said Dr. Fredrick Argyle, wiping away the last of the temporary blond dye that had covered his now wavy, brown hair. He dabbed at a few last streaks watching the slow, confident smile spread over his chiseled face. They would never put it together. He was going to sail out of St. Thomas, free as a bird, and move forward with the end game he’d so meticulously put together over the last three months. Too bad. He would have preferred the other contingency. Plan A would’ve been ideal. So this is the best law enforcement available? No wonder the country was going to hell in a handbasket. But then again, who was like him? He stretched to his full six-foot-four frame, ogled the mirror, and marveled at his physique. Gods had to look the part, too, and he certainly had accomplished that. There was no match mentally, and he could hold his own with anyone physically. God was a good word. After one last look, Argyle moved back to the bed, finished unpacking, and then moved to the balcony facing the harbor and Charlotte-Amalie.
