Carnal Innocence. Julie Miller

      “The San Isidrans are already on the horn demanding answers. Supposedly, he drowned in his bathtub, but there are bruises on his forearms and the back of his neck that indicate a struggle.”

      “Isn’t this a case for the locals or the embassy police to handle? Why bring it to our attention?” Then he read the last line in the second to last paragraph. “Son of a bitch. Is this information accurate?”

      “From a reliable informer.” Chief Dillon was shaking his head when Sean looked up. “I don’t believe in coincidence, either.”

      “Vargas just returned from vacation on Pleasure Cove Island?”

      “Sound familiar?”

      With the thrill of the chase on again, Sean circled behind his desk and leafed through the scattered pile of papers. “Bingo.” He pulled out Judge Rossini’s itinerary for the past two weeks and compared it to the dates on Dillon’s report. “They were both on Pleasure Cove Island last weekend.”

      He set the papers down side by side and searched for another piece of evidence. He pulled out the photocopy of a high-class, lowbrow invitation and read it out loud.

      “You are cordially invited for a weekend of fun and frolic on Pleasure Cove Island. Security guaranteed.

      “Meet at the New Harbor dock at 5:00 p.m. to be ferried across Muscongus Bay to my island home.

      “Leave your wildest fantasies to us.

      “All will be discreetly provided for you.

      “Your host,

      “Douglas Fairchild.”

      “It’s a perfect setup,” the chief said. “Word is, if you have the money and the power, you can go there and do the nasty however and to whomever you want. Fairchild promises anonymity. There are no telephone communications to the island. He’s never allowed the press there. For medical emergencies, there’s a nurse on the premises. No one goes in once the party’s started. No one comes out until it’s done.”

      “A regular playground for the rich and self-indulgent. You think Fairchild is blackmailing his guests?”

      “Or maybe the guest list isn’t as anonymous as Fairchild wants it to be.”

      Adrenaline pumped through Sean’s veins. He wasn’t out of the Reyes kidnapping case yet. If he could find something to prove Judge Rossini had been coerced into resigning, he’d have a whole new angle to pursue to keep Marquez behind bars. “Can I go check it out?”

      Dillon grinned. “I was hoping you’d ask. Take tomorrow off. Make it a three-day weekend. The ferry to the island leaves promptly at five o’clock.” He was already backing out the door. “I’ll finagle you an invitation and a high-profile cover so you can go in as a guest. You get yourself the date.”

      The adrenaline burned out in Sean’s veins. “You’re not assigning a female agent?”

      “You’ve got fewer than twenty-four hours, Maddox.” Dillon talked as if he thought Sean was too thickheaded to figure out the obvious. “Take a girlfriend. Tell her you won a free vacation. Tell her you’re celebrating your birthday. It’ll be easier to behave as a couple with someone you’re already familiar with. And since this is strictly a fact-finding mission, I don’t see it as high risk. Call your girl. I’ll fill in Hall tomorrow morning so he can monitor your progress. The clock is ticking.”

      “Yes, sir,” he called out to Dillon’s back, but the chief was already striding down the hallway.

      Sean stood for a moment alone in the silence.

      Who the hell could he call to spend a weekend at a sexual playtime resort like Pleasure Cove? Elise was out of the picture. Maybe…what was her name? Or else that blonde? “Damn.”

      This was a sad testament to his workaholic lifestyle.

      And he couldn’t exactly go to a bar or the produce aisle and try to pick up someone for more than a get-acquainted date.

      Fear of failure warred with duty.

      As always, duty won.

      Sean snatched up the black book Thomas had given him for his birthday. He’d said these women were willing to meet him.

      Maybe one of them would be willing to do a little bit more.

      2

      CAITLIN MCCORMICK TOOK one look inside her apartment door and knew she was in trouble.

      “Cassie?” She thunked her overnight bag onto the tiled floor beside her and listened to her voice echo in the silence. “Come out, come out, wherever you are,” she recited in a sing-songy voice, and then listened again. “Cass, are you all right?”

      She added the last out of polite courtesy, just in case the disorder of dishes, dust bunnies and dirty clothes strewn from room to room wasn’t anything more sinister than a testament to her roommate’s housekeeping skills.

      “Maybe aliens snatched her up.” Just to be on the safe side, Caitlin quickly verified that all the rooms were empty. Leave it to Cassie to have a close encounter of the third kind while Caitlin was away. Her roomie could be off exploring brand-new worlds while she got stuck on the home planet doing housework.

      Just like in one of Caitlin’s Star Trek books, it would be Cassie’s luck to get beamed aboard a starship to hang with the hunky captain while she got left on the surface to deal with a villainous Klingon.

      “Hmm.” Caitlin raised her eyebrows and considered the possibilities. There was a definite appeal to the idea of saving the day. “I could just tame that bad boy and take over the planet myself.” She growled in her throat, imitating the imagined villain who would be at her mercy. “He’d be my consort. A warrior to serve my every need.” She closed her eyes and licked her lips, savoring an imaginary kiss as the rough-edged warrior took her to his bed.

      The cool air that brushed across her wet, wanting mouth brought her back to reality. Her eyes popped open. No warrior. No lover.

      No roommate, either.

      But a very real mess to clean up.

      “You shouldn’t have.” She waved off the imaginary audience that was cheering her dumb luck. “I’m so thrilled you’ve given me something meaningful to do with my life.” She’d learned to weed sarcasm out of her teaching, but the rest of her life was fair game for a loaded remark.

      She shrugged out of her light-blue jacket and hung it in the closet. The reality of her life was that she had work to do. And as much as she wished she could ignore her responsibilities and just take off to indulge her latest whim the way Cassie did, someone had to clean up before ants found their way into their apartment.

      Caitlin had spent the last week of May reconnecting with her father on Chesapeake Bay. She’d wanted to get away once the school year had finished, and she always enjoyed spending time with her dad. It had been relaxing—digging up crabs, sailing, chatting about the warm spring weather.

      But after a couple of days of kicking back and relaxing, she’d found it boring. Not the time spent with her father. Her. She was boring. She’d had nothing more exciting to discuss than that she’d finally found a stylist who knew how to cut her curly hair without making it frizz like steel wool.

      No wonder Retired Brigadier General Hal McCormick kept dozing off. She was reliable, sensible, boring old Caitlin. The only daughter in a long, tough tradition of rugged military men. She had no rank of distinction in front of her name like her brother Ethan’s “Major.” No notorious tag line to follow her name like her brother Travis’s “Action Man.”

      She answered to the inauspicious title of Ms. McCormick. And her tag line went something like “Dull As Dishwater.” “Same Old, Same Old.” “Good Girl.”

      Her father probably never dozed when one of her brothers was recounting a military