6. Caro

"Tell me you're not serious?"

I dropped the mop into the bucket and perched on the edge of one of the concrete pools we used for rehab. This had to be a bad joke. Luna Maara, pop psycho and turtle hater extraordinaire, couldn't be coming to Valentine Cay. Why on earth would Franklin agree to that kind of nightmare?

"Judge Morgan asked me personally, and we do need the help."

"A woman like Luna isn't going to be any help. She's going to spend all day on her phone, posting stupid videos and trying to make it look as if she isn't a horrible person."

"The judge banned her from social media, and that cousin of hers is coming too. It'll give us two extra pairs of hands."

I pressed my fingers against my eyes as if that might help with the pounding headache that had started with Franklin's call. This…this was like a shoal of tuna inviting a shark to stay for a month and expecting to swim away unscathed at the end of it.

"You know we need help, Caro. We were counting on those folks who dropped out."

True. That was true. They'd seemed so enthusiastic too, but then they'd scored last-minute tickets to the Blayz Festival and decided to spend a month in the Bahamas instead. So now we were stuck with Luna freaking Maara, who treated wild animals as fashion accessories and didn't care two hoots about the critical conservation work we were doing on Valentine Cay.

When I heard she'd been arrested, I'd been beyond thrilled. So often, tourists disturbed the wildlife and got away with it. Late last year, in one of those rare instances where the culprits were caught, a bunch of idiots on an extended bachelor party had pulled a juvenile shark out of the surf and dressed it up in a sombrero. In the trial—also before Judge Morgan—the groom had cited Luna Maara as their inspiration. To hear she'd claimed in court that her actions did no harm was absurd. The shark had lost its life, along with several turtles and a manta ray that had been found around the islands wearing accessories that ranged from a beaded necklace to a pair of board shorts.

Even though everyone knew what Luna had done, Vince Fernandez had told me over drinks one evening that it was unlikely she'd ever face justice. From what he'd heard, she'd spent most of her first visit to San Gallicano complaining about the time the bars closed, about the lack of retail opportunities, about the amount of freaking sand. Nobody thought she'd come back, and no way would the US extradite her over a turtle.

But then she'd shown up, and when Vince had called with the news, I'd celebrated with a pineapple-and-coconut smoothie and two chocolate truffles from the box I kept in the refrigerator for special occasions. Now? Now, I wanted to puke.

"It's going to be a circus. She'll bring every reporter in the Caribbean with her."

"Vince Fernandez says the coastguard will put extra patrols in the area, and if anyone trespasses on the sanctuary's grounds, they'll end up before Judge Morgan. There's nowhere for visitors to stay on Valentine Cay, anyway."

That was true. No hotel, no guesthouse. A wealthy businessman had tried to buy the sanctuary last year and turn it into a luxury resort, but Franklin had refused his money, even though he barely had two cents to rub together. He was rich in spirit, he said. And so was I. Once, I'd been the girl riding around on the expensive yacht and partying into the early hours, but in the end, it hadn't been as hard as I'd feared to give it all up.

"I'll just have to stay out of the way while she's here."

And heavens above, grant me the strength not to throat-punch Luna Maara because I couldn't afford to end up before Judge Morgan myself.

* * *

Even while doing community service, Luna Maara managed to bring an entourage. Not only her cousin but two ridiculously hot "bodyguards" who I bet she'd absolutely hired for their looks and not their defence skills. If they had any kind of qualifications, they'd probably gotten them from the internet. Done a Groupon course or something.

Vince accompanied them on the coastguard boat, presumably because he didn't trust her not to flee the country otherwise. Although I'd heard her mom was in jail for yelling at Judge Morgan, which might throw a wrench into the works. Would Luna abandon her own flesh and blood?

Franklin walked down to the dock to speak with Vince while I watched from the safety of the dining room as the group made their way up the beach. Tango sat beside me, her tail still. Usually, it wagged constantly.

"I know, girl. It sucks."

The black lab had shown up soon after I did, and where she came from, nobody knew. Valentine Cay wasn't a big island, so she wasn't local. Vince thought she'd fallen from a passing boat, but nobody ever came looking for her, so maybe she'd been thrown off instead? Whatever, she'd decided she was staying. She'd graduated from begging for the sardines we fed the turtles to eating cans of dog chow Franklin picked up on Ilha Grande, and although she had a bed in the bunkhouse, half the time, she preferred to sleep on the veranda so she could watch the stars.

Tango whined, and I scratched her head in sympathy.

"One month, and it'll all be over."

The bodyguards went up a notch in my estimation when they made Luna carry her own suitcases. Plural. Six of them. How long was she planning to stay? Less than thirty days, if I had anything to do with it. She should be in a jail cell, not wreaking havoc on the life I'd spent the past three years rebuilding. Back and forth, she went in a pair of bejewelled flip-flops. Back and forth. Finally, she had all the cases piled up at the edge of the shingle path that led to the bunkhouses, and she stood there surveying the buildings, hands on her hips and a faint expression of disgust on her pampered visage.

"Where's my room? And I need a glass of water."

No "Hi, I'm Luna" or "Sorry I've turned your lives upside down." Just another demand. Although to be honest, I hadn't expected anything else.

"There are no rooms," I told her. "There are bunkhouses. One for the men and one for the women. I'm Caro, by the way. I'd say it was a pleasure to meet you, but I'd be lying."

"How dare you speak to me that way?"

"Easy—I open my mouth, and the words come out. Look, I don't get paid to be nice to you. In fact, I barely get paid at all, and the last thing I want to do is spend the next month babysitting your spoiled ass. So stop whining, pick up your many, many suitcases, and come choose a bunk bed."

The nearest bodyguard, the one with the eel tattoo curling up his left arm, snorted and tried to turn it into a cough, but not a very convincing one. His eyes twinkled. The man was entirely too handsome for his own good, and that made him dangerous. I'd already fallen for an egotistical Casanova once in my life, and I'd paid the price for my stupidity. Never again.

He held out a hand. "Knox Livingston, and this is Ryder Metcalfe. We're here to provide security for Ms. Maara."

"Caroline Menefee."

That wasn't my real name, but it was the one I'd begun using almost three years ago. Nobody in San Gallicano knew my true identity, and although Franklin was aware I'd had a bad breakup in the past, I'd glossed over the full story of why I'd left Los Angeles.

"It's good to meet you. I'll apologise in advance for our presence."

"Apology accepted."

Grudgingly, although deep down, I understood that none of this was his fault.

Ryder offered a handshake and a smile as well, complete with dimples. He looked to be the more relaxed of the two, boy-next-door cute with dirty-blond hair rather than devastatingly gorgeous, in his late twenties at a guess. Which deity had he offended in order to get this job?

"My arms hurt," Luna announced. "There's no way I can carry these suitcases any farther."

"It's meant to rain tonight," Knox told her. "They'll get wet if you leave them there."

"Why are you so mean?"

"If you want us to be pleasant, that costs extra."

Hmm, perhaps Knox wasn't quite as unlikeable as I'd assumed he would be?

"I hate you. I hate all of you."

"If you want to try firing us again, then go right ahead."

"I would if some psycho wasn't threatening to hurt me. Jerk," she added under her breath.

Luna's cousin seemed to be the nervous type. If she chewed that lip any more, we'd have to take her to the emergency room for stitches. She was also the peacekeeper.

"Why don't we unpack, and maybe we could get breakfast?" The cousin, who'd brought three suitcases of her own, turned to me. "Do you have alkaline water?"

"Do we have what?"

"Alkaline water. Luna drinks it with a slice of lemon every morning."

I didn't know what the fuck alkaline water was, but I did know basic chemistry.

"Lemon's acidic. If you add it to an alkaline, you'll neutralise it."

"You don't know anything about nutrition." Luna spoke to me as if I were a small child. "When you drink lemon water, it reacts in your body and turns alkaline."

"I have a degree in biology, and I'm telling you an ad exec made that up."

"The guy who runs the company is a doctor."

The cousin raised both hands. "It's been a stressful week, and everyone's tired. Uh, I'm Jubilee."

Luna fixed her cousin-slash-assistant with a glare. "Don't think I've forgiven you for holding back important information. You can't just change the subject and expect me to forget about it."

What hadn't Jubilee told her? I was curious, but it wasn't my place to ask. Plus I didn't want to get pulled into Luna's drama. Having to spend the next month making sure she didn't put lipstick on a turtle or something equally stupid was quite bad enough.

"Do you want a tour of the place, or would you rather find your own way?" I asked.

Ryder sighed and stepped forward. "Luna, if you take two of the suitcases, I'll bring the rest."

Instead of being grateful, she huffed and grabbed the handle of the smallest case. Wow.

I couldn't help myself. "Isn't that worth a thank you?"

"I pay him." But she did turn back and roll her eyes. "Thank you, Ryder," she said, her voice overly saccharine.

What a piece of work.