Blood in the Water (6 page)

She found some clean rags and a bucket under the kitchen sink, as well as a bottle of dish soap. Dedicated cleaning products would have been preferable, but she’d work with what she had.

The inside of the refrigerator was clean, though the stale odor of plastic burned her nose. She wiped down the interior, then found the cord behind it and plugged it into the wall. It came to life with a low hum.

She washed the ice cube trays and filled them with water before setting them in the freezer.

Next she turned her attention to the cupboards.

Not a bite of food, just as Koenraad had warned her, but at least there were plenty of dishes and pans. Everything had been well protected by the cupboards, but she rinsed anything that would be used for cooking or eating, just because.

It took her a good thirty minutes to get the kitchen clean enough for her standards.

One room down, three to go.

Three ended up being four. There were two bathrooms; she’d missed the smaller one on her first pass because she’d thought it was a closet. It was tiny, more like someone had installed a toilet and a sink into a broom closet. There wasn’t even a mirror.
 

She wiped away the dust and noted the lack of towels and toilet paper.
 

After attacking the larger bathroom, she’d had just about enough. Really, did it matter if there was a layer of dust on the window ledges?

But the bedding needed washing. Sure, it was clean and folded neatly, but it was a little stale. One problem, though: no detergent in the laundry closet.

So instead she vacuumed, then took a quick shower. To dry herself off, she used a cleanish towel that had come from the yacht with their other stuff.

After brushing her damp hair into a ponytail, she found the Tureyguan guilders Koenraad had stuffed in her suitcase. Her phone had a semi-reliable signal but wasn’t getting internet, so she dropped it into her purse, thinking she’d check her messages while she ran errands.

Three seconds after she opened the front door, the bodyguards were there, about fifteen feet away. They looked at her attentively, their large pupils almost indistinguishable from their dark irises.

It was kinda creepy.

“I need to go into town to buy some things,” she said uncertainly.

“We’ll drive you,” the older one said. He’d been chewing on the end of a stick, and he lobbed it into the bushes.

She followed them to a pickup truck, the kind with a full back seat even though it only had two doors. With its oversized, knobby tires, it was the sort of vehicle she associated with Montana ranches, not Caribbean islands.

One of the bodyguards got into the back. Monroe sat in the front, the purse in her lap.

The road was even bumpier than she’d remembered, and she had to fold her arms over her chest to stop her breasts from bouncing painfully. When they finally reached paved road, she heaved a sigh of relief.
 

She tried to call her mother again but only got voicemail.

“How did you fellas get into the bodyguard thing?” she asked. “Are you ex-military?”

“Family business,” the driver said.
 

She twisted to address the man in the back. “And you?”

“Family business.”

She looked from one to the other. Now that she thought about it, they did look awfully alike other than having two completely different skin tones and hair colors.

“You’re related?” she asked.

“Brothers,” said the driver. He wasn’t rude, but he acted like words were expensive and he didn’t want to overdraw his account.

Monroe sighed.

“You have to understand, ma’am,” the man in the back said, “that we need to stay alert. No disrespect intended.”

“Of course,” she said, feeling her cheeks warm. All her other questions—how long they’d been hired for, if there would be other bodyguards and if they worked in shifts, if they would skedaddle when Koenraad was around—would have to remain unanswered. For the time being; she wasn’t ready to concede total defeat.

When they neared town, the driver asked her where she wanted to go.
 

“A big grocery store,” she said. “Or a small one. I just need staples, I guess. Not the office supplies…” she said with a laugh that no one shared.

The driver nodded. He pulled off the main road, and a few minutes later they were driving through an area Monroe had never seen. The houses were smaller here, and many had clotheslines stretched across the side yards. The buildings themselves were brightly painted and cheerful.

She saw a few stray dogs, some kids playing with a soccer ball in a dusty field.
 

The driver pulled into the parking lot of a store. He got out, but when Monroe went to open her door, it was locked.

“Just a moment, ma’am,” said the man in the back seat.

“I’m not a
ma’am
,” she said with a backward glance. “For the love of everything holy, call me Monroe.”

He smiled, a brief flash of white.

“And you are?” she asked.

The driver opened her door from the outside and helped her out. It was embarrassing, and she was glad that the parking lot was mostly empty.
 

“You don’t need to come in with me,” she said.

“Probably not,” said the driver. “But we don’t want to disappoint Mr. Van Buren.”

She rolled her eyes.

At least they didn’t follow her down every aisle. They did a sweep of the store, then said they’d wait for her in the front.

Shopping took every bit of an hour. She couldn’t read the packaging and had to keep calling for help. Literally. By the time she pushed the wobbly cart up to the register, she’d just about had enough of her little island adventure.

She was tired of feeling helpless. Tired of being dependent on Koenraad. In New York, she’d been wholly self-sufficient.
 

It’s temporary
, she reminded herself.

The driver took a different route back, one that ran down the main street of town. They were at the end when Monroe said, “Stop! Pull over.”

As soon as the truck slowed, she was pulling at the door handle. “I need to get out,” she said, but he was already walking around.

She hopped out and quickly jogged back the half a block, but Ralph was nowhere to be seen, and the real estate agency was closed, the lights off.

“Damn,” she mumbled.
 

She fumbled her phone out of her purse and dialed the number on the door. Of course she got the answering machine.

“This is Monroe…” She paused because she and Koenraad were going to get married very soon, right? She suddenly remembered thinking how awful it would be if she took his last name. Her full name would sound like a list of American presidents. And now the pause was going on too long. “This is Monroe Tyler. I met Ralph a few times and it so happens that I’m looking for a job.” She left her number and hung up.

She felt a little better. It wasn’t a job, or even a job offer… Hell, it wasn’t even an interview. But it was a first step toward getting some of her independence back.

When she turned, she was disconcerted to see the bodyguards standing behind her, their faces impassive. Side by side, they were clearly related. They had the same cropped curly hair, the same strong noses, the same dimples in their cheeks. Even their ears were similar.

And those black, black eyes…

“Look, if you guys are going to follow me around everywhere, there need to be some rules. I want to know your names, and you have to call me Monroe. Otherwise I’m going to make your lives hell.” She pointed at the driver. “Name.”

“Dunphy,” he said. He didn’t seem impressed with her little speech.

“Theo,” said the other with a quick smile.
 

She nodded. “Dunphy and Theo. Ok. I’m Monroe. And I think this will be a lot easier for me if you act like we’re friends.”

“Excuse me?” Dunphy asked.

“You know, don’t stand… like that.”

He frowned, but he didn’t budge from his wide stance or his crossed arms.

“Don’t be so conspicuous. People are staring, and I really don’t like that.”

“But Mr. Van Buren—”

“Forget him. Let me ask you something. If I tell him I’m uncomfortable with you, will he fire you?”

“Probably not,” Theo said, but a hint of another smile tugged the corners of his mouth. “He just wants you to be safe, M—”

“You’d better be about to say
Monroe
, not
ma’am
,” she said, shaking her finger at him. Now he was definitely smiling, and even Dunphy looked a tiny bit less like a hit man.

“Understood, Monroe,” Dunphy said very properly.

“Was that so difficult?” she asked. Even though she was turning to go back to the pickup, she still caught the look the men shot each other.
 

Obviously she was going to have to talk to Koenraad about this.
 

Her phone rang as Dunphy pulled onto the street. “Mom!” Monroe practically squealed.

“What’s going on? Are you ok?” Her mother spoke quickly, nervously.
 

“What? Yeah. I’m fine. Why would you think otherwise?”

Her mother sucked in a breath. “For starters, you disappeared. Then you called me five times in an hour. What was I supposed to think? And where are you?”

“Tureygua,” she said. “Didn’t you get my email?”

She could practically hear her mom blinking in confusion. “I thought… I hoped that was a joke. What about your apartment? Your job?”

Monroe swallowed. “I quit,” she said, and when her mother stifled a gasp, she felt even worse. “I know it seems crazy, Mom, but I met someone.”

“Thomas?”

“No, we broke up—”

“When?”

“Just before the wedding.” Yeah, this did sound crazy. “I met someone else. He lives down here, and we’re together, so I’m going to stay for a bit. Here. On the island.”

“I don’t really know what to say,” her mother said. “This doesn’t make any sense. This isn’t you, Monroe.”

“Everyone’s always telling me to be more spontaneous,” Monroe said with a weak laugh. She’d meant it as a joke, but her mother didn’t take it that way.

“What you’re being is
erratic
,” her mother said. “You worked really hard to get that job, and you’re going to throw it away because you met some guy?”

Monroe decided not to point out that being regional manager of a pet supply company wasn’t her dream career, and oh, yeah, she’d already quit so there was nothing to argue about. Her mother just wanted reassurance. “I’ve got a job down here. Real estate. It pays better.” She crossed her fingers as she said it and prayed lightning wouldn’t strike her dead.

There was a sigh. “Help me understand, Monroe. Are you having a mid-life crisis? Who is this guy, anyway?”

A mid-life crisis at twenty-six? But arguing would get her nowhere. “His name is Koenraad Van Buren, he’s an entrepreneur—”
 

“Is that a euphemism for a scam artist?”

“No!” Monroe said, horrified. “He’s quite wealthy, actually, not that it matters.” She sighed. “Why don’t you take tomorrow off? Call in sick to work or something. We can fly you down for a few days. He’d love to meet you, and I’m sure when you see us together, you’ll realize this isn’t as crazy as it sounds.”

Her mother exhaled. “I’m absolutely going to come down there, and I’ll pay my own way.”

“You’ll come tomorrow?”

“Oh, yes,” her mother said, and her tone had an air of finality; she might as well have said,
Damn straight I’m coming down, and I’m taking you back with me
.

Monroe hung up the phone. Dunphy had continued to drive the entire time, and she didn’t have a very strong data signal anymore, but it was enough to check her emails.

She immediately wished she hadn’t. Her boss was pissed about being left in the lurch, Thomas wanted to know when they could have dinner, and Tara wanted to know what the deal with Spencer was because he’d taken her number but hadn’t called. And of course her mother was freaking out. As she scrolled through the messages and saw the progression from mild concern to controlled panic, she felt awful.

She really was the worst daughter ever.

Well, she was going to make sure her mother had an amazing time, even if that meant letting Koenraad pay for nice hotels and dinners and tours.

If her mother didn’t like Koenraad for some reason…

And then Monroe remembered the mating scars on her back. It would be impossible to hide them unless she wore a sweater all day.

An email popped up, a flight confirmation from her mother. Monroe had never known her to do anything so quickly online. It was almost comical.

The last of the signal bar faded from her phone screen, and a popup box alerted her that she had no data connection.

She was almost happy about it.

“Think the storm is gonna hit real soon,” Theo predicted from the back seat.
 

Monroe peered out the window. It was definitely a little cloudy, but she’d seen plenty of afternoons like it since arriving on Tureygua, and she had yet to see a storm.

“Are you sure?” she asked.

“Oh, yeah,” Theo said. “And it’s gonna be a nasty one.”

Chapter 9

Koenraad tried calling Monroe, but he went right to her voicemail. Now he regretted not giving phones to the bodyguards before he left.

He knew she was safe. Theodore and Dunphy were two of the most trustworthy shifters he knew. They were absolutely lethal with their bare hands, and if a fight took place near water, even bullets wouldn’t stop them.

But it would have been nice to connect with Monroe, to apologize in advance for being late. It would be a nice change from apologizing after the fact.

He was at his mansion. He knew from experience that there was a path, mostly free of the
sick
, to Eden Underwater, and he could pick up a few more changes of clothes after he got back.
 

He sent Monroe a text, telling her he should be back within a few hours. As he stripped off his clothes, he hoped he was right, that it wouldn’t turn into one of those days where he followed trails to dead end after dead end until well after midnight—or until the storm left him stuck deep in the ocean until the winds died down.