Page 10 of What Doesn't Kill You…

The woman smiled with sympathy. "Those small planes are difficult, aren't they?"

"Yeah," Max said. "Add a boat trip on top and, well, you get the picture. Maybe you could have some ginger ale and Tylenol sent to our room for the jet lag?"

"Absolutely." She tapped at the keyboard of the computer discreetly hidden behind the long counter. "Let's get you settled in first. Passports?"

Violet was on edge. She felt like there was a neon sign over her head proclaiming her a fraud. Everywhere she looked she saw happy couples. Without exception, everyone seemed relaxed, excited, and perfectly at home on the island. Violet, in contrast, felt like her movements were wooden, her smile brittle, and her tone on edge. In other words, she was acting like a woman going to the gallows instead of to her own wedding.

"Just relax," Katrina said through her easy smile.

"If I could relax, I would," Violet replied, barely moving her lips—mainly because her jaw was so tight. "You know what would help, if you three looked more tense. I stand out compared to you."

"It's the Caribbean," Rodrigo said. "We're in a five-star hotel. The sky is cerulean blue, the sea is crystal clear, and the women are in bikinis. Hell, yeah, I'm relaxed."

"Cerulean?" Katrina asked with a smile.

"It's on the hotel brochure so it must be true," Rodrigo said.

As the four of them made their way back through the tiled lobby, keycards in hand, Violet made sure to keep her colleagues between her and her fake fiancé. The last thing she needed was for him to touch her in her state of heightened awareness and for her to karate chop him into oblivion in response. Max didn't seem bothered by her distance. He just kept on smiling and, every now and then, shot her a look that was supposed to embody his devotion. Mainly, it made him look more like an overgrown puppy than usual.

Aware that their every move was being recorded on the resort's extensive security system, the group did nothing to attract unwanted attention. And yet Violet still felt like the security guards monitoring the cameras would pick her out from the crowd.

"Her," they'd whisper. "She clearly doesn't belong."

She took a deep breath and tried to focus on her job. She was there to protect Max. Not to worry about how self-conscious she felt. Once again, she scanned the vast room, with its tastefully arranged seating areas and massive potted plants. She didn't like those plants; they were just big enough to hide a threat.

As she examined the back corner of the room, she paused. A man was sitting in one of the rattan armchairs, his head angled to the side as he talked to his companion, but Violet easily recognized him from her time as a cop.

She bumped her shoulder into Rodrigo to get his attention. "Far left corner of the room," she said, keeping her voice low. "It's Ivan Cadar, Romanian crime boss."

Rodrigo tensed but casually glanced where Violet had indicated. "You're sure?"

"Oh, I'm sure. He tried to get a foothold in Glasgow while I was still working there, but we managed to stop it from happening."

Katrina pretended to smile as she spoke to them. "You think he's Damien's partner?"

It was Max who answered. "Damien's partner never stays at the resort. Trust me, I looked into that extensively. He always arrives by boat from St. Patrice and only stays for the meeting." His eyes kept darting toward the crime boss and Violet was worried he'd show too much attention and give them away.

She grabbed his arm and pulled him closer to her. "Stop looking at the man, you'll attract attention."

"I was being subtle," he protested.

"No," she said. "You weren't."

"Do you think he's here for a wedding?" Katrina asked.

"Got to be," Rodrigo said. "Max already told us you can't get onto Wedding Island unless you're part of a wedding party. We'll just have to file this information away for a later time. Right now, we've got parts to play."

Violet sighed. She'd almost forgotten about her undercover role.

"Right," Rodrigo said. "Our rooms are upstairs and you two have a romantic beachfront bungalow. We'll meet in The Terrace restaurant for dinner in a couple of hours." He lowered his voice as he looked at Violet. "Try not to injure Max before then."

She glared at him. He wasn't funny.

A cheery porter insisted on taking their bags and showing them to their room. Even though Violet would have had no problem finding it herself.

Their bungalow was a ten-minute walk from the main building, along a paved path lined with palm trees. Not one inch of the resort was out of place. The grass was lush and even, with pristine edging. The paving underfoot was bleached clean. The buildings were uniformly white, with shining red tile roofs. And all of it sat in front of a luminous blue backdrop that went on for as far as the eye could see. Violet looked up, checking, and yep, there wasn't even a cloud in the sky to mar the perfection.

She hated all of it.