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Prologue
“Death is so terribly final, while life is full of possibilities.”
—George R. R. Martin,A Game of Thrones
Diana Harden had a plan, and the plan was good.
This little hiccup in her plan was merely an annoyance, not a roadblock. Sending her on a wild goose chase to St. John was childish and petty.
Ethan Valentine would pay dearly for wasting her time.
It was near dark when the water taxi returned her to St. Claire. The driver was barely more than a kid, but Diana paid him well. She’d had enough of this cloak-and-dagger bullshit, so she had the kid take her straight to Valentine’s private dock in a sheltered cove on the southwest side of the island.
“Remember,” she said, putting her fingers to her lips in the universalbe quietsign. She didn’t want Ethan to know she’d figured out his ridiculous game.
The driver nodded and grinned, and she waved him off.
Ground lights lined the wood stairs from the dock to Ethan’s house built on top of the cliff. The height dizzied her as she trudged up. The cool ocean breeze chilled her through the sheer scarf that she’d wrapped around her shoulders.
Ethan would pay first, andthenshe would tell him where she’d hidden the files. When she went out of her way tohelpsomeone, to give them information that would put them on top of the world, and they treated her like dog shit on their shoe? No way would she tolerate such disrespect.
The man had to be half-crazy to live like a hermit in themiddle of the Caribbean. All because he’d lost in a business deal? Coming here to lick his wounds and feel sorry for himself? He should be thrilled that she had proof he’d been cheated. Instead, he’d shunned her.
If someone had told Diana ten years ago that she’d fallen head over heels for a gold-digging con artist, she would have been grateful. Sad, angry, sure—who wouldn’t be? But she would never have lost everything over it. Ethan Valentine should have been thanking her for the information that she had been willing to give to him practically for free yesterday.
Now the jerk would pay top dollar.
Diana stopped to catch her breath when she reached the top of the stairs. The view was breathtaking—the sun sinking into the ocean to her right, and the distant lights of St. John to her left. Almost as if on cue with the falling sun, several soft white LED lights flickered on, showcasing the house and garden, but darkening the jungle beyond.
Though the house was lit, she couldn’t see through the privacy screens. She adjusted the oversized bag on her shoulder, then approached the frosted glass door and rang the bell twice. The chime sounded like a bird call. When no one immediately came, she rang again. And again. Nothing. She tried the door; locked.
Frustrated and angry after her crappy wasted day on St. John, she walked around the deck. The downstairs was almost completely enclosed by glass doors. She was looking for a way inside when a voice, heavy with an accent that sounded not quite Mexican, said, “Are you looking for something?”
Diana stumbled and knocked over a chair.
“Who are you?” she demanded.
Squinting, she saw an old man reclining on a chaise lounge on the far corner of the deck. He had brown skin and a white beard so long and thick she could barely see his face. She’d seen him at the resort, an annoying busybody. What was he doing at Ethan’s house? How long had he been watching her?
“¿Quién crees que soy? ¿No has sentido curiosidad?”
Spanish? She didn’t understand Spanish.
“No one is home,” the old man said, in English this time. “Do you need help finding your way back to the resort?”
“This is Ethan Valentine’s house,” Diana said. “He said he would be here.”
“He did? Odd.”
Whowasthis strange man?
“When will Ethan be back? It’s important.”
“Volverá cuando vuelva.Perhaps you’d like to wait?” the man said. “It might be a day or two before he’ll come by. Or a week. A month?” He lifted his hands in the air and shrugged.
Where the hell was Ethan? At the resort? Oh, that would be just her luck.
Irritated, she said, “I’ll find him myself.”