Naida Georgiou lifted her bags and walked out to the deck of the ship she was on, slamming the door to her room behind her with her foot.
Setting them down next to a chair out in the sun with the calming sound of waves surrounding her, she relaxed out where the heat floated in muggy clouds around her head, pulling out her laptop out of her bookbag and sliding her sunglasses on as she did so.
"Okay, come on," Naida muttered as her computer whirred to life, a map of the island flicking to life on the screen. A small red dot could easily be seen, and the woman grinned to herself, all sharp edges and shark-teeth.
This was going to be so easy.
On the side, there was a list done in tiny print, monitoring a person's vitals. They were perfectly stable, and Naida couldn't help but want them to start to dip, climb, whatever, as long as the person she was tracking felt some measure of pain.
She couldn't believe that the Countess had hired her (the very best out there) to protect her pathetic daughter, Cecil. The girl was soft around the edges, wouldn't speak a lot to strangers, and loved her cats with alarming ferocity.
My, my, how the House of Lourdes has sunken, Naida mused. But after the entire ordeal with Florence Lourdes, I'm not surprised that this weak wisp of a girl warrants a bodyguard. Of course, I don't intend to protect the little idiot. Not after that stupid Countess took my dream away from me.
Lazily, she lay back, squinting her eyes against the bright sun. Say, she thought to herself, Murray's getting old. If the man croaks, Little Miss Prissy Pants might find herself in the middle of a crime scene.
Shaking her head, she banished the thoughts from her mind and lay back to ignore the red dot blinking on the screen in favour of soaking in the sun's rays, waiting to disembark and finally see the infamous Isola di Fiori Mortali.