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“Look, the tide is coming in. We’re losing our beach. Pretty soon we’ll be arguing about this underwater.” He turned his back on her and started through the trees.
She didn’t move even when she felt a wave wash around her ankles.
He disappeared into the trees and she was considering taking the boat and making a run for it, when he returned looking irritable at best.
“What?” he asked, hands on his hips.
“Did you see what happened by the pool last night?” she asked.
He shook his head. “I came running when I heard you scream but by then your friend Odell had already saved you.”
“He isn’t my friend,” she snapped. She was angry at Landry for spying on her. But even more angry that he hadn’t seen what had happened before Odell showed up at the pool. “So are you going to tell me which painting Simon hid the disk in?”
“No.” He started to turn toward the trees again but must have seen that she wasn’t moving an inch until he told her. “It’s a painting of a sailboat. That’s all you need to know right now.”
A painting of sailboat? She had done dozens of those.
“You’re just going to have to trust me.”
She stared at him. Trust him? He had to be kidding. Did she even believe him? She believed he was after something. Possibly that was the only reason she was still alive. What she feared was that there was something on the disk that Landry Jones needed to save himself, all right. He needed the disk so he could destroy it for his boss Freddy D.—and save the truth from coming out about him. And once she was dead there wouldn’t be anyone to testify against him. It would be his word against a dead man’s.
He smiled. “Calculating the odds?” His question took her by surprise.
“What odds?”
“Whether I’m lying to you or not.”
He’d hit too close to home and she knew it must have shown in her expression. “Just my luck that Simon picked your art studio.”
“My thoughts exactly.”
He shook his head and settled his gaze on her. “Look, if all I wanted was the disk, wouldn’t I just kill you and go through your stuff? Apparently that’s what the person who was shooting at you had planned.” He raised a brow in question.
“And they would have been very disappointed,” she said. “I don’t have any of my paintings with me.”
That got his attention. “Where are they?”
She just looked at him and said nothing.
His jaw muscle jumped, his eyes darkened.
Clearly they had reached a stalemate. It was her turn to smile. “Who doesn’t trust whom?”
“You’re starting to burn,” he said, and cocked his head toward the sun beating down on them. “We need to get you back to the villa.” But he didn’t move. “Don’t you want to hear my plan?”
From his pleased expression? No. “What?” Her voice cracked. She had a bad feeling she knew exactly what he was about to suggest.
“The way I see it, someone on this island knows who you are. They could be searching your apartment right now. Or maybe planning to wait until tonight to break in, kill you and search it.”
“That’s crazy,” she said, but rubbed her wrist, remembering last night by the pool and the gunshots only minutes before.
“Is it crazy? If those bullets would have found their mark earlier, you’d be shark bait.” He must have seen her surprise. “You think your body would ever be found?” He chuckled. “As far as everyone is concerned, you’ve disappeared. So the simplest thing is for your body to end up as fish food. No one would ever have to know what happened to you.” He sounded as if he’d given this some thought. “You’re in over your head, sweetheart. You’ve got one chance and that’s me.” He grinned wickedly at her.
She didn’t like his smugness. Nor was she sure Landry Jones’s help was what she needed at all. She dug her heels in, even though the water was now washing around her thighs. “It sounds to me like you need mine since I’m the only one who knows where the painting is.”
“So we work together.”
There was no doubt in her mind that once he had the disk he would be long gone. “What’s in it for me?” she asked.
