Just Another Day in Paradise
Auteur·e
Justine Davis
Lectures
17,5K
Chapitres
18
Chapter 1
“It’s scary to see that here in paradise.”
Noah Rider nodded at Redstone Inc. pilot Tess Machado as they looked out the parked jet’s window at the airport terminal. There was something inherently ominous about men in camouflage anywhere, but it seemed even worse in a tropical paradise. Especially when those men in camouflage had automatic rifles slung over their shoulders.
He called up a memo on his laptop computer, knowing he needed to notify the main office that things might be worse than suspected. Redstone had received reports that the rebels were calling it a political uprising, when in fact it was simply a rebellion against the suppression of the drug traffic. But if the government of Arethusa felt the need to guard the airport, it did not bode well for continued peace in this Caribbean island paradise.
“It’s a good thing the resort guests coming in next week won’t be making this stop,” Tess said.
Rider looked at the woman who had been Joshua Redstone’s personal pilot for six years, ever since the head of Redstone Inc. had reluctantly acknowledged he had to work during a flight too often to keep doing all the flying himself.
“Yes,” he agreed. “It’s not the most welcoming sight for vacationers.”
He knew some would arrive at the newest Redstone resort in their own planes, some via Josh’s private fleet—probably even the new Redstone Hawk IV he sat in now—but none should need a refueling stop before landing at the new airstrip at Redstone Bay. They had only stopped to pick up a shipment for the resort; the Hawk IV had more than enough range to make the trip from India nonstop.
“Do you know who you’re bringing in next week?” he asked her. When Tess wasn’t piloting Josh, she was part of the Redstone pilot pool, at her request; she loved flying. She traveled almost as much as Noah, and he wondered what kind of strain that put on her relationship with the stockbroker she’d been seeing. It had certainly been enough to destroy his own marriage, and the one serious relationship he’d had since. He kept his mouth shut, however; Tess was like a big sister to him, and she’d made it clear if there was any advice giving to be done between them, he’d be on the receiving end.
“I’m not sure yet,” she answered. “But if we have to stop for any reason, it’ll be in Antigua,” Tess said, pushing dark bangs back with her fingers as she looked out the window once more.
“Good idea.” Her gesture made Rider think of his own appearance, and he rubbed a hand over his bewhiskered face.
As Tess returned to the cockpit he rose and walked back to the head, although it had always seemed ludicrous to him to call something as elegantly appointed as this bathroom a head. Josh had drawn the line at gold-plated fixtures for this, his own personal jet, but everything was still the highest quality. As were all the planes built by Redstone. From the smallest prop to the biggest jet they made, the fleet that was the foundation of Joshua Redstone’s business empire was all pure class.
But the quality of the mirror couldn’t help the reflection, Rider thought as he peered at himself. He looked like what he was, a man who’d been running too long on too little sleep. His dark hair was tousled and overdue for a haircut, he’d gone beyond fashionable stubble sometime yesterday afternoon—whatever time zone that had been in—and his eyes were as much red as blue. But nobody would really care what he looked like as long as he acknowledged the hard work they’d been doing.
As they began to roll again, loading completed, Rider went back to his seat and glanced out at the military men once more. He wondered for a fleeting moment if his clever boss had done this intentionally, so he’d get a firsthand look at the situation on Arethusa. But he discarded the thought; if that were the case, Josh would have sent Draven, or someone else on the security-and-troubleshooting staff, not him. He was strictly a detail man, and hadn’t been this close to serious weaponry since the years spent hunting with his father in the wilds of Montana. He might once have been able to stalk even a wary skunk, but these days boardrooms were as close as he came to throat-slitting violence. And most times, that was close enough for him. He was glad to leave Arethusa behind.
By the time they were approaching Redstone Bay, Rider had his checklist prioritized. First the staff meeting to thank them all for what they’d done so far, then individual meetings. Then he would—
Tess’s voice crackled over the intercom. “We’re about to land, Mr. Rider.”
Smiling at the formality she always maintained once in the cockpit, Rider pressed the intercom button on the console beside the spacious table. “Thanks.”
He’d asked for a circuit of the island before they landed, so he could see what the place looked like from all approach directions. He had a knack—some called it a brain glitch—for remembering maps and plans, and he could call up the original planned layout at will. So now he studied the view below, nodding slowly.
They’d done a good job, kept the disruption of the landscape to a minimum and the buildings in keeping with the style of this part of the world. Not that there was any lack of luxury, but there was no towering concrete monolith of a hotel here—that wasn’t Redstone’s style. The four-story buildings were arranged around a large courtyard, and were low enough to be masked by the inevitable palm trees. A number of small, elegant and very private bungalows were scattered among the trees. The swimming pool at one edge of the courtyard was also subtle, designed to look more like a natural lagoon and grotto than something built by man.
Even the landing strip, Rider thought as they banked for the last turn, wasn’t a huge scar on the land, but had been landscaped with exquisite care to maintain the most natural look possible.
He sat back in the leather seat, nodding with satisfaction. This, he thought, was going to be smooth sailing.
Paige Cooper turned a page in her leather-bound journal, ran her finger down the center to make it lie flat, and picked up her pen. Then she set it down again, caught unexpectedly by a wave of emotion. She closed the journal and gently touched the cover, tracing the intricate Celtic design on the teal-green leather. Moisture welled up behind her eyelids as she fought down a stab of fierce longing for those days past, when life had been good and her son, Kyle, had loved her enough to save all his allowance for three months to buy this for her birthday.
As if her thoughts had summoned him, she saw Kyle out of the corner of her eye, leaving his room and walking toward the front door of the bungalow they’d been given to live in while she was on the staff. She knew the instant he realized she was there by the way his normal, gangly-fifteen-year-old walk became a slow, dragging shuffle, with his shoulders slumped as if he bore the weight of an unfair world.
She smothered a sigh and tried for a cheerful tone. “Where are you off to?”
He stopped dead. Only his head turned toward her as he gave her a look of such exaggerated incredulity that she winced inwardly. Everything seemed to be over-the-top with him these days.
“Nowhere.” His voice was bitter, acidly so. “Since I’m in the middle of noplace, with no friends and nothing to do, I’m going nowhere.”
She reined in the urge to order him not to use that tone with her. She knew he was having a hard time just now, and tried not to focus on the superficial symptoms of that.
“It must be awful to feel that way,” she said, her voice carefully even. “Especially when lots of people would love to be here.”
It stopped him, but not for long. “Those people would be here by choice. They wouldn’t be dragged away from home, forced to leave all their friends and even their own stuff.”
She’d known when she’d taken the Redstone job last month that this could be a problem. “I told you,” she said patiently, “as soon as we get a little ahead you can have Danny come for a visit.”
“Danny? That little geek?” Kyle sneered.
“He’s your best friend.”
“Maybe when I was seven. You just don’t get it, do you? I’ve grown up, I can’t hang around with those little kids.”
“He’s your age,” Paige pointed out.
“It isn’t the age,” Kyle said haughtily, “it’s the maturity. Danny is still a kid. All he thinks about is school and sports and computers. He doesn’t have a life.”
Paige’s patience ran out abruptly. She stood up, not that it helped much now that Kyle was nearly two inches taller than her five foot four.
“You think it’s more mature to have a police record that will follow you the rest of your life? That your life is best spent playing video games endlessly? That it’s more grown-up to hurt the people that love you the most?”
Kyle flushed. “The one that loved me the most is dead,” he shouted, and ran out the door.
Paige sank back into her chair, blinking rapidly. The truth boiled up inside her, and she was thankful Kyle had gone. She didn’t think she could have held it back this time. But telling him would only hurt him all over again, and he’d been through enough. He’d adored his father and now he was dead, and beyond that nothing much mattered.
Except that now, at fifteen, that same loving son hated her. And never let pass a chance to tell her yet again how she had ruined his life and he would never, ever forgive her.
She fought down the urge to cry; she’d wept enough over this to know it was a useless exercise. She straightened her spine, opened the journal and picked up her pen.
Sometimes, she told herself firmly, you just have to do what you know is right, and damn the torpedoes. Or whatever that saying was.
She found her page and glanced at what she had written before: “Nothing much happens here in Redstone Bay.”
It suddenly struck her this was very much like the opening of an old, much-loved book her mother had handed on to her. It had been written on a postcard in the story, but the sentiment had been the same. In the book it had also been the precursor to chaos for the unsuspecting heroine.
Paige smiled wistfully at her own whimsy. She lifted her gaze and looked around at paradise. A slight, balmy breeze rustled the palm fronds, but barely stirred the few strands of hair that had escaped her braid. She couldn’t imagine a more peaceful place. The strife she’d heard the hotel staff talking about seemed distant and unreal in this haven of serenity.
And that serenity was exactly what she’d come here for. It had been difficult, giving up her home. But she’d had enough of the brutal streets of Los Angeles. And more than that, she’d had too much of what they were doing to her son. She empathized more than he would believe with his struggle to go on without his father, but she simply would not allow Kyle to be turned into one of those street fighters who turned up on the nightly news, either as killer or victim.
The distant sound that had been niggling at the edge of her awareness swelled to a roar, and she looked up to see a sleek jet, painted in the red-and-gray color scheme of Redstone Inc. She thought it looked like the same one that had ferried her here from California, and wondered if Tess Machado was flying it. She had liked the charming woman with dark, pixie-cut hair and the lovely smile. It had been an experience unlike any she’d ever had; the novelty of leaving when it was convenient for her, of knowing the plane would wait if she was late, and sheer amazement at the amenities. And Tess had told her Josh—anyone who’d worked for Redstone more than a year seemed to call him that—hadn’t gone for the extreme luxury he produced for other customers; he’d spent his money in the avionics, the instruments and in extra training for his pilots.
Even Kyle had forgotten his anger in the thrill of the ride on the powerful jet, and for the length of the ride at least, they’d been close once more as he excitedly pointed things out to her. He’d even thanked her when she’d negotiated with Tess to allow him a brief period in the cockpit. She knew he would enjoy it, and besides, it couldn’t hurt for him to see the pilot was female.
As the jet headed for the landing strip, Paige glanced at her watch. The point man, it seemed, was right on time; the staff meeting was set to begin in an hour. Everything she’d ever seen connected to Redstone seemed to run like clockwork, although she was sure there had to be glitches in at least some of their huge undertakings. But that’s what this guy was here for, she thought. To smooth out the bumps in these last days before the Redstone Bay Resort opened for business.
She closed her journal and stood up. The mild breeze played with the hem of her new, tropical-print dress, an indulgence she had allowed herself the day after she’d accepted the job offer that had brought her here. She rarely wore it—she had to be too careful as a redhead in a land of tropical sun—but she’d put it on today because she needed the confidence the flattering dress gave her.
And speaking of that job, she told herself, she’d better take the short time she had to go over her papers once more. She doubted the man would want to delve into her lesson plans, but it had been a few years since she’d taught, and Joshua Redstone had taken a chance on her, so she wanted to be completely prepared just in case. She was happy with how her students had adapted so far.
Except for the one student she’d known was going to be a problem from the beginning, a certain angry, recalcitrant fifteen-year-old. Kyle alone sapped at her energy, and she wasn’t sure she was up to adding twenty-six other kids into the mix. But she had no choice.
After one final glance over her schedules and plans, she gathered everything up and put it into her tote bag. It would take about five minutes for her to walk to the main building from their bungalow. She’d let him pick it out from the ones available for staff, hoping it would make him less resistant to being here. It hadn’t helped much—she suspected he’d picked this one because it was farthest from the schoolhouse and would be the most inconvenient for her.
But she’d taken his choice gracefully, exclaiming on the lovely view of the water and closeness to the perfect beach, as if it were the one she would have chosen herself. That her reaction only made him angrier seemed proof of her suspicions, and she knew then that when you came to paradise, you could still carry your own hell with you.
Rider studied himself in the mirror for a moment, decided his tie was even enough, and reached for his suit coat. Later he would change into more casual clothes. He’d found it helped loosen people up, that they talked more easily to a guy in jeans or khakis. Maybe he’d even pull out that Hawaiian-style shirt Josh had given him. He’d thought at the time the shirt was a joke, but then wondered if maybe it was his boss’s way of telling him once more to lighten up and relax. Of course, it had been Josh who’d had him on the run for three months straight, bouncing all over the globe to keep up with various projects.
He rubbed at his eyes, knowing he’d need about ten hours’ sleep to help the redness. But other than that he looked fairly presentable now that he’d had a shower and tried out the hotel barber, who had arrived a couple of days ago to set up shop and get the staff in shape. Not that Josh cared how you wore your hair, as long as it was clean and neat. Rider had seen the single photograph that had survived from the founder of Redstone’s mysterious youth, and the teenager with the intense eyes and the long mane of dark hair didn’t seem all that far removed from the business powerhouse Rider knew now.
He stepped outside his room just as Barry Rutherford, the cherub-faced, slightly fussy project manager, was arriving.
“I’m sorry I wasn’t here to greet you, Mr. Rider. I’ll show you to the dining room,” he said formally, referring to the large room utilized by the staff. Redstone Bay was specifically designed not to handle conferences or large meetings, it was for people to get away and unwind.
“Just ‘Rider,’ please, Barry,” he said. “And I probably can find it. I think I had the plans memorized before construction even started.” He gave Barry a crooked grin. “Let me try, anyway, since you’re here to save me if I get lost.”
Barry smiled tentatively this time when he spoke. “I really am sorry I wasn’t here when you arrived.”
“What fire were you putting out?” Rider asked with another grin, this time one of commiseration and understanding.
“A small one, really. Our facilities director was called home for an emergency, and I had to assign someone to handle the job.”
Rider headed down the hall toward the elevator. “Will he be back in time?”
“I don’t know, I’m afraid. It’s something to do with the problems on Arethusa. So I’m going to work out a schedule to cover in case he’s unable to return right away.”
“Good,” Rider said with a nod, although he was frowning inwardly. Suddenly Arethusa didn’t seem quite so distant.
But the resort itself was looking good. True, there were materials scattered about and workers scurrying, but he was used to that. He’d learned long ago to look past the surface chaos and see truly how close they were to being ready. And Redstone Bay was close.
“What’s hanging besides polish work?” he asked.
“Nothing, really,” Barry said proudly. “All the major projects are done.”
“What about off-site? The staff housing, the school?”
“The only bungalows not completed are the ones where the occupants can’t make up their minds what color they want,” Barry said with a chuckle. “The school was finished last month, and is already in operation.”
“Any changes?”
He shook his head. “None needed. Somebody spec’ed it out perfectly.”
Rider wondered if the man was trying to butter him up; he must know Rider had been the one who had made the final changes on the plans and equipment list for the small schoolhouse.
“The man’s a bit manic about education,” Rider said, referring to the passion all of Josh’s people knew about.
“It keeps people happy, being able to work here and keep their kids with them.”
“And Redstone likes happy people,” Rider intoned, quoting the mantra that they all laughed at but lived by, knowing that as far as employers went they were with one of the best. The formula Josh had stuck to for years still worked; he hired top-notch people, paid them well and let them run.
Rider found his way to the dining room as easily as he’d hoped. It was nearly full; the staff would eat at different times, so it would rarely be this packed again. Rider declined Barry’s offer to introduce him to the gathered crowd, many of whom had noticed their entrance and suspended conversation.
“I don’t want this to be that formal,” he explained. “I’m not the boss checking up on the employees.”
Barry nodded. “Here’s the roster,” he said, handing Rider a small sheaf of papers. “And your master cardkey.” Rider took the papers and slipped the key into a pocket; he knew the key, which would override any lock in the resort, was the symbol that the project manager considered all parts of the hotel ready for official inspection. It had become a tradition of sorts, and Rider knew that as long as he got that key within eight hours of his arrival, chances were things would be okay.
He stepped up to the small podium. It didn’t take long for the silence to spread. When they were all watching him he said, “I’m Noah Rider, the project coordinator, and I’m here to tell you if you don’t like the uniforms, it’s too late.”
Laughter rippled through the room, as he’d hoped it would; they’d all had a chance to give their input and vote on what the uniforms should be.
“I haven’t had much time to look around yet,” he went on, “but what I can see looks good. That’s not to say there aren’t some problems, there always are. That’s what I’m here to help with. But everything’s coming together nicely, you’ve all obviously done your jobs well, and Redstone Bay is lucky to have you.”
A burst of cheers and whistles greeted that.
“That said, anyone have any problems that need to be dealt with before opening day?”
“We need a new movie service,” somebody called out. “This one just runs the same old stuff over and over.”
Rider grinned. “Just so happens I brought along a really big satellite dish. Anybody know how to set one of those puppies up?”
Laughter and cheers met that as well. When no other complaints arose, he nodded in satisfaction.
On some other level of his mind, beneath the part that was handling the speaking task, he registered that there was a redhead in the back row. She snagged his attention, as any woman with hair of that particular rich, autumn-leaves shade did. Even after five years.
It wasn’t that he thought about it a lot. It was not, after all, his finest hour, and he didn’t like dwelling on it. In fact, in a life that held few regrets, that one woman stood as an eternal torch of reproach.
He shook off the memory and began again, scanning the room, trying to make eye contact with everyone. “I hope to meet with you all over the next ten days, and I want you to feel free to bring up anything you want. Some of the best ideas come from you, out on the front line, and that’s what I’m here for.”
It was a motivational statement, Rider knew, but it was also true, and Redstone believed in it. And the staff responded, nodding as they turned and glanced at each other. There was a reason Redstone was consistently in the top ten on lists of best places to work.
“Doesn’t matter if it’s business or personal, I—”
Rider was only vaguely aware he’d stopped talking. Or that he was staring. A beefy, broad-shouldered man had shifted in his seat, giving Rider a full view of the woman with the coppery hair.
It can’t be.
She sat there at the very back table, staring down at folders in front of her. He silently urged her to look up, to face him so he could be sure. But she didn’t. Or wouldn’t. And he was sure, anyway. He knew he couldn’t mistake the long, thick braid of hair, the line of her cheekbones, the tilt of her nose. He knew if she looked up, her eyes would be that rich, cinnamon-brown. He knew it.
But it can’t be.
He lifted the now-forgotten page of statistics and grabbed at the personnel roster Barry had given him. He scanned it quickly and let out a sigh of relief; her name wasn’t there. It was a fluke, just a resemblance. He’d reacted out of guilt, that’s all.
Steady again, he moved to slip the roster back beneath his page of notes. It snagged on something, and he reached to free it from the small piece of paper stapled to the back of the roster.
He glimpsed the last few words on the note before his page pulled clear. He grabbed at it, tearing it loose from the staple. And there it was, immutable and real. The news that the teacher had arrived nearly a month ago to get the island school up and running before the opening. The teacher. Paige Cooper.
He’d hoped never to see her again. He’d hungered to see her again. He’d never resolved the contradiction. And now the contradiction was sitting in front of him.
The only woman who had ever made him throw whatever decency and common sense he had out the window.
The only woman who could shame him with just a look.
The only woman who had ever made him ache for her in so many ways he couldn’t even count them all.
Paige Cooper, sitting there, refusing to look at him, reminding him all the more of what he’d done the last time he’d seen her. He remembered his earlier assessment, and decided he must have really ticked off whatever god was in charge of his fate at the moment.
The ship he’d thought was going to have a smooth sailing had just encountered a reef.
