Night Deception Read online

  Night Deception

  Tamsen Schultz

  Copyright © 2020 by Tamsen Schultz

  Cover Design by Valerie A. Leah

  Edited by Rebecca and Woody Fridae

  Print ISBN: 979-8648817388

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Contents

  Acknowledgments

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Also by Tamsen Schultz

  Extract of

  Prologue

  To Zoom happy hours and the friends and family that join them.

  Acknowledgments

  As always, I can’t thank the following people enough—they are as invested in my writing as I am, and I will always be grateful: my PA, Stephanie Thurwachter, my editors, Woody and Rebecca Fridae, and my cover designer, Valerie Leah (who managed to fit the same historical reference into this cover as she did on A Fiery Whisper! Let me know if you find it, there might even be a small prize for the first person who emails me with the correct reference).

  I also just want to say how much I’m loving writing this series so far. The Virgin Islands is such a unique place that getting to “live there” while writing, has been a treat—even if Tildas is just a fictional island and I’m only there in my own mind.

  And last but not least, thanks to my family and friends for continuing to support me…even if that means we talk nothing but murder at the dinner table.

  Prologue

  Isiah Clarke stood behind the bar drying glasses as Marty, his second in command, mixed up a batch of Painkillers for the group of tourists sitting at table eleven. He slid a clean rag into a glass, wiping away the condensation left over from the dishwasher, as his gaze swept the room. As it always did, pride teased the corners of his mind when he took in the scene.

  After more than a decade as a Navy SEAL, he’d needed something to do with his time—and his life—so he’d bought a piece of land perched high on a bluff on Tildas Island and started building a bar. Slowly, he’d transformed his little bit of paradise into a place everyone, but more particularly locals, felt comfortable.

  His gaze slid over the patrons then to the long screened-in veranda. Now that night had settled over the Caribbean, he couldn’t see the collection of islands that lay beyond the shores of Tildas. Nor could he see the deep, vibrant ravines that ran down the sides of the mountain to the shore, or the swirling blues of the Caribbean Sea. But they were there, and just knowing that soothed his soul a little bit.

  As he set the glass down in one of the tidy rows that lined the shelf, the hairs on his arms stood up and a prickle of energy whispered across the back of his neck. He looked up to see the source of his unease just as she stepped into the bar.

  He hadn’t seen her in months, not since the end of December and it was now the end of February, but she wasn’t a woman he’d easily forget. She paused in the door and, as always, everything about her—from the cut of her clothes, to the simple gold chain that hung from her neck, to the perfect hair and nails—screamed expensive. But it was more than all that that drew his attention; it was the way she carried herself. Even when she’d walked into his bar that first time there hadn’t been a lick of self-consciousness about her. No, she’d walked in like she fucking owned the place. And while he generally avoided tourists as much as possible, and she wasn’t his type, he had to admire her confidence.

  Out of the corner of his eye, he watched as she approached. Her deep blue dress crossed over her breasts then fell in waves to the floor. Her long dark hair was pulled into a high ponytail that fell straight between her shoulder blades, and as she stepped, he caught glimpses of her pale toenail polish. With her smooth skin, pale blue eyes, high cheekbones, and full lips, she was a stunning woman.

  Even if she wasn’t his type.

  “Double Laphroaig,” she said when Marty turned toward her. The same drink she’d ordered in each of her previous five visits.

  Marty grinned. “Good to see you again. No Painkiller or Mojito today?” he asked. The same question he’d asked in each of her past visits.

  “Get the woman her drink, Marty,” Isiah said on an exhale. “If she’d wanted a Painkiller or Mojito, she would have ordered one,” he added. As he spoke, she turned her head toward him, and the air left his lungs. Very carefully, he set down the glass he’d been holding.

  “What happened?” he asked with a nod toward her cheek. Growing up, he’d seen the same kind of mark on his mother’s face enough times to know what it meant. And though he had no right to ask, he wasn’t going to ignore it.

  “Walked into a door,” she said with a shrug. His eyes lingered as she returned her attention to Marty who was adding a small piece of ice to her drink, the way she liked it. She didn’t appear to be self-conscious about the bruising or cut that marred her right cheek, not like he would have expected if she’d been a victim of domestic violence, but still…

  “Let me know if you need any help fixing that door.” Somehow he managed to sound casual though his stomach churned with acid at the thought of some man hitting her.

  She flicked a small smile in his direction, then took her drink from Marty and placed twenty-five dollars onto the counter. “I took care of it myself,” she said, then she slid off the barstool and headed to the veranda.

  Isiah picked up another glass and began drying it as he watched her walk away.

  “What do you think her story is?” Marty asked, grabbing a lime wedge from the container and adding it to a gin and tonic. She’d taken her preferred seat in the corner with her back to the wall of the bar, and sat staring out into the darkness, as if she could actually see the view through the thick of night. She quietly sipped her drink, not once looking around her or pulling out her phone.

  “I’ve got no clue,” Isiah answered honestly. He’d been around the block enough to get a good read on most people and it wasn’t often that people stumped him. But that woman most definitely stumped him.

  Or she would have if he gave her much thought.

  Which he didn’t.

  Because she wasn’t his type.

  Alexis rolled the tumbler between her fingers and let her head fall back against the wall. It had been a hell of a day—overall, a good one, but still, getting kidnapped, tied up, and yes, even hit a couple of times, earned her a drink. Or two.

  Even if it was—more or less—part of her job.

  As an FBI agent, and part of a special task force based on Tildas Island, not once had she doubted that her teammates had had her back. But even so, the memory of the rope cutting into her wrists, and the forced immobility that came with being tied to a chair, had driven her to visit The Shack and to the distraction that was Isiah Clarke.

  Yes, she knew his name. She knew a lot about Isiah Clarke, thanks to her family’s security team. She knew the kind of things that should be shared between friends, or lovers, as a relationship develops, and as
trust grows. But that wasn’t how her family rolled. Not anymore.

  And so she knew all about Isiah Clarke. Product of a broken home and an abusive father, he’d enlisted in the Navy at eighteen and worked his way to becoming a distinguished SEAL. He’d sent home all of his paychecks so that his younger sister could go to college and his mother could get her own coffee shop and inn up and running (once she’d kicked her now ex-husband to the curb for the last time). After retiring eight years ago, he’d bought the land for The Shack and from what her security had told her, Isiah was a good man, running a solid business and keeping his nose clean.

  Awareness shimmered across her skin, and Alexis knew Isiah was looking over at her. From his position behind the bar, most of her face was hidden from his view. But that didn’t stop him from looking. Or her from noticing.

  Which was exactly why she’d come tonight. Isiah was a man her friends would definitely refer to as eye candy. He had eyes so dark they were almost black, sharp features, and thick hair that he wore in a clean, short cut. He hadn’t let his build slip from his SEAL days—at least not enough to notice—and his six foot two frame all but begged to be touched. That she’d noticed him the first time she’d set foot in The Shack wasn’t a surprise. But tonight, it wasn’t his looks that pulled her back to the bar.

  No, tonight, the uncomfortable awareness she felt around him was just what she needed to take her mind off the events of the day. So, sitting in her corner, sipping her drink, she welcomed the way her pulse accelerated in his presence. She lingered over the question of whether or not he was watching her. And yes, she even craved the way every nerve in her body came painfully alive when she looked at him.

  It was the distraction she needed, even if she never acted on it. Not that she hadn’t thought about it, because she had. Frequently. But as they say, it takes two to tango and every indication Isiah had given her told her he wasn’t up for the dance.

  She took a sip of her drink and thought back to the night he’d had made it very clear that while she might not mind the prickling awareness between them, he wasn’t comfortable with it. From the moment she’d arrived, he’d avoided looking at her or speaking to her—not even sharing any of the standard island pleasantries. But it was when Isiah had called Marty over to take her drink order when she’d been standing across the bar from him that she’d grasped just how strongly he felt about putting distance between them. And being an adult, Alexis acknowledged that since it was his bar, and he couldn’t leave, it was up to her to withdraw. Which she had. Until tonight.

  But tonight, she needed his nearness to take her mind from the ropes and the guns and violence. Maybe it was selfish of her, but if it was, so be it. After all, it was just one night and Isiah Clarke struck her as a big boy, able to handle whatever he thought of her.

  Closing her eyes for a moment, she savored the peace that the whiskey, and the comforts—and discomforts—The Shack brought. In her mind’s eye, she conjured the view of distant islands dotting the seascape, rising up from the bright blue of the Caribbean. She saw the lush, green mountains interrupted by brilliant orange and red Flamboyant trees. And she felt the sweet sting of the sun touching her skin as its heat cut through the humid air.

  “Need another?”

  Alexis’s eyes jerked open to find Isiah standing in front of her. Not once in her prior visits had he ever come to check on her. The Shack didn’t have tableside service. It was one of the things she liked about it.

  Her gaze held his, then dropped to her glass. Her empty glass. She didn’t remember finishing it, but the proof was before her. She debated for a moment—she’d had a beer with her teammates before coming here, and then the double Laphroaig. She didn’t need another drink, but then again, she wasn’t even close to tipsy and she was walking home, anyway.

  “A single this time, please.”

  Isiah nodded and reached for her glass. Their fingers brushed when she handed it to him and a jolt of energy flooded her nerves. She fought the urge to jerk her hand back from the simple touch that was somehow so intimate. It was only her years of training that made it possible for her to pretend there was nothing out of the ordinary. She released the glass into his keeping and murmured a quiet thank you.

  Yes, this distraction was exactly what she needed to take her mind off the day she’d had.

  And all the memories it had dredged up.

  Chapter One

  Isiah glanced at the open door—and the woman framed within it—then at the calendar that hung on the wall behind the bar. A bright tropical bird marked the month of June. Four months to the day since she’d last been in. And why he knew that so quickly was something he wasn’t going to explore.

  He was the only one behind the bar and he watched as she walked toward him. Her long legs, clad in a pair of cut-offs, quickly covered the ground between the door and the bar. Other than her shorts, she wore a loose, black tank top, a pair of strappy, black sandals, and her long hair had been braided in hundreds of box braids then pulled up into a bun. Her mixed ethnicity had always been evident in the rich color of her skin and her pale blue eyes, but before today, he’d only ever seen her with sleek, straightened hair. He’d be damned if he admitted that seeing her in braids—a nod to a heritage they shared—did a little something to him.

  “Double Laphroaig?” he asked when she reached the bar.

  She smiled. A real smile this time. Not just a hint of one. And no, he would not admit to the way his heartrate suddenly leapt.

  “It’s a little early for that, but I’ll take an ice tea if you have it?”

  He nodded and reached for a glass. As he filled it with ice, the door opened again and two more women walked in. One was tall and thin with long black hair. The other was a little shorter, a lot curvier, and had curly shoulder-length, sun-streaked brown hair.

  “Alexis,” the woman with the long hair said with a smile as she rushed forward to engulf his mystery woman in a hug. So, “Alexis” was her name.

  “So good to see you, Charlotte,” Alexis responded. “How long are you on island this time?”

  He set the ice tea on the bar and cast a questioning look at the two women, both of whom asked for the same. Seeing her now, he had a sinking feeling that he might have been wrong all those month ago. If she hadn’t come in today, he would have gone on thinking she was just another snowbird. But June wasn’t exactly high season for tourists.

  “A month this time,” Charlotte answered. “Then I need to be in Europe for a month. But I’ll be back in September for at least four months. I may need to take a few trips, but I’ll be staying here.”

  “Damian must be happy,” Alexis said.

  Charlotte laughed and reached for the tea Isiah had set on the bar top. After thanking him, she turned back to Alexis. “We’re both happy. Believe me.”

  The three women wandered over to Alexis’s favorite table and their conversation became indistinct. He glanced over a time or two, and this time, he could see Alexis’s face as she’d given her friend, Charlotte, her usual seat.

  It was a slow Saturday afternoon and he spent his time tidying up behind the bar and stopping by to refill Alexis and her friends’ ice tea. He didn’t catch much more of their conversation but if the vibe was anything to go by, the women were enjoying their time together.

  It was a side of Alexis he hadn’t seen before—no surprise there. And even as she relaxed on his veranda and laughed with her friends, he considered that maybe it would have been better if he hadn’t. She’d already figured in his thoughts more than she should have. And that was even after he’d tried to give her the brush off in December.

  Yes, he’d admit to being kind of a dick that night six months ago. But the chemistry between them was too strong to temper and instinctively he’d known—he knew—that no vacation fling would ever be enough.

  And so he’d done what he’d thought best for the both of them and he’d pushed her away. With every slight he’d dealt that night, he’d told himself it
was the right thing to do—after all, she lived off island and she’d be gone by March. But now, well, now that it appeared she lived on island, he could no longer deny what he’d always known that night was about. Acknowledging the intensity that vibrated between them had seemed…big. And messy. And so, he’d never even given her, or them, a chance.

  Her laughter floated in from the veranda, drawing his attention. What would it be like to hear that every day? He wouldn’t blame Alexis if she wanted nothing to do with him. His actions in December had been those of a coward and they weren’t something he was proud of. Certainly not something likely to draw the interest of a woman like Alexis.

  Turning back to his chores, Isiah forced himself to get lost in the mundane activities. An hour later, three men strode into the bar. It didn’t take more than a second for Isiah to peg two of them as former military. The third looked like he’d stepped out of an ad for O’Neil surfboards.

  “We’ll be back,” one of the military guys said to him as the three passed by the bar and headed toward the women. Isiah had a fleeting thought that they might all be couples, but when only the one named Charlotte stood, he reassessed his stance.

  Out of the corner of his eye, he watched her hug the one who’d spoken to him and the one who looked like a surfer—calling then Dominic and Jake, respectively—then she stepped into the arms of the third, the other military guy. Now they were a couple.