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Rafe still has his arm around my waist. “You want anything? A cocktail?”
Having already had too much to drink last night, I shake my head.
“Lunch will be out in five minutes,” the woman informs before leaving.
Now that I can stand, I don’t need to hold onto Rafe anymore. I drop my arms. “Thanks for the swim lesson,” I murmur.
“We’ll do more later,” he says.
My heart continues to hammer away even after he releases me. I step out of the pool first and grab the towel neatly folded at the foot of the lounge chair. I put my sarong on while he towels off his wet hair and leaves the towel draped around his neck.
Could he be interested me? I wonder. Is it my imagination that his gaze fell to my lips while he was holding me? If heisinterested, is that a good thing or a bad thing? Somehow I get the feeling that it doesn’t matter as far as my fate’s concerned.
“Do you like tuna?” he asks me.
“Somewhat. I probably had too much of it as a kid,” I reply. “My mom used to stock up on it whenever there was a big sale on tuna, like three cans for two dollars.”
“The bluefin tuna we’re having for lunch sells for almost a grand per pound. It’s not the same tuna you find in a can.”
Oh. A grand per pound. I can’t imagine that much value going into my stomach in one meal.
He gestures to Vladimir, who has been standing off near the portico. “Hand your phone to Priscilla,” Rafe says.
Vladimir complies.
“I can call my brother?” I confirm.
When Rafe nods, I eagerly dial my brother. I try three times but get no answer.
“Can I text him?” I ask.
“Sure.”
Knowing that they can see whatever I text, I keep my message fairly innocuous, letting Peter know I’m trying to reach him, I don’t have my phone, and that I’ll try him again at five o’clock Pacific. I tell him it’s urgent, like the time Mom fell down a set of stairs and broke her wrist, giving him that reference so that he knows it’s me trying to contact him.
Bummed that I can’t get through to my brother, I hand the phone to Rafe, who gives it back to Vladimir. Maybe Peter’s having too good a time?
“Where did you say your brother was?” Rafe asks.
“Taking a vacation in Central America,” I reply. “It’s his first time out of the country. I hope nothing’s happened to him.”
“Where in Central America?”
I hesitate. “Why do you want to know?”
Rafe looks at me, his expression serious. “Your brother’s in Costa Rica.”
Now I vaguely remember Alessandro mentioning Costa Rica yesterday, before he got beat up. “If you already knew, why’d you ask?” I inquire.
“To see how forthcoming you’d be. And, yes, I am trying to track him down. No one absconds with my property.”
“He didn’t. I know my brother.”
“You’re also the least likely to view this objectively, given your bias.”
I consider the possibility but reject it quickly. Peter would have told me.
“So you’re a big fan of Morelli?” I ask. I’m tempted to point outRaging in the Mountainsisn’t his property since it was stolen.
