought of it as Florida’s answer to tiger striped oak favored by Arts & Crafts furniture makers.

  As he sketched out various ideas, he let his mind wander. He never rushed this part of the process, because to be impatient here would only cause him to lose huge amounts of time during the actual building process due to poor planning. He’d learned that the hard way.

  His sketches increased in speed and soon he had several pages of ideas and no sign of stopping–

  The doorbell rang and he ignored it until he finished the last image in his mind. He stopped and realized that the last sketch was probably his best.

  He stood and went to the door.

  Archer opened it and he was momentarily caught off guard at seeing Justine Beaudry standing in the doorway with a dazzling smile and a tall, narrow gift bag that obviously contained a bottle or two of wine.

  “Justine, are you okay to be up and about?” he asked, stepping aside for her to enter.

  As she passed him, he smelled a trace of perfume, along with an underlying hint of something medicinal.

  “Yes, that’s my new scent, it’s called Sting Soother No. 5, by Chanel,” she said, and smiled at him.

  He shut the door

  “It’s very becoming,” he said. “But how is the leg?”

  They both looked down at her thigh, which was covered by her Capri pants.

  “It’s fine,” she said. “Thanks to you.”

  She held out the gift bag.

  “I just wanted to stop by and thank you in person for your quick thinking. What you did was exactly right and the fact that it was done so quickly really helped keep down the effect.”

  Archer accepted the bag but said, “You really don’t have to give me anything. I was just making sure nothing happened to you so you could pay me for my work.”

  She laughed.

  “But thank you,” he said. He glanced up at the clock on the wall. It was only half past three.

  “I know it’s a little early, but here in the Keys we don’t pay too much attention to official drinking hours and I can see that one of these bottles is chilled. I say we put it to good use.”

  Archer saw her hesitate and he was sure she was going to decline his offer.

  “Well, I consider you an official caregiver and I think it would be foolish of me to ignore sound medical advice,” she said. “So yes, I’ll have a glass.”

  He led her to the open kitchen area, retrieved two glasses and uncorked the bottle of chardonnay, then poured them each a glass.

  Justine was looking around his space and she said, “Does a tour come
with the glass of wine?”

  “Certainly,” he said.

  “This is an amazing property,” she said.

  “Thanks. It used to be a small cigar factory, then it was a hotel, and then it was turned into a boardinghouse. When I bought it several years ago, it was mostly empty except for one landlord who occasionally swindled someone into renting one of the rooms.”

  He pointed out the exposed beams in the great room.

  “It took me the better part of two years to rip out all of the rotten wood and the ridiculously bad modifications that had been done over the years,” he said. “I had pictures of the place back when the cigar people had it, and I thought it was beautiful. So I kept everything that was original, and tore out all of the crap. And what I couldn’t save of the original wood, I rebuilt those parts to match.”

  “It’s got a classic beauty.”

  Just like you, he wanted to say. He continued the tour, showing her some of the interesting original woodwork that he had so carefully restored. Eventually, they wound up near the set of French doors leading to the rear of the property.

  “And look at your view!” Justine said.

  He noticed her glass was nearly empty as was his.

  “Let me show you the back,” he said. “But first I’ll grab the bottle of wine.” He went back into the kitchen, jammed the bottle into a bucket with some ice and brought it out to the back.

  “Archer this is incredible,” Justine said. He topped off her glass along with his.

  “It was one of the few properties around with this much waterfront,” he said. “The reason was the cigar folks used to get their tobacco in by pretty big boats, so they refused to sell off any part of the land to developers. And then the hotel people wanted to hold onto it. And the apartment guy was so obnoxious no one could even get him to talk to them about selling off a piece of the property. So it wasn’t until he passed away that it went on the market. I was lucky in terms of my timing.”

  They sat down at the table facing the ocean. The sun was starting its descent and shadows from the royal palms that bordered each side of the landscaping were beginning to lengthen. The water was calm and a sailboat cruised by in the distance, a few people crowded around the prow, watching for dolphin that loved to put on a show.

  Archer pretended to watch the sailboat but he was looking at Justine’s profile. He felt his face to start warm along with the rest of him. My God, she was gorgeous, he thought.

  He turned away from her just as she started to say something.

  “I really have to go after this glass,” she said. “But I could sit here forever.”

  “Sometimes I do hang out here for long periods of time,” he said. “Probably longer than I should.”

  He nursed his glass of wine, not wanting to finish it too quickly.

  “So what brought you to Passion Key?” he finally asked.

  Archer saw a brief shadow pass across Justine’s face and he wondered why she reacted so strongly to the question.

  “I owned a business back in Chicago, was made an offer I couldn’t refuse so I didn’t,” she explained. “And then a friend sent the listing for the resort to me, I came down and bought it on the spot.”

  She lifted her glass of wine and drained it, then got to her feet.

  She really doesn’t like to talk about herself, Archer noted.

  “Anyway, thank you again for helping me,” Justine said. “I think I was more scared than injured but you put me at ease. It was really kind of you,” she said.

  He followed her back inside, and couldn’t help but stare at her body as she walked.

  Archer desperately wanted to figure out a way to delay her leaving but he was out of ideas until she stopped and glanced down at his sketchpad.

  “Oh, you draw?” she said.

  He stood next to her, his left arm brushing against her.

  “It’s probably more planning than anything,” he said.

  “You make furniture, too?”

  “It’s more of a hobby than anything,” he said.

  Was it his imagination or did she move her arm against his?

  She turned and looked up directly at him.

  “You’re just full of surprises, aren’t you?” she said, smiling.

  And then he kissed her.

  Her lips were sweet with wine and she pulled back from him, her eyes wide with surprise.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “I don’t–”

  “I have to go,” she said. There was no anger in her voice, just a firm resolve.

  She shut the door quietly behind her.

  14.

  Justine walked as fast as she could go without actually breaking into a run. Her face felt hot as she hurried toward home, her body warm with embarrassment. No, check that, she thought. Not embarrassment.

  Desire.

  She slowed as she got to the resort’s courtyard. Her breathing returned to normal and she walked past the front desk, directly to her condo and let herself in.

  Justine shut the door and leaned back against it. She didn’t know if it was the two glasses of wine that were making her head spin, or the incredible memory of how good Archer Thorpe’s lips felt on hers.

  My God, the man could kiss.

  Her knees felt weak and her body warmed at the memory. She’d wanted to make love to him right then and there, but luckily a clear head had prevailed and she’d gotten out of there before making yet another mistake with a man.

  Justine pushed away from the door, went into her kitchen and got a glass of water. She drank it quickly, peeled off her Capri pants and looked at her sting. It was already fading and she felt no ill effects.

  A cell phone rang in her bedroom, and she recognized it as the phone the FBI gave her. They were the only ones who knew the number.

  She picked it up and answered.

  “Hello?”

  “Justine, it’s Agent Runyan.”

  Her stomach flopped over.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing is wrong, we just wanted to check in and make sure everything is okay with you.”

  Her words most definitely did not ring true to Justine.

  “It would be a lot better if Daniel wasn’t running around a free man. Have you caught him?”

  “Not yet, but we’re working on it.”

  “No leads? Nothing?”

  She heard her sigh, then say, “I’m afraid not. But we don’t think you have anything to worry about.”

  “That’s not real comforting,” Justine said. She had a right to be angry. They had promised they would protect her and now look at the situation. She was totally vulnerable. “Plus, I tend to worry when that creep isn’t behind bars seeing as how he would love to kill me.”

  Justine tucked the cell phone between her cheek and shoulder and slid on a pair of yoga pants.

  “Look, this whole thing will take a bit of adjusting as we all know. Just give it time,” Runyan said. “Once we catch him, hopefully we’ll never have to talk about him again.”

  “That’s the goal,” Justine said. “I hope we achieve it sooner than later.”

  They talked for a few more minutes and then Justine said that she had to get going. She disconnected from the call and stretched out on the couch in her living room.

  She turned on the television, flicked through the channels for a few minutes, and then turned it back off. The silence in her condo was deafening.

  There was a painting on the far wall of a dock with some pelicans standing around.

  Justine looked at it, thought of Archer Thorpe’s view of the water and how amazing his place was. She figured he had done most of the interior work himself, because carpenters didn’t make that much money. And she vowed she would never marry a wealthy man again. A simple, poor craftsman would be her ideal choice. But it would be a choice she didn’t plan on making for a long, long time.

  But boy, Archer was a stud muffin.

  Great body, handsome face, and soft lips. She felt herself
getting turned on, pictured him here in her condo, both of them taking their clothes off, having sex.

  She jumped to her feet.

  No!

  It was too soon.

  Justine slipped on a bikini and went out to the pool. There was no one there. She dove in, felt the cool water soothe her and knew the chlorine would help kill anything around her jellyfish sting.

  There was no pain.

  Which was nice for a change, she thought.

  15.

  The design was becoming too elaborate. Archer knew that the best designs, generally, had elements of simplicity. Some of his favorite pieces of furniture were models of elegance without any complex embellishments. The Shakers, for instance, had been geniuses when it came to stunning yet minimalist designs.

  So still working with paper and charcoal, Archer began to strip away anything unnecessary from his cypress table. He wanted to make the joinery invisible, seamless, the planks thin and elegant, like a beautiful woman who knows designer clothes are beside the point.

  Like Justine.

  He shook his head. Not again. He’d been thinking about her nonstop since his ridiculous idea to kiss her. What a cretin he was!

  Archer thought of those videos of sharks in the water going after a big hunk of meat dangling on a hook. Just a bunch of eating machines powerless at the smell of blood in the water.

  What was he, a caveman? Mmm, beautiful woman. Must kiss.

  He laughed.

  Get it together, pal.

  The charcoal pencil flew under his hand and he kept stripping away from his design until it was not only clear on the paper, but more importantly, vivid in his mind. He put the pencil down and stood, stretching.

  Maybe it was time for another long outing in the kayak, to clear his head and–

  His phone rang. He considered letting it go to voicemail, but decided to pick it up.

  “Hello?”

  “Mr. Thorpe?”

  “Yes.”

  “This is Taye from Passion Key Resort. I was just wondering where to send payment for your services. I don’t have an address on file for you.”

  “Sure, it’s–”

  His mouth snapped shut. And before he knew it, he wasn’t talking about his address.