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I was still reviewing the video in my mind as I changed into my swimsuit in my room.

I’d imagined its contents so many times over the years, but I’d had it all wrong.

I’d thought it ended where it began. Had Ian accidentally pressed Stop instead of Record and vice versa?

Or had he been bluffing about filming when I walked in all along?

Maybe there was more to the video, and Tyson was only showing me the part that implicated me. Because I was certain that clip was not what had gotten Cody arrested. If that was what Ian had shown the cops, I would have gone to jail with—or in place of—Cody.

Fortunately, arrest and police reports were in the public domain in Florida. I powered up my phone and typed out a message to Rosa:

You have time to go down to the Central Records Bureau today?

She gave my message a thumbs-up immediately, adding:

What do you need?

Cody’s arrest record.

She wanted to talk, but I didn’t trust Tyson not to have listening devices throughout his home, so I typed out a message urging her not to get sunburned and promised to fill her in later.

Ian might have been bluffing, but Tyson wasn’t, though I still didn’t understand why he was treating me like I was the enemy.

Was he really paranoid enough to think I’d try to blackmail him, or was there something else going on?

And if he didn’t trust me, why had he dropped the compromising information about the faked environmental reports in my lap?

Of course, he hadn’t said it outright, and I didn’t have any evidence. But still, I couldn’t quite see his angle. And I was damn good at spotting angles.

I found Jennifer by the pool, parked in the sun in a white one-piece that showed off her tan, her hair curled, makeup flawless. “Dinner should be fun,” she said, putting down the Emily Henry novel she was reading. “Tyson’s not coming.”

I settled into the lounge chair next to her. “Do you guys not get along?”

She laughed. “Tyson doesn’t ‘get along’ with anyone. He’s generous sometimes, I’ll give him that, but—” She shook her head. “He makes things very difficult for all of us. And I’m not even inner circle.”

“How long have you and Cody been together?”

“About a year.” She took a sip of her Perrier. “But it feels like longer.”

“How did you meet?”

“At the coffee shop in our neighborhood.”

I smiled. “I’m glad to see him happy. He’s a good guy. So, cheers to you.”

She tapped her Perrier to mine. “Ooh, I have the perfect dress for you tonight.”

“That’s so nice of you, but I think I’m a little bigger than you,” I said, eyeing her pint-size frame over the top of my sunglasses.

“I never know what size I’m gonna be because of these,” Jennifer said, indicating her ample chest, “so I always order things in two sizes. I threw a couple of doubles in my suitcase, and one of them would be stunning on you. I can do your makeup, too, if you want. I used to do tutorials on TikTok, before I met Cody.”

Makeup tutorials on TikTok. I snapped my fingers, suddenly realizing why Jennifer had seemed so familiar when we were introduced. “Oh my gosh, that must be where I know you from,” I said, smiling.

“Oh, yeah,” she said. “I didn’t want to say anything when you asked if we knew each other because it’s awkward to be like, ‘You probably know me from TikTok,’ but it happens.”

I nodded, understanding. “I’m not a TikToker myself, but I think my best friend Rosa follows you. She is obsessed with makeup tutorials and sends them to me all the time. Not that they do me any good. What’s your handle? I’ll have to tell her.”

Her sigh was laced with regret. “I took them all down after Cody and I got together.”

“Did he make you?” I asked, surprised.

She shook her head. “But I could tell the idea of me being out there so publicly made him uncomfortable. He’s very private.”

“Well, I’d love your assistance with my appearance tonight,” I acquiesced with a smile, glad I was making progress with at least one of Tyson’s guests. “It’s very sweet of you to offer.”

She shrugged. “It’s nice to have someone to hang out with. Gisèle and Samira do their own thing, and Allison mostly keeps to herself.”

“Do you like her?” I asked.

“Sure.” She paused, considering her words. “It’s not that she thinks she’s better than everybody, it’s just that she is, if that makes sense.”

“What do you mean?”

“She had multiple Olympic medals at eighteen and a billion-dollar company by the time she was thirty. I think it makes it hard for her to relate to us normal people.”

“But she’s close with Tyson and Cody?”

“Close, yeah.” Jennifer leaned in, lowering her voice. “I mean, she hates Tyson—more and more, that much is clear. She and Cody get along, though—honestly, I was a little jealous when we first got together, until I saw the kind of guys she dates.”

I motioned for her to go on.

“Athletes,” she said. “Pro basketball players, football. Big muscly guys. With swagger. Not my sweet Cody.”

It was sounding more and more like Allison was likely Tyson’s blackmailer—if blackmail was even the right term. There hadn’t been any demands. Not even a warning. Just the article. But Allison had known Tyson long enough and well enough that she would have guessed the impact it would have on him.

I closed my eyes, letting the sun warm my skin. I just needed some kind of evidence, then I could go home. Allison was in her suite now, but perhaps if I waited here long enough, she’d leave, giving me the opportunity to search her room.

—

I was dead to the world on my lounger a few hours later when Samira and Gisèle came in, laughing.

Jennifer was no longer on the pool deck, and the sun had dropped in the sky.

Annoyed with myself for falling asleep, I checked my phone, hoping Rosa had sent me what I asked for, but I had no new messages.

“I told you he was great,” I heard Gisèle rib.

Cabinets opened and closed. “It’s not that I didn’t think he would be great,” Samira answered. “It’s that I didn’t want to be murdered by my husband. Where are the pods for the Nespresso machine?”

“Just wait till you see the pictures,” Gisèle said. “It takes forever because he develops them all in his own darkroom, but so worth it.”

“The longer the better. I’d like to live until I’m twenty-six. I can’t find the pods anywhere.”

“Frame one for Tyson,” Gisèle encouraged. “Say you did it for him.”

Samira snorted. “Laurent,” she called. “Hello?” I heard the door to the servants’ area open and close. “Where is he?”

“He’s not here,” I answered, rising from my lounger. An espresso sounded divine, and this seemed like a good opportunity to connect with Samira and Gisèle, who had yet to say so much as a word to me.

“Putain,” Samira exclaimed, clutching her chest in shock as she collapsed against the island.

Both girls were barefoot in bikinis and cover-ups as if they were coming from the beach, but their hair and skin looked suspiciously perfect.

“I didn’t know anyone was there,” she continued, recovering.

She peered at me warily. “You speak French?”

I nodded.

They exchanged a surprised glance but didn’t comment, nor did they switch to English.

“Is Tyson here?” Gisèle asked.

I nodded. “Downstairs.”

“Merde,” Samira muttered, lowering her voice. “He didn’t go to that meeting?”

“I don’t know,” I said, unsure of what she was referring to. “They had the hearing this morning—”

She shook her head. “Never mind.” She went to the mirrored backsplash and evaluated her reflection, wiping at the makeup around her eyes.

“I have face wash in my bathroom if you need it,” I offered.

She paused, again surprised. “Thank you, but it’s so dark down there, I don’t think he’ll notice before I shower.”

I gestured to the bottles of vodka and Kahlua on the island. “Are you making something?”

“We wanted espresso martinis, but we can’t find the Nespresso pods,” Gisèle said.

I opened the side of the machine and showed them the row of pods. “They’re stored in here.”

“I’ve never seen that,” Gisèle said, peering at the machine.

“I have the same version at home,” I said. “Do you want me to make you an espresso?”

Samira held up two fingers. “For the martinis. Unless you want one?” she added.

It was an afterthought, and she likely didn’t expect—or particularly want—me to accept, but it was a chance to get on her good side. And I could use a pick-me-up before dinner. “Sure,” I said, pressing the button on the Nespresso machine. “Are you guys coming out tonight?”

“Where?” Samira asked.

“I can’t remember the name of the restaurant. A seafood place in Gustavia, I think. Then La Petite Plage?”

In the reflection of the mirrored backsplash, I watched them exchange another glance, and I had the distinct feeling that they could read each other’s minds. “Who is going?” Gisèle asked.

I filled a cocktail shaker with ice. “Everyone, I think. Except for Tyson.”

“Ah,” Samira said. “We’ll see if he lets me go.”

I poured our shots of espresso into the cocktail shaker and handed it to Gisèle, who added liberal amounts of vodka and Kahlua, then capped it and shook it over her shoulder.

“You look like a professional,” I commented, grabbing three martini glasses from the shelf.

“She was a bartender in Paris,” Samira said. “Until she was discovered by a modeling scout and started booking so many jobs she didn’t need to work in a bar anymore.”

Gisèle uncapped the shaker and poured the dark liquid into our glasses. Each of us took a stem, cautiously raising the precariously full drinks.

“Santé,” I said.

We carefully clinked glasses, then slurped off the top before we could spill them, laughing when we realized how ridiculous we all looked. “Damn, that’s good,” I said, taking another sip of the chilled, rich martini.

“My favorite,” Samira said.

“We always have them before a night out,” Gisèle added conspiratorially. They smiled as we sipped, the frostiness they’d exhibited toward me since I arrived thawed.

“Did you two meet modeling?” I asked.

They shook their heads, and again I could feel the intense connection between them as their eyes met. “We met in dance class when we were teenagers,” Gisèle said. “She was already a successful actress.”

“I was a little successful in Belgium,” Samira said. “Which is…” She shrugged.

“You would have been successful everywhere if you’d stuck with it,” Gisèle chided.

“Plans change,” Samira said. As she tossed back a large gulp of her drink, I tried to imagine her leveling a shotgun at her first husband’s head and pulling the trigger. But for some reason, it was Gisèle I saw behind the sight.

“I’ve got to get dressed,” Samira said, setting her glass down on the counter with a clink.

Gisèle seemed pensive as she watched her friend stalk down the stairs to her quarters. I lingered, hoping she might talk to me, but she didn’t, instead shouldering her beach bag and starting for the stairs up to her room, glass in hand. “à plus tard,” she said.

As I sipped my drink, I was already thinking about later, about how to break through Allison’s aerodynamic exterior and get the information I needed so that I could go home. Everyone had an Achilles’ heel. I just needed to find hers.

I cast a glance toward her suite. Maybe luck was on my side, I thought as I padded across the living room to her door. I knocked softly, calling out, “Allison?”

There was no answer. I knocked again. “Hello?”

After a moment, I laid my hand on the doorknob, holding my breath.

But the door was firmly locked.