Dalton drove the speedboat to Denarau with Crusoe in his cage next to him. Although he’d draped a blanket over the cage in the hopes it would keep Crusoe calm, the cat hadn’t been happy about being loaded into the boat. At least the engine noise meant he couldn’t hear his pitiful meows.

In Dalton’s pocket was the piece of paper he’d found in Rosa’s office when he was looking for the address of the shelter. He couldn’t stop thinking about the fact she’d turned him into a project, recording his likes and dislikes.

Why would she analyze him like that? He could only think of one reason. Had she been trying to manipulate him, to try to force him not to sell the resort?

She’d even written her own name in as something he liked. That was what really stuck in his gut. Sleeping with him had been part of her project. Was what they had shared even real, or just a cold-blooded attempt to influence him?

The entire way to the mainland, he thought about nothing else. From the wharf, he got a taxi to the veterinary center, and by the time he reached it, he still didn’t have any answers. At least Crusoe had quietened down, although when he peeked under the blanket, the poor cat still looked frightened.

The vet who called him into an examination room looked barely old enough to be out of veterinary school, but she worked deftly and seemed to know what she was doing. “Good news,” she said, once she’d checked Crusoe over. “Your kitty’s in okay shape. A little skinny, and some bumps and scrapes. But other than giving him some shots and treating him for worms, a few good meals is all he needs.”

“I can’t keep him,” said Dalton, stroking the cat’s head. Crusoe looked miserable. He was terrified of the vet and kept trying to crawl into Dalton’s arms. He’d obviously decided Dalton was his protector, just in time to make letting him go even more difficult.

“I’m afraid you can’t leave him here,” the vet said. “Our adoption center’s already full.”

Dalton tugged his wallet out of his pocket. “I’m planning to make a donation.” He pulled out several hundred-dollar bills. “A thousand dollars seem fair to you?”

The vet hesitated a moment, then nodded. “Okay. We can squeeze one more in.” She sat down in front of her computer. “Difficult to find new homes for older ones, but we’ll do our best. Put him back in his cage for now, while I get you the paperwork.”

Dalton hated the way the damn cat nuzzled against his hand, making him feel terrible about abandoning him. Was this how his father had felt when he’d sent Tiny and Dalton away from Lantana?

No, that was ridiculous. Their father had been more interested in drowning his sorrows than raising two kids.

And Dalton was making the right choice by taking Tiny away from this place for good, even if the number who objected kept rising. First he’d only had to argue with Tiny. Then Rosa. And now Crusoe was giving him the guilts.

He held Crusoe for a moment longer, then told himself not to be stupid. Made himself lower the animal into the cat cage and shut him in. He couldn’t afford to be sentimental. This was just the way it had to be.

The vet pressed a button that made the printer on her desk whir into life. She stood, checked it was spitting out the right forms, then turned and gave him a sympathetic look. “Hard to let them go, isn’t it?”

For some reason, her words brought an image of the day he and Tiny had left Lantana, all those years ago. Even now, all these years later, the memory brought up feelings he didn’t want. Worse was when his aunt and uncle had sent him to boarding school, and he’d had to leave Tiny behind. As long as he lived, he’d never be able to make that up to her. Sometimes in the middle of the night, he woke up remembering the way she’d cried.

To hide his face from the vet, he crouched next to Crusoe’s cage and put his hand against it, saying a silent goodbye. It wasn’t like Dalton could take the cat to the Sydney with him. There’d probably be months of quarantine, and the penthouse apartment he’d bought for Tiny had a view of the harbor but no outdoor space. Crusoe would hate it. He’d be a lot happier if a Fijian family adopted him.

“We’ll do our best for him,” said the vet. “I’ll call and let you know if someone takes him.”

“And if they don’t?”

“We hold the animals for as long as we can, but we can’t keep them indefinitely, I’m afraid. We just don’t have the room.”

Dalton caught his breath, but didn’t object. If Crusoe didn’t find a home, Dalton would never know. He’d be in Australia by then, and could choose to believe whatever he wanted. He could picture the cat safely with a new family, and it would most likely be true.

He forced himself to walk out without looking back, and took the taxi back to the wharf, then headed back to Lantana Island. By the time he got there, it was almost two-thirty in the afternoon, well after the time he’d thought he’d be back. He found Smythe in Rosa’s office, looking through folders of paperwork he must have pulled out of the bookcase. Smythe was a short man with glasses, with a briefcase by his side. He looked like he’d be more at home in a business suit than in the shorts and polo-shirt he had on.

“A pleasure,” said Smythe with a polite smile, when Dalton introduced himself. “A little short staffed, are you? Well, your staff records are one of the things I’m here to review, so we’ll soon find out.”

Short staffed? Dalton frowned, but didn’t comment. If Smythe thought they were under staffed, he was likely to want to keep all the current employees, which was a good thing. And Dalton hadn’t yet told him about Rosa’s employment being part of the deal.

Where was Rosa, anyway?

“Those records are in my office,” he said. “Come through.” Dalton waved him into the room next door, frowning at the wood chips that were still scattered over the floor. Mere had been going to clean his office today, and it wasn’t like her to forget things.

The Dalton Project flashed through his mind. Perhaps Rosa had stopped Mere from doing the work. She might have decided to sabotage the sale by making the resort seem slip-shod and badly run. Maybe that’s why Rosa wasn’t with Smythe as he’d asked, showing the man around.

It was Rosa’s wildness that had first drawn him to her, but he hadn’t guessed she could be manipulative and deceitful. Maybe he’d misjudged her, and she wasn’t the person he’d thought she was.

Smythe looked down at the wood chips with a frown, then opened his briefcase and pulled out a wad of papers. “I’ve made a list of all the things I need to review. As well as the staff records, I’d like to start with the resort’s financial statements for the last five years, guest records, plans and consents for all buildings and structures, any and all correspondence with local authorities, and certifications including your liquor license, food preparation, business registration, and fire safety certificates.”

“I’ll ask Rosa to help find everything you need,” said Dalton. “I assume you’ve already had a tour of the place?”

“Not yet.” Smythe shifted some of Dalton’s papers so he could put his list on Dalton’s desk. “And I stored my suitcase behind your reception desk for safekeeping. If you could have someone book me into a room, I’d like to unpack.”

“Rosa didn’t show you where you’d be staying?”

“I haven’t seen anyone. The reception area was deserted, and after waiting a half hour or so, I found the records myself and got started on my own.”

Dalton’s muscles tightened. He might have been mistaken about Rosa’s integrity, but surely he couldn’t have been that wrong. She wouldn’t ignore Smythe, would she? Had something happened?

He pulled a folder out from his drawer and thrust it at Smythe. “Staff records. Start with those, and I’ll be back.” Without waiting for the man to protest, he turned and strode out, heading for Tiny’s house.

Tiny’s front door was hanging open. That alone was enough to make his heart kick up a gear. But when he found every room empty, his worry turned to panic. Where was she?

As he was running out of the house, he saw someone hurrying down the path toward him. Mere. Thank God.

“Where’s Tiny?” he called, taking the steps in a single leap.

“I didn’t know you were here,” said Mere breathlessly. “I was supposed to be watching out for you, but I had to—”

He reached her and grabbed her upper arms. “Where’s Tiny?”

“She collapsed. Fainted, I think. She was out for a couple of minutes and seemed okay when she woke up, but Rosa’s taken her to the hospital just in case. We both tried to call you, but couldn’t get through.”

Dalton clutched at his pocket and realized it was empty. Dammit, he’d left his phone on the speedboat’s console and forgotten it was there. He wouldn’t have heard it ring over the noise of the speedboat’s engine, even if he’d been able to get a signal out on the water.

“Smythe’s in my office,” he told her. “Book him into a room and get him as much of what he needs as you can find.”

Mere nodded. “Okay. But the guests in Bure Two have a problem with their water, and—”

“Just do what you can,” said Dalton, already starting toward the speedboat. “And tell Smythe I’ll call him.”

As he pulled away from the wharf, pushing the speedboat’s engine as fast as it would go, he cursed under his breath. What if Tiny hadn’t fainted, but had suffered another stroke?

Why hadn’t he got her off Lantana Island sooner? He should have made her get on a plane and managed the sale of the resort from Sydney. It had been a mistake to stay as long as they had. A mistake he’d correct as soon as he possibly could.