The walk up the numerous steps from the beach to the pool deck that had Mary blushing with memories took very little time, and they abruptly came to the top of the stairs to find a collection of people having a heated discussion.
Beehag’s heir, Benedict, Mary guessed, was the greasy, scrawny youth—he looked barely old enough to be admitted to the resort, and he was scowling defensively.
Scarlet was looking at him like he was some kind of small worm, and lesser men than he would have squirmed the way he was.
“We have a contract,” Scarlet was hissing, and Mary guessed by her fists that she was keeping herself tightly in control. “It has clauses for breach.”
“My lawyer assures me that everything about this transaction is completely legal,” Benedict whined. “There’s a more than generous severance fee.”
Scarlet was clearly unimpressed by the figure they were offering her, though Benedict seemed to think it ought to assuage her ire.
She turned her icy attention to the investor. “There are other resorts for sale. More accessible locations.”
“There are no other resorts like this one,” the investor replied with a chuckle. “Shifting Sands has several unique properties that appeal to me particularly.”
The mercenaries, who, true to the warnings, were looming figures, each of them easily the size of Neal, and armed with wicked-looking guns. Mary glanced at Scarlet, and back at them. She didn’t think that Scarlet was actually afraid of any of them, but considered herself unpleasantly bound by the contract.
The investor was wearing a suit, and standing with his back to the party coming up the stairs, and he turned to glance at them with an unconcerned, sleazy smile.
In an instant, everything shifted.
Neal’s hand in Mary’s became an anchor, wrapping around her fingers even more tightly than before, as he hissed, “Lewis…”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Neal did an automatic assessment of the situation as they crested the stairs, taking stock of the bodyguards—six bruisers—and the other figures standing there. The bodyguards looked bored, but professional; Neal knew at once that he had been correct about guessing they were mercenaries by the way they were subtly assessing each other as well as the newcomers, fingers lazy on their weapons. He dismissed Benedict as a useless youth with too high an estimation of himself and no physical skills. He knew better than to discount Scarlet, though he had to lump her into a total unknown category.
The figure with his back to them was the most intriguing. The suit was clearly fine quality and perfectly tailored, and the body beneath was unexpectedly large and powerful. From the expense of his dress, Neal guessed he had to be one of the investors.
Then, he turned, and Neal saw his face.
Lewis recognized Neal in the same moment that Neal realized who was standing at the top of the stairs, and with a gesture, directed all of the mercenary attention on him. Weapons that had been held loosely were at ready. The men that had looked the laziest were suddenly sharp-eyed and alert.
“Mr. Byrne,” the drug lord said in oily tones, turning all of his attention from Scarlet to Neal. “How… pleasant to see you again.”
Neal forced a smile onto his face. “I wish I could say that that was mutual, Lewis.”
Scarlet glanced from one to the other, frowning thoughtfully, but said nothing.
Mary’s hand in his tightened, and Neal wished her anywhere else
as Lewis’ glance turned from him to her.
As polite as could be, Lewis offered his hand to Mary. “My dear,” he said slickly. “How lovely to meet you. Mr. Byrne is an… old friend.”
“I, uh, I’m Mary North,” Mary said in a quavering voice. She had to reluctantly let go of Neal and very tentatively shook his hand. It didn’t escape anyone’s notice that he held onto it a little longer than she wanted him to.
“I wouldn’t say friend,” Neal ground out, holding his anger tightly in check.
Lewis gave a toothy smile. “No need to be pedantic. Business associates, if you’d prefer?”
“My mission was to kill you,” Neal said flatly.
Mary’s breath hissed in alarm, and Neal could feel the air around Scarlet chill. Behind him, at the top of the steps, Travis shuffled his feet, and Bastian flexed his hands. Benedict sweated in the muggy air.
“Fun times,” Lewis laughed. “But come now, you aren't even considered alive by your old unit. Surely we can put a failed mission behind us.”
“Not when the failed mission was to take down a turncoat drug lord who hid behind school children.” Neal's wolf growled from his throat.