Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 102071 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 510(@200wpm)___ 408(@250wpm)___ 340(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 102071 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 510(@200wpm)___ 408(@250wpm)___ 340(@300wpm)
I wanted to get a bead on Eli and his art investment. He might have the art hidden at the club, or he could have turned it into cash already and used it to buy the place. I’d visit the club later, when the moon was high and the place was busy and I could blend in.
But at five p.m., The Pink Pelican was just the right amount of crowded. I could prop my elbows on the bar and chat with the friendly and informative staff and be just a man on vacation. Plus, the easiest cover was one that could be true. I was thirty-eight-year-old Jake Hawkins, former soldier, now in the “recovery” business, and here on a fishing trip with his buddies. Maris was born and raised in the Florida Panhandle and considered herself an avid fisherwoman—the tattoos of waves coasting down her brown skin were her homage to the sea so we’d exchanged tales of the ones we’d caught and the ones that had gotten away.
“Tomorrow should be a great day on the water,” Maris said as she wiped the counter. “I bet you’ll have a fantastic haul. Marlins and groupers galore.”
“Excellent. That’s what I want to hear.”
“What else will you do while in town? Snorkel trip? Dive? Stingray kiss? I love all things water, so you’d better say yes,” she said, playfully bossy.
“I’ll probably do all of those things you mentioned,” I said, since that felt true enough, and it also might endear me to a water lover. But I needed to get to the heart of my land mission. “But the other thing I want is island art. It’s a thing of mine when I go on a trip. Instead of vacay snaps on my phone, I have a painting on my wall. Like a fish jumping out of the water or something. I passed a place on this street,” I said, gesturing in the direction of the gallery I’d passed earlier—the one run by Eli’s new woman. I’d scouted it out but I wanted a local’s opinion of the place. “Can I get something like that there?”
She shook her head. “No way. That gallery is more for fancier things.”
Like ten-million-dollars fancy? “Like my Renoir?” I asked dryly.
Maris took my droll question at face value. “The gallery sells some high-end stuff, but nothing on that level. If you decide you want to turn that Renoir into diamonds instead, we’ve got plenty of shops for that,” she said as she wiped down some glasses. “Down on Wayboard Street—those guys have the best deals.”
“So Wayboard Street is where I should go after I sell my Renoir to the lady next door?” I asked with a grin.
“Absolutely.” She pointed as if to show me the street. “You pass this swank restaurant, Tristan’s, then take a right, take the next right, and”—she paused for drama, fluttering her fingers like she was onstage—“prepare to be dazzled.”
I laughed and filed that info.
Maris tapped the bar in parting and went to take care of some customers who had just walked in. I finished my beer while I made notes on my phone, then tossed some bills on the bar, including some extra for Maris, who’d been a gold mine.
As I stood to leave, that dartboard on the far wall tempted me. Satisfied with today’s work so far, I headed over and picked up a few darts, then backed up to the throwing line. Zeroing in on a target, I mimed tossing the dart once, twice, then a third time.
“You’re shooting too high.”
As I let the dart fly, my brain registered adjectives.
Sexy. Pretty. American.
I turned in the direction of the voice and…holy smokes. My assessment needed revising.
She was…beautiful.
Golden-blonde hair. Killer body. Legs a mile long and sculpted to toned perfection. She stood at the bar, knocking back a glass of whiskey, totally at ease.
I glanced at the dartboard. Not only had I missed high, as she’d predicted, but I’d missed by a long shot. The effect of a gorgeous woman.
“Seems I’m in need of a dart coach,” I said to her with a slight grin.
Setting her glass on the corner of the bar, she strolled past me and reached up.
Don’t stare down her shirt. Stop gawking at that ass. Look away from the most perfect pair of legs you’ve ever seen.
As she plucked the dart from the board, I tried to follow my own orders. I swear I tried. But then her short little tank rode up revealing, pale skin and a sexy-as-sin belly button piercing.
Ah hell. That was just too tempting.
As she stood, she flashed me a bright smile, her blue eyes twinkling. She handed me the dart. “I’ll see if I have any openings in my schedule, Tommy,” she said, a nod to the shirt I’d worn to look like a tourist. Her cute little tank said Happy Turtle. She lifted her chin in a challenge. “And, if you hit a bull’s-eye, I’ll give you your first dart lesson free.”