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“Go,” he snaps, just loud enough to make me jump and passersby turn and watch us. “It’s stressing me out watching you leave. Put me out of my misery and go.”
With adrenaline thumping in my blood and exhilaration making me move faster, I spin on my heels and dash toward the lingerie store literally namedLuxe. I dart through the glass doorway and emerge into chilly air conditioning, a stark contrast to the sticky heat outside.
I don’t look over my shoulder. I don’t search for Archer, though I know he’ll still be watching. Instead, I scour the racks and look up at the display mannequins to see what they’ve been dressed in. Silver buckles, and golden threads. Some sets come with black mesh, and others, with appliques that cover, barely, a woman’s nipple. Tulle bands, and satin two-tones. Eyelets, and Brazilian bottoms.
I’ve never in my entire life thought to buy underwear for the sake of showing it off. But here I am anyway, with an express mission to find something Archer might appreciate. I turn my phone over in my hand and check the screen—ten-fifty-one—then I carefully peek over my shoulder and look for the spot outside where he stood a moment ago.
Empty.
He’s gone.
“Ma’am? Can I help you?”
I come back around and face the sales assistant who models her wares. A trim, bottle-red haired woman in the two-tone Brazilian set I’ve already admired. Her stomach is tiny, but her hips are wide. She wears a sheer gown over top, and heels that stand far taller than my inch-high wedges.
“Just browsing?” she prompts.
“Um… no.” I look her up and down and consider the set she’s wearing. But I don’t have hips like hers. And my ass isn’t nearly round enough to make them look good. “Can you recommend some sets that would suit my body shape?” Then I bring my phone up again and unlock the screen. “Also, can you point me toward the Institute of Medical Science? I need to go there quickly.”
“Sure.” The woman is good at her job. Selecting bras and panties from the racks as though she’s had months to prepare for my visit. “It’s only a few blocks that way,” she hooks a thumb and shows me the direction. “Two-minute jog, if you felt so inclined to be fast. And these sets would work for you.”
I hit dial on my phone and bring the device to my ear, but I look to the saleslady and lift a brow at her four matching sets, each with tags dangling down to show the price.
“Hello?” Aubree’s breath comes out fast, like she’s walking. Rushing. “You’ve been freed from the phone ban?”
“I’m in an underwear store in Montego Bay, Jamaica. I’m just a couple of blocks from that institute you wanted me to visit. Update me on your case.”
“An underwear store?” She stops on a dime, Copeland City traffic bleating and groaning around her. “How are these two topics connected?”
“Because I have an hour without Archer peeking over my shoulder. If he doesn’t know I worked, then I won’t feel guilty for working.”
“And the underwear?”
“My thanks.” I glance across when the sales lady shakes her selections to get my attention. Pointing at a black set with gold trim, I nod and watch in amazement as she tosses them to the front counter and essentially declares the saledone. “I’ll probably tell him later that I snuck this call in, since I don’t feel like lying about it. At which point, he’ll roll his eyes and huff about my tendency to be a workaholic, even in paradise. Since he’ll get up on his high horse and act superior, I’ll have sexy underwear to distract him with.”
“It’s the perfect plan,” she breathes. “Holy cow.”
“Aubree,” I cut in. “Update.”
“Okay!” She starts walking again. “So get this. Arun arrived back from Montego Bay approximately forty-eight hours prior to his death. His wife said he complained of not feeling well, but he’d just traveled, so picking up germs is expected. He wasn’t in dire straits—or so they thought—so he continued to work and get on with things. He unpacked his suitcases and put his laundry away. On the first night of his return, he went to bed early and woke up feeling crummy. He worked from home that next day, taking meetings via video conference and, according to his wife, hardly eating anything.”
“Has Detective Fletcher ruled out the wife?”
“Pretty much. It’s possible, but there’s no motive. The timeline says he was either poisoned on his way out of the country, during transit, or very soon after he arrived home, so the kill zone is small, even if she wanted to kill him. And she doesn’t have apparent, easy access to poison.”
“Everyone has access to poison. You only have to look for it.”
Across from me, the saleswoman’s eyes flare.
“Either way,” Aubs continues. “While he’s not calling it formally, Fletch reckons she’s in the clear. Which means he’s looking at travel. The plane, the airport, the taxis he used, and the hotel he slept in.”
“And the hotel was the same place as the convention, right?”
“Same building. Savese stayed on the fifteenth floor in a single-bedroom suite, paid for by the company. The event was held in the Star Room, on the ground floor, west wing. Three hundred and seventy-two people attended this conference. Forty-three wait staff. A dozen cooks. And countless others walked in and out. Oh,” she adds enthusiastically, “and the building is a tourist attraction in and of itself. There are waterfalls in the lobby. The world’slargestindoor waterfalls, to be precise. Additionally, the restaurants are available to any paying customer, not just guests of the hotel. Which means tourists are in and out daily.”
“Shit.” I wander to the front counter and watch as the sales lady wraps my underwear into tissue paper and tapes the corners closed. “How the hell is Fletch managing this case, then? The playing field is too large.”
“I’m not sure. He’s working through a list of whoever else was there that day.”
