The Virgin

“And rich?”

“Super rich. He’s got Oprah money. Should I send you all this stuff I have on him?”

“No. And pretend we never had this conversation.”

“I pretend that with all our conversations.”

“What about Juliette? Did you find anything on her?”

“Nothing but the basics. Age and birth date. Born in a Petionville hospital. Parents aren’t married. Father’s and mother’s names are listed. That’s it.”

“There has to be more.”

“This is Haiti, not Manhattan,” Calliope reminded him. “Not every country has computerized records on everything.”

“They should. It would make my life easier.”

“Yours and mine both, boss. But if you want to know more about this girl, why don’t you ask her yourself?”

“I’ve asked. I can’t get anything out of her.”

“Why not? Did you piss her off?”

“I fucked her for eight straight hours last night.”

“Eight hours? Tell me again why we’re not sleeping together.” Calliope sighed.

“Because you’re eighteen, and I don’t sleep with my assistants.”

“You’re no fun.”

“I’m old enough to be your father, and you should remember that.”

“Juliette is thirteen years younger than you are.”

“Do as I say, not as I do.”

“I don’t know why I put up with you,” Calliope said. “Except you’re gorgeous and you pay me really well to put up with you.”

“I’ll give you a raise if you can find out anything about Juliette. Anything at all. Parents. Siblings. Hospital records. I’ll see what I can do on this end.”

“Got it. I’ll call if I find anything,” Calliope said. He could hear one of his dogs barking in the background.

“Who is that? Brutus?” he asked.

“Max. They miss you.”

“I miss them, too,” Kingsley said. “Talk soon.”

“Hey, King?” Calliope asked before he could hang up.

“Oui?”

“She’s never coming back, is she?”

“I don’t know. But I wouldn’t get my hopes up if I were you.”

“Fuck.”

Kingsley laughed.

“Sorry, boss,” Calliope said.

“Don’t be sorry, chérie. I feel the same. If...” He stopped and took a breath. “Cal, if she calls for any reason, give her a message for me.”

“What’s the message?”

“Tell her I’m sorry.”

“You’re sorry? For what?”

“She’ll know.”

“Okay,” Calliope said, her voice soft. “I’ll give her the message. Do you have any idea when you’re coming back?”

“I’ll come back when I can convince Juliette to come back with me. I’m not leaving this island without her.”

“Then stop wasting time talking to me. Go get her, boss.”

Kingsley smiled. “Yes, ma’am.”

He hung up the phone and threw on clean clothes. For months now he’d been living the life of a beach bum. Doing nothing, going nowhere except from one beach to another. Weeks had passed when he hadn’t even bothered putting on shoes.

But he had never desired any woman the way he’d desired Juliette. And he hadn’t been exaggerating. He would not leave Haiti without her. Enough killing time. Enough hiding. Enough grieving.

It was time to go back to work.

He made a call to his accountant and had money wired into a Haitian bank account.

Then Kingsley got dressed and went shopping.

First he rented a car using the fake ID he’d brought with him in his duffel. They didn’t care about who he was at the rental place anyway, as long as the money was real. He picked out a black Jaguar. Something sleek and shiny, but not ostentatious.

Second he purchased five suits in beach-appropriate colors. He felt more like himself already.

Third purchase, a gun and ammunition. By sleeping with Juliette he’d inadvertently found himself swimming in the deep end of the ocean. He needed to be prepared.

In two days, he had transformed his beach hut into a home worthy of a woman like Juliette. Complete with a much larger bed.

Without waiting for an invitation Kingsley knew wouldn’t come, he drove the long winding road up to Guillroy’s home, where Juliette had taken him. In the light of the late-afternoon sun, the road appeared far less treacherous than it had when Juliette had driven him there two nights earlier.

He’d paid close attention to everything she’d done, every turn she’d made. He even knew the security code she’d punched into the gate. He didn’t punch it in, however. He parked the car far back from the gate to the house and walked through the trees on the side of the road until he found the edge of the property. It was easy enough to scale the wall and jump down onto the lawn. He stayed away from the driveway, from the one security camera he’d noted, and took the most circuitous, most hidden route possible to get to the house.

He couldn’t get caught. He knew that. If he got caught breaking into Guillroy’s house, he could be arrested and deported.

But he had to see her again. She’d said they could only have one night together but he refused to believe she’d meant it. He needed all her nights, not just that one. And he needed to give her all of his.