"Sorry. I could talk to you about South Beach and Worth Avenue, if you'd like, but your island with... with what again?"
Jack burst out laughing.
"As usual, you and I are not on the same wavelength," Jack observed. "As for me, I must admit I'm not immune to the charms of this little island."
"And its mayor," he added inwardly, despite himself.
A phone rang in the background, indicating Sophie had another call coming in. Promptly, he added:
"You're busy, I won't keep you. Can you put me through to Archie?"
"Right away. I'll transfer you upstairs..."
Archie's office was indeed on the thirty-fifth floor of the building. His workspace featured a massive wall of glass looking out over the void, resistant to anything.
"Adelson!"
That was Archie's typical way of greeting people.
"Hello, Archie! It's Jack."
As always, when the call wasn't about a new acquisition or merger, Archie relaxed and replied:
"Hey, my dear Jack. Is the Florida sunshine treating you well?"
At that moment, Jack imagined his boss, settled comfortably in his leather chair, no doubt having spun it around to enjoy a breathtaking view of New York.
"It's very hot here," Jack told him.
"Oh, it can't be that bad! I went there in the height of summer, not October, and I can guarantee the temperatures were much higher. Besides, if I remember correctly, you once spent time on the scorching shores of South America and lounged under the equator, right?"
Jack gave a small smile. Chasing counterfeiters didn't quite amount to lounging in the tropical sun. So he replied:
"That was a long time ago. I must've forgotten."
"So, what do you think of Heron Island?" Archie followed up.
"From a security perspective, it's a complete sieve," Jack replied in a grim tone.
"Then it's up to you to turn it into a fortress. I pay you to get the job done, and generally, I only hire the best."
Those two arguments were irrefutable. Jack had no complaints about his salary, and he could rightfully pride himself on being a security expert. Fourteen years in the Secret Service had prepared him well for this line of work. Archie Adelson's legendary paranoia, combined with his security obsessions, had elevated Jack Hogan to the status of an undisputed authority in the field of protection.
"You've got a month to turn the Dolphin Enclosure and its surroundings into an airtight box," Archie continued. "I know I can count on you."
This mission was well within Jack's skill set, though the island's first municipal officer, the statuesque Claire Betancourt, with eyes as blue as the lagoon, was sure to make things difficult. Jack had faced many challenges in his life; however, dealing with the beautiful Claire promised to be one of the most interesting experiences of his existence…
Pushing the image of her aside, Jack then asked Archie the burning question that had been nagging at him ever since he set foot on the island:
"Can you tell me what made you invest in this lost little island?"
"There's a long story between me and Heron Island. It goes back to the sixties. Charlotte loved the place, too. Aside from the personal connection, I'm convinced it's going to be a very profitable investment. I'm going to put the island back on the map. Soon, it'll be very chic to relax at the Dolphin Enclosure. That will be the next hot spot for a scotch on the rocks."
"Alright," Jack said.
"I might be getting sentimental in my old age," Archie added.
Restoring the lost glory of the Dolphin Enclosure was, no doubt, his way of paying tribute to his late wife's memory. Charlotte Adelson had passed away two years earlier, and all of Archie's close friends knew he still hadn't recovered from the loss.
"I guess I'd better get to work," Jack concluded. "And find a place to stay for the month, urgently."
"Why did you turn down my assistant's help? She offered to book you a hotel room."
"I prefer to get a feel for a place before settling in. Besides, this time of year, most tourist spots are closed. There's no one on the island except for locals and a few stray tourists."
"As you wish, Jack. Keep me posted. Talk soon."
Which means in a month in Manhattan, Jack thought silently as he ended the call. He headed toward the Hibiscus Hotel. The sign displayed four stars.
As long as there was a minibar and air conditioning...
When he pushed the door open, a cheerful bell attached to a giant plastic hibiscus rang out to greet him.
---
After putting the chicken breasts, drizzled with olive oil, in the oven, Claire glanced over at her daughter. The girl was busy shaping shortbread dough.
"Chise, you could at least try a bit harder," she chided gently.
Her cookies looked more like small, lumpy clumps of clay than the neatly shaped treats pictured on the packaging.
"I'm trying to be creative, Mom!" Chise shot back. "Each cookie will be unique once it's baked."
Amused, Claire smiled.
"If it's an artistic statement, I stand corrected."
And she refrained from commenting further as Chise sprinkled the whole batch with colored sugar crystals and topped each "sculpture" with chocolate glaze meant to resemble a smile.
Without warning, Petula burst into the kitchen through the back door. Her cottage was about fifty yards from Claire's.
Admiring Chise's culinary creations, she gently tugged on the girl's auburn ponytail and said:
"Magnificent, sweetheart! If there's one thing I can't stand, it's cookies that look sad."
Saying that, Petula moved to the sink, grabbed the last ear of corn from the strainer, and started peeling it.
"Are we having guests for dinner?" she asked.
"No, why?" Claire replied.
"Because I saw an SUV parking in the driveway as I came in. You know, one of those gas-guzzling, polluting kinds."
Surprised, Claire said:
"I have no idea who that could be. I just hope there isn't a problem in town."
She glanced out the window... and saw Jack Hogan climbing the steps of the porch. Alarmed, she rushed to the door.
"What brings you here, Mr. Hogan?" she managed to ask in a fairly calm voice.
"Bad luck," he replied. "Sorry to bother you at home."
As he spoke, his eyes took in the various ornaments hanging from the porch and the sign above the stairs. He added:
"The person who gave me directions was very specific. They told me your house was called Villa Tanaïsis. Don't people around here have normal addresses—with a street name and number?"
"We do, as required by the federal postal service. However, each local knows the old houses by their names. I rarely use the street numbers myself."
"What does 'Tanaïsis' mean?" he asked.
"It's a medicinal plant. The first owner of the house was an herbalist. The garden has many kinds of healing herbs."
"Pardon?"
"Medicinal plants, if you prefer."
"Oh," he said, glancing inside, clearly unmoved by botany.
"Come in," Claire offered. "I assume you're going to explain what misfortune brought you here."
She stepped aside to let him in. He had changed clothes. Now wearing a black shirt with fine white stripes, the sleeves rolled up in a deceptively casual way, he still looked like he had just stepped out of a boardroom.