Chapter 8: Part 2

After six hours of sitting with Amanda, Bill decided it was time to check into a hotel. He needed a base of operation. There were no field offices operating in the Bahamas, the closest was in Santo Domingo in the Dominican Republic, but they didn't need to be alerted to his operation. He would contact the office to see if they had any missing blonds, but it was the Dominican Republic.



The cheep motel where he decided to store his stuff had no ocean view and would probably get a two star rating, and that was being generous.



When he came to the islands, he usually stayed in one of the more expensive resorts or in a private home, but this was close to the hospital and that mattered more than his personal comfort.



His wife was probably spending money like it grew on trees. She didn't have an allowance, but she also didn't have access to most of his money. Only his FBI paycheck was at her disposal. He had insisted on credit cards with limits, that left him feeling a bit more secure that he wouldn't have to sell a chunk of stock to pay off her anger fueled tirade.



He dumped his suitcases on the bed, ready for the next part of his plan. Amanda, and the three other girls who disappeared, did something. Someone had to know about their movements. Supposedly, Amanda had been at home in a very secluded area of Paradise Island in the Bahamas. She had been seen at a club on the island, and then she'd disappeared.



How could so many women just up and disappear. No one saw any foul play. The lady who disappeared yesterday hadn't been seen talking to anyone in particular. No one could remember anyone hitting on her. They hadn't seen a stranger lurking around. Basically their friends saw nothing, their neighbors didn't know, and all four of the women just up and went poof.



The FBI hated it when people disappeared. Everyone left a trail, but every so often the trail died quickly, leaving the agents in the dark. Hopefully Amanda would wake tomorrow with her voice. Such a shame, the amazing singer couldn't even speak.



Bill took a moment to shower and change. He pulled his shirt on, dressing more casual than he ever would in the states. A black suit wouldn't fit in on the island, and he wanted to blend.



The sun would set quickly. He'd heard that the last missing girl, Maggie Shay, had been at a restaurant around the corner for breakfast yesterday.



The place was near the water and looked to be ramping up for a wild night of fun. He wondered what type of crowd would be hanging around at six in the morning. Bill checked the hours. The Bleu Fish operated around the clock.



"Table for two?" The maitre d' asked.



"Just one." Bill followed the man through the swanky place to the back left corner. The maitre d' sat him at a table on the riser level in the back. The exact place he would have chosen if given the opportunity.



"Enjoy."



Bill took the menu and pretended to look over the offerings. The restaurant was set up so he could see every table. It would be easy to study others in a place like this. Maybe the guy had been checking her out. Biding his time. Then he snatched her off the streets once she left the building. But that would have had to happen in the morning, broad daylight no doubt. Cloak and dagger didn't work so well in the morning light.



Bill turned to stare at the entrance. He stiffened when he saw his wife on the arm of some beach jock. The rush of anger ripped through him. His fists clenched and his stomach churned.



It hadn't even been twenty-four hours, and yet she's already went hunting for a replacement. Nothing had prepared him for this.



They hadn't been close in months so he shouldn't be surprised, but hell, he hadn't expected her to skip into bed with another so quickly. If they hadn't been having so many problems, he would hop up and insist she go home. Then they could talk rationally over their issues, but their life hadn't been even close to decent in months.



The guy reached around and kissed Bill's wife. She looked pleased, overly giddy. Bill knew that after seeing this they could never get back what they had before. Pretending she hadn't just broken his heart would make anyone crazy, and he was no exception.



He wanted to lash out at her, but he wasn't here on his own personal business, and her cheating on him was more personal than anything else he'd ever experienced. He needed to find the killer, learn what happened, and prevent it from happening again.



Shana would have to wait. He would call his lawyers. They deserved to know about this new development since they did such a great job keeping his life straight.



The waitress came to take his order. Bill pushed Shana from his mind.



"Hi, my name is Jess, I'll be serving you tonight. What can I get for you?"



"Jess, you could tell me about the specials, and then I have a few questions for you."



"Okay, today's specials include a eight inch lobster tail with butter sauce and asparagus. We also have steak you could pair with the lobster tail. Our chef has created a wonderful shrimp ravioli with cream sauce served over grilled vegetables."



"I'll have the lobster tail and an appetizer of calamari."



"Would you like some wine with your meal."



"No thanks, I'll stick with tea. Jess, do you ever work in the mornings?"



"No sir, I'm only evenings. Different type of clientele in the mornings. Low pay, almost no tips."



"Could you tell me what time the morning staff comes in? Also, how many people are here when you leave."



"I usually stay until one or one thirty. Then the place dies down. The boss keeps it open to serve coffee to the late partiers. A few boaters will come in late and want food. There's also a thriving group of older gentlemen who spend a few hours here in the middle of the night. I've heard that at around five or so in the morning it's totally dead. A few fishermen trying to get out before the sun comes up that's all."



"You know any of the waiters?"



"No, but Mario would."



"Mario?"



"Big guy at the bar in red. He owns the place."



"Fantastic."



"I'll send him over after your dinner."



"That would be great. And Jess, thanks for the time."



"I'm here to please."



Jess turned to walk away, but Bill called him back. "Jess, I would like to send over a bottle of wine to a couple on the other side of the bar. She's got a white tube top on, hair is jet black. She's with a guy that's pumped up beyond what is normal."



"Sure, what would you like to send?"



"Give them any bottle that's about five hundred dollars."



Jess gave a little bow and smiled. "Yes sir, I'll ask our sommelier to pick something."



"Good, that would be wonderful."



After about thirty seconds Bill wanted to stop Jess from passing on the information to the sommelier. It had been a childish prank, something he'd thought of in anger.



His heart raced as he watched the sommelier approach Shana's table. The man she was with had her in a lip lock that bordered on embarrassing. The waiter hesitated until they were done. His wife looked over, confusion, shock, and then finally anger marred her features. With his luck she would think he was here just for the fun of it, which was far from the truth.



Bill lifted his glass of tea to her as his heart clenched. Her involvement with another man would make the divorce easier. Damn, he hated impossible situations and this was impossible. He couldn't stay with her now. Bill liked to think of himself as a forgiving person, but Shana's cheating hurt. Getting over her infidelity wasn't an option.



Bill's food came, and had he not been famished he wouldn't have been able to eat a bite, but he refused to become run down because of Shana's antics. Truthfully, she didn't love him anymore. He'd know it for months but didn't want to admit the failure. A relationship couldn't last that was built on hatred, and with the way Shana was treating him, he knew she sure as hell didn't love him.



The owner, Mario, stopped by. "Let me introduce myself. My name is Mario, and I would like to thank you for your business tonight. How may I be of service?"



Bill pulled his credentials and flipped them open. "Special agent Rowland, I need to ask you some questions about the morning shift."



"I had no idea the FBI provided so well for their agents."



"I may be here on agency business, but tonight I wanted a real meal so I decided to spend my own money. I would have to say it was worth every penny."



"Thank you. Now what would you like to know?"



"One of your patrons two mornings ago is missing. We were wondering if anything happened funny that day?"



Mario scratched his chin. "By funny, I guess you mean out of the ordinary?"



"Yes."



"What time?"



"Her credit card company puts the time around six in the morning."



"Let me think." The owner took the seat across from Bill, he closed his eyes and looked like he was in deep thought. "No, no funny business."



Bill wanted to ask the guy if he was for real, but he didn't want to anger the man. Either the guy was telling the truth or he wasn't, Bill would eventually find out. "So can I get a copy of your receipts for yesterday morning? Check to see who was here."



"Mr. Rowland, while I am happy to answer questions, I can not give out personal information. Our clients expect a certain amount of privacy. As you can see your wife is here entertaining another man. How would it look if it got out that I told the FBI who dined here? Privacy is very important on the island."



"How do you know she is my wife?"



"Our waiters are very good, and your wife is less than discrete. She told the sommelier when he opened the wine you were so gracious to purchase."



"Hmm, so who was working that morning and will he be working tomorrow?"



"Greg and me. Let me go check the schedule to see if Greg was here."



Bill cursed his luck. There was no way he could get a subpoena to force the owner to give him the receipts. The local police may be able to, but not him.



"Will Greg speak truthfully to me?"



"Yes, just as I have. It was a quiet morning. A few customers. Man wanting to go fishing. Our regulars who are here every morning."



"Regulars."



"Many of them will not speak with you. They might not be as legal as others."



Bill raised his eyebrows but didn't want to press his luck. Great, the mob was operating in the Bahamas and he knew where they were meeting. His mission was to find a killer, not bust some drug cartel. Ignoring the indiscretions of a few regulars of this restaurant might score him the target he sought.



"Fine, I don't care who your regulars are or what they've done. As long as they aren't the killer I'm after."



"I'll relay the message. They will talk."



Bill watched the owner walk away, his eyes swept to the bar, searching for his wife. From across the room he could tell that Shana was drunk. The noble thing to do would be to collect her, take her back to his room and tuck her in for the night. He hated being noble.



Mario came back and confirmed that Greg would be on site tomorrow morning. Great, another chance to come back to the place where his heart had been ripped in two.



Bill stood stiffly and threw an extra twenty onto the table. He paid in cash, no way for his six hundred dollar meal to get back to the Bureau. Every fiber of his being told him to exit the building and let Shana screw herself, but he couldn't.



With heavy steps he marched over to her table and pulled her up. Her wasted state prevented her from protesting too much. He got her outside and pushed her into his car. She passed out before he could run around to the drivers seat.



He didn't want her in his room or in his bed. After rifling through her purse he found a key fob for her room. Great, she was staying at the One and Only Ocean Club.



She would pick that hotel. Probably loved the majestic setting with the marble columns and statues. The place was expensive, refined. If she rented a cottage he would force her to check out and move her into the rattrap he was staying at. Not that he wanted to be close to her, but he sure as hell wouldn't pay four thousand a night for her to stay in a four-bedroom place.

Copyright Sara Thacker