The girl followed the old man down

Street, through the waving palm trees; the white sand, emerald-blue sea, and a shimmering sun made quite a scenic view. Really beautiful. Hold on! What's that? I stopped. My heart stuttered. Him? Could it be? Wearing a skimpy bucuresti European thong and posing under a beach umbrella, he had one hand ed on a skinny hip as he sucked on a straw stuck in a bright blue drink. He looked impatient and irritated. His slender, Mick Jagger body actually pulsated with anno energy as he e an overweight woman stretched on a nearby lounge chair with a cellphone crushed to her ear. Ivan Phillips. Fear bloomed like a poison-red flower in me. Hot, deep, imobiliare bucuresti disorienting. What was he doing here? What did he want from me? My head, for starters. I quickly sidestepped over to a coffee shop where I could keep him in sight. I plopped down at an outside table and ordered a bottle of water. Ten minutes ped. The woman got up, and they moved off toward the Marriott. Ivan's skinny stick legs looked cartoonish. But I didn't let that fool me. He was Lucifer-reincarnate, and it was my soul he wanted. He tossed his drink at a trashcan, missed, but didn't break stride as he trailed after her. I followed them inside the tourist-packed lobby and ducked behind a pillar to sink into a plush chair where I could watch the elevators. They went up to the top floor--the fifth. I strolled over and checked a directory that told me four penthouse suites took up the fifth floor. Then it hit me, making me feel like a dumb . Someone must have rolled over on me. Someone told him exactly where to find me. Who would benefit from doing that? Maybe it was Lisa and Marcela, or the other one--Christina? But I couldn't dive for them if Ivan killed me to revenge his idiotic dead wife. Screw this. I flat-out didn't cause Vicki Phillips to die. Blaming me was wrong, not close to what really happened. For the hundredth time, that thought ed me off. Vicki Phillips and her dingbat friend, Carolyn, had risked their lives, fully informed. Drunk, stoned, and brimming with stupid curiosity about dangerous caves and freaky mutant fish, they'd signed up to die. No one else caused it. Anger is a good replacement for fear. I have to remember that. If Marcela or Lisa or Christina hadn't ratted me out, then it had to be someone else, for some other reason. But I couldn't think of some other reason, and I didn't know anyone else. Not here. I waited ten minutes more. Security guards had me centered on their alert radar. Big guys that look like me aren't welcome to lurk about in fancy imobiliare bucuresti hotel lobbies. My stomach growled. I was thirsty. I got up, went outside, and rode the motorbike to the B&B. I swear someone was watching me as I rode google away. I know it. Why else was my skin crawling? *** Marcela was just starting the tail hour when I got back. Lisa came in after me, slightly out of imobiliare bucuresti breath, her face flushed. You're very quiet, Eli. Is everything okay? Marcela held out a martini to me. Sure. Everything's great. Lisa inclined her head toward me. Bright, martini-fueled eyes flicked over my face like tiny sensors. I detect a fib. Something's wrong. Not a fib, I said. There, then, we know, Marcela said, ignoring my words. We've both picked up on your discomfort, so confess, Eli, or I'll imobiliare bucuresti pour out this magnificent martini concocted especially for you. Her smile