Warlock jabbed at the keyboard, cutting off the sound a split second too late as Favreau dove for the toilet bowl and started to retch.
They all turned away in disgust.
Deuce said, “Maybe those chemists at Stonewell aren’t as good as they think they are.”
Warlock shrugged. “Or maybe this is his afternoon ritual. Binge and purge.”
When it was safe to look back again, they watched as Favreau spent about five minutes at the sink rinsing and spitting, then went to the phone by his bed, ordered room service, telling them to add the tip to the check and leave his food outside the door.
“Maybe you were right,” Deuce said.
Favreau ate a burger and fries, drank a large Coke, smoked cigarettes, and spent the bulk of the afternoon sprawled on his living room sofa, watching the big-screen TV with occasional glances at his cell phone, which was always close by.
He didn’t get any calls.
As the day wore on, he started to pace, and they could see by his body language that he was getting angry. He hadn’t heard from Valac and it was obvious his patience was nearing its limit. He began checking his phone more frequently now, pacing then checking, pacing then checking…
And he still didn’t get any calls.
Valac was really doing a number on the guy. Showing him, through continued silence, exactly who was in the position of power. Letting Favreau know that he needed Valac more than Valac needed him.
“With any luck at all,” Warlock said, “he’s one of those obsessive-compulsive blokes who has to reassure himself that he still has the merchandise.”
Deuce nodded. “By now he must be wondering if Valac has somehow managed to rip him off. So maybe we’ll get lucky and he’ll show us what we missed.”
But apparently Favreau wasn’t one of those blokes and they didn’t get lucky. He began to pace with increasing urgency, but made no move to check anything except his cell phone. He didn’t even go near his computer.
As six thirty approached, he glanced at his watch, went into the bathroom, and started stripping off his clothes.
Alex took this as her cue to get ready herself.
Dinner would soon be served.
As Alex headed for her room, Cooper stopped her in her doorway. “Are you sure you’re up to this?”
She nodded, and without realizing what she was doing, she leaned forward and kissed his cheek. “Thank you, Shane.”
He was as surprised as she was. “For what?”
“For caring. The way I’ve been treating you lately, I don’t deserve it. But it helps to know I can always count on you and Deuce.”
“I’m here whenever you need me. Hell, I’m here even when you don’t.”
“You may not want to be after all is said and done.”
He frowned. “What does that mean?”
She shook her head. “I’m just being melodramatic.”
She left him standing there and went to take a shower.
She couldn’t get used to playing dress-up.
Each dress she tried on managed to reveal a little bit more than the one before it (did Stonewell not understand the subtle approach?), and despite Thomas Gérard’s suggestion that she learn to embrace and utilize her femininity, Alex couldn’t get over feeling awkward and uncomfortable and overexposed.
How did so many women do this every day?
When she was done fussing with her makeup and only slightly convinced she didn’t look like a cheap, Bourbon Street whore, she went back into the living room to search for her purse.
Once again, the three men greeted her transformation as if they’d witnessed a miracle, causing her to wonder how bad she looked when she wasn’t on display.
“You guys really need to stop.”
“You have no idea, do you?” Cooper said.
“I’m not an idiot, Shane, but this is hard enough without you three gaping at me every time I put on a dress.”
“Who says we can help ourselves?” He checked his watch. “We’d better get downstairs. It’s almost seven and Favreau’s already on his way.”
“Wait,” she said. “I don’t think slipping him a supercharged roofie is going to work twice in a row.”
Cooper hesitated. “…I have plan for that. A kind of secret weapon.”
“Secret weapon?”
Looking about as uncomfortable as she had ever seen him, he said, “I’ll fill you in on the way down.”
CHAPTER 28
It was amazing how the sight of a beautiful woman could change your mood instantly.
When Alexandra Barnes walked into the cafe and was led by the maitre d’ to his table, Frederic Favreau thought he might have to pinch himself to make sure he wasn’t hallucinating. All the anger he’d been harboring toward that son of a bitch Valac seemed to fade further and further into the background with each step she took. Had he really been in this woman’s bed last night?
Damn.
It didn’t matter if all she saw in him was a guy with money who might be able to help her escape those two dipshits she worked for. Hell, she could use him in any way she wanted — tie him up, smack him around, steal every cent he had. He wouldn’t put up much of a fuss. At this point, Ms. Alexandra Barnes was the only thing that made the trip to St. Cajetan worth it.
The slinky little dress she wore had an immediate effect on him, and forced him to adjust the napkin in his lap to keep it from being obvious.
He waited as the maitre d’ seated her across from him and handed her a menu, then shooed him away and said, “I wish I could order a dozen of you and have one waiting in every city I visit.”
Her brow furrowed. “I assume that’s a compliment?”
“It was supposed to be, yeah. Did I say something wrong?”
“I guess it’s the sentiment that counts.”
Was she busting his balls right now? She sure didn’t act like any woman he’d ever encountered before. He was clearly out of his depth with her, but he was trying. Boy, was he trying.
“Sorry,” he said. “Maybe I’m not as smooth as the guys you’re used to dealing with.”
“You mean like Coop and Sticks?”
He laughed. “If I’d been feeling better this morning, I would’ve brained those two bastards. But I see you survived. How did your day go?”
“About as well as I expected. We drove around the island, got some pickup shots, and tried to snag an interview with Pappy Leo.”
“Who?”
“Leonard Latham. The man who owns the island. That’s what the locals call him.”
“Never heard of him. Did you have any luck?”
She shook her head. “He’s pretty reclusive. Spends most of his day cooped up on his estate in the middle of the island.”
“I know the feeling. Only I spent my day upstairs.”
“Why?” she said, looking surprised. “The island is so beautiful. Why not get outside and enjoy yourself.”
Favreau shrugged. “I’ve never been much for sunburn.”
“Well, if I’d known you’d spend your day locked up in your room, I would’ve insisted you come along with us.”
“Yeah, that would’ve gone over big. Besides, I was wiped and spent a lot of it sleeping. I don’t usually get blackout drunk.”
“Blackout?” she said. “Are you telling me you don’t remember last night?”
Favreau wasn’t sure why, but he suddenly felt embarrassed. “I almost hate to admit this, but yeah, I can’t remember a thing. And looking at you right now, I sure as hell wish I did.”
“Maybe I should be insulted.”
“No, I just had too much to drink. I’ve never been great at holding my liquor.”
She looked around as if to make sure no one was eavesdropping, then leaned forward slightly. “If it’s any consolation, it didn’t affect your performance. I remember every detail.”