Margaret Rosenthal laughing in the arms of Michael Wolfe as he tossed her into the ocean. The picture wasn’t intimate or suggestive, but it had been taken.
And it had been taken on his island.
He released a string of obscenities in Italian and pressed the intercom. “Carol. I need security in my office in five minutes.”
“Is everything all right, Mr. Masini?”
“Five minutes.” He disconnected the call and printed out the photograph.
Lou Myong stood before him four minutes later, the photograph in his hand.
“This was taken from the island, not the ocean, not above in a plane.”
Val could see that.
“Can you tell who sent it?”
Val shook his head. “I expect an Internet team on this. I want to know the IP address, the origin. I need to know who sent the photograph.”
Lou folded the copy of the picture and tucked it in the inside pocket of his suit jacket. A second-generation Korean American, Lou stood a few inches shorter than Val, but the man had a good thirty pounds over him. Lou had been the head of his security on the island since before the first guest arrived. He understood the need for secrecy and made damn sure pictures like the one in his pocket weren’t taken.
“The question is why send it to you? Why not just print it? Pictures of movie stars on vacation fetch thousands of dollars.”
“Someone wants me to know they can do it.”
“Or someone is placing focus on these two.”
Val didn’t like the sound of either scenario. He flicked the switch on his desk. “Carol, can you come in here please?”
“Right away.”
Once Carol stood before him, he started spouting off orders. “I need a list of every employee assigned to the Wolfe party.”
Carol tossed a nervous glance to Lou and back to Val.
“I want everyone interviewed, the interviews recorded. I need to know what they’ve seen, who they’ve seen. I need to know if the security breach is internal.”
His private secretary’s eyes grew wide. “Breach, Mr. Masini?”
“Someone is watching our guests, Carol. I need eyes on the eyes and a moment-by-moment account of our guests.”
A blank stare fell across Carol’s face. “That might be difficult, Mr. Masini.”
His back stiffened and his gaze narrowed. “And why is that?”
“Mr. Wolfe and his companion took a charter to Key West after breakfast.”
Damn it. It was one thing to contain security on his island, not possible when his guests joined the party in the south.
Val met Lou’s dark eyes. “Put your most trusted man on the employees. I need you in Key West. Find them, follow them, and see if anyone of interest is watching.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Carol, not one word. Right now there are three people who know there’s a breach.”
“Yes, Mr. Masini.”
The two left the office in silence.
“Key fucking West.”
Michael Wolfe and Margaret Rosenthal’s photographs will be in every rag magazine available by morning.
Where Sapore di Amore was silence and solitude, Key West was the exact opposite.
Meg was surprised they lasted two nights and almost forty-eight hours before looking for excitement off island.
The charter off the island was exclusive to Sapore di Amore. Only guests of the island used the charter. They were given a cell phone and were asked to return to the dock by ten that evening.
With so many shops and restaurants and otherwise touristy spots to spend their time, Meg wasn’t sure ten o’clock would be long enough.
They hid behind massive sunglasses, told passersby that Michael wasn’t Michael, but yeah, he could be a stunt double for the man.
Still, Meg noticed a few cell phones swinging their way. She made sure she pushed in close to give the vibe they were together.
Halfway through lunch on an outside patio, Meg felt the need to look over her shoulder. “I don’t know how you do this,” she told him.
“You ignore it.”
“But someone is watching us.”
He shrugged, sipped his margarita. “Isn’t that the idea? See if we’re followed back to the island? See if it’s as secure as Val says it is?”
She glanced over her shoulder, didn’t see the eyes she felt. “Yeah.”
“Then that’s what we do. We play tourist and return to the island at dark. If nothing hits the papers by the morning, we step it up.”
“And how do we step it up?”
Michael looked over the rim of his sunglasses and wiggled his eyebrows. “I’m more than a pretty face on the big screen.”
Meg grabbed her purse and stood. “I’m in need of the little girls’ room and am going to make a quick call to your sister.”
Michael reached for the borrowed cell phone.
“I don’t trust that. I’ll use a house phone.”
“Do they have those anymore?”
Meg laughed, but wondered if there was a house phone once she walked away. She stepped around the bar and found her path cut off by three bikini-clad women. “Is that Michael Wolfe you’re with?” they asked.
Meg glanced at an Asian man watching from across the bar.
“If I had a dime for every time someone asked us that,” Meg said. “We’d be as rich as Michael Wolfe.”
The youngest of the beach-bound women offered a full pout. “We thought for sure.”