The Sapphire Affair (A Jewel Novel Book 1) (9 page)

“No. I’m not at all,” he said crisply. He didn’t want to get into the implications of hometown proximity. “Let’s get you lunch.”

“What’s a recovery business?” she asked as they walked across the sand to the winding path along the beach. “Like information recovery? With computers?”

“Sort of. My job’s woefully dull,” he said, though that couldn’t be further from the truth. “Tell me more about marine biology. That’s fascinating. I’ve never met a marine biologist. That’s the profession career counselors use when they go to schools and give gung-ho pep talks about all the vast possibilities of future jobs. When they cite interesting, cool, or unusual careers, marine biologist is up there with archaeologist.”

“That’s a conspiracy, actually, among marine biologists and archaeologists. To make sure we all seem super cool.”

He laughed, wishing he didn’t enjoy her company so much. He reminded himself that this lunch date wasn’t a date. It was a mission. He was infiltrating the target.

That was all.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

A gull squawked as it swooped past the outside of the Coconut Iguana, hunting for leftovers.

The bird wouldn’t find many at Steph’s table. Only one tortilla was left on her plate and Jake had finished his tacos, declaring them some of the best he’d ever had. The meal had been fantastic, the view of the water even better, but the company was the best part. After that searing kiss—a full-body kiss if there ever was one—they’d settled into a late lunch and good conversation.

“See! I told you the fish tacos were yummy. My friend Sandy manages this place, and she told me the reason they taste so good is because of the coconut.”

“Coconut in the fish tacos?” he said, and he clucked his tongue and nodded. “Come to think of it, they did taste like coconut. And hey, better than coconut water.”

“Isn’t it weird that coconuts can be so delish but coconut water isn’t? And truth be told, I didn’t eat much this morning when I went out because I knew I wanted you to take me here.”

“So you saved your appetite for me,” he said, raising an eyebrow.

“I did. Do you feel special?”

He laughed. “A little.”

“Then I need to confess something.”

He sat up straighter. His expression turned serious, his mouth now approximating a ruler. “What is it?” he asked, sounding breathless with anticipation.

“Look. I feel this is important that you know,” she said, stopping to pause, then took a deep breath, preparing to drop a bomb on him. She lowered her eyes, as if embarrassed, then raised them, cupping her hand over the side of her mouth. “I’m not actually a marine biologist.”

She frowned and adopted her best
sad puppy dog eyes.

He flung his napkin on the table and pushed back in his chair. “That’s it. I’m leaving,” he huffed.

She stretched across the table and patted his chair. “But wait. I need you to know the full truth. I’m actually an archaeologist.”

“Ah, that makes perfect sense,” he said, his green eyes lighting up with laughter. “I take it you’re on a hunt for a long-lost city buried under the sand?”

“Actually, there are some great wrecks here. In the water. Do you dive?”

He nodded. “I have.”

“You should come with me, then. We can check out some boats from long ago.”

He didn’t answer her. He simply shrugged, which was an odd reaction, considering he’d been playing along with her previous remarks. But maybe she was pushing him by suggesting a dive, though that hardly seemed akin to a commitment request that would give a man the heebie-jeebies. Best to keep their conversation free and breezy. She barely knew him, so there was no point in suggesting another date yet, like a dive.

A bright green bird with an orange chin hopped on the railing at the bar and grill, searching for scraps. Steph tugged away at a section of her fish taco and dropped it on the railing.

Jake pointed to the sign on the wooden post:
D
ON
’
T FEED THE BIRDS
.
“Scofflaw.”

She raised an eyebrow. “I’m not afraid to break a few rules.”

“Is that so? Tell me more about your lawlessness.”

She tucked her hands under her chin. “One time when I was younger, my mom and stepdad took us to this fancy hotel in Hawaii, and my brother and I fed biscotti from my mom’s coffee each morning to all the tropical birds at the window of our hotel room. Until housekeeping ratted us out, sent the manager to our room, and told us the other guests didn’t like us feeding the birds. Translation:
bird poop
.”

“Is this your way of telling me you’re not an archaeologist, either? That you’re an ornithologist?”

She laughed and shook her head. “What I meant was that I’m not technically a marine biologist—I just studied it in college. So I wanted you to know that I’m not technically an official ‘
marine biologist
,’”
she said, sketching air quotes as she spoke.

She waited for some sort of witty retort from him, but it didn’t come. She excused herself for a quick trip to the ladies’ room, and when she returned he fired off another question.

“Did you know when you studied marine biology that you wanted to do that for a living?”

“All I knew was that I loved the water,” she said, taking his questions as they came. “I could spend the whole day in the ocean and never want to come out. I might be part fish, come to think of it. I think I have scales on my legs,” she said, and he smiled lightly, his eyes sparkling. She hoped the joke would lead them back to banter. But his grin didn’t last for long.

“And you’re a big fan of diving, too? Is that why you’re here on this trip? To lead some dives?”

“Yes. I used to run a big business here, but I had some setbacks. Now it’s growing again, and I love the Caymans. We used to come here a lot. And kiss stingrays.”

“With your stepdad?”

She scrunched up her brow. “Yes, with him. But why would you ask that?”

He answered immediately. “You said just now he took you to Hawaii. And you said you’ve been here a lot. Seemed natural he might have done the whole stingray thing with you, too.”

Something seemed odd about his comment, but she couldn’t put a finger on it. Maybe what was odd was the lack of playful comments from him. But surely they’d pick up again, so she answered truthfully once more. “Yes, I did that with him.”

“Is he here? On the Islands?”

That’s when what felt so strange hit her—she’d done most of the talking at lunch. He was asking most of the questions. She straightened her spine and sat up taller, ready to ask him questions. She didn’t want to be a conversational hog. She was digging his company and wanted to know more about him.

She was simply too good to be true. There was no way she was for real. The playful humor, the casual conversation, the gorgeous figure, the love of the outdoors—clearly, she’d been tailor-made as his kryptonite to try to trip him up on a job. He was willing to bet she was planning on setting him up, just like Rosalinda had done.

His blood burned. He wished she’d just confess. Tell him she was tailing him.

“What about you. Are you really a recovery specialist? That just doesn’t seem like you,” she said, eyeing him up and down from the other side of the table.

How could she ask questions so naturally? She seemed so sure, so at ease. He was good at reading people and seeing through their lies. But he wasn’t detecting any vibes that she was working the angles. Could she really not know who he was? Was there a chance she was simply the woman he kissed last night, and not out to trip him up on a job?

Before he knew the score, it was best to play it cool.

“Surprising, isn’t it?” he answered, keeping up the banter as he tried to figure her out. “That such a rugged specimen of man could have such a dull job,” he said, wondering briefly why he didn’t just flat-out lie about his job. He’d met other women before and had never felt inclined to serve up the full truth. He’d often keep it vague and broad, saying he worked in security. But he wasn’t giving her that line. He was coming as close as he could to the truth.

She laughed and pushed her sunglasses higher on her head. “See, Jake. I’d have pegged
you
as the archaeologist, like Indiana Jones. A rugged adventurer.”

She didn’t know the half of it.

“Hardly. But a man can dream,” he said, then his phone blasted its ringtone for a client. The
Mission: Impossible
theme. “Give me one second.”

“Of course.”

Grabbing his mobile from the table, he saw Andrew’s first name blasted across the screen. Shit. No way could he take this call now—not even to sneak out at the front of the restaurant. He couldn’t risk her hearing him. He hit “Ignore,” shrugging casually, like the call was not the damn one he’d been waiting for.

“Not your sister this time?”

“Just a client. I’ll talk to him later.” Coolly, he set his phone back down on the table.

“So, little sister gets Taylor Swift, and clients get
Mission: Impossible
? Cute,” she said.

“Why thank you.”

The phone buzzed, rattling on the wood. A text follow-up to the call. Jake stayed stoic. He wasn’t going to pick it up. He didn’t even glance at the phone.

“Sounds important,” she said, tipping her forehead toward the device.

He shook his head. “But then we become a society where the little screen is more important than the post–fish taco conversation, and I just can’t let that happen,” he said with a small smirk, crossing his arms.

She rolled her eyes playfully. “Well, aren’t you Mr. Manners.”

“I do my best.”

The phone shimmied once more, shaking in her direction. He remained impervious.

Steph laughed. “Just take it. It’s fine. I don’t mind,” she said, then her hand darted out and she picked up the phone to give it to him.

He took it.

But she must have spotted the screen, because she tilted her head to the side, her gaze fixing on the screen. “Why is your client sending you a photo of me?”

Fuck.

Time to improvise. He shrugged casually and flashed a lopsided grin as he tucked his phone into his pocket. “’Cause you’re—”

But she cut him off, and the word out of her mouth surprised him.

CHAPTER TWELVE

“Duke,” she hissed.

The name burned her tongue. She narrowed her eyes as she hunched away from the table. “Are you a friend of Duke’s?”

It was all she could imagine. That this was a sick new wrinkle in his smear campaign. That somehow he’d sent a friend to seduce her in some cruel fresh twist, then claim in a spate of horrid reviews that Ariel’s Island Eco-Adventure Tours was run by no Disney princess, but by some kind of slut.

OK, fine. Maybe that was a stretch. But why on earth would Jake, the man she met less than twenty-four hours ago, have a photo of her face on his phone? He hadn’t snapped any shots of her that she was aware of.

“Duke?” he asked as the waitress appeared.

“Sandy said dessert’s on her if you want it,” the waitress said, clasping her hands together as if this was the best news ever.

Normally, free dessert was damn good news.

But she was thrown, tossed in uncertain waters, and she couldn’t read the man across from her to figure out if she should stay or go. Jake’s expression was stony. He hardly seemed rattled, while Steph was nearly shaking. They were surrounded by handfuls of other diners, nibbling on fish tacos, drinking tropical drinks, passing the warm afternoon hours on the deck of a bar and grill. She wished she could be as laid-back as everyone else.

Including her date.

“How about a slice of mango cake with the scoop of coconut ice cream?” Jake said to the waitress, gesturing to the chalkboard menu hanging by the bar advertising today’s specials. “I can’t resist ice cream.”

“Yes, we’ll share it,” Steph added, determined now not to let him be the only cool, collected one. If he could play at mango cake détente, so could she.

“One mango cake coming right up,” the waitress said with a chipper tone and a happy swing of her elbow. She swiveled around and weaved through the tables on her way to the kitchen.

“Seriously. Who are you?” Steph said as she crossed her arms. “And why did someone send you a picture of me?”

“Who is Duke?” he countered.

She was undeterred. If Jake had anything whatsoever to do with the asshole who tried to take down her business, she needed to know now. “I bet he sent you that shot of me,” she said, then reached out her hand, as if she could somehow grab his phone, even though he’d slid it inside his pocket.

Jake laughed and shook his head. “One, I don’t know who Duke is. Two, whoever he is, he didn’t send me your picture. Three, I have it, as I was saying before, because you’re hot.”

She furrowed her brow. “What? How does that compute?”

“Simply. Quite simply,” he said, reaching for his glass of water and taking a gulp.

She waited expectantly for an answer, even as worry thrummed through her. “How so?”

“Do you have a little sister?”

“No,” she answered quickly, wondering where this line of questioning was going.

“Well, I do, as you know. And she happens to be one of those wonderfully persistent sisters who wanted to know what I was doing last night, and I mentioned I had met a woman.”

She arched her eyebrow. “And she sent you a photo of me?”

He nodded. “She did. She’s like that. She also sent me an emoticon of lips smooching.”

Despite her simmering annoyance, her lips quirked up. Because that was kind of cute. “She did?”

He shrugged casually. “Like I said, she likes to razz me. But I don’t mind.”

“Fine. But why would she send you a picture of me?”

“She broke me down. That’s her special skill. She weaseled your name out of me when you were in the ladies’ room a little while ago. I was texting her, and she just sent me back the photo she found of you online.”

Hmmm.

His story added up. Mostly. Still, caution reigned, but she figured the fastest way to the truth was to lay her cards on the table.

“Scout’s honor? Because I’ve been burned, Jake. You seem like a good guy, and I like spending time with you so far. I just want to know for certain that Duke has nothing to do with this,” she said, gesturing from him to her, and the awareness that he was the first guy she’d had a date with since Duke made her throat hitch. “Promise?” she asked, her tone pleading, her voice threatening to break.

Maybe it was that quiver in her voice. Perhaps it was the way her eyes looked wet, like she was about to cry. It might even have been how scared she sounded. Whatever it was, he felt like shit now, especially given how he’d stretched the Kylie text into a big, fat white lie. He wished he didn’t have to fib so blatantly, but how was he to trust her? But he hated, absolutely hated, seeing a woman in this state.

“Duke isn’t involved. I swear. I don’t even know who he is. Who is this guy?” he asked, trying to be as gentle as he could. Then he stiffened as the possibility smashed into him. “Is he your boyfriend?” he asked, bracing himself.

She scoffed. “No—God, no. He’s an ex, though, and he tried to ruin my business. He enlisted a bunch of his friends to help him, too. That’s why the picture made me worry that you were connected with him, or who knows what,” she said, her voice still tough as she talked about the ex. But then it softened momentarily, and she whispered, “But I’m glad the picture just came from your sister. I think that’s sweet.”

Oh fuck.

His heart lurched toward her.

He was a schmuck. She was too sweet. She was too lovely. He was the asshole for not telling her the truth. He closed his eyes briefly, then opened them and tried to figure out what the hell to say. He didn’t want to ruin the job he’d been hired for, but he didn’t want to be a liar. That wasn’t the guy he was teaching his younger siblings to be. That wasn’t the man he wanted to be with a woman. He parted his lips to come clean, when she pointed to his phone.

“Can I see the picture she sent? You know, just to make sure it’s not a hideous one?”

He laughed. “Now, how could you possibly take a hideous photo?”

She tilted her head to the side and made a monster face, or maybe it was a zombie face, as she scowled and hissed. “Like that?”

He held up a hand. “Fine. Fine. That would indeed be a hideous picture, and I guarantee the one on my phone is not.”

Jake’s radar was quiet, but he still wasn’t sure if he was being played, so he kept on his armor of self-protection. But if she was being truthful, he didn’t want to blow it by treating her like an asshole. Like her ex had done.

He grabbed his phone from his pocket and cautiously swiped his finger across the screen. He clicked on the image from the text so it downloaded to his gallery, then he opened it, widening it so it spread across the screen. He turned the phone to show her. “See? No zombie monster face here. All hot. All gorgeous. Are we good?”

She studied it from her side of the table. “Hmm.”

“Hmm what?” he asked carefully.

“She got that from my website, right?”

The tiniest bit of heat spread across his cheeks as he tensed momentarily. Then he rolled the dice. “Yes,” he said, hoping to hell and heaven and back that Andrew had snagged the shot from her site.

“Ah, that is so cute that your sister looked me up for you,” she said sweetly, then in the blink of an eye, she swiped a finger across the screen, right to the last call received.

He yanked his phone back. But not in enough time. Because she’d removed her own phone from her purse and started to dial.

“Who are you calling?” he asked, his heart beating wildly with worry.

Her tone went from sweet to tough. “Just the number of the person who texted you the picture of me that’s not on my website. That’s on my personal Facebook page,” she said, then her eyes widened when she stared at her own screen.

No,
gawked
was the better word.

Her jaw had dropped, and she whispered,
“Andrew?”
when the name of his client auto-filled on her screen.

His heart fell.
Shit. This was it.
He was about to lose the job when Andrew found out that he’d blown his cover. Damn it to hell. He had to stop letting his too-soft heart get in the way of work.

She stabbed at her phone and ended the call. She pointed at him. Her eyes were judge and jury. “I don’t need to talk to him. I know who you are.”

“You do?”

“You’re the guy Andrew hired to find out about the money he thinks my stepdad stole. I have his number because I did a dive tour for him a few years ago, and my mom is friends with him.”

“Your mom is friends with him?” he repeated, stalling, buying time, backpedaling however he could, when the waitress arrived with a small plate with a slice of cake on it, a scoop of ice cream on top. “Your mango cake,” she said, then placed two forks next to it.

He reached for one, but Steph dropped her hand on his and squeezed when the waitress left. Her tone shifted once more, this time to a curious one. “Jake Harlowe, ’fess up. Are you the guy my stepdad’s former business partner hired to find out what happened to the money? Because I think you are, and I want the same things. The truth. I know something bad happened, and it somehow involved Eli, and I’m pretty sure it also involves—”

They both answered at the same time, “—diamonds.”