Page 18 of What Doesn't Kill You…

"You'll never know," Violet said smugly.

"You have the weirdest sense of humor I've ever come across," he said, although he sounded impressed.

"I don't think we've established that I'm joking, have we?"

"Violet," Katrina said from behind them, where she was walking with Rodrigo. "What did we say about toying with the client. Have some pity on him, he's just a poor, naive Canadian." She grinned mischievously.

"Oh," Max said, feigning offense. "We're going that route now? We're attacking nationality?"

"It's only fair," Violet said. "You called me a cheap Scot."

Max threw up his hands in despair. "I'm beginning to think that all of you like toying with your clients."

Nobody denied it.

They'd reached the retail area of the resort, because Violet had insisted on shopping for pants. She'd been disgusted earlier when she'd opened her suitcase to find it full of dresses and only one pair of shorts. There had been no trousers. No jeans. Just a onesie thing that cut her in two and a pair of beige shorts. She had not been impressed.

The retail area comprised of six nauseatingly cute cottages that housed everything the discerning traveler might need during their stay. There was a tiny pharmacy, an upscale boutique with a bridal section, a convenience store for snacks and drinks, a souvenir shop, a mini florist that also sold handcrafted chocolates, and a bookshop with some electronic items, like headphones and chargers, that people might have forgotten to pack.

"There's really no need to leave Wedding Island, is there?" Katrina said as they approached the row of small white buildings. "I feel sorry for St. Patrice. The resort is doing all it can to ensure tourist dollars stay on the island."

"Speaking of St. Patrice," Violet said, as she subtly checked their surroundings. After discovering there were two crime lords in the resort, she felt especially cautious. Fortunately, no threats jumped out at her. Unless you counted the very tipsy couple trying to drive a golf buggy back to their bungalow. "Have Evan and Abasi settled into the house we rented for them?"

"I spoke to them before we came down for dinner," Rodrigo said. "Evan was busy setting up his command center and said he'd try to hack the resort once he was sorted. Who knows, he might get us some decent info, but I don't think so. From what Max says, our guy is too cautious to leave his data unprotected."

"Yeah,” Max said. “I wouldn't hold my breath."

"As for Abasi," Rodrigo said. "He went to tap into the network of brothers, his words, not mine. He's going to see if he can get himself hired on as staff."

"Good idea," Violet said. "We could use some back of house access."

"Fingers crossed," Rodrigo said as they entered the boutique.

The shop was quite spacious, which surprised Violet. The building looked much smaller from the outside. Most of the floor space was taken up by women's resort wear, in an assortment of bright shades and summery patterns. One corner of the store was stuffed full of white dresses and veils. The other with men's formalwear, quite a bit of that was in white too. Violet cocked her head, considering it. At last, there was something about getting married in the Caribbean she could get enthusiastic about. She'd long thought that if the woman had to wear white so should the guy.

"Right," she said searching the room for a sales assistant. She didn't have to look far. One came running at them, dollar signs in her eyes. Violet held up a hand to cut off any sales spiel that might be coming. "I need pants," she said. "Trousers, jeans, whatever. As long as they're full length, not shorts, and don't ride up, we're good."

Max nudged her with his hip. "You sure you don't want cargo pants?" He grinned.

Violet didn't think he was funny. She thought it was a great idea.

"Got any cargo pants?" she asked the woman, before remembering she was supposed to be on the island for her wedding. "Fancy ones," she amended. "For a special occasion."

Violet didn't get her cargo pants, but she did get a couple of pairs of plain linen trousers that seemed to appease her. Although one pair was in a very faint shade of pink that Katrina had talked her into buying by saying they were actually blush. It was clear Violet wasn't convinced, but in the end, she'd wanted pants too much to care about color.

Max grinned at the memory as they crossed the vast lobby to the reception desk. Violet wanted to pick up another couple of keycards for their bungalow, so Katrina and Rodrigo could come and go as they pleased. As he watched her hips sway in the cute little dress she wore, he couldn't help but wonder why she hadn't gone for more dresses. She looked sexy as hell in them.

"Better keep your eyes up, buddy," Rodrigo muttered beside him. "If Violet catches you checking out her ass, she'll remove your eyeballs."

"Hey," Max objected. "A man has a right to ogle his fiancée."

"It's your funeral," Rodrigo said with a shake of his head.

"Maximillian Durant!" a voice called, making Max turn.

And just like that, the world tilted.

Because striding toward him, was the man he'd been hunting for years.