Page 11 of Sunburned

“Looks like Ian’s getting laid,” Tyson commented.

I recoiled. “How do you know she’s going over there to sleep with him?”

“True, she could be buying drugs. But this is the third time this week I’ve seen her over there, and the other two times, her car was there all night. So either she has a drug problem, or he’s getting laid.”

Or both.“Why do your parents let him live there?”

“They like having somebody there to watch the place when they’re out of town. They don’t know about the drugs. And this weed is pretty good, so I’m not gonna tell them. I’m sure he’d rather be hacking into a drug company if he had the opportunity.”

“Ha-ha,” I said, shaking my head. “It’s not for lack of skill, that’s for sure. He was smarter than any of us.”

“Remember that program he designed to bypass the pay option on the vending machine outside of Mr. Gutierrez’s room so that it was free?”

I nodded. “He had so much potential. What happened to him?”

“I think it’s pretty obvious,” he said, drawing on the joint. “Drugs can really fuck shit up.” He grinned, holding the roach out to me. “Want the last hit?”

Yeah, Tyson was definitely missing a sensitivity chip. I waved the joint away, the pleasant light-headedness threatening to turn on me with all this talk of Ian.

“Cody’s coming into town this weekend,” he went on. “I’ll talk to him about it.”

“No,” I said, rising to go to the railing. “Even if I wanted to be a criminal, it’s not like you snap your fingers and money is in your account. You’d have to come up with a plan, a program…”

“Now you’re thinking,” he said.

“I’m not,” I said, staring down at the reflection of the sky in the pool.

But I was.

Chapter 3

Le Rêve was stark, white, and modern, with no windows facing the driveway.

“Shoes,” Laurent said, indicating a row of cubbyholes nestled beneath a bench just outside the door. “Never wear them in the house.”

“Got it,” I said solemnly as I slipped off my trainers and stowed them in a cubby.

He pressed the silver latch of the door and it swung noiselessly inward, revealing a view of the sunlit sea beyond. The house was high enough on the hill that the vista was uninterrupted, the entire front wall open to the rectangular infinity pool and panorama of calm blue sea, where three jagged rocks jutted out of the water like the spines of a giant dragon about to emerge from the bay.

To my right was a spacious living room featuring chic low-slung couches, to my left a long wooden dining table, and beyond that, a bright, streamlined kitchen. The interior was understated and elegant and flowed naturally into the shaded exterior living area. The space had clearly been designed to be unobtrusive, stepping out of the way for the true star of the show, the view.

Motion drew my eye to the row of loungers along the pool, wherea topless blond sunbather sat up, gazed in my direction from behind gigantic sunglasses, then unceremoniously turned onto her stomach. Next to her, another long-limbed, similarly clad girl, this one caramel-skinned with lush dark curls, lifted her head to look at me before muttering something unintelligible to the first girl. They turned away, bored by my very presence, as I stood there awkwardly, wondering whether to introduce myself.

Though I’d worked hard to overcome the social anxiety that had crippled me when I was younger, meeting new people still did not come naturally to me. I preferred the solitary side of my career, sitting behind a computer for long hours, while Rosa thrived in social situations—one of the reasons we made such good partners. I wished she were here.

Laurent beckoned me to follow as he rolled my suitcase past the dining table, into the far corner of the kitchen, where he pushed open a door on the view side of the house. Inside was a short hallway that led into a well-appointed bedroom featuring a platform bed and a wall of windows overlooking the view. “Tyson’s wife, Samira, is the blonde, Gisèle is her friend,” he said. “They are Belgian.”

He said it as if that should mean something, and I nodded, but whatever the implication was went right over my head. “Models?” I asked, though I knew from my cursory research that at least Samira was.

“Yes.” He approached the sliding glass door, indicating the sun deck beyond, where four chairs were arranged around a fire pit. “This deck is at the spa end of the pool, but you have a more secluded outdoor space through here.” He went around the bed to open a door that led to another deck, this one shaded by a flowering tree with orange blossoms. “Be aware you’re directly over Tyson’s private garden, where he likes to meditate. The entire ground floor is his personal space. Don’t go down there unless you are invited.”

I nodded as he opened the cabinet next to the television that faced the bed. “Here you have a printer, and extra sheets and towels.”

“Where are the rest of the bedrooms?”

“Allison’s suite is on the other side of the living room, and the rest are upstairs.”

I nodded, forming a mental map. “You don’t stay here?”

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