Barefoot with a Stranger (Barefoot Bay Undercover #2)(60)

She hooted. “Just like you’re not handsome, which you know you are.”

“Popcorn, if I could fall in love again, it would be with you.”

She gave him a gentle push away. “Shut your lying mouth, child. You ain’t looking hard enough. You should scour this resort and find yourself a sweet woman.”

He had a sweet woman, he wanted to scream. “I’m not here to find company,” he said instead.

“I know, I know. You’re here to hide folks who need hiding, change names, and create new lives. Why can’t you do that for yourself?”

Good f*cking question. “I don’t need to hide, change my name, or make a new life, Pops. I just need to help other people do that.” He put his hands on her shoulders, forcing himself to stop oversharing. “And you are a great assistance in that regard. Do you need a raise?”

She pfft out a breath. “I need you to be joyful, is what. So spread your gorgeous self around the hungry female population of this place.”

“Think I could do every bridesmaid on the resort?”

“I don’t mean do, I mean date.”

Gabe shook his head. “I just told you why I’m not interested.”

“God doesn’t want you to be alone, Mr. Gabriel. And all I’m talking about is a harmless dinner date. How about that pretty lady staying in Rockrose this week? She’s all alone.”

Rockrose? The northernmost villa? Gabe thought back to the blonde he’d seen on the beach, checking him out. She wasn’t exactly hot, more of an ice queen, but something about her…no. Every woman was going to remind him of Isadora just so he could discover how grossly they fell short. “Sorry, she’s not my type.”

“Well, she’d like to be.” Poppy gave a smug little smile as she picked up some papers on his desk and made a show of straightening them. “That is, if I’m any good at reading human nature, and I do believe my ability to do just that is why you pay me so handsomely to find out everything that’s being said by guests and staff here at Casa Blanca.”

That was true; Poppy was the original busybody, but her style worked and worked well.

“So how do you know about this woman?” he asked.

“Jus’ doing my job. Getting people to talk, which, in this lady’s case, was quite easy. She must have seen you on the beach and wanted to know if you worked here or were staying here.”

“And you told her…”

“Nothing!” Her eyes popped wide. “Mr. Gabriel, I know better than that.”

“But my name came up?”

“No, no. She described you, all casual and chatty, you know, but I could see through that. And then she asked if I knew you. Showed me some pictures of the beach she took that you just happened to be in.”

What? A four alarm fire rang in his head. She had pictures of him?

“Of course, I said I wasn’t sure who she meant,” Poppy continued. “But the words she used were not from a woman who was casually noticing a man. Words like…handsome. And fine.”

“Really.” He had to know more about this woman, and not because she thought he was fine. “Rockrose, you say.”

“That little one-bedroom villa all the way at the end of the beach.”


“I know which one it is. Good work, Pop-Tart.” He stood and gave her a peck on the cheek before heading to the door.

Outside, he stole a golf cart from housekeeping and cut through the garden and down the resort path, making it to the edge of the Casa Blanca property in under ten minutes. Like many of the expensive villas, Rockrose was surrounded by thick foliage, set back to allow it to have privacy and a water view.

He approached the villa slowly, not completely sure what he’d say to the woman, but experience told him he’d figure it out when he had to. She was hunting him, and he wanted to know why.

At the villa, all was quiet, with no sign of life, no beach towels hanging over the deck, no sounds of activity.

He walked up to the front door and did the obvious, simple thing: He knocked. And as he did, he realized the door wasn’t latched. It pushed open at his tap, leading into the living area.

“Hello,” he called out. “Resort security.”

Nothing. The living room looked untouched, as if the maids had been there and the guest had long gone. He stepped into the kitchen area, finding it the same.

“Resort security. Is anyone here?”

Silence. The bedroom looked just as cleaned out as the rest, with no clothes in the closet, no personal items around. He pulled out his cell and dialed the front desk as he continued his inspection.

“Hey, it’s Gabe Rossi with McBain Security here,” he said. “I need to know the name of the guest currently staying in Rockrose.”

The Casa Blanca employee didn’t hesitate. “Ms. Wickham,” she said. “But she checked out about an hour ago.”

“First name?”

“I’m sorry, she just went by her last name. Veddy proper British,” she added with a fake accent.

“British? Okay, thanks.” He walked into the bathroom and stopped cold, closing his eyes as the scent almost knocked him over.

Damn it! God damn it, why did he come over here?

He dropped down on the closed toilet and let his head fall in his hands as the Chanel No. 5 slayed him. Son of a bitch, why did this woman have to wear that perfume? Why did he have to follow a dead end for no reason and get bombarded with memories of hot, long, sweet kisses and tropical nights on the beaches of Cuba? Why did he have to drown in this heartache and choke on his pain?