The Sapphire Affair (Jewel #1)(21)
Thank Christ he’d caught up with Rosalinda in that damn shoe store.
He pressed his thumb and forefinger against the bridge of his nose, crumpling the napkin with his other hand, balling it up.
Best to forget Ariel. Do the job. Get in. Get out. Get home.
But then, as he tossed the napkin in the trash can near the door, he rewound to those moments in the Pink Pelican. Images played before him of her delicious lips, the swell of her breasts, her sexy-as-sin legs, and most of all—the way she fit in his arms. That kiss had obliterated his brain cells, and now the rich, ripe memory of it was making it hard to think about anything else.
Too hard.
Try as he might to banish all thoughts of her, he couldn’t get her out of his mind. Nor could he erase the effects on his body just from thinking of her.
He rose, walked over to the trash can, and fished for the piece of paper. He read it one more time. It said:
123. Happy Turtle. Tomorrow.
Fuck it.
He was an adult. He could handle this. He could see her again and still do his job. Besides, nothing more was going to come of a little rendezvous. This would merely be a lush tropical affair. She had nothing whatsoever to do with the job. He was fine. Completely fine and maintaining those all-important lines.
He’d keep things separate from work and enjoy a little something with quite possibly the sexiest woman he’d ever met.
CHAPTER EIGHT
The next morning, Jake waited in his rental car a safe distance outside Eli’s house, keen to gather some intel on the man’s habits. Sunglasses on and ball cap pulled low, he roamed his gaze over the house. The silhouette of a tall man wandered past a window on the second floor a few times. Jake couldn’t make out what room the window opened into. Bedroom maybe. Perhaps an office. Or even a hallway.
Peering through mini binoculars, he tried to scope out the scene. No luck. Too many branches from trees framed the home, and blinds covered most of the windows.
He lowered the binoculars and kept his eyes on the front door. As he waited, he alternated between watching the house and answering e-mails from potential tutors for Kylie. His sister had also texted him this morning—an emoticon of lips smooching.
He sent her back a monkey, covering his mouth. He was glad that her playful side was still alive and well, despite her overarching worries about school.
Then, he thumbed through Kate’s e-mails about inquiries from new clients.
Have I told you before you need to bring someone else on board? Lots of work coming our way.
He sure did enjoy those words lots of work, because lots of work was the one guaranteed way for him to pay off all the college bills for his brothers and sisters.
Excellent. Try Dan if it’s not too crazy a job.
Dan was a buddy from Jake’s army days who picked up occasional work with his firm. Dan could certainly handle the so-called crazy jobs, but Jake still preferred to take those on himself. Like this one. There was so much that was open-ended about this job and so many potential directions. He thrived on hunting down the leads, circling the evidence, and then nailing the goods.
Nailing.
Wrong word, because it whipped him right back to last night and exactly what he’d been picturing when he was alone in his hotel room. His brain had been working those images hard before he fell asleep. He was damn eager to see his dart coach again today, but he shoved all thoughts of that hot blonde from his mind when Eli strolled down the stone path of his house, tossing his keys lightly in one hand. Eli stopped to admire an orchid tree, then bent his head toward a bush of red roses, wafting the scent toward his nostrils with his other hand. The man really did know how to enjoy himself. From the nightclub to his lush tropical home, Eli Thompson seemed to savor every little moment that his life laid out before him on a red carpet.
Eli raised his face to the sky and held his arms out to the side. Like he was inviting the glory of the sun into his day. Jake laughed to himself. What must it be like to stroll through the day with that kind of devil-may-care attitude? That attitude must be precisely what allowed Eli to take money that wasn’t his. Jake clenched his jaw. The reminder of Eli’s thievery fueled him.
The man walked to his car in the driveway—a gleaming black Audi.
Minutes later, Jake drove a few vehicles behind him as Eli motored toward town. “Thank you very much, Mr. Thompson. That’s exactly where I’m headed after I follow you,” Jake said to himself.
He slowed at a red light, a few cars behind Eli, and alongside a green Honda. The light changed, and Eli jetted into the financial district.
Banks, banks, and more banks lined the main street that cut through the heart of Grand Cayman, slicing the island into water and money.
To Jake’s left, the ocean stretched as far as the eye could see, a vast sheet of cool blue. To his right, row after row of big, imposing white structures towered high, with names like Royal Bank and Cayman Finance that promised to squirrel away your coins for as long as you needed them abracadabra-ed.
No questions asked. No explanations needed. Just open the account, drop in some dough, and your money gets all the insulation it could ever need. Sleek black cars rolled along the concrete stretch of street, dropping off sharp-dressed women in monochrome skirts and blouses and men in crisp suits and ties, their outfits a stark contrast to the island lifestyle. The bankers had their own uniform—that of the financiers who had made this country wealthy, and made shady businessmen and women richer.