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Stilettos in hand, I stealthily slipped out the door to my private side deck and through the slatted wooden gate that led to the exterior servants’ quarters.

Sticking to the shadows at the edge of the driveway, I scurried down the hill barefoot and let myself out the pedestrian entrance, where I found a dark green vintage Land Rover idling.

I peered into the window to make sure Laurent was in the driver’s seat before opening the passenger door and climbing inside.

He was freshly shaved, his curls damp from the shower, and while I was still in the black strapless jumpsuit I’d worn at dinner, he’d changed again, now dressed in a cream linen button-down with the sleeves rolled up, paired with chinos.

He looked good enough to eat—which was exactly what I would not be doing tonight, obviously.

But it had been years since a man had had any effect on me, much less turned my blood to lava with a glance, and it was a nice reminder that part of me wasn’t totally dead.

Of course, it wasn’t just me he had this effect on, I realized.

Jennifer clearly had the same response, even with her boyfriend standing right beside her.

It must be Laurent’s superpower, melting women.

I smiled to myself as we roared up the hill that led away from LeRêve. “Nice ride,” I commented.

“I inherited it from a client I was close with.” His eyes flicked toward me. “Can I ask why you need to go to Le Ti?”

I hesitated. But I didn’t see how I could keep it from him, with what I was asking of him. “I’m following someone.”

He raised his brows. “For Tyson?”

I nodded. I wanted to qualify it, to explain myself, but aware that whatever I told him he’d likely take straight back to Tyson, I didn’t.

“You know Tyson’s guests at the house pretty well?” I asked.

He shrugged. “As well as you can know anyone, when you are working for them.”

The SUV vibrated beneath us as he slowed, letting a car pass before merging onto the main road. “I would guess they let things slip around you that they might not in front of other people,” I said.

“Yes.”

“Do you think any of them wish Tyson harm?”

He chuckled. “What do you think?”

“I don’t know them, that’s why I’m asking you.”

He cut his eyes briefly toward me. “But you know him.”

“Not really,” I demurred. “Not anymore, I mean. I did. But he’s different now.”

“He was kind to you this evening when you spoke?”

His gaze was fixed on the winding road, and between his accent and the darkness of the car, I couldn’t quite gauge where he was coming from, so I held my tongue, waiting for more information.

“So, no,” he said after a moment.

“No,” I admitted as he turned off the main road to weave down a narrow street that cut through a neighborhood.

“The staff call him la bête noire, ” he said. “The black beast.”

“Ah,” I said, relaxing a little.

“Yes.” He turned onto a side street and parked the Land Rover, his face in shadow as he focused on me. “I will be able to help you better if you tell me what we’re looking for,” he said.

“You don’t have to help me,” I said automatically. “I can handle it.”

“I’m sure you can,” he agreed. “But I know Le Ti and everyone who works there. I could make things easier for you, and I’d like to help you, if you’ll let me.”

He held my eye as I assessed him. Was there any reason why I shouldn’t let him help me? I wasn’t doing anything I didn’t want to get back to Tyson—after all, he was the one who’d said I could trust Laurent—and it would make my night easier.

“Allison is coming here to meet someone, and I want to find out who,” I said.

He nodded, taking it in stride. “So, you don’t want her to know you’re following her.”

“No.”

“Well, then, it is good it is a costume bar, and I am friends with the girl who runs the closet.”

—

Ten minutes later, Laurent returned to the Land Rover with a bag in hand.

“What have you brought us?” I asked as he closed the car door behind him.

I looked on with increasing interest as he pulled out a multicolored clown wig, followed by a Mexican poncho, a pink princess dress, a Zorro mask, a blond wig, a bridal veil, a sorcerer’s hat and cape, and a cowboy outfit.

I laughed as he placed the cowboy hat atop his head, glad he was game to play along. “Perfect.”

A Zorro mask paired with a fringed vest and cowboy gun belt completed his look, while I donned the navy sorcerer’s cape to cover the outfit I’d been wearing at dinner and fastened a purple Mardi Gras mask over my face.

Once we got out of the car, I placed the tall sorcerer’s hat on my head, lifting the long robes as we walked down the street. “This has to be the most ridiculous disguise I’ve ever worn,” I said, scurrying to keep up with his long strides.

He flashed a sly smile, his eyes catching on mine. “I like to please.”

Okay, cowboy.

I turned away, hiding my smile. I knew he meant he aimed to please, knew it made sense in context, but the way he said it made me think of something very different.

And here I was, thousands of miles away from home, no need to worry about messy entanglements.

If the circumstances were different, I had a feeling this could be a very enjoyable evening indeed.

But they weren’t.

We approached the back of the building, where a guy and a girl dressed in black were leaning against the wall next to the door, smoking cigarettes.

The guy chortled as we drew closer, and the girl stubbed out her cigarette, approaching to adjust Laurent’s hat.

“Very nice,” she said in French as he handed her the bag of extra costumes.

“Of course you would make a dashing cowboy.”

“Thanks for the costumes,” he said, switching to English for my benefit.

“Is this the pretty American you picked up this afternoon?” the guy razzed Laurent in rapid French. “You work fast, my man.”

So he’d spoken about me to this guy. Called me pretty. I felt heat creep into my cheeks.

“Fuck off,” Laurent returned with a laugh. “It’s not like that.”

I rose to the occasion, playing the one card I had up my sleeve. “How could I turn down such a dashing cowboy?” I asked, matching their French as I linked my arm through Laurent’s.

His head snapped toward me as the other two’s eyes widened. “Oh shit,” the girl said, laughing.

“Have a nice night,” I said, relishing their surprise as I tugged him through the door into the kitchen.

“This way,” he said, leading me past the staff who appeared to be cleaning up from dinner service, through a door, into a dark, cave-like room with flashing lights and pounding bass.

Tables circled a dance floor, and a small raised stage was crowded with beautiful people in costumes, moving in rhythm to the deafening house music.

He pulled me to the side of the room, placing his mouth next to my ear to be heard over the music. “You didn’t tell me you spoke French,” he said.

Damn, I was a fool for a good cologne, and his was excellent.

“You didn’t ask,” I replied.

He laughed, pulling back to look at me with a slight shake of his head, the colored lights sliding over his skin. “So tell me, Audrey. Why do you speak French like a native?”

“I was born in Geneva,” I said. “I lived there until I was ten.”

“Ah,” he said. “You are full of surprises.”

I laughed. “But then, so is anyone you’ve just met, right?”

He shrugged, his eyes lingering on mine. “In my line of work, I meet a lot of people, and I am seldom surprised.”

Just then, the girl we’d spoken to in the alley pushed out of the kitchen, setting her tray of shots on the table next to us. Without a word, she handed one to each of us, raising her own. “Clase Azul,” she said, clinking her glass to ours.

What the hell, I figured. It wasn’t every day I had the opportunity to drink tequila that good.

I closed my eyes as the liquor burned down my throat.

Laurent and I were both working, I reminded myself.

For la bête noire, no less. It wouldn’t do to get that confused, as much as I might like to.

What I needed was to figure out who was blackmailing Tyson, so I could get off this island and out of his life.

“We should find Allison,” I said, pushing off the wall to scan the room. If she was wearing a costume, she could be hard to spot.

“Want to dance?” Laurent asked.

I frowned. I very much wanted to dance with Laurent. Which meant it was a terrible idea, especially with the expensive tequila now coursing through my veins.

He nodded toward the stage. “We’ll have a better vantage point up there.”

He was right. But I shook my head, sticking to my guns. “She’s not here to dance. Let’s check the booths. Is there a patio?”

He nodded and pointed, reaching back for me as he started along the row of booths that edged the dance floor. I ignored his outstretched hand, keeping my gaze focused on the faces of the revelers around us, none of whom bore any resemblance to Allison.

I lifted the hem of my robes when we reached the steps up to the patio, but as I raised my foot, the fabric snagged on my stiletto, and I tripped forward. Laurent thankfully caught me before I could face-plant, his hands on my waist as I gripped his biceps to steady myself.

Never in my life had I been a person who could be described as clumsy, but this would make the second time today I’d found myself gripping his remarkably strong arms. Behind his mask, his eyes found mine. “You good?” he asked.

I nodded. “It’s these stupid robes.”

His hands lingered on my waist as a clown and a pirate shoved past us, pushing him into to me. Neither of us moved to pull apart. “We should check the bar,” I murmured, so close that my lips brushed his ear.

“Good idea,” he whispered.

I pulled away from him, grateful for the masks that hid our faces, and strode blindly onto the patio. Allison, I reminded myself. Look for Allison.