CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

“IT’S BEAUTIFUL,” Whitney said. “Even more spectacular than I expected.”

“Why not? The homes around here start at a cool mil.”

They were sitting in the Frio-Frio-cool, cool-bar at Corona del Mar. They’d checked into their hotel in Cancún, changed clothes and had driven out here in their rented Mazda.

It was so humid, the short skirt on Whitney’s sundress was plastered to her legs by the time she walked from the air-conditioned hotel to the car. Mexico’s beaches were popular tourist destinations in the winter, but by this time of year, the temperature skyrocketed and visitors tapered off. Their hotel was only half-full, as was the bar at this expensive development.

“This seems too…too sophisticated for Miranda,” she told Adam.

“That doesn’t mean she isn’t working here. Tips must be great. Better than in Cancún. If she visited here last December, she could have lined up a job.”

“Possibly. Should I ask our waitress?”

A woman wearing a wraparound skirt in the coral and azure tropical pattern of the resort was heading their way with double margaritas. Whitney had brought photographs of Miranda that she’d doctored on the computer at Speedy Press yesterday morning. It was the shot taken of Miranda on the beach last December. One picture showed her as a blonde while Whitney had altered the other to make her cousin have black hair.

“Give it a try. Use the blond photo first.”

The waitress put down their drinks with a smile, and Whitney said, “I think my sister visited here.” She showed the woman the photograph. “Does she look familiar?”

“Fam-lar?”

Whitney realized the waitress spoke some English but not enough to understand the question. “Do…you…know…her?” she said with deliberate slowness.

The waitress squinted at the photograph, then shook her head. Whitney was ready and whipped out the second photograph. “See…her?”

The woman’s dark eyes studied the second photograph. “No se.”

The waitress left the table, and Adam said, “Miranda might not come in here. We can’t expect to find her at the first place we try.”

“True.” She hated to think this was a wild-goose chase, but it was a definite possibility. After the terrifying incident last night, it had seemed imperative that they find Miranda as soon as possible.

Whitney was still a little disturbed from the shock of the incident, and numbness had replaced the lingering questions. She couldn’t decide if someone had mistaken her for Miranda-which meant they’d followed her from home-or if it had merely been a dangerous prank. She refused to dwell on it. If she did, a wave of fear broke over her.

They sipped the slushy margaritas and gazed out at the sea. The sun had slipped into the ocean, leaving shimmering streamers of crimson and gold on the water. It was a very romantic setting, she decided.

If the stress of the situation hadn’t been so intense, she could have appreciated it. She really needed things to calm down so she could evaluate her true feelings for Adam. There was no denying he was a great guy. Last night and after the fire, he’d been the one to comfort her.

Despite cautioning herself to take this slow so she’d have the time and space to truly get over Ryan and his betrayal, events hadn’t permitted Whitney that luxury. She’d been pressed into an intimate relationship. There was the obvious attraction factor, but if what seemed to be developing between herself and Adam was merely chemistry, she might have dealt with it more easily. What she was feeling went deeper, meant more.

Over Adam’s shoulder she noticed their waitress was talking to the bartender. They kept looking in Whitney’s direction. The young bartender came out from behind the bamboo bar and headed toward their table.

Whitney kept her voice low. “Looks like our waitress told the bartender we’re searching for someone.”

“Buenas noches,” said the dark-haired man as he came up to their table.

They told him good-evening in Spanish, then complimented him on the excellent margaritas.

“Cuervo Gold,” he replied, and Whitney decided he meant the expensive tequila gave the margaritas their smooth yet distinctive flavor.

“Looking for someone?” the man asked.

“Mi hermana,” Whitney told him. My sister. It was a fib but it sounded better if Miranda was her sister.

The bartender pulled out a chair and sat down. Whitney tried to catch Adam’s eye, but he was studying the younger man.

“You don’t have to practice your tourist Spanish on me,” he told them. “I’m Cuban. From Miami. My English is perfect. I just work here during the season. It’s back to the States next week.”

Whitney smiled and wondered how much to tell this guy. After the incident with the car and the fire, she wasn’t in a very trusting mood these days. On the fly, she came up with a story.

“My mother is very ill.” She leaned closer to the bartender as if divulging a secret. “Cancer. She and my sister haven’t…”

Adam got the drift. “They haven’t spoken in almost three years. We think she’s down here but we don’t know where.”

“We’d like to find her and bring her home before it’s too late.” Whitney managed to add a touch of tears to her voice. She handed him the photo of the blond Miranda.

The bartender shrugged. “She looks like a lot of blondes whose parents have places here.” He gazed at Whitney for a moment. “I can see you’re sisters.”

Whitney tried for a smile and pulled out the second photograph with dark hair. “She may have dyed her hair.”

His eyes shifted from the photograph to Whitney. “I don’t recognize her, but not everyone comes into the bar.” He stood up. “Sorry I couldn’t help.”

They thanked him and the bartender hustled back to his station to serve a couple who’d just arrived. Whitney took another sip of her drink.

“What’s our next move?”

“Tonight, I think we should check the shops nearby on the off chance someone will recognize her. Then let’s get dinner and hit the sack early. Tomorrow we should come out here and speak to the sales office. They’ll have records of people who visited the resort to consider a purchase, and they may recognize Miranda.”

They chatted about Lyleen Foster, the pet concierge Whitney had asked to take care of her clients while she came here. Daniel had highly recommended the woman, but Whitney didn’t like giving her charges to someone she’d just met. She supposed they would be fine for a few days, but Lexi had taken off once already.

“I hope Lexi doesn’t try to run away again,” she told Adam.

“I’m sure she won’t.”

“I wish I felt as positive as you sound.”

“Look, I should-”

The bartender walked up and interrupted Adam. “You know, I’ve been thinking. This might be nothing, but…”

“But what?” Adam asked.

“Let me see the picture again. The one of the chick with black hair.”

Whitney produced the photograph and told herself not to get her hopes up.

The bartender squinted at the picture, then said, “She looks a little like Courtney Hampton but it’s hard to tell. Courtney’s hair is red and really short.”

Yes! Whitney silently screamed. Miranda’s hair was a sandy blond. It would be easier to conceal her roots if she kept it in one of the short, sassy cuts that were so popular.

“Courtney lives at the far end of the road. She and her husband came here last Christmas to look over the place. They purchased a villa not too long ago.”

Disappointment knotted inside her. It couldn’t be Miranda. She wouldn’t be with a husband.

“Her husband died. A sudden heart attack.” The bartender shook his head. “Not surprising. The dude was a lot older than Courtney.”

WHITNEY STOOD BESIDE ADAM at the door of the villa owned by the widow Courtney Hampton. It was located at the end of a cul-de-sac on a secluded cove. Apparently, the other owners had left for the season. The only lights in the area were on at this house.