Blue Moon Dragon (7 page)

“I’m not doing that again,” he said in a flat tone. “What’s our watcher doing?”

“Nothing. I made it up.” Emma lifted her chin with an air of hauteur. “There isn’t anyone watching. This is a low-level investigation. George said so.”

“Dammit, Emma. Our room is bugged.” Frustration rode him hard. If she’d been a male, he could’ve punched her. He should inform her about the two-way mirror. If he could trust her to maintain natural behavior, he would’ve told her about the voyeurs.

He stared at the thin gold chain spanning her neck, his hands fisting. Taking a deep breath, he said, “This is the plan this morning. I’m going to check out the gym since that is the most logical place for drugs. I want you to reconnoiter the pool area and this afternoon the spa. Talk to people. Mahoney has to shift the drugs somehow.”

Thankfully, Emma must have realized she’d pushed him hard enough and remained silent.

“We’ll meet for lunch and compare notes. Keep your hands to yourself. We’re not having sex again. Last night was a mistake.” Jack turned away from her wounded expression and stomped off without looking back.

* * * * *

Later that afternoon

Emma didn’t understand Jack. He ran hot then cold like an unreliable water tap. It was difficult to keep up with his quirks. One minute, he seemed to enjoy kissing her and the sex…

She relaxed and conjured the memory of their bodies sliding together in the many different ways they’d tried the night before. The way his muscular body moved beneath her hands. His sexy dragon tatt.

A tingle sprang to life between her thighs and she stirred restlessly on the sheet-covered couch inside the spa. The idea of never making love with him again sent a touch of panic blasting through her mind. She had to get him to change his mind. And if he didn’t, she’d try again. They were good together, and one time didn’t qualify as a win in the bet with her girlfriends.

The slap of soft soles on the tiled floor heralded the return of the spa attendant. Emma lifted her head. Eek, that green stuff looked nasty. Didn’t smell much better, either. Perhaps Jack had intended this spa visit as punishment.

The attendant smeared the green paste all over her back, from shoulders to toes and bade her lie still to let the stuff dry for five minutes. Then, Emma had to turn over for the woman to smear the paste on her front. Once she resembled the original green alien, she was left in solitary splendor to dry and absorb the sea weedy goodness. Mood music slipped stealthily from concealed speakers while the green glop did its work.

An hour later, the woman shook her awake and directed her to the shower. Feminine chatter hit her the second she opened the door into the huge shower block. In the outer area, large mirrors covered the wall. A line of padded stools stood ready for women to attend to makeup and hair. A vase of pink roses and white gypsophila fragranced the air.

Emma picked her way into the steam-filled shower area. Several women, with varying shades of paste covering their bodies, were waiting for showers.

Time for some questions
, Emma thought, remembering Jack’s terse instructions. “Your paste doesn’t smell much better than my seaweed.”

The other woman laughed. “Ah, but I’m a prettier color.”

“That’s debatable.” Emma studied the bright yellow decorating the other woman.

“Oh, look. The communal shower’s emptying. Let’s grab it. We’ll be waiting for ages for these ones.”

Emma shrugged. Suited her. She grabbed the canvas bag the spa had provided for her clothes and hurried over to the communal shower with her new friend close on her heels. Three other women followed, each of them a different color, and covered head to toe with a similar thick paste.

“I don’t know which of us looks worst.” Emma glanced from woman to woman with a critical eye.

“I hope they don’t have security cameras getting shots of my naked ass,” a dark-haired woman said.

Emma blinked. “Do you think anyone will recognize it in purple?”

They glanced from one to the other then burst into shrieks of laughter.

“Last one to wash off is a rotten egg,” one said.

“You already look like a rotten egg,” Emma quipped.

As one, they made for the shower door with good-natured pushing, breasts and butts jostling amid lots of laughter.

Ten minutes later, they were clean and ready for the next part of their treatments.

“How about we meet up at the bar afterward?” the ex-purple woman suggested.

“Good idea,” Emma said. It would give her a chance to ask questions. “I want to see how we all turn out,” she added with a conspiratorial grin.

“Make it the poolside bar,” another suggested, “and we can watch the sunset.”

Two hours later, Emma walked into the poolside bar. She had no trouble spotting the women. Raising her hand in greeting, she ambled over to the bar and waited for the barman to finish with his current customer.

Her gaze wandered the proximity before settling back on the barman. With his blond surfer-boy looks, he was easy on the eye. His blue resort shirt stretched over muscular shoulders, the tight sleeves highlighting a set of well-developed biceps. Emma frowned.

“Would you like me to suggest a cocktail?” the barman asked in a husky voice. “Can’t have a pretty lady getting frown lines.”

Emma started and gave a self-conscious laugh. “I was miles away. What would you suggest?”

“How about the house special cocktail? Good for whatever ails you. Tastes good, too.”

“Sure.” Emma watched his deft movements as he sliced an orange. “Do you enjoy working here? Are you allowed to use the facilities on your days off?”

“I use the gym,” the barman said as he competently measured and mixed a cocktail for her. “The job suits me. Everyone’s happy. Lots of people wanting fun.”

Woman throwing themselves at him, she translated as she intercepted the avid gaze of an attractive brunette at the other end of the bar. “Maybe you can give me some quick advice—if you do weights that is.”

“I enter Ironman contests. I’ve lifted my share of weights.”

“What’s your name? Have you placed in any of the local competitions?”

“I came second in the Taupo Ironman.”

Emma oohed and ahhed and fluttered her lashes. She leaned over the bar to stroke her fingers across his forearm. “Wonderful. If I wanted to train for a bodybuilding contest, who should I talk to at the gym? Just for some initial pointers. I’ve been thinking about it for a long time now. No time like the present.”

“Max is the one you need to see,” the barman said without hesitation. “He’s an ex-bodybuilder and knows everything that’s worth knowing.”

“Thanks. I’ll check it out first thing tomorrow morning. Nice to chat with you.” She paid for her cocktail and wandered over to the group of women by the pool.

“Hello.” Emma pulled out a chair and sat.

“We’re going to play strip poker. Want to join us?”

Emma hesitated before deciding it would be a good opportunity to get to know the women. It was possible one of them had info or had seen something that would help in their investigation. She’d slip her questions into the general conversation. “Okay, but you’ll have to show me how to play.”

“Oh, good.” One of the women rubbed her hands together and grinned wickedly. “A rookie to fleece. Deal up.”

* * * * *

Jack checked their accommodation, but Emma wasn’t there. Since he couldn’t hear any vibrations from behind the mirror, he took the opportunity to search for surveillance equipment. If there were hidden cameras, his search would alert those who’d rigged their room, but he decided to risk detection.

Instinct told him the cameras were activated whenever the voyeurs were present to prevent the need to search hours of meaningless film for the good stuff. They were probably able to guess times when the occupants were present since most guests would attend the gala dinners and special nights. Either that, or they had resort staff alert them once guests entered their rooms.

He moved around the walls in a systematic manner, searching every conceivable hiding place for audio and video devices.

Finding nothing, he checked his watch. Perhaps it was as he’d thought—they’d lucked out scoring a room for voyeurs to access, making the addition of sound unnecessary. Or, they’d decided it would be easier to add a soundtrack later, something with more appeal for their audiences than the words of an innocent actor.

He paused and grimaced. Nah, couldn’t be that simple. Surely, they’d want sound? Jack crossed to the bed and sat while he considered the problem. Where the hell could they hide sound equipment? Enlightenment hit, along with a feral grin of triumph. Under the bloody bed.

Bingo
, he thought less than a minute after his brainwave. The equipment wasn’t recording at present, which backed up his supposition about their recording times. They didn’t want to waste film. He tugged at the wiring in such a way that it appeared as if the resort staff had damaged it while vacuuming under the bed. He’d check each time they returned. It should be simple enough now he knew the location of the equipment.

He wandered over to the window and stared out at the sea view. Should Emma’s absence concern him?

Outside, the sun was starting to set. Ribbons of fiery red and orange spread across the horizon as the sun sank lower. Over on the mainland, people started to switch on their lights and they twinkled in pockets of illumination along the coast.

Jack paced the length of the bedroom and back. Time for a drink. Tension whitened his knuckles, and he didn’t have to think too hard to analyze the cause.
Emma
. He checked his watch again before deciding to shower and change for the themed pirate dinner.

Half an hour later, Jack was ready, dressed in tight black trousers and a loose white shirt that made him feel like a sissy. Tight black leather boots encased his feet and calves. He caught a glimpse of his reflection in the mirror and snorted. He’d be glad when this assignment ended and his life reverted to normal. Meanwhile, he was
really
looking forward to the tarts and vicars night later in the week.

What the devil was Emma doing? Although they hadn’t agreed on a meeting time, he’d implied it would be before dinner. In his mind at least. He grabbed the keycard, thrust it inside his back trouser pocket and slammed outside. If something had happened to her, he’d never forgive himself. And if she didn’t have a good reason for not showing up and worrying him, he’d wring her bloody neck.

The bar near the restaurant was hopping, full of pirates ready to plunder and party the night away. Emma wasn’t there. A few people had drifted into the restaurant and the reception area, but still no sign of her.

The pool bar wasn’t as busy but there was a cluster of people, mainly men at the far end of the outdoor balcony. Despite the warmth of the evening, a gas heater burned above the table where the group sat. Roars of laughter filled the air followed by the odd groan.

“Come on, Emma,” a male voice chided loudly. “Concentrate.”

Jack’s gut tightened as he strode to the massed group.

“Forget what he told you, love.” The voice was low and slurred. “Don’t concentrate. Get your gear off. Show us your pussy.”

Jack elbowed his way through the men crowding around the table.

A tall, thin office-worker type snapped, “What do you think you’re doing?”

Jack cast him a ferocious glare and affronted office-guy backed up, now in alarm-mode. Wise man. Jack took one look and cursed.

Fuck, he was gonna wring her neck. His hands flexed at the pleasurable thought as he scanned her flushed face. The woman was tipsy, giggling fit to wake the dead and practically naked. His gaze tracked over her butt, and he corrected himself. She was naked. Those panties didn’t cover enough to call her clothed.

He stepped up behind her naked back and bent to breathe in her ear. “What are you doing?”

Emma whirled so quickly her naked breasts jiggled. “Losing,” she warbled.

Alcoholic fumes hit him in the face. “I can see that,” Jack said with a calm he didn’t feel.

The four women sitting around the same table were in various stages of undress but wore more clothes than Emma. Jack wanted to grab a towel, a tablecloth, anything to cover her beautiful breasts. All of a sudden, he felt possessive. He hated the other men seeing the tiny mole on the curve of her left breast. And if the guy behind him didn’t stop pushing in order to cop an eyeful of Emma and her semi-clothed friends, Jack intended to rearrange his nose. The beefy male could have fries with the rearranged nose if he wanted—Jack wasn’t fussy.

Emma turned and beckoned him closer. She wrapped her arms around his neck and whispered in his ear. “I don’t want to lose. I hate to lose, but I don’t know what to do with my hand. Can you help me?”

“Yeah, okay. What have you got in your hand?”

Emma fanned out her cards so he could see. Feeling the weight of a stare, Jack glanced up. Every one of the four women sitting at the table was staring at him. Suddenly, Jack felt like a lump of beef dangled in front of a pack of wolves. He turned away to concentrate on Emma’s cards. She had a pair of sixes and that was it. He fought for an impassive face while cursing a storm to his taniwha. With that hand, she was screwed. Unless she bluffed. Jack leaned closer to whisper instructions in her ear. She turned to him and winked.

Surprise kicked him in the ribs. She wasn’t as drunk as she seemed.

“Are you in?” the dark-haired woman who was dealing asked.

Emma’s body language screamed confident, and pride grew in Jack. “I’m in.”

“Cards?” the dealer asked.

Emma didn’t bother to look at her cards before she shook her head.

“I’ll take two,” one woman said.

The men crowding the table were silent as they watch the ending stages of the game. Jack scanned the faces, ready to lash out if anyone tried to help by letting the others know Emma was bluffing.

“I fold.”

“Me too.”

“I’m out.” The cards slapped on the table.

The last woman studied Emma then laid down her cards. “I’m out.”

“Take it off! Take it off!” The chant started with one burly jackass and others joined in as the four women removed a garment each.