He licked his lips. “Sure.”
I sniffed the tumbler. “It’s five o’clock, somewhere, right?”
“What else would I be doing?” He kept his eyes trained forward.
“Oh, I don’t know. Soaking up the sun by the pool? Dragging your toes through the sand on the beach? Falling into a tourist trap?”
He turned his head, moving his face near mine. “You can’t drink all day if you don’t start early, sweetheart.” He tipped the glass.
My stomach flipped. He smelled like burning wood and a recently extinguished flame. The scent that permeated the air after blowing out birthday candles. I flagged the bartender. “Mimosa, please.”
“Mm,” Hades purred. “I didn’t peg you for the type to indulge in early morning sins.”
“I’m on vacation. I’d never do this normally, so I figured…when in Rome, right?” I lifted the glass to my lips. “I mean—I know we’re not in Rome.”
“Why do you insist on doing this?” He asked, turning his body to face me.
A dribble of sweet, bubbly juice escaped the corner of my mouth, and I wiped it away with my finger. “Doing what?” Noticing his close proximity made my chest tighten.
“Talkin’ to me despite my being explicitly clear, I had no interest in your company. In fact, I’ve been pretty rude.”
“It’s my job to solve mysteries. I’m drawn to them like a moth to a flame. And you—” I paused, watching his eyes scan my face as if I were as big of a mystery to him. “You’re an absolute enigma.” I curled my hands around my glass to keep them from shaking. “You say you’re rude, but I don’t think that’s the normal you.”
“You’re wrong.” His voice dropped an octave, cold, and clipped. It sent a chill down my spine. He turned away with a sneer. “Some people are inherently evil.”
Heat traveled up my neck. “Everyone is born good. It’s what happens through life, which sways them in one direction or the other. They choose.”
He locked his gaze with mine, his pupils dilating. The glass squeaked as his hand tightened around it. “You’re. Wrong. I’ve witnessed it firsthand.”
A fuzziness clouded my brain, but I shook it away. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“You’re so quick to believe in the morality of humans.” He shoved his nose in his glass.
“Of course, I am.” My voice was barely above a whisper.
He looked at me with a furrowed brow. The pastel colors around him pushed further through and were sucked back in by the darkness. “Then I feel sorry for you.” He slid his empty tumbler across the bar.
I frowned.
An older man in a pair of tropical board shorts sat at the bar on the opposite side from us. Despite his fully rounded beer belly, he wore no shirt. A previous sunburn was evident in the shape of a tank top on his skin. The only hair he had was a small grey patch in the center of his head and a bit below his ears.
“Tell me. What do you think his story is?” Hades shifted his eyes.
I let my investigative brain take over. “Older. Mid-fifties. Alone. His company maybe had business here, and he’s taking some R&R. Confident.” His colors vibrated with deep reds and oranges.
“Almost.” He leaned over to whisper in my ear. “He’s currently cheatin’ on his wife for the fifteenth time. He takes advantage of his company’s frequent travels to go outside of his marriage. He has another family on an island not far from here. Neither family knows of the other. And his wife is so aloof she hasn’t a clue.”
I narrowed my eyes. “How could you possibly know all that? He’s been at the bar for what, two minutes?”
“Hey, honey,” the man said into his phone. “Yeah, they’re working me like a horse over here. But I’ll be home in a few days.” He looked around as he spoke.
I got a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. Hades was right. But how? My hand hit my glass, sliding it off the bar. Hades snatched it from mid-air, stopping it from crashing to the ground.
“Compassion is an admirable quality, Stephanie. But don’t let it cloud your judgment. Reality is reality.” Like a lunar eclipse, all other sounds faded away.
I closed my eyes, and when I opened them again, he was gone. As if he’d vanished into thin air. His empty tumbler stared back at me. I’d been so consumed by being wrong about the other man I hadn’t heard Hades leave. I headed for the pool.
Sara lay on one of the lounge chairs, her towel, and bag piled on the chair next to her, saving it for me. I halfway hoped she was asleep. Otherwise, she’d ask me a dozen questions about Hades. With cautious movements, I moved her bag to the ground beside my chair. I paused, eyeing her still lying there like a breathing corpse and slowly sank down.
“How’d it go?” She asked.
Fail.
“There’s something about Hades, Sara. A quirk? A secret? I can’t tell you.”
“Sounds like you two were made for each other.”
Grabbing the towel, I whipped it at her with a laugh. She blocked it with her forearm.
“This isn’t funny. He’s…odd.”
She lifted her sunglasses to her head. “And that makes you even more interested, doesn’t it?”
I pulled at the hem of my coverup.
Sitting up on her elbows, she narrowed her eyes. “You have that look. The one you get when you’re about to pour your heart and soul into a case. We’re on vacation, Steph. You want to hang out with this guy, try to make his heart grow three sizes bigger, fine. But don’t get wrapped up in it.”
“He comes off so confused. One big mess. Like he needs someone truly willing to listen.” His words replayed in my head. Compassion is an admiral quality.
“And you’re invested.” She flipped her sunglasses back onto her nose, nuzzling back into the comfort of her chair.
“He can profile people better than you can.”
She sat straight up, whipping her sunglasses off. “Excuse me?”
“I’m not kidding. He saw all these subtle clues. I can usually read people pretty well, but he saw right past the guy’s façade.”
“Is he a cop?”
“I don’t know. He’s pretty closed off. And why does he wear so much black?”
She laughed, curling her arms around her knees. “Maybe he’s grieving for his love life?”
“You’re such a goober sometimes.” I slunk down in the chair with a snicker.
She held two fingers up, pressed together, a gesture that was uniquely hers. “Um, false. I’m a genius all of the time.”
“Forgive me, illustrious one.”
“And you have five minutes before I make you put on sunscreen.”
“Yes, mother dearest.”
We sunbathed by the pool for almost an hour. Sara set a repeating alarm on her phone to remind us to flip over. I put on sunscreen for fear of looking like a lobster for the rest of our vacation and rolled my cover up just enough to cover my cleavage and stomach.
“Would you mind if we used this chair?” A female British voice asked.
I lifted my head, squinting through my sunglasses. All other lounge chairs were occupied except for the one next to me. “Knock yourself out.”