only person on the island who understood why the man had no desire to fill the resort to the rafters.
Fewer guests meant fewer disruptions, giving Simon the space and time he needed to write. Simon had his reasons for keeping his career as an author a secret—even from Marcy. Betrayal by someone you trusted could make you rather…reluctant to let people in. And Simon had definitely been betrayed. Courtney, his ex-girlfriend, had really done a number on him, stealing his work and passing it off as her own.
The only reason Zane knew the truth was because he and Simon had been friends since their fraternity days. They might have gone their separate ways after college, but they’d always had each other’s backs. When Zane’s life had imploded, Simon had been the first to offer him somewhere to stay, and when Zane had refused the handout, Simon had given him a job. Hence his position at Simon’s resort.
Not everyone knew Simon had bought Île du Coeur not as a business investment but as a secluded place to come and lick his wounds. Apparently, the island was good for that. Marcy didn’t know the truth, so she didn’t understand. All she saw was a man who’d bought a resort and then didn’t give a damn about actually making it run. Which was actually far from the truth. Zane knew Simon needed the place to support itself. The man had some money, but the upkeep for Escape was unbelievable and he needed to cover operating expenses.
“We have empty rooms, Simon. We need more guests. Especially during the off season.”
Simon leaned languidly against the door frame, completely uncaring that every person in the room had stopped moving to turn and stare. “I like the off season just fine. I enjoy the peace and quiet.”
Zane figured he had exactly thirty seconds to step in or Marcy was going to lose it. Her blue eyes flashed a warning that Zane knew Simon would ignore. A smile played at the corners of Simon’s lips, almost as if he were looking forward to the fallout of whatever was going to come next.
And if there hadn’t been an audience, Zane might have slipped quietly out of the room and let it happen. The two of them had been striking enough sparks off each other lately to light the bonfire they held on the beach. But they weren’t alone, so …
On silent feet, Zane moved between Marcy’s glaring gaze and Simon’s impish grin and said quietly, “Not the time or place, guys,” tipping his head to the spectators.
Simon looked over Marcy’s shoulder at the people staring, and his lips tightened into a straight line. Oh, that was worse. Marcy pissed he could handle. Simon angry was unusual and therefore infinitely more volatile. Even though Zane was an ex-CIA agent trained in fifty ways to kill with household objects, he tried to avoid Simon when the man’s temper flared.
Simon’s eyes narrowed as he looked around Zane to Marcy. “I don’t want strangers in my space. I need to work.”
Marcy snorted. Probably not the smartest thing she’d ever done. Zane widened his stance and braced for the consequences.
“Well, you’re going to have to wait. The marketing director for the campaign specifically asked to photograph your private rooms, Simon. And you agreed.”
“I did?”
“Yes. You’re on the highest floor, with the best view. From this vantage point, we can show a luxurious room with the jungle behind surrounded by deep blue water.”
It was uncomfortable, being at the center of their angry standoff. They stared at each other, through him, but Zane figured this way at least he wouldn’t have to witness a murder.
“You’re not going to go away until I let them do this, are you?” Simon finally asked.
“Nope,” Marcy responded.
“Fine,” Simon said, whirling around on his heels and heading for the door. “But I start throwing people out the window if you’re not done in an hour.”
Most people might think Simon was kidding. It was hard to take a man who dressed like a surfer seriously. But Zane knew firsthand that surf-god exterior hid a spine of steel and a drive to succeed. Hell, even he forgot sometimes. It was easy when Simon smiled that crooked grin.
With a huff, Marcy prowled over to his former corner and stood there, glaring at the production crew. They quickly found something to do and somewhere else to look.
Crossing his arms and returning to the piece of wall he’d been holding up, Zane didn’t look at her, either, when he asked, “Want to talk about it?”
“Some days I want to kill him,” she grumbled.
“I know.”
“How do you stand him? How can you still be his friend after all these years?”
“Because he’d give me the shirt off his back if I needed it. Practically did. He’s loyal to the people he cares about, Marcy. Trust me when I say you don’t know the whole story.”
She shot him a pointed look. “No one will tell me.”
Zane raised his hands in an unarmed gesture. “Not my story to tell.”
“He just…drives me insane. He knows how important this photo shoot is. And he knows what I went through to get this set up in time. If Colt and Lena were here, I might be tempted to wring their necks.…”
“You know that’s not true.” Zane bumped her hip with his own, hoping to jar a smile from her. “You liked those two. And you could have refused to sell the photographs back to Colt. But you didn’t. Admit it, you have a romantic soft spot beneath that drill-sergeant exterior.”
The ghost of a smile played at the edges of her lips. “If you breathe a word of that to Simon, I’ll kill you.”
“I’m shaking in my shoes.”
1
ZANE STARED OUT THE CLOSED window to the panoramic picture of tropical beauty and sighed. It was perfect and he was bored.
He shouldn’t be. This laid-back, no pressure lifestyle was exactly what he’d signed up for—the complete opposite of the life he’d left behind.
For good reason.
He swiveled in his desk chair until his full attention returned to the bank of security screens that occupied the wall in front of him. He should probably run back the tapes to check those sixty seconds he’d been distracted. But he wouldn’t. In the eighteen months he’d been on the island, not a single exciting thing had ever shown up on those screens.
And why would it? The resort—the only thing on Île du Coeur—might have plenty to take, but there was only one way off the island. The chances of a thief being caught before the ferry arrived were pretty damn good. Especially with him on the job. None of their guests had ever had so much as a candy wrapper taken. The worst thing he’d had to deal with since he’d set foot on the island was a drunk who’d fallen through one of the thatched huts along the beach.
The only thing hurt had been the hut.
Zane looked at the timer in the bottom right corner of one of the screens and registered that Tom, his replacement, would be there in about twenty minutes. So far the boy was working out, and Zane was happy
