PROLOGUE
“Death is so terribly final, while life is full of possibilities.”
—George R. R. Martin, A Game of Thrones
DIANA HARDEN HAD A plan, and the plan was good.
This little hiccup in her plan was merely an annoyance, not a roadblock. Sending her on a wild goose chase to St. John was childish and petty.
Ethan Valentine would pay dearly for wasting her time.
It was near dark when the water taxi returned her to St. Claire. The driver was barely more than a kid, but Diana paid him well. She’d had enough of this cloak-and-dagger bullshit, so she had the kid take her straight to Valentine’s private dock in a sheltered cove on the southwest side of the island.
“Remember,” she said, putting her fingers to her lips in the universal be quiet sign. She didn’t want Ethan to know she’d figured out his ridiculous game.
The driver nodded and grinned, and she waved him off.
Ground lights lined the wood stairs from the dock to Ethan’s house built on top of the cliff. The height dizzied her as she trudged up. The cool ocean breeze chilled her through the sheer scarf that she’d wrapped around her shoulders.
Ethan would pay first, and then she would tell him where she’d hidden the files. When she went out of her way to help someone, to give them information that would put them on top of the world, and they treated her like dog shit on their shoe? No way would she tolerate such disrespect.
The man had to be half-crazy to live like a hermit in the middle of the Caribbean. All because he’d lost in a business deal? Coming here to lick his wounds and feel sorry for himself? He should be thrilled that she had proof he’d been cheated. Instead, he’d shunned her.
If someone had told Diana ten years ago that she’d fallen head over heels for a gold-digging con artist, she would have been grateful. Sad, angry, sure—who wouldn’t be? But she would never have lost everything over it. Ethan Valentine should have been thanking her for the information that she had been willing to give to him practically for free yesterday.
Now the jerk would pay top dollar.
Diana stopped to catch her breath when she reached the top of the stairs. The view was breathtaking—the sun sinking into the ocean to her right, and the distant lights of St. John to her left. Almost as if on cue with the falling sun, several soft white LED lights flickered on, showcasing the house and garden, but darkening the jungle beyond.
Though the house was lit, she couldn’t see through the privacy screens. She adjusted the oversized bag on her shoulder, then approached the frosted glass door and rang the bell twice. The chime sounded like a bird call. When no one immediately came, she rang again. And again. Nothing. She tried the door; locked.
Frustrated and angry after her crappy wasted day on St. John, she walked around the deck. The downstairs was almost completely enclosed by glass doors. She was looking for a way inside when a voice, heavy with an accent that sounded not quite Mexican, said, “Are you looking for something?”
Diana stumbled and knocked over a chair. “Who are you?” she demanded.
Squinting, she barely made out an old man reclining on a chaise lounge on the far corner of the deck. He had brown skin and a white beard so long and thick she could barely see his face. She’d seen him at the resort, an annoying busybody. What was he doing at Ethan’s house? How long had he been watching her?
“¿Quién crees que soy? ¿No has sentido curiosidad?”
She didn’t understand Spanish.
“No one is home,” the old man said, in English this time. “Do you need help finding your way back to the resort?”
“This is Ethan Valentine’s house,” Diana said. “He said he would be here.”
“He did? Odd.”
Who was this strange man?
“When will Ethan be back? It’s important.”
”Volverá cuando vuelva. Perhaps you’d like to wait?” the man said. “It might be a day or two before he’ll come by. Or a week. A month?” He lifted his hands in the air and shrugged.
Where the hell was Ethan? At the resort? Oh, that would be just her luck.
Irritated, she said, “I’ll find him myself.”
“Very well.” The man leaned back into the chair and closed his eyes.
With an infuriated sigh, Diana traipsed along the gravel road that led to the main lodge, wishing she’d asked the kid with the water taxi to wait.
She didn’t relish the two-mile hike to the resort, especially going over this mountain. Her flip-flops crunched on the gravel. She had wasted far too much time because of Ethan Valentine. He wanted to play games? Oh, she would play. And Diana was much better at it than he was. Her price had gone up tenfold.
The narrow road was poorly lit with sporadic ground lights. She didn’t have a flashlight and her cell phone was dead, so she stayed in the middle of the path, knowing that there were sheer drops all over the place. Diana had never considered herself squeamish or afraid of the dark, but she couldn’t even see the stars because of the thick canopy of bushy leaves hanging over the road.
Rodents ran from the trees right in front of her, then scurried down the cliff. She forced herself to breathe evenly. There were no dangerous animals on the island. The rustling leaves? Probably gophers or rabbits. She started talking out loud to herself, feeling silly, but hearing her own voice calmed her fears.
She stumbled and caught herself with a vine that was hanging from one of the trees, cursing Ethan. He thought a hundred thousand was too much? How about a million, Ethan? Pay up or she’d out him. Tell everyone what he had really been doing since disappearing from the United States. She’d start with the Wall Street Journal and Variety. Then maybe Forbes or The Economist. Hell, the New York Times might be interested in the scoop. See how Ethan liked the publicity. His ridiculous behavior certainly wouldn’t help Valentine Enterprises.
She stepped into a clearing on the top of the mountain. Packed, flat earth free of rocks and bushes and lined in bright lights.
Ethan’s helipad, though there was no chopper here now. That jerk. That asshole. Chalk this up to one of the many lies he’d told.
Maybe she wouldn’t sell him the documents at all. Maybe she’d sell them back to the man she’d stolen them from, and Ethan could continue to wallow in misery.
Angry but wholly determined to make these miserable men pay for the havoc they had wreaked in her life and the lives of those she cared about, she strode across the helipad.
The trees swayed in a sudden gust of wind, and a chill ran up her spine. She rubbed her arms and cursed.
Then the lights went out.
She froze in the sudden black. The jungle closed around her, and the trees groaned as if they knew something she didn’t. Rustling to the left, then to the right. “Who’s there?” she called out. “Show yourself, you prick!”
She heard the flapping of wings first. Then dozens of bats flew right at her. She screamed and dropped to the ground, her arms over her head, as the flurry of flying rodents rushed by. She could feel the air shift and change around her as they dipped so low she thought for a moment that she was prey.
Then the flapping faded into the distance, and Diana found herself huddled on the ground, filthy and sore.
“For shit’s sake, Diana!” she said out loud. “Get up.”
Determined not to let creatures of the night terrify her again, she stood, and her eyes readjusted to the dark. The lights flickered on, then went off again, but on the far side of the clearing, she spotted a wooden sign. She made her way there and came upon a forked path with two arrows. The path to the left was marked The Falls, and the path to the right went to St. Claire.
Finally! She hurried to the right, down the path toward the resort. All she could think about was stripping off her disgusting clothes and inspecting the cuts and bruises she felt all over her body.
Ten minutes later, faint music filtered up through the trees, and she thought about all her potential paydays—the conniving con artist with the super-rich, clueless boyfriend? Diana had had her pegged a mile away. Don’t try to con a con, she thought with a smile. Or maybe she’d focus on the security guy with the gambling habit? The cheater? The thief?
So many to choose from . . . and then she got an idea, as if a light bulb went bright above her head. She slowed and reached into her bag to glance through her notes, then realized she’d left the book in her room this morning. No worries. It wasn’t like she’d forget the most brilliant idea she’d had all week. After all, she was the heroine of this story—as strong and beautiful and smart as the treasure hunter in the novel she was reading. She laughed out loud. That’s what she was, a treasure hunter! Only she hunted secrets, not gold.
Secrets that turned into gold. She loved the imagery.
She picked up her pace, eager to get back to her cottage. Her feet hurt, her head pounded, and all she wanted was a large glass of wine and a long soak in the hot tub with her book.
The path wound around as she descended. Diana avoided the main lodge because she didn’t want to see anyone, especially when she looked like something the cat dragged in. Security lighting brightened the private patio of her cottage. She searched for her card key and as her hand grasped it at the bottom of her bag, she heard a voice behind her.
“Diana.”
She jumped, whirled around. Fear bubbled up in her chest until she saw who it was. Annoyed and tired, she said, “What do you want?”
“I’ve been waiting for you.”
“We’ll talk tomorrow. I’m beat.”
She turned her back on her uninvited guest and started to insert her card key, but before she could open the door, she was grabbed from behind.
“Wha—” She tried to speak, but her words were cut off. Her scarf tightened around her neck. She couldn’t talk. Then she couldn’t breathe.
Her vision blurred. Grabbing at the scarf, she scratched her neck. Her knees grew weak. Her vision faded.
Scream!
No sound escaped her throat. She heard nothing except for her own pounding heart, fear wrapping itself around her like a vise.
Then, darkness.
Excerpted from BEACH READS AND DEADLY DEEDS by Allison Brennan. Copyright © 2025 by Assemble Media. Published by MIRA, an imprint of HarperCollins.
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