Isabelle turns the rental car into the entrance of the underground parkade. “Wow, this place looks as nice as it did on the website.”
The large white building resembles a Mediterranean villa surrounded by palm trees, with red stone-tiled roofs, large archways, and iron balcony railings. The beach property is a considerable step up from where the guys and I stayed during our last mission.
We park the car, and I remove our suitcase from the trunk. With one arm in a sling, the action is awkward at best.
“I’ve got that.” Isabelle grabs the handle from me. I don’t bother to argue. I already know I won’t win if I try.
My first thought when we step into the resort lobby is that we’ve walked into a honeymoon convention. I’ve never seen so many couples in one place, at the same time, who are obviously in love.
“This is going to be a lot harder than I originally thought,” Isabelle says, voicing my opinion that she’s not privy to.
I reach for her hand, and we walk to the reception desk. Her skin is warm and soft, and an unexpected heat stirs deep down at her touch.
I’m not much of a hand-holder. The last time I held a woman’s hand, it was my ex-fiancée’s, and look how that turned out. But for some strange reason, this feels different from when I held Suzanna’s.
Isabelle’s grip is strong, determined. Suzanna’s was delicate, wishy-washy.
As we approach the front desk, the receptionist gestures for us to join her. She’s a tall, curvy redhead. Pretty. Green eyes that are slightly wider than average. Her frizzy hair is pulled back in a bun.
No, I’m not sizing her up as a potential date. It’s a game I play whether I’m working or not. It helps keep my observation skills sharp. You list several things that appeal to you about the person and several things that don’t. It enables you to remember the person later, especially when you need to describe them to your colleagues or the police.
She’s wearing a Hawaiian dress with red flowers, and her name tag says, “Rachel.”
“Hi. We’re checking in,” I tell her, my arm around Isabelle’s waist. “Jayden and Isabelle Moorehead.”
She taps away at her keyboard. “Yes, we have you in a room overlooking the ocean. We also have you signed up for the group activity at three p.m. in the Marina Room.”
“Group activity?”
“Yes, it’s part of your package. It’s very popular and is a great way to keep that spark between the two of you for many years to come. Gabrielle is looking forward to working with you. She’s one of our best counselors.”
“What kind of activities?” Isabelle never mentioned anything about this to me.
Although from the confused expression on her face, I’m guessing this is news to her, too.
“You’ll be in a group with seven other couples, and you’ll need to wear your swimsuits,” Rachel explains. “Don’t worry, you’ll love it. I’ve never had anyone complain about the activities or homework assignments.”
“Assignments?” Isabelle echoes.
“That’s right. To get the most from the sessions, your counselor will assign you nightly homework. I guarantee you’ll enjoy the assignments.”
Says every high school teacher ever.
“Because you’re only here for a week, you won’t experience the full benefit that guests who stay for two or three weeks appreciate, but it’s a good start.”
She explains a few more things about the resort and the amenities and hands us our key cards and an envelope with Isabelle’s and my names on it. I don’t recognize the handwriting. “This was left at the front desk for you.”
“Did you know anything about the group activity stuff?” I ask Isabelle as we walk to the elevator.
“Not really. I saw something about group activities but didn’t pay attention to it. I figured it was a regular resort, where you lie on the beach and drink fancy tropical drinks.”
“So you had no idea about the homework assignments?”
“Definitely not. I mean, what resort assigns homework to their guests? But I figure it’s not going to be anything like writing an essay, so we don’t have to put much effort into it. Maybe we can even skip the group activity. I’m sure it’s not mandatory.”
I glance around. “We’ll talk about this in our room.” My voice is low, tone full of meaning. Wewillbe talking about this, but not at the risk of blowing our covers because someone overheard us in the lobby.
At the elevators, I push the up button. A few other couples join us while we wait for the elevator.
