Epilogue

Two Months Later
St. Kitts, The Caribbean

Travis Considine drizzled some suntan lotion on the back of Janice Honeywell. “Do you mind if I untie your top?” he asked, slowly tugging on the string holding her bikini top together. He had already untied the string at her neck.

“Mmmm, if you have to.” Janice was laying on a towel next to the pool on Travis’ property on St. Kitts, her head on a folded beach towel.

“I’d hate to get any lotion on your top,” he replied innocently. He began working the lotion into her skin. The change of locale from Montana to the Caribbean had done wonders for her tan.

“I’m just trying to even the tan out for the strapless wedding dress you want me to wear.”

“I really wanted you to wear the white lace mini-dress,” said Travis.

“That wasn’t a wedding dress! It was a chemise you found on a lingerie website!”

“Picky, picky!” Travis undid the ties on the thong bottom, leaving her naked. He drizzled some more lotion on her, and Janice murmured contentedly as his fingers worked the lotion in.

“It’s a good thing you’re rich and have your own home,” she told him. “I don’t think we’d be able to get away with this down at the beach.”

“Well, we could, but we’d need to be a whole lot richer to be able to afford beachfront property.” Beachfront property was being grabbed up by resort consortiums, but inland properties were still quite reasonable. The Considine property was about three-quarters of an acre and had a modern single-story house with lots of glass and a small freshwater pool. It was very private. “Of course, we could save money if you stopped wearing swimsuits or underwear, Miss Honeywell.” His fingers found a sensitive spot and Janice murmured happily.

When they landed at Basseterre, Travis and Janice stayed at a resort for a few days while he took care of some business. Within a couple of days, a half-million dollars poorer, he and Janice had brand new identities, complete to birth certificates, passports, and driver’s licenses. “What do I tell my family?” she had asked.

“Tell them nothing. As far as they are concerned, you are still Janice Northcott. When you lost your phone and had to get a new number, you also had to get a new email address. No big deal. It happens all the time. It’s not like they are going to ask for your passport,” he had explained.

If she had considered that strange, it was quite unreal when Franklin Holloway took her to the Republic Bank branch in Charlestown on Nevis and opened his safe deposit box and removed a small velvet bag. She stared in disbelief when he opened it and she saw what looked like diamonds inside. “Is that what I think it is?” she asked.

Franklin closed the bag and put it in a pocket, and led her back out of the bank, turning back into Travis Considine. “What do you think it is?”