Page 63 of What Doesn't Kill You…

She let out a heavy sigh. "They were not subtle about spreading the news about me getting married in the Caribbean. Mum even put a sign on the shop door saying they were closed for my wedding. My nieces posted on social media and my sister called everyone she's ever known to share the news." She gave him a rueful look. "Even if my stalker only vaguely kept an eye out for me to surface, he couldn't have missed the news that I was in the Caribbean."

Max had to agree. "Would have been far too easy to follow your family straight to you."

"They're not exactly covert," she scoffed.

"No." Max grinned at the thought as the boat came up alongside the dock. "So, what now?" he said as they untangled themselves and stood.

"Now, we face Rochelle," Violet said as though she was going to the gallows.

Max did the only thing he could think to do under the circumstances. He took her hand and offered her what little support he could. A strange warmth unfurled within him when she didn't refuse his touch.

Progress, he thought. Toward what, he didn't know and hardly dared hope. They had too many other things to deal with before they even considered what was happening between them. And there was definitely something happening, even if it would take torture to make Violet admit it. Sadly, the timing couldn't have been worse, because Max couldn't afford to get distracted by the oh-so-tempting Violet Lee, not when he was this close to bringing down Damien Poole.

"A stalker?" Rochelle was not happy, and it was clear the long trip from Houston hadn't helped her disposition either. "And I'm only hearing about this now?"

Violet folded her arms and waited for Rochelle to get over the fact she'd been kept in the dark. She'd given the woman a summary of her history with the killer, now all Rochelle had to do was come to terms with the news. There was nothing more she could add.

"To be fair," Max said, obviously thinking he had something to add. "She thought he was dead or in prison." He caught Violet's eye and winced. "Which she could tell you herself because she doesn't need some man speaking for her." He pointed to a wicker chair. "I'll be over here not butting in."

Wise move.

Violet stared out of the window while Rochelle vented. After almost a year working together, she knew that sometimes her boss needed to get things out of her system first before they could move on. She'd been exactly the same after Violet had shot out a couple of cars, filled with gang members, when they'd attacked their office. All Rochelle needed was a minute to adjust to the news of the latest glitch in their mission and she'd be fine.

The house the team had rented for the op was a spacious two-story affair on the edge of St. Patrice's town center. It had dark wooden floors, dated but modern furniture, and a generous kitchen. It didn't have a view of the sea or any perfect palm trees growing beside it. Nor was it painted pristine white. Instead, the building was a deep blue with crooked yellow shutters she bet didn't even close properly. Just being in the house made her soul sigh with relief. The thought of going back to Wedding Island's plastic perfection set her teeth on edge.

"Okay," Rochelle said, having run out of steam. "Maybe Evan can pull some prints from the soda can and we'll get an identity on this stalker of yours."

Good, they'd moved on from processing to action. It took long enough.

"I hope so," she said. "This is the first time we've managed to get anything that might have prints. He never left any behind in Glasgow, but I've got a feeling this guy will be in the system somewhere."

"You're going with Lake's theory that he's been in prison?" Rochelle was dressed for the weather in a cream linen dress that looked both summery and somehow authoritative.

"That or maybe military training." Violet frowned with frustration. "I can't explain it, but the way he hit those guys, the mess he left behind, it felt methodical. As though he knew what he was doing."

Rochelle walked over to the window, looking out at the street beneath them where the stalls of a fruit market lined the road, each one bursting with the color of the Caribbean's real treasure, papaya, bananas, pineapples… It made Violet's mouth water just looking at the overflowing tables.

"What makes you think military rather than martial arts training," Rochelle said.

"The fact he hasn't been caught," Violet replied. "Guy's a ghost."

Rodrigo spoke up from where he was sitting at the kitchen counter. "Even the waiter who gave Violet the note couldn't describe him properly. Said he was average everything and polite. I'm with Violet on this. It looks like this guy has had some training in how to blend."

"Great," Rochelle said, far from pleased. "Exactly what we need. A loose cannon in a situation that could explode at any second anyway."

There was noise from the doorway before the two missing triplets entered, arms full of fruit from the street below. They looked very pleased with themselves.

"This place is awesome," Harris said, grinning at them. "Have you seen the size of this papaya? It's like ten times the size of the ones we used to get in Scotland."

Violet couldn't help but wonder how adding the other triplets to the mix was going to make things better instead of worse. One was hard enough to control, but three… Plus, she wasn't impressed with their disguises. Harris had dyed his hair black, worn brown contacts, and appeared to have donned a fake beard. Logan had bleached his hair blonde and added a pair of glasses. They were still carbon copies in every other way, only now they looked like they were playing dress up. Maybe if they were never seen together the new looks would work, but that was still pushing it.

The still ginger triplet spoke up from the corner he'd turned into his new command center—essentially the dining table.

"I can't get any clean prints off the can," he said. "Sorry, but the guy's too careful to leave anything of use behind."

"Typical," Violet muttered. Just when she thought she'd caught a break.

Rochelle cleared her throat, looking pained.