The new woman in his life. Something about her throat interested Eli. Which meant it interested Jake.
Setting his glass of ice water on the bar, he worked his way to the coiled metal staircase at the edge of the dance floor. Keeping his eyes on Eli and the woman, he headed up the steps as quickly as he could, given the heavy press of crowds pushing in both directions. His focus narrowed to the two of them. Like a sniper staring down the barrel of a gun, he only saw Eli and his lady. He rounded the corner as the woman planted a kiss on Eli’s cheek.
Eli cupped her face in his hand and returned the smooch, his fingers drifting to her neckline. Even from Jake’s spot ten feet away, he was nearly blinded. The stone on her necklace was brighter than the sun, and it was the object of Eli’s affection. Stroking it, caressing it, fondling the stone, the man was fixated on her rock. Jake managed to sneak a few feet closer to snag a better look at the stone. Square, with just a trace of a bluish tint to it.
Like a sapphire.
Eli was dating an art dealer, all right, but the man sure seemed fonder of jewels than art. And there was a big diamond business on the Islands.
Before they could see him, he swiveled around. As he walked to the exit, Jake played connect the dots in his head. Money, art, diamonds, club. He didn’t have enough information yet to draw a conclusion, but he didn’t want to leave any stones unturned. He peered up at the balcony one more time—Eli reached into his pocket and pressed his cell phone to his ear. In two seconds, his face lit up with an almost childlike glee. Whoever had called him had made the man’s day. Eli turned around and opened a door, extracting himself from the crowds.
Jake reached the exit, too, where a burly security guard manned the door. His arms were crossed, revealing ink on his forearm of his rank in the army. Jake had put himself through college thanks to the army ROTC, then traveled to Europe where he was stationed with the 66th Military Intelligence Brigade.
“Staff Sergeant,” Jake said to the man with a nod, reading his stripes.
The big man raised his gaze, and the expression in his eyes shifted from one of standoffishness to connection. “Yes.”
Jake tapped his chest. “Captain. Six years.”
“Served for seven myself,” he said, then named his unit. “Cal Winters.”
“Jake Harlowe.”
“Thank you for your service.”
“Thank you for your service.”
A while later, at his hotel, he researched his plan of attack for tomorrow, and also tackled Kylie’s tutor project, firing off e-mails to a few of the names she’d sent him already. Then, as he lay in bed, he unfolded the napkin from the Pink Pelican and tapped his fingertips against his chin as he reread the details. Earlier, he’d been certain he’d follow this trail back to Ariel. But, through no fault of the woman, tonight’s visit to Sapphire had reminded him that this was no easy job. He’d only just begun, and he had a lot of legwork ahead of him to get to the bottom of the missing $10 million. Finding stolen goods wasn’t for the faint of heart.
Hell, the best gigs with the biggest payoffs were the toughest ones, with the most twists and turns on the road.
Distractions like beautiful women were ultimately just that—distractions. They were pitfalls that could rattle his concentration on an assignment that didn’t yet have a direct path to the prize.
But was there room for a little tryst on the side? He’d never liked to mix business with pleasure. Ever since the romance with Rosalinda went belly-up, he’d been a rules man through and through, and the number-one rule was to maintain lines. Rosalinda’s trickery had endangered the assignment and nearly cost him one of the biggest jobs he’d ever nabbed—the payoff for the Medici gig had gone a long way in funding Kylie’s college bills.
Thank Christ he’d caught up with Rosalinda in that damn shoe store.
He pressed his thumb and forefinger against the bridge of his nose, crumpling the napkin with his other hand, balling it up.
Best to forget Ariel. Do the job. Get in. Get out. Get home.
But then, as he tossed the napkin in the trash can near the door, he rewound to those moments in the Pink Pelican. Images played before him of her delicious lips, the swell of her breasts, her sexy-as-sin legs, and most of all—the way she fit in his arms. That kiss had obliterated his brain cells, and now the rich, ripe memory of it was making it hard to think about anything else.
Too hard.
Try as he might to banish all thoughts of her, he couldn’t get her out of his mind. Nor could he erase the effects on his body just from thinking of her.
He rose, walked over to the trash can, and fished for the piece of paper. He read it one more time. It said:
123. Happy Turtle. Tomorrow.
Fuck it.
He was an adult. He could handle this. He could see her again and still do his job. Besides, nothing more was going to come of a little rendezvous. This would merely be a lush tropical affair. She had nothing whatsoever to do with the job. He was fine. Completely fine and maintaining those all-important lines.
He’d keep things separate from work and enjoy a little something with quite possibly the sexiest woman he’d ever met.
CHAPTER EIGHT
The next morning, Jake waited in his rental car a safe distance outside Eli’s house, keen to gather some intel on the man’s habits. Sunglasses on and ball cap pulled low, he roamed his gaze over the house. The silhouette of a tall man wandered past a window on the second floor a few times. Jake couldn’t make out what room the window opened into. Bedroom maybe. Perhaps an office. Or even a hallway.