Skye felt her eyebrows at her hairline. What are you doing? she mouthed to her sister, who shook her concern away.
‘I understand, but if these contracts aren’t signed by Mr Chalendar, then a massive deal is going to fall through... Which deal?’ Summer furiously typed on the laptop, anchoring the mobile between her ear and shoulder, staring at Skye and pointing helplessly at a list of companies Chalendar dealt with. ‘Hold on one moment,’ she said into the phone. ‘What’s the most likely “huge deal” that he could be making?’
‘Are you insane?’ Skye demanded. ‘You want me to pick a hypothetical business deal that a man I’ve never met may or may not be—’
‘Just pick one!’ her sister hissed.
Skye scanned the list of companies and saw one that did business throughout Europe and America and pointed.
‘Hello?’ Summer said into the phone. ‘Thank you for holding—it’s the Stransen Steel contract.’ From the loud and clearly panicked reaction from the other end of the phone, it had been a good guess. ‘Yes, I’ll need an address for the courier... Costa Rica? Two days. Okay. I’ll get that done. Thank you,’ Summer said, disconnecting the call and tossing her phone on the table as if it had burned her.
‘What did you just do?’ Skye demanded.
‘Found out where Benoit Chalendar is going to be. But he’s only there for two days before he goes “off grid,” whatever that means.’
‘But shouldn’t we find out what the rest of the journals have to say?’ Skye asked.
‘We don’t have time. We have an address for Benoit that expires in two days.’
Star sighed. ‘Costa Rica, how rom—’
‘Don’t,’ Summer and Skye said at the same time.
Skye pushed back a strand of hair that had become glued to her temple. The heat was like nothing she’d ever experienced. Perhaps her sisters had been right. She should have dressed more...or, well, actually less, given the climate. But she’d wanted to feel in control when she met Benoit Chalendar. So the buttoned-up white shirt and grey blazer, over her jeans and favourite light brown Oxford brogues, had felt like a good idea. Had felt like armour. Until it had been punctured by an eleven-hour flight and a hard dismissal from the man’s PA turned bodyguard. He might have looked like a Hoxton hipster but he had been completely immovable. Chalendar would not be seen.
Moisture hung heavily in the air, making it hard to breathe. Her stomach twisted into knots as guilt, shock and desperation clogged her mind. She’d been so stupid. She’d actually thought it might have been that easy. That the man would have agreed to see her. That he would have simply handed over the map.
She searched in her bag for her phone, feeling oddly vulnerable without the luggage she’d left at the airport, having decided to come to find Chalendar first rather than checking in to her hotel. Pulling out her mobile, she bit back the rising sob in her chest and called her sisters.
‘What happened?’
Not, How are you? Did you make it there okay? Was the flight on time?
‘He wouldn’t see me. I’m so sorry—’
‘Where are you?’ Summer demanded.
‘I’m outside the hotel, but it’s useless.’
‘Did you know that Catherine and Benoit had a mad, passionate affair?’ demanded Star, as if they hadn’t just failed at the first hurdle.
‘Yes, I—’
‘Skye, you have to speak to him,’ Summer said, and the urgency in her sister’s voice reminded her of exactly what was at stake here. Thoughts of her mother swirled like a mirage in the hateful heat.
‘I know, but there’s not much I can...’ Skye trailed off as she saw a man emerge from the side entrance to the hotel and throw a massive duffel bag in the back of a Jeep. His height was what first drew her gaze. He must have been well over six feet tall but there was a litheness about the way he moved, as if he belonged more in the jungle than a five-star hotel. A honey-blond beard barely concealed chiselled cheeks and a well-defined jaw. It made him look rugged and arrogant, as if he didn’t care what people thought. He turned her way and for a second she was caught in the beam of two startlingly blue eyes. An instant jolt ran across her skin and Skye told herself that it was only one of recognition. ‘That’s him,’ she said, forgetting she was on the phone for a moment.
‘What’s him? He’s there?’
‘He was...’ she replied as she watched him discard her as if she was below his notice and stalk back into the hotel. ‘He’s putting things in a car.’
‘What, now?’
‘No, he’s gone back inside,’ Skye said, exasperated at the running commentary she was having to supply.
‘Get in the car.’
‘What?’ Skye demanded, panic rushing through her. At the thought that she’d miss him, the thought of what her sisters were now screaming down the phone at her.