Page 22 of Sunburned

Tyson could make fun of my line of work all he wanted, but I loved what I did, and I was damn good at it. While I’d started out selectively accepting jobs that required only my computer skills, over the years I’d gotten bolder. Yes, I still did a lot of hacking, but I’d also developed other talents—like stealth and deception—to get the information I needed. I thrived on the adrenaline rush of it, and as long as I stayed within the law, I was not held to the same standards as law enforcement, which made it that much easier for me to uncover the evidence necessary to bolster the cases of the attorneys that hired me.

This assignment—which was how I needed to think of it to avoid scratching Tyson’s eyes out—was one that would require every ounce of my people skills. My weakest skill set, to be sure. I wished more than anything that I could call Rosa and get her take, but I couldn’t.Not about this. There was too much she didn’t know. That she didn’t need to know. I was on my own.

When I reached the edge of the pool, I saw I wasn’t in fact the first to arrive. A couple stood at the railing on the deck beneath the infinity pool, looking out over the dark ocean toward the lights of St. Martin glittering on the horizon.

The man was Cody, I realized as he turned his face.

Where Tyson had shrunk, Cody had grown. He had a short beard, his dark hair thinning, and he was bulkier now—not overweight, but thick—in a polo shirt and shorts. The woman was blond, though she didn’t have Samira’s lanky, effortless cool girl vibe. She was of medium height, her hair carefully curled, her compact, tanned, and gym-toned body wrapped in a tight Pucci print.

She must have sensed my presence because she turned and looked up at me, flashing a smile. Feeling as though I’d been caught eavesdropping, I waved. Cody’s face went slack for a moment as he saw me, then he also smiled.

“Cody,” I called, genuinely glad to see him. “So good to see you.”

“Audrey, welcome,” he replied as they approached. I’d kept loosely in touch with Cody for a few years after Tyson and I broke up, but we’d lost touch as De-Sal took off. Now I stood on my toes to give him a hug and he studied my face as we pulled apart. “You look incredible.”

“Thank you.”

“Hi,” the woman said, not to be left out. Up close she had the symmetrical beauty of a newscaster: perfectly arched brows, pert nose, Crest-white smile, skin contoured and scoured of any blemish. She’d definitely had work done, though it was good enough work that it was hard to determine what exactly had been altered. “I’m Jennifer. His girlfriend.”

Something about her was familiar, though I couldn’t quite place it. “Audrey,” I said, extending my hand. “Have we met? You look so familiar.”

She shook her head. “I don’t think so. Unless you’ve lived in Wisconsin or San Francisco?”

I shook my head and turned up the wattage in my smile, waving it away as I offered up the friendliest version of myself. “Anyway, it’s lovely to meet you.”

Acting was as necessary a part of my tool kit as hacking or self-defense, and while I’d never had any desire to perform on stage, I found it freeing to slip into character on a job. It allowed me to disassociate, keeping my true self hidden behind a mask so that I could focus on the task at hand without giving too much of myself away.

Here I’d be more gregarious and less reserved than I was naturally. I’d keep my sarcasm to myself, smile often and chatter affably—make them like me, want to confide in me. It would be trickier to pull off with Tyson and Cody around, but it had been a while since they’d seen me, and Tyson had bullied me into doing this shit for him, so I doubted he’d challenge my faux geniality.

“Excuse me, Monsieur Dale?” called one of the chefs, her hands clasped before her as she lingered at the edge of the kitchen. “I would like to ask you a question about the dinner.”

“Excuse me,” Cody said, patting my shoulder as he took leave of us to follow her into the kitchen.

Jennifer leaned in, her floral perfume heavy in the humid night air as she whispered, “I hear you and Tyson dated.”

I choked on my champagne, the bubbles sharp in my nose. “A long time ago.”

She leaned closer. “I hear it didn’t end well.”

I raised my brows. “I can’t argue with that.”

Before I could inquire what else she’d heard, Samira and Gisèle came tripping up the stairs in minidresses, a tangle of long legs, beach waves, and supple skin, their heads bent together as they murmured in French too low for me to make out.

“Do you speak French?” Jennifer asked.

I briefly considered lying, but Tyson and Cody knew too much about me. “Yes. My father is Swiss.”

“Well then, you’ll fit in here better than I do.”

I had to laugh. “I doubt it.”

She gave me a conspiratorial wink as a server poured Samira and Gisèle glasses of Dom, which they clinked, never casting a glance in our direction as they settled into seats across from each other at the end of the table.

Jennifer’s phone dinged with a text and she raised it. “My son,” she said as she keyed in a response. “He texts me good night anytime I’m away.”

She turned the screen of the phone to face me, displaying an image of a dark-haired boy about my sons’ age, and my heart squeezed with longing for my own boys as I smiled. “I have twin boys about the same age.”

Jennifer sighed. “It’s like I can see him slipping away into teenagerland in front of my eyes.”

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