28. Caro

"You found him? The tattoo guy?"

I glanced behind me—the habit of a lifetime—but this time, I was checking for Knox. He'd been snoring softly when I left him in bed, but he was also a really light sleeper, and I didn't want him to overhear this conversation and get upset with me.

Knox isn't Aiden.

I'd reminded myself of that a thousand times, but that was also how often I'd been on the receiving end of a man's anger, and the inbuilt sense of self-preservation I'd honed over the past three and a half years wouldn't let me take the risk. Knox had said I should get Stacey to back off while Blackwood did their research, and I'd relayed the message, but I also hadn't argued too hard when she said she wasn't going to. Blackwood's priority was Luna. Stacey genuinely cared about wildlife.

"Not quite," she said, "but I'm closer to finding him than I was before. I never realised how many tattoo places there would be, but the fifth one I visited, the assistant working at the counter recognised the anchor. She's ninety percent sure that her friend dated the guy a few months ago, but she only met him once in a bar, and she can't remember his name. She's gonna call her friend and see if she'll speak with me."

My phone pinged, which meant the sanctuary had another Instagram follower. I could admit—grudgingly—that Luna and Jubilee had done a good job with the social media. I hated that stuff. Posting snippets of my life to be judged by others, and usually found wanting if the number of likes I didn't get was any indication. But the girls knew what to write to get people to engage and, more importantly, to donate. Over fifty people had signed up to sponsor turtles so far. Corky was the most popular, an eighteen-year-old hawksbill with a buoyancy disorder. We had to glue little weights to his shell so he could submerge, and on the rare occasions they fell off, he popped right back up again. Like a cork, hence his name. Anyhow, Corky had twenty-three sponsors, and Franklin said this was the first month in years that the sanctuary wouldn't operate at a loss.

Another ping. Ping, ping, ping.

They'd probably posted about baby turtles again. Those did numbers, especially on TikTok.

"Did you get a description of the guy? I mean his face?"

"Kind of. She said he was definitely local, and she remembered him being hot in a dangerous way. Good arms—that's why she remembers the tattoo. The rope design wraps around all the way up to his shoulder."

Ping ping ping ping ping.

"Do you think the girl will call you?"

"Who knows? But at least we can be certain the guy's around, and I have a better description of the tattoo. He can't hide forever."

Ping ping ping ping ping ping ping.

"Just be careful, okay?"

"I always am."

The moment I hung up, I checked the sanctuary's Instagram account, but there was nothing new posted today. Huh. Then why were so many people suddenly showing up in support? Something to do with the mysterious algorithm whose altar Jubilee seemed to worship at? I checked on the turtles in the pool rooms, then headed to the kitchen to make coffee. The one downside of spending nights with Knox was never getting enough sleep, which made caffeine a necessity.

Ping ping ping ping ping ping ping ping ping ping.

Dammit, I needed to work out how to turn the notifications off. At first, it had been cute knowing the sanctuary was gaining recognition, but now it was just annoying.

Tango followed me outside, tail wagging, so I headed to the kitchen, poured a cup of kibble into her bowl, and set it on the floor.

"Good girl. You're such a good girl."

Mistaking my vibrator for a chew toy was the best thing she'd ever done.

We were almost out of coffee, so I added a note to the grocery list on the refrigerator while I waited for the old-fashioned cast-iron kettle to start whistling. Outside, a light wind blew puffy whitecaps across the sea, and I spotted a small boat on the horizon. I watched it for a while, that little knot of tension in my gut tightening, but the craft didn't get any closer. Probably a fisherman. There were usually schools of snapper out there.

Knox was awake when I got back to the bunkhouse, one of his arms flung out to the side. If he was going to come back to visit, maybe I could rearrange the furniture? Switch out two of the single beds for a double? Franklin would be okay with that. He'd apologised a million times for not having better accommodation, but money was tight. His own home was just one room with a tiny bathroom attached.

"Morning." Knox's voice was always hoarse so early in the day.

"I made coffee. At some point, we need to do a grocery run, but it can wait until tomorrow."

He beckoned me closer. "Put the coffee down and come here."

"When you say ‘come here'…?"

His smile turned filthy, and he pointed at the tent in the sheet caused by his impressive cock. "I mean come here."

Several days ago, a giant box of condoms had suddenly appeared, two hundred of them in every colour, flavour, and texture imaginable, and we'd made a respectable dent in them already. Knox could be an animal in bed, or he could be sweet. Which version of him would I get this morning?

"If you want me to sit on it, you'll have to saw off the top bunk."

His expression suggested he was seriously considering it, but finally, he shook his head. "Take too long."

Ping ping ping ping ping ping ping ping.

I groaned. "Make it stop."

"Why is it pinging?"

"We keep getting more followers on Instagram. Which is a good thing, as long as it happens quietly."

"Give me the phone."

He tapped the screen a few times, then put the phone in the nightstand drawer. "Fixed it."

"What did you do?"

"Deleted Instagram."

My eyes rolled of their own accord. "You're such an idiot."

"Get used to it."

Knox was big all over, six feet tall and built like a tank, but he could move surprisingly quickly. In the blink of an eye, I found myself pressed against the wall with my shorts around my ankles and his head between my legs, and this time, my groan was pure pleasure. My knees threatened to buckle as he sucked hard.

"I can't…" I gasped, but he didn't ease up. No, he added a finger into the mix, then another, and when the orgasm tore through me, he caught me before I hit the floor. Next time, I needed to hold out for longer than a minute. This was embarrassing.

"Why do you have to be so good at this?"

"Is that a complaint?"

"More of an observation."

"Good. Get on your knees, baby. Actually…" He grabbed a blanket from one of the spare beds and tossed it onto the floor. "Use that. I don't want you getting bruises."

Seemed I was getting sweet and animalistic today.

And bruises.

Blanket or no blanket, my knees couldn't survive his efforts unscathed, but sweet Knox made another appearance as he lifted me gently onto the bed afterward.

"The coffee should be cool enough to drink now," he said, passing me my mug before he picked up his phone. This was our morning ritual now. He fucked me into a state of bliss, then checked in with the office. There was an app on his phone with status updates. Usually we chatted, and sometimes he mentioned his colleagues.

But this morning, Knox took a sip of coffee, and then his face morphed into confusion.

Then horror.

"What the fuck…?"

"What? What happened?"

He didn't answer, just pulled on a pair of shorts, still cursing.

"Knox, tell me."

"Luna happened. She couldn't fucking help herself, could she?"

"What are you talking about?"

He passed me the phone, and Instagram was open. Not the sanctuary's page, but Luna's personal account, the one with millions of followers. The first post was a video, and I checked the date. She'd posted it an hour ago.

"I thought she wasn't meant to be using this account?"

"She isn't." He blew out a breath. "For fuck's sake. If I get her to take it down fast, hopefully Judge Morgan won't see it."

"He's an early riser."

Knox muttered another curse under his breath and hurried out the door. I still had his phone in my hand. Luna was frozen on the screen with a baby turtle in her hands, so I pressed "play." How bad would this be?

"Hey, gorgeous people. I just wanted to give you an update, and I'm having a great time here on Valentine Cay learning about turtles. I realise now that I was wrong to dress a hawksbill in sunglasses, even if they were Gucci, because animals aren't toys. They're living creatures with feelings, and turtles are an important part of the ecosystem. Let's introduce you to some of the sanctuary's residents…" She showed her viewers Lucky, and Gilbert, and Corky, and she did all that in a bikini. No wonder the video had over thirty thousand likes already. "All of these turtles are part of the sanctuary's sponsorship scheme, and you can find details by following this link." A QR code flashed up. "But I'm only a visitor here—the real heroes are Franklin and Caro, who work here all year round." My stomach lurched. Oh no. No, she couldn't have… She had. There was a freaking picture of me, standing by Lucky's pool with a basket of sardines in my hand. My whole face was visible. "Their Insta page needs a little extra TLC, so if it gets two million more likes before I leave San Galli, I'll walk down the Strip in a bikini." She blew the audience a kiss. "Love you guys."

I. Was. Going. To. Kill. Her.