"Good evening, miss," the doorman said when Rayne walked past the lobby of the hotel's main building a few minutes before eight. Festive torches lit up the entrance and lined both sides of the long driveway. Couples were arriving and departing in a steady stream, some dressed for dinner at the hotel, others wearing shorts and heading for more casual island nightspots. "May I get you a ride?"
"No, thank you." Rayne looked down the line of waiting, glimmering expensive vehicles. Most were black limos ready and waiting for any guests who'd be going out, she noticed idly; then she remembered reading an article written by Mia when they were in school that wealthy men with bad intentions preferred to ride Audi A8s and BMWs.
