checking that no guests from the couples side of the resort had left their cabana doors standing open in their romance-fueled haze.
The resort specialized in adult vacations. Singles came not only to relax but to also meet other successful singles. They tended to stay in the main building of the resort. Couples came for the romantic, secluded atmosphere Escape excelled at creating. And since they usually wanted more privacy, they occupied the bungalows on the far side of the resort. In between were various buildings and shared amenities—a bar, five-star restaurant, gym and spa, water sports equipment and instructors, tennis courts, a large pool complex and, of course, the beach and jungle. Somehow the entire resort managed to maintain an untouched, romantic feel, while still offering the latest in modern amenities.
Part of that could be attributed to the remnants of the French plantation house, the face of the entire complex. The house itself had been expanded and updated over the years, but it still retained the air of gentility and mystery. The public rooms were more than two hundred years old, keeping their period pine floors and rich interiors. The guest rooms had been added on to the back of the existing house at least fifty years ago when it had first been converted to a resort. Since then, the structures had been updated and modernized several times over, the latest when Simon purchased the place.
After Zane had verified that everything and everyone was locked up tight, he was going to head to his own quarters at the back of the resort to see if there was anything interesting on TV.
That was his plan.
Until sirens began blaring overhead. Zane jackknifed in his chair, his eyes immediately sharpening and scanning the bank of monitors before him.
The information screen blinked fire zone six just as the telephone at his elbow rang. He punched a command into the system, his screens filling with every camera they had in zone six. Nothing. No flames. No smoke. All he saw was panicked guests running around. He shook his head at the pandemonium. Picking up the ringing line, he spoke to the nice woman from the alarm company on the other end.
Insurance required they maintain the service, although he had no idea why. No one from St. Lucia could get here in time to be of any help. Even with boats, it would take the fire department forty minutes to reach the island.
However, they were prepared. Even now, the head of the grounds crew was mobilizing the pump truck that they painstakingly tested once every month.
Not that Zane thought they’d need it.
Dropping the phone into the cradle, he immediately snatched it back up.
“Marcy, I don’t see an actual fire. Evacuate the guests just in case, but I’m thinking this was either a short in the system or a drunken guest playing a prank.”
“Zane, you know better than that. Our guests don’t get drunk…they get happy.”
“Yeah, yeah, feed me the line tomorrow, when I’m not dealing with a crisis.”
The grumble in his voice belied the rush of adrenaline flowing through his veins…the first zing of electricity he’d felt in months. He’d missed it, this flurry of activity that meant he had a purpose.
“The staff is already implementing fire procedures. I’ll let you know when all guests are accounted for,” Marcy said.
“Let me know if anyone finds sign of a fire while you’re at it.”
Marcy chuckled.
Slamming down the receiver, Zane began to furiously type in commands, systematically scanning each zone, starting with five and seven before backtracking to one.
He didn’t get much further.
Halfway through scanning the fourth-floor hallway, he watched a woman disappear inside one of the guest rooms.
“Idiot,” he muttered under his breath. She’d obviously heard the fire alarm. Hell, it was practically spiking into his brain and making his eyes throb. God only knew what she thought was more important than meeting a fiery death.
He was halfway out of his chair when she reappeared…and went to the door immediately to the right. Ten seconds flat and she was inside that room, too. Because the main guest rooms were housed in the old French plantation house, they didn’t have modern keycard technology.
He’d argued with Simon about the need to upgrade to that sort of system but the other man had grumbled something about old-world charm and authenticity, tacking on a statement about cost and headaches. Zane had managed to talk Simon into adding security cards to the restricted areas and the executive suite on the top floor, but that was as far as he’d been able to push. He wondered if the man would listen to him now.
He watched the woman on his screen appear and disappear one more time. Alarm bells—the ones inside his head—started clanging. Something wasn’t right.
Picking up the two-way radio beside him, he yelled into it for Tom. “Get your ass up to the Crow’s Nest,” he said, using their nickname for the security hub. “I’ve got a situation, but I want eyes up here in thirty seconds.”
A crackle of static floated up from his hand as he raced into the stairwell. “But …”
“Now,” he yelled again. Whatever the other man was doing could wait.
Zane’s mind raced just as fast as his feet, putting the pieces together as he flew down the two flights of stairs.
The fire alarm had been a diversion.
He burst through the door just in time to see the red-haired woman slip into yet another room. He’d barely gotten three doors down when she reappeared.
“Hey! Stop! What are you doing?”
Zane reached automatically to his hip, searching for a piece of his past that was no longer there. He hadn’t felt the need for a sidearm in almost two years.
His body tensed for the chase. He expected her to run—they always did. Instead, she stopped in her tracks and turned to face him.
“Thank God.” He could see tears glistening in the corners of her eyes as she took a step toward him. Warily, he slowed.
“What are you doing?”
“I was looking for my room, but I couldn’t find it and the alarm is making my head hurt and I started to panic and …”
Her rambling words trailed off as one of those tears slipped free and rolled down her cheek.
He might have bought it, if he hadn’t seen her go in and out of several locked rooms with his own eyes. With a speed that would make his trainer at The Farm weep.
He went to step behind her and she spun, her eyes going wide and her mouth opening in a silent protest.
“Turn around.”
“Wait. Why? What are you doing?”
He took out his badge—nothing like the one he used to carry, this one was white plastic with his picture and title as head of security for the resort in big, bold letters—and held it in her face so she could get a good look at it. “Turn around before I put your face in the wall.”
Reluctantly,
