Front Page Affair. Jennifer Morey

      Arizona shared a look with Braden, finding that piece of information suspicious.

      “Can you tell us where Julian Blake lives?” Braden asked.

      “On the other side of the island. Big house. You can’t miss it.” She told them how to get there.

      After thanking the girl, Arizona turned with Braden.

      “I wouldn’t go there if I were you.”

      Stopping short at the sound of the girl’s whisper, an urgent warning, she turned with Braden.

      “Mr. Blake doesn’t like uninvited visitors,” the girl continued.

      “Why doesn’t he like visitors?” Braden asked.

      “Uninvited visitors. Guess he prefers his privacy.” She glanced at the office door again.

      Why did he need privacy? So he could hide what he was doing? Arizona rubbed her arms, sensing danger rising. How far would Julian go to preserve his privacy? The last place Tatum was known to be is his house. Was he hiding something sinister?

      “What does he do if someone comes to see him anyway?” Arizona asked.

      “Escorts them off his property. That’s what I hear anyway. Rich people live in their own world.”

      The way the girl said escorts gave Arizona an image of being forced away at gunpoint. “Thank you. You’ve been a tremendous help.”

      The girl glanced at the office door again. Why was she so nervous? Didn’t she want her manager to know what she’d heard on her way into work? And if not, why? Were they both afraid of Julian Blake?

      Arizona walked with Braden out of the hotel. “This is really getting weird.”

      “We have to go to Julian’s house.”

      “Should we talk to the manager again?”

      “Not yet. He probably won’t tell us any more than he has, and I don’t want to cause trouble for that clerk.”

      She agreed. Not yet.

      Wondering about the escort they’d receive, she didn’t let it sway her. “What are we waiting for, then?” They’d never get anywhere doing nothing.

      Arizona hurried with Braden to a waiting taxi. The driver gave them a funny look when Braden told them to take them to Julian Blake. The man knew how to get there. Another oddity. Or not. This was a small island. Everyone knew everyone.

      Pulling out Crawford’s card, Braden pressed in the number. Shortly thereafter he explained what the clerk had told them, particularly about the hotel manager.

      “He said he’d check into it,” he told Arizona.

      The taxi driver turned onto a narrow dirt road. A sign read Keep Out. Another read Private Property. Arizona shared a long look with Braden. Dare they meet Julian Blake on their own?

      “We’re just going to talk to him,” Braden said. “What could possibly go wrong?”

      * * *

      The taxi bumped over the uneven road. If this was a driveway, it was long. At last, they passed an open, elaborate iron gate. If Julian didn’t welcome visitors, would he leave the gate open? Seeing cameras moving on each side of the gate, she understood why it didn’t necessarily have to be closed all the time. The security was tight here.

      The thick forest of trees opened in a clearing and a stone villa came into view. It was breathtaking. A main section with large windows jutted forward in front. Windows lined two levels on the back portion. Above the entry, a balcony had tables and chairs. The drapes were closed in whatever room it was.

      The taxi stopped in a circular driveway, just in front of wide stone stairs leading to a courtyard entrance.

      “Wait for us,” Braden said.

      One of the double front doors opened and three men emerged. The man in front exuded an aura of power. Average in height, thick brown hair, eyes covered by sunglasses, he wore white pants and a white vest over a long-sleeved pink dress shirt. Showy.

      He stepped down the stairs, the two other men following.

      Arizona stopped on the flagstone driveway, Braden beside her.

      “Mr. Blake?” Braden began.

      “What business do you have coming to my home?” he asked in an East Coast accent. He wasn’t from here. He was American and must have moved here at some point.

      “We apologize for arriving unannounced,” Braden said. “But we have a rather urgent matter we’d like to discuss with you.” When Julian didn’t respond, he explained who they were and why they were here.

      “Tatum McCrae, you say?” the man repeated, making a show of ignorance. He shook his head. “I haven’t heard of her.”

      He was lying. He had to be.

      “We know she came to see you before she disappeared. How do you know her?” Braden demanded. “Where is she now?”

      “I don’t know your sister. I don’t know anyone named Tatum McCrae. Why have you come here?”

      Braden stepped forward with his picture. The two men behind Julian moved in front of him. Braden stopped, extending the picture.

      The two men didn’t move to take it. And Julian put his hands on each of his henchmen’s shoulders, who stepped aside to make room for him. Julian stepped, closer to Braden and Arizona. Removing his sunglasses and holding them in his hand, his dark, fathomless gaze drifted down and up Arizona, and then shifted to meet Braden’s indomitable eyes.

      But Julian wasn’t affected. “You came here for nothing.”

      Braden continued to stare at the man.

      “And unless I tell you it’s all right to come to my home, I suggest you stay away. Next time I won’t wait to ask questions.”

      “Where is my sister?” Braden asked again.

      “This is the last warning you’ll get. Leave now. Never come back.”

      Another stare down commenced, Julian mocking, Braden calculating.

      “Let’s go.” Arizona had a bad feeling about this.

      After a few tugs on his arm, Braden went with her back to the cab, looking back at the villa until it vanished from sight. Dust billowed up from the dirt road. Flowering evergreen trees and a variety of others, perhaps white cedar and mango, gave the illusion of paradise.

      When they reached the gate, two Jeeps waited just inside, angled toward the road. Four men stood outside of the vehicles, all of them armed. They each held some sort of automatic weapon, the barrels long and pointed to the ground at the moment. Around their waists, pistols hung.

      Fear shot into Arizona as the driver began to slow.

      “Don’t stop,” Braden said.

      Arizona could hear the driver breathing and his eyes were round, the green of them stark against his dark skin and the whites of his eyes.

      “They must want us to drive through the gate,” she said, trying to calm him.

      He drove past. The men outside the Jeeps moved as they did, facing their departure. But then they all climbed inside the Jeeps.

      The taxicab driver’s eyes remained wide as he looked into the rearview mirror.

      “Drive faster,” Braden said from the backseat.

      The driver complied, as eager as them to get away. The dust cloud behind them rose higher.

      The cab fishtailed around a turn and raced up a hill. On the other side was Soper’s Hole. Cresting the hill, it came into view.

      The Jeeps stopped at the top of the hill. Arizona waited for gunfire. None came.