Page 44 of Pervade Montego Bay
Lieutenant Rothschild had the ability to find out who had ruined my life and taken away my one true love. I’d brought Xavier all the way down here to use him.
And that was bloody well what I intended to do.
Xavier
Shielding my eyes against the sun’s bright rays, I stood in wonder for a minute, taking in the stunning view of the sprawling ocean.
My hands fell by my side as I flexed the tension out of them. My sprained wrist hurt, but keeping it in a sling was slowing me down. I pulled it off and tucked it in my trouser pocket.
Ballad’s influence was in everything here—from the sophisticated fixtures to the expensive art. Though what really stood out was the extraordinary taste of a woman.
On the way in, I’d noticed that the paintings all had a nautical theme. There were also photos of sea life. This man loved the ocean and it seemed strange that he’d chosen to leave the Navy for MI6. Becoming a widower had changed his life drastically.
This grand place was both Colonial and Georgian in style. Victoria’s presence permeated every corner. Lush plants added a cozy touch that made if feel like a home.
Standing on the porch, I remained awed by the endless blue ocean shimmering beneath the midday sun, promising warmth.
With an uncanny ease, I processed my surroundings. A coconut tree swayed in the breeze, its leaves forming patterns. A sunflower nearby stretched toward the light, its florets in perfect spirals; 55, 34, and 21, the sequence of Fibonacci. This golden ratio’s astounding functionality proving time and time again it was an essential characteristic of the universe.
Concentrating in a different way, I tried to view the garden as others would, as merely a lavish display of plants and flowers with an inviting pool that I imagined was heated by the sun. I was tempted to strip off and wade into the sparkling warmth.
I wasn’t one for prayer, but I prayed now—thanking the universe for getting me out of Colchester.
How the hell did I end up here?
Closing my eyes, I tried to squeeze out the memory of when my life had imploded. But it was too late—my mind was back analyzing and data crunching each detail.
I’d put my life on the line for the truth, which had seen me in Macau with both British and Chinese operatives after my blood. An interesting turn of events—the what-the-fuck kind that took the shine off travel.
I’d been ill-prepared for field work…something they had counted on, apparently.
No one would believe my intel that a well-respected senior agent at MI6 was a Russian operative. The man who’d ruined my life was a permanent fixture at Boodles—that gentlemen’s club where he rubbed shoulders with the Prime Minister and other members of Parliament. A Knighthood waited for him when he retired.
My military career had started with such potential. The Queen’s Commission now seemed like a futile aspiration. My talent was my greatest weakness…my genius the greatest threat to others.
After that car accident in Macau, I’d had my chance to run. I’d suspected there was a boat waiting. After all, Ballad had been driving at breakneck speed toward the estuary. I’d reasoned that the boat would have enough fuel to get me to Hong Kong.
But leaving Ballad behind to die hadn’t been an option. I just hoped I’d not live to regret it. There was still the chance he’d use me to garner favor so he could restart his stalling career…
I pushed these thoughts away and focused on the ocean view to fill my mind with something other than betrayal. This place was extraordinary.
A red parrot flew low and landed on a post at the end of a wooden dock leading out over the water. It was like someone had designed their dream home to be a paradise.
I’d craved the vastness of this kind of space after living in the confines of a submarine for a month—right before my life had crashed and burned in Macau. I had no idea how James had made a vocation out of living in those closed quarters.
He’d blown up his career to help me. Though it was likely that getting revenge for his wife’s death had been his only motivation.
And therehewas, standing barefoot and not that far away on the sand. The spectacular view was enhanced by James Ballad himself. He’d stripped off his shirt and was showing off his ripped abs. His low hung shorts revealed muscular thighs. All this time he’d been hiding that ripped body beneath his combat gear. I knew he was fit but this view highlighted his athletic physique.
A national hero who’d thrown it all away. He was one thought away from regret, probably.
He’d set up a badminton net and beside it lay a beach towel. Atop that sat a bottle of sunblock and beside it were two bottles of water—one for me, I assumed. This enduring loneliness lifted when I was around him, my awkwardness lessoning.
I should be happy with the idea of some much needed R & R. Still, I knew this badminton net and the impending match was him speeding up my rehab. This was him doing the right thing and not throwing me to the dogs back in England. The very cultured and moneyed dogs, no less.
Soon, I’d be out of Ballad’s thick, dark hair. That hair and clothes of his were an obvious act of rebellion after the time he’d spent in a Navy uniform.
He caught me staring. “I didn’t want to wake you. Where’s your sling?”
