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He stopped and looked at her. “Why?”
She chuckled. “Why not?”
“No, I mean…” He shook his head. “Don’t your parents own this place? Aren’t you loaded or something?”
“Or something,” she said dryly. “Yes, but everyone has to work.”
His eyes narrowed at her. “You’re not what I expected either,” he said suddenly.
“Oh?” she asked. “What did you expect? A Daddy’s little rich bitch?”
“No,” he answered quickly. “Yes.” He shrugged. “Something like that.”
Just then an entire group of guests came into the bar area, and she sat back and watched him get to work. A half hour later, the entire bar was filled with people, and she finally gave up her seat and headed upstairs.
She was thinking about taking another dip, but her phone rang, and her parents’ number and faces filled her screen. Taking a glass of wine that she’d poured for herself out on the balcony, she answered the call.
“How’s it going, sweetie?” her father asked.
“Good. How is Europe?” she returned.
“Beautiful,” her mother chimed in cheerfully. “Tell her, Patrick.”
“Tell me what? Is everything okay?” she asked, suddenly worried.
“No,” her father answered.
“Honey, your father and I are feeling a tad guilty about keeping something important from you,” her mother said.
“What?” She settled in a lounge chair. Tonight’s sunset was another perfect one. Not a cloud in the sky. The entire horizon was bright orange and red. Jade knew that moments from now the colors would change and soften to pastels. “Oh god! Are one of you sick?”
“No, sweetie,” her mother answered quickly.
“Well, you know how we told you that Wyatt was a friend of the family?” her father started, causing Jade to sit up slightly.
“Yes,” she said slowly.
“Honey, he’s undercover FBI,” her mother blurted out.
“What?” She almost dropped her phone.
“You can’t say anything,” her father interjected. “He’s there on strict orders—”
“What?” She closed her eyes. Wyatt. FBI. Images of him flooded her mind. Him tossing a bottle or shaker into the air smoothly and catching them. Him smiling across the bar at her as he poured her a glass of wine. Him telling her that it wouldn’t be wise to keep secrets from him.
“You can’t tell anyone else,” her father repeated.
“Why?” she asked, feeling light-headed.
“Why can’t you tell anyone?” her father asked.
“Patrick, I think she’s asking us why he’s there,” her mother said.
“Yes, why is he here?” she clarified.
“Remember those missing kids?” her father said. “They think someone at the resort is helping a child trafficking ring. They think they’re using our resort…”
The rest of what her father said was drowned out by the high-pitched buzzing in her head.
