Shelter In The Tropics. Cara Lockwood

grabbed the flat, easily lifting it and putting it underneath the carriage where the spare had been. They both climbed back into the minibus.

      “Uh...we’re not too far from the resort,” she said, not looking him in the eye, a blush creeping up the side of her cheek as she settled into the driver’s seat once more.

      Cate’s mobile phone came to life then, blaring an easy Caribbean tune, and Tack saw her grab the phone from her pocket. “Mark?” she breathed into the phone. “Yes, I’m on the way. Just had a flat, but...” She paused, listening. “No, a guest helped me change it.” For the briefest of seconds, Cate met Tack’s gaze and a deep blush swept her neck as she swiftly looked away. She might as well have been telling him how she felt about their almost-kiss. He wondered how a woman who wore her emotions so clearly on her face could plot to kill her husband, steal from him and flee the country with his only son. She looked to him like an open book.

      Which was probably what made her so very dangerous.

      Cate glanced away and pressed the phone to her ear. “We’re fine...Really...We’ll be there in two minutes...I will. I promise...Okay. Bye.”

      She tucked the phone in her pocket and smiled sheepishly at Tack. “That’s my current business partner. He...” She paused. “He was just checking up on me. Wondering what was taking so long.”

      “Protective?” More like possessive, Tack thought and then wondered why he felt a pang of jealousy.

      “He just worries about me.” She smiled at Tack in the rearview mirror, but her answer didn’t make him feel any better. A man who called when a woman was ten minutes late from the airport had to be more than a business partner.

      “Sounds like he cares about you. Boyfriend?” he asked, and wondered why the word felt so bitter on his tongue.

      A laugh burst from Cate, and she shook her head. “Oh, no. Mark’s happily married. His wife, Carol, helps me run the resort, and they’ve got a fifteen-year-old daughter, Grace, who is an amazing high diver. Might even try to get a scholarship in the States.” Cate guided the minibus around the cliff bank and then took a right turn into what seemed like jungle.

      The tightness in Tack’s chest eased.

      “So, he’s not the boyfriend. Dating someone else? Or are you married?” Technically, he already knew she was divorced. Rick Allen had filed for divorce in her absence and had the courts push it through about a year ago.

      Cate didn’t even flinch. “God, no,” she said, and laughed, flicking her long blond hair over one shoulder. The laugh sounded so genuine. “Too busy being a single mom,” she said lightly. No trace of irony in that at all.

      “Oh, how old is your child?”

      “He’s four,” she said, and he could hear the pride in her voice. “He’s an amazing swimmer. And so very sweet.”

      “It’s probably none of my business, but...what happened to his dad?” Tack watched Cate carefully, studying her reflection in the rearview mirror and trying to pick up on any signs of discomfort, of deceit. Her narrow shoulders stiffened ever so slightly, he noted, but she kept her expression neutral.

      “He died,” Cate said, voice flat. Her foot nudged the accelerator a little bit more. Seemed like she might want to get to the resort a bit faster.

      “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked.”

      “No. It’s okay.” Cate shrugged and then turned, throwing an almost too-bright smile over one tanned shoulder. “Looks like we’re here.”

      Tack glanced out the window and realized they’d taken a turn and were now out of the thick brush and into a cleared parking lot, with a three-story, white brick hotel sitting about a hundred yards from the pristine beach. The blue-green water of the Caribbean sparkled in the sunlight, and a sole, mature palm tree offered shade for a few empty white lounge chairs. Beyond that lay a boat moored at a long wooden dock. Tack could just make out the name painted on the stern: Lost and Found.

      Indeed, Cate Allen, he thought as he looked at the lithe blonde who shut off the minibus’s engine. You were lost, but now you’re found. He was more convinced than ever he’d found his target.

      “Gorgeous view,” Tack said as he grabbed his seabag and slung it over one shoulder.

      “We provided the clean sheets and breakfast buffet, but I can’t take credit for the view,” she said. “Mr. Reeves, if you’ll follow me? I’ll get you checked in.”

      The formality wasn’t lost on Tack. He’d been kicked back from first-name basis to formal stranger. As the two walked into the hotel’s lobby, Tack felt a cool blast of air-conditioning, and the air smelled like coconut oil. White marble tile lined the floor, and dark wicker furniture made up the spacious check-in area. Tasteful, he thought. A man with gray, nearly white hair, wearing khaki Bermuda shorts, sprang up from the love seat.

      “You okay, Cate?” he asked in gruff voice, concern etched in his face.

      “Mark, I’m fine. Uh...Mr. Reeves helped with the flat.” Cate turned and nodded. “Mr. Reeves...this is Mark Gurda. He co-owns the resort with me.”

      “Nice to meet you,” Tack said, and extended a hand, noticing that Mark eyed him with suspicion, taking in his build and his seabag.

      “Marines, huh?” Mark said, but it didn’t sound like he approved.

      “Yep.” Tack nodded. “Retired, though. If you can ever be retired from the marines.” He’d leave out the part about the dishonorable discharge. No need to split hairs.

      Mark gave a curt nod but quickly shifted his attention back to Cate. “I...need to talk to you. Do you have a minute?”

      Cate hesitated. The man wasn’t just a business partner, that much was clear. And Tack knew more than anyone that being married didn’t mean he wasn’t sleeping with Cate. He’d been hired to catch more than one cheating spouse. As Tack glanced down at Cate’s long, tanned legs, he thought, Who wouldn’t throw away marriage vows for that?

      “Mr. Reeves, if you’ll head to the front desk...” Mark nodded curtly away from them, leaving no mistake about his meaning. Get lost. Tack eyed the older man. He hadn’t heard of Gurda before now. She must’ve met him after she’d run away, and somehow convinced him to invest in the resort. But, given all she was said to have stolen, why would she need a coinvestor? Tack would find out.

      “May I help you, sir?” called a pretty fortyish woman with short, bobbed hair and a quick smile. She stood behind the front desk. Reluctantly, Tack left Mark, who was speaking in low tones to Cate about something he wanted to overhear. “Don’t mind my husband,” she added. “He’s gruff on the outside, but a teddy bear on the inside. I’m Carol Gurda. Welcome to St. Anthony’s Resort.” She tapped on the computer behind the desk, and when she looked up again, Tack was leaning on the counter near her. “Oh...my...you’re tall.” She craned her neck to look up at him. “Bet you get that a lot.”

      Tack shrugged. “A little bit.” He grinned. While Carol looked up his reservation, Tack couldn’t help but glance over his shoulder at Mark and Cate. They’d walked off a few more paces and stood by the window, talking in low tones about something a little too serious for Tack’s liking. Lover’s tiff?

      “Cate’s great, isn’t she? Just a doll,” Carol gushed, watching Tack watching Cate.

      “She’s captured my attention, that’s for sure,” Tack said, which wasn’t a lie.

      Carol eyed him with interest. “You’re staying for a week?” she asked him.

      “So far,” he said smoothly. “But I’ve got a flexible schedule, so could I extend the trip if I wanted to?”

      Carol brightened further. “Absolutely, you can.”

      “I might want to get to know one particular local better.” He grinned at Carol and she returned the smile.