Hawaiian Masquerade (Destination Billionaire Romance) (16 page)

L
exi smiled
when Derek parked near Ke’e Beach the following week. Her head had healed nicely, and she’d had plenty of time to recover while Derek worked overtime to design a new logo and build up a portfolio for his new job. There was a light in his eyes that made Lexi grin every time she saw him.

“So, we’re back to where it all began?” Lexi asked as she trudged through the sand with Derek carrying the snorkeling gear and his new camera.

“I thought if we looked hard enough, we might see those kissing sea turtles again.” Derek checked the case on his waterproof camera and double-checked the strap before sliding it over his neck.

Lexi laughed. “Any bets this time regarding those turtles?”

“Hmm—if we see them, then you have to let me teach you how to chop coconuts.”

She moved his camera out of the way and placed a hand on his chest. “And if we don’t, then you promise to keep searching with me until we find them.”

Derek arched an eyebrow. “That could take a long time.”

Lexi nodded, and then she lifted up on her toes to kiss him. She put her arms around his neck and whispered in his ear. “Maybe forever.”

“I certainly hope so,” he replied, before kissing her until everything else melted away but the paradise between them.

E
MMALINE SQUINTED
INTO THE BRIGHT LIGHTS, focusing on the exuberant crowd instead of ignoring them as she had throughout the night. She bowed and smiled, exhausted but thrilled with the performance. Many, most particularly her aunt, would say her current situation was beneath her abilities and social status. The dilapidated Coaster Theater in Cannon Beach, Oregon, might not be the most glamorous venue, but the people she worked with were sincere in their understated talent, and she found playing narrator in
Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat
was always a challenge.

A young girl ran to Emmy and presented her with a huge bouquet of red roses. Emmy bent and hugged the child before holding the bouquet aloft. The crowd bellowed their approval.

As she lowered the flowers, Emmy saw the note. She swallowed hard, swaying slightly. Timothy, who played the part of Joseph, rested a hand on her back.

“You okay?” he asked through his smile, waving to the crowd.

She pulled the flowers to where he could see the note.
You’re Mine
, written in bold permanent marker on a cut piece of blue cardstock. An exact replica of the other notes.

Timothy’s hand gripped her waist possessively. If it would’ve been anyone else, she would’ve told them to back off, she was married, but Timothy was a close friend and his protection like a brother’s. “Stay close to me,” he said.

They exited the stage and hurried down the hallway. The rest of the cast trailed behind, feet tapping loudly on the concrete floor as they rushed to the front foyer to greet their fans.

The director and prop manager stood in the hallway congratulating the cast. The director, James, every inch a gentleman from his pressed vest to his bowtie, gave her a slight bow. Emmy adored the older man. The prop manager, Shane, grinned shyly at Emmy and squeezed her hand. He looked rough with his unkempt beard and dark, scraggly hair, but his kindness endeared him to the cast.

Her husband, Grayson, ducked through the doorway leading into the front hallway, a bright spot against the dingy paint. “You were unreal, Em.”

She handed him the flowers, hoping he’d see the note and know what to do. He bent and gave her a quick kiss before she was swept past him to the waiting throng.

“I’ll be here,” he called.

Emmy wished she could stay with him and let him protect her, but she couldn’t neglect her supporters. Many of these people attended performance after performance, and although her fake gaiety hid mounting fear and frustration, they deserved to at least shake her hand and receive a smile.

Timothy stuck to her side while people surged past with compliments, hand squeezes, and the occasional hug. Emmy searched every eye, but only saw excitement from a fun performance or weariness from sitting too long. If anyone had murder in mind, he was as good at putting on a fake face as she was.

No one piqued her curiosity. Until he came. She had no clue what his name was, but the past few weeks she’d seen him almost every morning at the gym. He was much too good-looking, with his rippling muscles and deep blue eyes. She always avoided looking directly at him, though she knew that was as obvious an indicator of her attraction as staring would be. She couldn’t avoid him now.

The wide entryway, which featured plush, faded carpet and wood-planked walls, shrank as he drew nearer. The babble of the crowd faded. He reached for her hand, staring deep into her eyes. Her hand fitted itself into his like he was a magnet. Her entire body leaned toward him.

“You were amazing. So passionate.” He smiled, and the room swayed.

Emmy was quite sure the passion she experienced right now had nothing to do with singing or acting. She should draw away but couldn’t force herself to. “Thank you,” she managed, embarrassed by the huskiness of her voice as she tried to catch a breath.

The crowd pressed forward, and he was forced to release her hand and move to the side. His blond date gushed over Emmy for a second, and then they were gone.

Emmy continued greeting other patrons but couldn’t forget the allure of his blue eyes. He didn’t seem like the creepy stalker type, but she had to wonder. Could he be the one sending the notes?

The last of the crowd finally filtered out the doors. Emmy congratulated her fellow cast members and accepted their praise. She looked up to see her husband leaning against the refreshment counter with a warm smile on his face, brown hair flopping into his right eye.

Heat rushed to her cheeks. She’d allowed herself to react to another man. She was stronger than that. Trained to project emotions on demand, she was also an expert at reining in any untoward feelings and separating herself from her role, no matter how attractive her co-star may be. Why had she let her guard down tonight? It must be because of her fear over another note, or maybe seeing that man in a different environment.

Whatever it was, it wouldn’t happen again. Grayson reached her side and bent to kiss her. His kiss was sure and steady. Maybe not exciting or passionate, but filled with love and the only home she knew. Grayson was hot cocoa and a fire on a chilly Oregon night.

“Emmy.” Her husband almost growled her name. His normally serene green eyes flashed. “The police will be here soon. We’ll find out who’s sending these notes.”

Emmy wilted against his lanky frame. She didn’t doubt the police would try, but it had been months. She wished her stalker would either show his face and give her a chance to smack him good, or leave her alone.

“Dr. Scott! Dr. Scott!”

Running his hands up the sides of the dark wood, Dr. Lucas Scott gripped the edge of the lectern, feeling the corners dig into his palms in an effort to ground himself enough to make a coherent statement in front of the dozens of reporters in his press room. There were so many things wrong with this moment that he felt as though he were standing next to himself watching it unfold. Not finding a safe harbor in the sea of faces eager for a scandal, he ignored their frenzied attempts to gain his attention and began.

“As many of you know, GermTech Pharmaceuticals has been researching a cure for the Indian butterfly flu.” Researching was a mild word—they were hunting the strain of bacteria that was slowly killing hundreds of people, with the promise to take out thousands more should it spread to other continents. They were close . . . so close.

The reporters quieted down and shifted to the edges of their seats. They held their phones out, ready to record the words that would destroy Lucas’s legacy and broadcast them on the five o’clock news.

Lucas’s lips continued to read the speech prepared by his top-notch PR team as it streamed across the teleprompter. He may have been speaking about dissolving his management team and the steps they’d taken to ensure GermTechPharm would continue to provide high-quality medications for those with liver damage, diabetes, and many, many other conditions, but his mind was back at his sister’s bedside as she slipped away from this life.

Brianna’s cheeks bore the rash that had given the butterfly flu its misnomer. The red-and-purple splotches spread out from her nose and swooped into her hairline, mirror images, like the wings of a butterfly. Her sea-blue eyes were rimmed in red. Her lips were cracked and her throat constantly dry, which made every word spoken a chore.

Brianna had asked Lucas to take care of her husband, Tyler, and their three boys. She’d told him to keep them close and to not forget that he was loved. She must have known how easy it would be to lose that sense of belonging when she was gone, because he felt empty and alone in a world that was quickly turning against him.

Swallowing back the emotion building in his throat, Lucas wrapped up his speech. “I will be stepping down as head of GermTechPharm for the time being.”

The reporters gasped in unison, no doubt adding a great layer to their sound bite for the evening news.

He paused to take a much-needed breath, and
the barracuda
jumped in. “Mr. Scott, what do you have to say to consumers who have trusted your products for years?” Tossing her medium-length blond hair over her shoulder, the reporter bared her overly bleached teeth in a predatory smile.

“GermTechPharm has never sold a medication that has not been cleared by the FDA. In fact, we consistently go above and beyond the minimum requirements set forth in FDA guidelines,” replied Lucas.

The other reporters took her interruption as an open door to throw their questions in his face like buckets of salty water.

“Is it true that you were close to a breakthrough on the butterfly cure?” asked Rudy Carmolin. He was a decent fellow, the type that took a guy out for dinner and drinks instead of grilling him outside his front door first thing in the morning. Of course, in this situation, when reporters smelled blood in the water, niceties were set aside.

“The butterfly flu poses an interesting challenge, and we are always up for a challenge.”

“But you just said you dissolved your team.”

“Yes, the team that was working on a cure is no longer functioning.”

“Then who’s going to stop it?” Rudy pressed.

Let them find a new savior; I’m out
. “There are several other companies working on a cure at the moment.”

“Are they close?” asked a man who had just graduated from his mom’s razor to a four-blade last week.

Normally, Lucas wouldn’t give this kid a second look, but the group waited for his answer. “I am not privy to their research and can’t answer that question.”

The
barracuda
had been silent for too long. Like her namesake, she’d hovered, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. “Mr. Scott, is it true your sister contracted the butterfly flu on her trip to India three months ago?”

“No further questions.” Lucas stepped away from the podium.

She wasn’t about to let him get away now. “And is it also true that she died because your team gave her an experimental drug?”

I don’t know
.

Clamping his teeth shut, Lucas did the only thing he could think of: he turned his back on the microphone, on the screaming reporters, on the company he had built from the ground up, and walked away.

Once in the private hallway, Lucas yanked his tie over his head and threw it on the floor, where he proceeded to grind it into the carpet. His anger satiated for the moment, he glanced up to take a cup of ice water from his personal assistant, Juanita. Her coal-black eyes were full of concern. He’d told her he planned to step down just moments before the press conference. He’d asked her to stay on as his assistant, working from home if necessary to escape the pandemonium that was sure to follow his announcement. She’d agreed, much to his relief.

“Where will you go?” Juanita asked.

“Someplace where no one will find me.” Lucas hadn’t given it much thought. When his account lit up with Google alerts—all painting him as a mad scientist with a Superman complex—he realized that distancing himself from the company during this time would be better for the investors and for the overall image of his company. Running away, as some might term it, wasn’t his style, but his grieving and lonely heart wasn’t up for a fight. His sister had shown him true, unconditional love, and her passing left a hole he wasn’t sure could ever be filled.

“But the flu . . .” Juanita pointed down the hall to where his research lab was waiting for him to run yet another test on Butterfly241. Like so many others, Juanita looked at Lucas as if he could save the world.

With the investigation into Brianna’s death, Lucas had been placed on probation by the FDA and wasn’t allowed into his own lab. He wasn’t a hero. He couldn’t save his sister and he could barely take care of himself at the moment. He drained the cup in his hand. “It’s not my problem anymore.”

Dr. Lucas Scott handed Juanita the empty water cup and turned without another word. As far as he was concerned, there was nothing more to say.