“Fire him.”
Rodrigo strode to his wet bar and poured himself two fingers of scotch. This entire situation was an annoyance. If he’d known Hayley Nelson had stashed herself in the walk-in closet, he could’ve taken care of her, too. Unfortunately, she had the kind of reputation that would make her a believable witness. She was a devoted social worker who helped the poor, the indigent. She volunteered at soup kitchens and homeless shelters. And she was a well-known advocate for domestic violence victims. As if those qualities weren’t enough nails in his coffin, she was also the daughter of a respected cop who’d given his life for his fellow officers and her fucking brother was an FBI agent. It all equaled him being screwed.
He thought of Ellie and that interfering sister of hers, Betty. If a diligent law enforcement officer found his ex-fiancé, she might be used to show past violent behavior. They could never get him on shooting her. No evidence. But her sister could potentially be called as a witness. His lawyers might be able to prevent the situation with Ellie from being presented in court, but why take the chance?
He hated loose ends.
“Nooooooo!” Hayley struggled out of the covers and landed feet first on the floor, her heart pounding erratically. Sweat dripped down her neck, and her body felt cold and clammy. The contentment she’d owned since coming to the resort slipped away like sand clutched too tightly in a fist. The creeping depression she knew too well replaced it, the dark poison piercing her happiness like a scorpion sting.
She shoved herself into the robe at the end of the bed and hurried out to the deck, hoping the friendly breeze would calm her. She took deep breaths and kept her gaze on the undulating waters of the ocean. After a few minutes, she felt better.
Hayley returned to her room and her gaze lit on the table. Breakfast. It was magic the way the food appeared without her ever seeing a single person. Hell, she hadn’t left the room since she’d arrived yesterday. She’d slept more in the last twenty-four hours than she had in the last six months. But not even this place could shelter her against the nightmares.
The mango was juicy and sweet, the kiwi with an edge of tart. She drank the mimosa and nearly inhaled two strawberry Danishes. The food replenished her. Then she took a long, hot shower. She decided against make-up, pulled her hair into a ponytail, and put on a blue knee-length summer dress. She wandered aimlessly around the room, debating the merit of taking a walk on the beach. She didn’t want to stay in the room, but she wasn’t sure she wanted to leave it, either.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
Startled, Hayley whirled around and stared at the door, her heart stalling. Shaking off her silly overreaction, she hurried to the door. “Yes?”
“I’m your tour guide, Miss Nelson.”
She frowned, alarm bells ringing in her head. “I didn’t request a tour,” she said through the closed door.
“It’s part of our service. I would be happy to show you our little island.”
“Okay. Hang on.” She slipped on a pair of flip-flops. She peeked through the peephole. The man on the other side was tall and rangy, dressed in a pair of khaki shorts and an outrageous shirt sporting blue and red flowers. His shaggy blond hair was topped by a backward-worn blue baseball cap.
She quickly undid the slide bolt, unlocked the door and flung it open, to glare incredulously at her so-called tour guide.
He looked at her, and his brown eyes drank her in like she was water, and he was dying of thirst. “Hi, Hayley.” His lips tilted into a familiar smile.
Logan. She gritted her teeth, fighting the impulse to both punch him and kiss him. “What are you doing here?”
Betty Lewis stood in her small bookshop surveying the boxes of inventory she needed to unpack. Since it was Sunday, the business was closed so she’d be alone. Usually, she enjoyed the quiet. Today, however, she was so on edge, every little noise made her jump.
She’d read that morning that Rodrigo had been charged with second-degree murder. He’d easily made bail. He was enjoying his life, no doubt believing he’d get away with killing his wife. Some assholes loved inflicting pain on their fellow human beings.
He’s a psychopath.
Banging on the front door exploded the silence and nearly gave Betty a heart attack. She peered around the end of the bookshelf and looked at the man standing at the glass door.
Her mouth went dry. Her heart hammered so hard, she thought it might fly right out of her chest.
“Miss Lewis?”
She didn’t move. He didn’t sound like Rodrigo, but she wasn’t taking any chances. What if Rodrigo decided that she was a threat, even after all these years? Ellie couldn’t talk, but she could.
“My name is Ben Nelson. I’m an agent with the FBI.” He pressed a badge against the glass.