Skimming the Surface: A Lantana Beach sweet read

By Macie Collins

When shop owner Savannah Montgomery goes for her morning beach run, she never imagines that it will lead to pulling a distressed swimmer from the Florida surf. She uses her lifeguard training to rescue one of the most attractive men Savannah has ever seen, but she swore off love after her cheating husband tried to take everything in the divorce. Besides, these days she's hustling to get and keep what's hers, all while working to block the destruction of local marshland by a greedy developer. Who has time for romance?

Sports talent scout Tyson Carafello hopes to make enough money signing young athletic stars to lucrative contracts with the hopes of saving his parents' home from foreclosure. When he takes a relaxing walk along Lantana Beach's shore during one of his scouting trips, he doesn't realize the ocean's danger and is quickly swept away by the volatile waves. His savior—a beautiful, feisty brunette—leaves in such a hurry that he doesn't have time to thank her. Now he's on a second mission—to find the angel who saved his life. But in his search, a new danger is exposed. One that will test his character and, ultimately, the budding relationship he hopes to build with his southern Siren.  Will he be able to protect all that's at stake?

As the couple's feelings for each other grow, a tempest of a different kind is brewing. Trapped by an advancing storm and deadly henchmen, both Savannah and Ty must overcome their insecurities and wounds left by past betrayals to learn to trust one another with their hearts, and their lives.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Diesel Daisy Press
• Release date: Mar 11, 2019
• ISBN: 9781386682837

Book preview

Chapter 2

The ambulance pulled away and Ty Carafello still sat on the picnic table beside Potter's Point parking lot. He'd been checked out and deemed healthy enough to not need further medical attention. The couple that called 911 had stayed with him the whole time, offering information to him or the EMTs as needed. The one piece they couldn't provide was the name of the angel who had rescued him. No one could even tell him in which direction she went.

She's a local though, right? Ty asked, returning the towel to Mr. Bailey.

I don't know, son, Mr. Bailey said, looking at his wife. Did you recognize her, Deb?

Mrs. Bailey shook her head glancing around the parking lot. Though this is a small town, we don't know everybody here unless we're neighbors. But the way she knew where that life buoy was on the guard stand made me think she's from around here.

Mr. Bailey nodded. And she swam right out to you like she'd done it before. Makes me think she may have guarded here abouts. He looked at his wife for confirmation and Ty smiled. His parents were the same way. They acted like they needed each other's validation before answering, like they were of the same mind.

Well, thanks for all your help. Ty rose from the table, extending a hand to Mr. Bailey. The older man looked up at Ty, his line of sight barely grazing Ty's shoulder.

Not a problem. Mrs. Bailey smiled at the younger man. You be careful from now on. These rip currents around here will pull you under quicker than you can blink. And a big man like yourself may not be so easy to rescue next time.

Don't worry. There won't be a next time.  Ty waved to the couple, thanking them again, and went to his car. To his relief, he'd left his gym bag in the trunk and had a change of clothes. After a quick trip to the bathroom, he hopped in his car and drove back to his hotel.

The Hyatt on 1st Street in downtown Lantana Beach was a nice enough hotel. Ty would have preferred to stay at the Ritz on King George Island, but the Cincinnati Bengals' management was funding the trip. He had to stay where they dictated or pay the difference himself. In his financial situation he couldn't afford any extra expenses right now.

Ty showered and dressed in Dockers and a pullover Polo, then took the elevator down four floors to the lobby. It was empty, being in the middle of the week, and soft music played from unseen speakers. When he approached the front desk, the clerk looked up from her computer screen.

How can I help you, sir? She smiled at him, and Ty watched as her eyes darted from his face to his chest and back up. Many women were impressed by his muscles. And his exotic features. He could thank his Latina-African American mother and Italian father for that.

Where's a good place to eat around here? He slid a tourist map of the area in front of him and turned it to face the clerk. I'm from Cincinnati and I'm craving a good Reuben sandwich.

Well, our Reubens probably can't compare, but you can try The Corner Grill at the other end of Center Street. It has all kinds of sandwiches, but it's really known for the Blowout - bologna, egg, and tomato on sour dough. If they don't have a Reuben, definitely try the Blowout.

Ty smiled and thanked the woman before grabbing the map with the route highlighted. Guessing the distance between the hotel and the restaurant, he decided to walk the six blocks.

Outside the hotel lobby, he headed north then hooked a right on the main road running through Lantana Beach. Little shops lined each side of Center Street. As he strolled along enjoying the slow pace and warm weather, he glanced through the shop windows. Many were tourist snares with innumerable displays of shark's teeth necklaces and seashells by the pound. Tee shirts hung on racks outside doorways and bottles of sunscreen, flip-flops, and beach towels lined window displays.

He stopped outside one shop with a shallow koi pond built into its front ledge. A red and gray coin-operated food dispenser stood underneath an elaborately dressed pirate statue. Ty slid a quarter in the slot and was rewarded with small beige pellets of fish food. Tossing a few in, he smiled as the foot-long koi fought to gulp down the bobbing boluses.

As he dropped the rest of the food in the dank water, the eerie feeling of claustrophobia crept up the backs of his arms. He glanced at his reflection in the shop window. Two men and a woman, dressed in business suits, stood behind him. Each wore black, nondescript sunglasses that hid their eyes. Each clasped their hands in front of them at the waist. Ty moved to continue his walk, unable to shake the weird feeling.

Excuse me, he said, trying to slide past the man on his left. Gray hair topped the man's ruddy forehead and the stuttered furrows that stretched beyond the outer corners of his shades indicated he was at least a decade older than the other two. The man didn't move but instead leaned closer to Ty.

Mr. Carafello, can I have a word with you? He pulled a wallet from the depths of his blazer and flashed a golden badge and ID at Ty. I'm Agent Marrero with the FBI.

Ty glanced at the three of them, then at tourists passing by who seemed oblivious to his predicament. What about? Am I in some kind of trouble? He didn't budge from the koi pond even though the agent indicated an adjacent brick-lined pathway shaded by great oaks interspersed with shorter ornamental trees.

Please, sir. Come this way so we can talk in private. Stepping into the quiet side-street, the elder agent sat at a pine planked bench recessed under the outstretched arms of a crepe myrtle. The thick foliage and abundant purple and white flowers, along with the two-story red brick building, shaded the seat against the late morning sun. Ty followed the man away from Center Street. The other two agents stood a few feet away steadily surveying the surroundings.

Ty eyed them as he lowered himself to the edge of the bench. Resting his hand on his knee, he worked to tamp down the sense of apprehension that was creeping into his chest. So what's this all about?

Mr. Carafello, do you know a Maksim Kuznet? The agent turned slightly on the bench to face Ty.

Ty thought for a moment, remembering what his contact with AmTec had told him. If anyone asks anything, you deny. Or else. Then the thug had flashed a picture of his parents outside their Ft. Myers home. Ty let out a breath and finally answered. No, not that I can recall. Why?

How about Axel Briggs or Mason Tierney? Marrero studied him as he waited for Ty to answer.

Briggs? No. But Mason Tierney is a business partner of mine. We're working together on a land development deal. Why?

An investment with the Ryder Reed firm?

The apprehension in his chest was fading and was replaced with annoyance. Ty sat up straighter. Look, Agent...Marrero. You're not answering my questions, only asking me more. Now I told you how I know Mason, so why don't you tell me what this all about now. Otherwise, I've got business to attend to. He moved to rise from the bench, but the other two agents turned to face him, stepping closer to the seated pair.

He shot a look at Marrero who waved the other two back and indicated the seat again. Mr. Carafello, Mason Tierney is being investigated for investment fraud and possible money laundering. That's all I can divulge. Now, if you know something more about his financial dealings that might help us, then I'm sure we could work something out about your involvement. Otherwise... The agent let his statement trail off and Ty's stomach flipped again.

His parents losing their house, his deal-making phone calls with Tierney to get inside Ryder Reed, the money he'd already put up in hopes of earning all his parents’ money back flashed through his mind. He'd approached Tierney to be a backer for a development of condos. The deal was legit. He'd researched the group on-line, checked past investment track records, even called the local Better Business Bureau. Ryder Reed had an A rating. But Marrero was now telling him that Mason Tierney was running a scam. Had he and his parents been duped? No, that was impossible.

Mr. Carafello. Tyson. Marrero's voice brought him back to the present dire conversation. Help us bring Tierney and his colleagues down.

Ty swallowed. Turning his head, he caught sight of carefree families window shopping, enjoying ice cream on this warm spring morning. No worries whatsoever. How did he get caught in something like this? He looked back at the agent. I'm sorry, Agent Marrero, but I've done my due diligence. Ryder Reed is a respectable firm with an A rating with the BBB. I have a lot invested already, both financially and emotionally. I don't have anything to give you. It's just not there.

Marrero rose and Ty followed. I know you want to believe that, the agent said, but Tierney is going down. Whether you go with him is up to you. Here's my card, just in case. The elder man handed Ty the card. We'll be in touch. Then he nodded to the other two agents and the trio rounded the building's corner, out of sight.

Ty stood there in the shade of the ornamental trees, bees droning above his head, and tried to unknot the snarl of nerves in his gut. There was no way he was caught up in some kind of fraudulent financial scheme. He'd made sure. Inhaling deeply then exhaling his frustrations, he pocketed the card and exited the alley.

Hurrying along and glancing over his shoulder numerous times, Ty passed two ice cream shops, three jewelry stores and a bar before an elaborate window dressing caught his eye. It was a work of art—a beach scene, complete with a sandbox and a weather-worn wooden wall. Three two-foot tall sculptures—stained glass sun-catchers of various ocean themes—were assembled in a staggered row. On the wall behind it hung an iron diorama of a coral reef with colorful fish swimming between the reef stems. His stomach grumbled, but he found himself pushing the door open.

Hey. Welcome to Savannah's Cabana. A cute blond with a strong drawl rested her elbows on the counter and smiled at Ty. Anything special you're looking for?

Not really. Your window just caught my eye. Ty waved at the display. You Savannah?

The woman gave a little laugh and shook her wheat colored tresses. No, she's my cousin. I'm Darcy. She held out her hand and Ty took it. I help out here every once in a while, when she needs me. She held his gaze and slid her hand from his. That window piece is by a local artist. That's what we sell here—local art with a Southern beach theme. Are you from nearby?

Me? No. I'm from Cincinnati, Ty said. The woman's brow crinkled, and her lip rose in a half-smile, half-pucker. Ohio? He added, which only increased Darcy's furrow. It's way up north. Almost to Canada.

Her face softened as her plump lips stretched back into a grin. Oh, well, whatcha doing way down here? Business or pleasure?

A little of both. He glanced around the small shop, feeling the immensity of his own height and build in such a dainty room. Everything that surrounded him looked like it would break if he brushed against it. The stoutest looking pieces were the metal yard art—fish standing on their tails with water spurting from their mouths, sea turtles leaned against a wall. His stomach rumbled again, reminding him of his mission, and he turned back to Darcy.

It was nice to meet you Darcy, he said. I might stop back by before I leave town to get something for my mom. Mother's Day is coming up, right?

Yeah. In a couple for weeks. Darcy clasped her hands in front of her. Drop in again... Her voice trailed off in a question.

Oh, it's Ty, he said, realizing that he hadn't told her his name. Usually, pretty women had him clamoring to get their names and numbers, but since that morning, when he'd been dragged from the surf by an absolute sea siren, Ty couldn't think straight. He dug in his pocket and pulled out a business card. Ty Carafello. I'm staying at the riverfront Hyatt.

Nice digs. She took the card, read his name and title. A talent scout, huh? Maybe I could... Before Darcy could finish her statement, a group of women pushed through the doors laughing. She smiled at them and said, I'll be right with y'all.

Go ahead, Ty said. I'm getting kind of hungry. That's where I was headed...

Isn't this adorable! One of the women said as she picked up a small metal relief of a patch of sea oats with a marsh bird perched on a stem leaning into a nest. A pair of tiny metal chicks stretched their necks toward the mother bird.

Ty stepped aside for her to get closer to the item and was soon hustled to the back of the gaggle by the other women oohing and aahing over the piece. He didn't try to speak to Darcy. He didn't really want to suggest they meet up later, even though he'd seen it in her face. He slipped out the door and continued his cautious trek to the end of Center Street.

Chapter 3

The back door slammed, and Savannah rounded the corner of the shop with a brown paper sack of food and a six pack of soda. The shop's front door bell rang with the exit of a few customers, and the room got quiet.

Was it busy? She asked as she set the bag on a narrow table behind the counter. Lifting out a foil-wrapped burger and a box of fries, she swallowed as her mouth involuntarily watered at the aroma.

Darcy peeled back the foil housing her bacon and jalapeno cheeseburger. A group of older women just left. Bought a couple of the big pieces and lots of doodads for their grandkids. She took a bite of the sandwich and rolled her eyes. Sam sure knows how to make 'em.

Savannah crinkled her nose at the pungent smell of the peppers. She unwrapped her own bacon double cheeseburger. It was rare to get a break at lunchtime, so the women scarfed their food before another mini-rush hit.

Oh, I forgot to tell you, Darcy said between bites, while you were out, this gorgeous guy came in looking for a Mother's Day gift. Said he'd be back later.

So?

Well, I may be taken, but you certainly aren't. You've been separated from Trey for nearly six months and you haven't been on a real date yet.

First of all, my divorce isn't final yet thanks to that cheating jerk. Secondly, just because I don't go bar hopping looking for hook-ups doesn't mean I haven't been on a date.

Darcy stopped eating and stared at her cousin, a perfectly manicured eyebrow arched over her hazel eyes.

Savannah's lips drew into a thin line. Darcy knew she hadn't been out with anyone significant. Their mothers talked on a daily basis and each knew the other's business inside and out. It made sense that Aunt Hilly would share Savannah's three failed dates at the family dinner table and Darcy would tuck the knowledge away for later use.

Fine, you win, Savannah groused. Still, it's immoral since Trey and l are still married—

Married on paper only, Darcy corrected her.

And I don't see why this man coming back to my shop is important.

He's gorgeous—dark hair, broad shoulders, a tribal tattoo on his bicep. I think he's Puerto Rican or something. Kind of reminds me of Dwayne Johnson, but with hair. Darcy's smile stretched broader as she talked. And I didn't see a wedding ring.

Like that would stop him... Savannah bit her lip to quell the bitter words that tipped the edge of her tongue. Her soon-to-be ex-husband was to blame for that also.

Anyhow, you're here every day your shop's open, so the odds of you seeing him when he comes back are guaranteed. Plus... Darcy picked the business card up and held it daintily between her thumb and forefinger. He left his card.

So, he's not a local? Savannah frowned at the weird flutter in her stomach. Did I really just get disappointed about him being a tourist? She shook her head and tossed her wrappers in the trash can.

Does it matter? Darcy leaned the card on the cash register's electronic display. He's staying at the Hyatt Riverfront and he'll be here the rest of the week. When he comes back, you should talk to him.

Savannah turned and picked up the card.

Tyson Carafello

Talent Agent

Cincinnati Bengals

Ugh! And he's a Yankee, too? Savannah looked up at her cousin. No thanks. She dropped the card in the trash with her empty soda cup.

"You better watch it, Annah. Your bi-as is showing."

The bell rang and a rush of people came in. She didn't have time to think about anything after that.

The rest of the afternoon was fairly steady, with tourists and regulars alike coming in for souvenirs or to pick up pre-ordered artwork. By late afternoon, Savannah had convinced Darcy to head home early and talk to Rhett.

So, you're going to go try to talk to him, right? Savannah refolded the few misplaced shirts she'd gathered throughout the day. Her dark eyes watched her cousin as the younger woman fidgeted with a discarded twist tie.

What if he wants me to stay away from the Saloon?

Which is more important to you—partying or Rhett?

Darcy tossed the tie in the garbage and sighed. You know he's important to me. I just don't want to become one of those women who does everything her boyfriend tells her to.

Rhett's not like that. He just doesn't want you flirting with other guys. Especially if you two are exclusive and serious.

I don't flirt—

Savannah's hard stare dried up any protest Darcy was preparing.

Well, I don't mean for it to seem like that.

"Then be more mindful of how you act and what you say. If you don't want Rhett jealous