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“Are you mad? Get off my property before the security alarms go off,” she said.
“I need to see you.”
“You don’t need anything. You want. You always want,” she hissed.
“So do you, and you know it,” he said. “You want it now. You want me. In you.”
Fiona moaned.
His laugh was soft in her ear. “Come to the cabana.”
She left the balcony and ran down the back stairs, turned off the security alarm, and ran out into the night. From a distance she would have appeared as a wraith in white silk, floating above the ground.
The moment she entered the cabana, the door locked behind her. Before she could turn around, her nightgown was on the floor, and he was behind her. She felt him, pushing, thrusting, and then he swept her off her feet and carried her to bed.
All of Fiona’s stealth had come to nothing because Jack Fielding got it all on camera. From the moment the man entered the grounds, to seeing Fiona answer her phone, then her coming out of the house, walking across the grounds, and disappearing into the cabana.
“Damn it, Wolf. You called it,” Jack muttered. “I’ve got the evidence you wanted. You may not be alive to use it, but I’ll damn sure turn it over to the police. Maybe she had something to do with your death, and maybe not. But she’s not getting away with this shit.”
Now all he had to do was wait for daylight to get some clear shots of their faces and he was gold. He saw the lights go off in the cabana and knew they’d make a night of it. He was secluded enough, but uncomfortable as hell, but that’s how he got the big bucks. His only prayer was, “No rain.”
He peeled a wrapper down on a protein bar and took a bite. Moments later, his phone signaled a text. He glanced down at it, then nearly lost his seating.
What the hell? A message from the grave?
He opened the text, reading in disbelief.
Jack, it’s me, Wolf. Not dead. Had to make a last-minute flight to Sao Paulo. Stu and I switched jobs, and it got him killed. Toby knows. He flew me home. Somebody wants me dead. It may be business related, and it may be personal. Keep an eye on Fiona, and do me a favor. Find out who’s heading the investigation and show them this text. Tell them to look within my organization and at her, as well. I don’t trust her anymore, and I have my reasons. You have my number. I’ll be in touch.
“Holy Mother of God,” Jack whispered. Now he was more intent than ever to get an ID on the cabana man.
It was nearing daybreak when Wolf reached his destination.
He took the turn from the main road and into the gateless entrance, then down a long tunnel of trees framing the old low-country house at the end of the drive, then pulled the car around to the back of the house and parked.
His eyes were burning from lack of sleep. His belly was protesting a lack of food, and his steps were dragging as he circled the car to get his bags and the sack of groceries he’d stopped to get along the way.
He went up the back steps, unlocked the door, then stepped inside and flipped the light switch and set his suitcase on the floor.
Light flooded the kitchen, revealing the well-appointed renovations within. He locked the car with the remote, then closed the kitchen door and locked it. It had been so long since he’d been here that he needed to tour the house to remember the layout.
It was just after sunrise when Fiona Outen slithered back across the grounds and into her house, and Jack Fielding was still filming when her late-night guest took his leave. He didn’t know who the man was, but he looked pretty pleased with himself as he headed for the rock wall, slipped behind some bushes and then promptly climbed a tree and went over the wall.
“Gotcha,” Jack muttered, then got the number on the license plate as well, as the man jumped in and drove away.
As soon as it was quiet, he came down from his perch on the other side of the wall, walked two blocks up the street to where he’d parked his Jeep, and drove away. He wanted a shower and food, but not necessarily in thatorder, so he went through a fast-food drive-through for breakfast and ate it on the way back to his place.
After a quick shower and a change of clothes, Jack uploaded the images from the SIM card of his camera to his laptop, then watched it all from start to finish before sending Wolf a text.
Check your email. Do you want this shared with the authorities, or do you just want me to share your text?
Then he got up to get a cup of coffee, and when he came back, he had a response from Wolf.
Well, damn. I didn’t see this coming. That’s Hank Kilmer. I play golf with him. Yes, show it to the authorities. If they want to talk to me, get me a number and I’ll call them. And thank you! Once I can come out of hiding, I’ll get the money into your account.
Jack sent back a final text.
Consider it done, and this one’s on me, friend. I’ll be in touch.
