Page 30 of Sunburned

Damn, I was a fool for a good cologne, and his was excellent.

“You didn’t ask,”I replied.

He laughed, pulling back to look at me with a slight shake of his head, the colored lights sliding over his skin. “So tell me, Audrey. Why do you speak French like a native?”

“I was born in Geneva,” I said. “I lived there until I was ten.”

“Ah,” he said.“You are full of surprises.”

I laughed. “But then, so is anyone you’ve just met, right?”

He shrugged, his eyes lingering on mine. “In my line of work, I meet a lot of people, and I am seldom surprised.”

Just then, the girl we’d spoken to in the alley pushed out of the kitchen, setting her tray of shots on the table next to us. Without a word, she handed one to each of us, raising her own. “Clase Azul,” she said, clinking her glass to ours.

What the hell, I figured. It wasn’t every day I had the opportunity to drink tequila that good. I closed my eyes as the liquor burned down my throat. Laurent and I were both working, I reminded myself. Forla bête noire,no less. It wouldn’t do to get that confused, as much as I might like to. What I needed was to figure out who was blackmailing Tyson, so I could get off this island and out of his life.

“We should find Allison,” I said, pushing off the wall to scan the room. If she was wearing a costume, she could be hard to spot.

“Want to dance?” Laurent asked.

I frowned. I very much wanted to dance with Laurent. Which meant it was a terrible idea, especially with the expensive tequila now coursing through my veins.

He nodded toward the stage. “We’ll have a better vantage point up there.”

He was right. But I shook my head, sticking to my guns. “She’s not here to dance. Let’s check the booths. Is there a patio?”

He nodded and pointed, reaching back for me as he started along the row of booths that edged the dance floor. I ignored his outstretchedhand, keeping my gaze focused on the faces of the revelers around us, none of whom bore any resemblance to Allison.

I lifted the hem of my robes when we reached the steps up to the patio, but as I raised my foot, the fabric snagged on my stiletto, and I tripped forward. Laurent thankfully caught me before I could face-plant, his hands on my waist as I gripped his biceps to steady myself.

Never in my life had I been a person who could be described as clumsy, but this would make the second time today I’d found myself gripping his remarkably strong arms. Behind his mask, his eyes found mine. “You good?” he asked.

I nodded. “It’s these stupid robes.”

His hands lingered on my waist as a clown and a pirate shoved past us, pushing him into to me. Neither of us moved to pull apart. “We should check the bar,” I murmured, so close that my lips brushed his ear.

“Good idea,” he whispered.

I pulled away from him, grateful for the masks that hid our faces, and strode blindly onto the patio.Allison,I reminded myself.Look for Allison.

The patio outside was cooler and much less crowded than the dance floor. I twisted my hair over my shoulder as I slid into a seat at the stone bar and ordered a glass of water. Laurent leaned his back against the bar, scanning the tables of revelers from behind his Zorro mask, while I scrutinized the groups of laughing people standing around the entrance to the gift shop.

The crowd parted for a gaggle of gorgeous women in rhinestone outfits that left little to the imagination, and my gaze landed on a group of three seated at an out-of-the-way table partially hidden by a potted palm. The sole woman at the table was slender but muscular, her only attempt at costume a pair of heart-shaped pink sunglasses and a fedora that did little to disguise her identity.

I elbowed Laurent. “There,” I said, nodding my head toward her.

The other two men at the table wore more thorough disguises, but the one dressed as a knight was thin and tall, and the other one wasolder, salt-and-pepper hair peeking out from beneath the pope hat he was wearing, a simple black mask covering his eyes.

“Do you know those men?” I asked.

He shook his head. “It’s hard to tell with the costumes.”

They were clearly having an intense discussion, leaning forward in their seats and taking no notice of anyone else in the bar.

“But they’ll have to take them off before they leave,” I said. “So all we have to do is wait.”

Laurent signaled the bartender and ordered two glasses of Clase Azul on the rocks. I started to protest, but he shook his head, sliding a card toward the bartender.“We may be here a while, we might as well enjoy ourselves,”he reasoned.

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