Fletcher had been a poster boy for persistence, and the ironic thing was that by the time the final year was over, Daniel had almost developed a grudging admiration for him. He’d felt the kid with the deadbeat father might actually make something of himself.
Or so he’d thought.
Until he got the phone call that changed his life.
The phone call telling him Emma was dead.
He’d realised then that Fletcher hadn’t just wanted to be as good as Daniel Caruana. He’d wanted to be him, lock, stock and fiancée.
It was Jo who had scraped Daniel off the floor and stood by him while they’d buried the girl he’d loved. Jo who had fed him beer after beer while he spilled his guts about all the ways he was going to kill Fletcher. Jo who had convinced him Fletcher wasn’t worth it and had stopped him when drunken bravado had convinced Daniel it was the only option he had.
Yeah, Jo had been there, and his loyalty deserved better. ‘I know he’ll ask for more,’ Daniel continued, his tone less aggressive. ‘He knows more than anyone what Moni’s worth—but I bet Miss Turner will soon get him to agree, simply so she can get off the island and collect her cut.’
There was another pause. ‘She’s still there, then?’
‘The fastest way to prove she’s in on it is to force her to organise a wedding she knows isn’t going to happen. She won’t be able to keep up the pretence twenty-four hours a day.’
‘You reckon she’ll stay put, then?’
‘She’s not leaving the island. Not while Fletcher’s got my sister.’
He severed the connection with an assurance he’d call with Moni’s location as soon as he’d heard from Honolulu. Then he dropped his feet to the floor and swung his chair around to gaze out through the wall of windows, grateful that there was someone who understood, someone who knew the history, who didn’t have to ask too many questions.
What would he do without Jo? His old high-school friend had also been there when one of Moni’s first boyfriends had decided that she was worth more in cold hard cash than for herself. Barely eighteen, Monica had fallen head over heels, never realising that at the same time the guy was pretending to be the man of her dreams he was threatening to publish secret images of them on the Internet. Daniel’s sister, immortalised on film, at what should be one of the most intimate and special times of her life. Unless her brother paid—big time.
Jo had arranged the payment to send him on his way and the bastard had disappeared, the files destroyed. But it seemed there was always someone else lining up to take his place, someone ready to accept an offer before they had time to do any damage.
Given they’d taken the money, didn’t that prove that it was the dollars they’d really cared about?
Fletcher would be just the same—worse, really, given his history.
The sapphire perfection of sea and sky suddenly came into focus, filling his vision as he dragged in air, restoring him.
Jo wouldn’t fail him. The trap would soon be set and Fletcher would soon be gone. And meanwhile…
A movement low down in the window snagged his attention, a ripple at the end of the pool.
He growled.
Meanwhile he had other things to attend to.
She might be a good actress, but she wasn’t the only one who could play at make believe. Only, the way he played, she’d soon be wishing she’d never gone along with that deadbeat brother of hers.
He made another quick phone call, anxious now to join her in the pool, eager to take the game to the next level but first needing to make sure that she had no argument for a sudden departure.
Because Miss Turner wasn’t going anywhere, any time soon.
Sophie rested her chin on her crossed arms on the edge of the pool and floated as she gazed out at the expanse of sea and sky. The warm air was sweet here, any hint of salt or beach concealed under the scent of the tropical flowers that clambered rampant over walls and gateways. It was paradise.
But she was here to do a job. She had to keep reminding herself of that, because instead of focusing on Jake and Monica’s needs she found her thoughts more and more hijacked by the bride’s brother.
How could she trust him, both after the way he’d treated her and had spoken of Jake this morning? How could she believe he was now so keen for this wedding to go ahead here, a wedding that he’d been so vehemently opposed to and probably still was, if truth be known?
And how could she trust herself if, knowing what she did, she still practically swooned every time his lips drew close? Was it wrong to be so aware of and so attracted to your potential brother-in-law?
Tiny birds darted through the whispering treetops, unconcerned by her presence, while brightly coloured butterflies negotiated a zig-zag course through the air, so close at times that she could almost reach out a hand and scoop them into her palm.