“Two months ago, at Robert’s house?” Santiago says. “How is Robert taking it?”
“We’ve never been romantically involved.” I sound defensive.
“If you say so,” Santiago smiles.
Hugh raises his brows at his husband in a shut up message.
“It’s okay,” I sigh. “You’re right, it’s such a mess.” I have an urge to lay my head on the table.
“Honey.” Hugh reaches out and covers my hand with his, offering me a warm, accepting smile. “I’m so happy for you. This is wonderful.”
“You sound like my mother.”
Hugh cocks his head. “Words I thought I’d never hear.” My mother and Hugh don’t get along—she refused to acknowledge his relationship with my brother, acted as if he didn’t deserve to mourn him, didn’t deserve to love him. A memory of her face, pinched with anger, telling me that James’s sins barred him from heaven flashes across my mind and exhaustion settles more firmly onto my shoulders.
“Sorry,” I say.
“I know she’s changed,” Hugh says. “I’m glad your mom is happy for you.”
“When are you due?” Santiago asks.
“I’m not sure.”
“Oh, we can figure it out.” Santiago pulls out his phone. “When did you and Mulberry…” He clears his throat and waggles his eyebrows.
“Personal much?” I joke. Santiago blows me a kiss, and I tell him.
“January twenty-first,” Santiago announces. My eyes jump to Hugh—he’s staring at me, too.
“What?”
“That’s James’s birthday,” Hugh answers, keeping his eyes on me.
“That’s…weird,” I say. “Right, that’s just bizarre. Am I crazy?”
“Oh for sure you’re nuts,” Santiago says with a laugh. “But you’re right, that is strange.” My hand covers my stomach. “Have you read Many Lives, Many Masters?” I shake my head. “It’s wild, all about past lives. How we travel in soul pods. Maybe James is coming back.”
I cringe at the words. There is no coming back.
The alarm on their oven dings, and Santiago jumps up, pulling two trays of food from the oven. The scent of lemon chicken reaches me, and my stomach growls. “Someone’s still hungry,” Santiago says as he pulls another two trays from their second oven.
“Why do you have so much food?” I ask.
“We are taking it over to a local shelter. So many people lost their homes. The least we can do is feed them.”
“That’s so nice of you.”
Hugh shakes it off. “It was all food from the restaurant. What should we do? Let it sit in our freezer when there are hungry people who’ve lost everything?”
“Let me help you.” I push back my chair to stand. I’m suddenly wobbly on my feet, and Hugh notices immediately.
“You need to rest,” he decrees. “Take a nap. You’re pregnant.”
Santiago spoons a few pieces of chicken onto a plate and leaves it on the counter. “Eat that before or after your rest. Preggers’s choice,” he says with a grin.
“I’m fine.” They both ignore me. “Really,” I press. Blue comes out from under the table and looks at me like he agrees with Hugh and Santiago. Traitor.
“You know where the guest room is.” Santiago finishes packing up the food and carries it toward the door.
“We’ll see you in a bit.” Hugh stops to kiss my forehead and ruffle Blue’s ears, before following his husband out.
Bastards.
The guest room windows are open, and I drift to sleep on a soft breeze. When I wake the sun is below the horizon and the sky a deep blue. I reach for my new phone and discover that it’s almost nine.
I only have one number memorized and I dial it, sitting on the edge of the bed while I listen to it ring. Robert doesn’t pick up. That’s not like him. Not like him at all.
He’s acting very strange.
Blue follows me out to the kitchen. I write a quick note to Hugh and Santiago while eating the plate of food they left me. I give Blue some kibble and then head out to my SUV.
Getting back to Star Island takes an hour, and the sky is dark by the time I get there. Stars twinkle above—clearer than I’ve ever seen them in the city. With so much of the metropolis without power, the night sky shines down on the ruins.
A guard I recognize sits in a chair at the entrance to Star Island—a shotgun across his lap. He stands when my headlights hit him. “Harry,” I say, rolling down my window.
“Sydney,” he says with a smile. “What are you doing here so late?”
“Forgot something when I was here earlier.”
He shakes his head, gesturing to the destruction around us. “So sad.”
“It is. How is your family?”
His lips firm. “We survived. And will rebuild.”
“Good to hear, Harry.”
“José is still there.” Harry points with his chin onto the island.
“Great, I look forward to seeing him. Robert left, though?”
“Right when I came on shift.”
I ignore the disappointment that tries to weigh me down. My tires bump over debris as I pull up to Robert’s house. The garden is totally denuded, exposing the single-story building.
I pick my way through the wreckage and go in the open front door. Blue taps my hip as we enter. Something is off.
I turn on my flashlight and rake the beam over the entryway—soggy bits and pieces of Robert’s house, and those of his neighbors, lay in drifts.
“Hello!” I call out.
A mumbled reply comes from the living room. I move cautiously toward the sound, my body tense. Blue trots ahead of me and gives a loud bark.
José, bound and gagged lies on the ground—his feet and hands held by zip ties and attached to each other with a third. He squints against the flashlight beam when it hits his face.
Blue gets to him first.
I pull the knife from my ankle holster and approach slowly, keeping my senses alert. But from Blue’s reaction, I’m assured we are alone.
I cut the zip tie connecting José’s wrists and ankles, and he groans through his gag as his legs flop to the ground. I release his hands and then his feet. José sits up and works on the duct tape covering his lips.
His eyes are wide with fear, and he is pulling at the tape with desperation. That’s when I notice the package taped to his chest—a clear plastic bag with a piece of paper in it.
José follows my gaze and pulls it free, holding it out to me. When I take it, he starts on the duct tape again.
Printed in black ink, the note reads: José will die in twenty four hours if you can’t get him the antidote. Come to the refugee center at sunrise if you want him to survive.
“Did they leave this for Robert?” I ask.
José shrugs, taking the paper from me. His face pales, and his eyes roll. I catch him as he tips to the side. José tries to take in a deep breath, the tape suctioning to his open mouth. “Breath through your nose,” I remind him. “Put your head between your knees.” I help him get his head down.
A puncture wound on the side of his neck catches my attention.
I rub José’s back. “Stay here,” I say. “I’ve got to get something from my car.” José nods but does not lift his head. “Blue, stay with him.”
I go back to the SUV and get the jar of coconut oil I use as a moisturizer out of my bag. José is sitting where I left him when I come back, his breath even. “Oil helps with the tape,” I tell him.
I work the oil on the edge of tape where it binds to his skin and pull slowly, applying more oil as I go. It takes almost twenty minutes to free his lips, and the tape leaves a red swath of irritated skin in its wake.
“Water.” José’s voice comes out cracked and dry.
“Hold on, I have some in the car.”
Leaving Blue with José again, I get a gallon of water from the trunk. He drinks deeply and winces when he wipes a sleeve over his wet lips.
“It will hurt for a
while,” I say.
“What does that note mean?” he asks.
“You know more than me. What happened?”
“I’m not sure.” José takes another sip of water. “I met Mr. Maxim here. We were going over what was lost and discussing the rebuild. He left me here, and the last thing I remember is writing a note about…” José looks around and, spotting a leather notebook, grabs it and pulls it close. “The gun safe.”
“What about it?”
“It is still in place,” José says, looking at his notes. “But the flood water damaged it, so Mr. Maxim wanted us to order another.” He glances at me.
“Was there anything in it?”
José shrugs. “I don’t thinks so. Mr. Maxim didn’t open it. I just was putting down the dimensions.”
“I’ll check the safe.” Standing, I head toward Robert’s bedroom—the wall of glass is gone, opening the room to the elements. The four-poster bed is in pieces and scattered around the room. I can’t see the floor for all the sand and crap on top of it. I make my way to the closet, which no longer has a door.
Taller than me, and four feet wide, the safe is set into the wall, which was once painted an elegant gray and is now stained a muddy brown to my shoulder height. Putting in the code, I open the heavy door.
Inside is damp, but the top shelf remained dry. On it are two plastic cases I recognize as the cases for Robert’s dart guns. He designed them last year. They can hold six cartridges and deliver them with impeccable accuracy at short distances. He’s still working on a sniper version, but the weight of the cartridge and the liquid inside makes it more difficult. I pull the plastic cases out and open them. There they are, nestled in their foam. Extra cartridges next to them. None are missing.
I take the two cases with me and return to José.
“So, Robert left, and then you just…”
“Don’t remember. I should call Mr. Maxim.”
“Yes,” I agree.
He tries Robert, but there is no answer. José leaves a message, reading the note. “It must be for him,” José says to me. “The same people who tried to kill you in Cartagena, right?”
“I don’t know.”
There are tears in José’s eyes. “Will I?”
“No,” I grab his hand. “I’ll go if we can’t get ahold of Robert. Don’t worry. We will get you that antidote.”
“Should I go to the police, or a hospital?”
“The police are a bad idea—they will want to stake out the meeting point and could scare off whoever has the antidote. A hospital might help, but they’d call the police. Let me make some calls and see if there are any doctors in town that we can trust to be discreet. Where are you staying?”
“With friends,” he says.
“Let me drive you there. I’ll make some calls and figure something out. And we will probably get ahold of Robert soon. He’s never out of touch long.”
“Right,” José nods.
I help him up and we get back to my SUV. Leaving José’s scooter at the house, I give him a ride to where he is staying. Robert still hasn’t called by the time I’ve dropped him off but I get ahold of Dan, who starts the hunt for a doctor.
I call Anita as I drive back toward our hotel. “I need your help,” I say.
“What’s going on?”
“We need to go to the refugee center at dawn tomorrow.” I lay out what happened briefly.
“Let me make some calls.”
Next I try Robert again. He’s still not picking up. Unease settles in my stomach as I navigate to the hotel. Where is he?
Chapter Twenty-Six
Robert
There are lies we tell ourselves and by telling them we make them truth.
Natalia joins me on the bench, sitting close enough that if I move but a bare inch, our thighs will touch. “I love this spot,” she says, her accented voice whispering over my skin.
Being showered and in clean clothing, sitting on her deck, feels a whole lot better than being dirty and climbing around in the destruction of my home. “Will you rebuild?” she asks about my house.
“If I live.” I turn and smile at her.
She shakes her head. “Come now, Robert. I know that Fernando is…”
“Young.” I finish for her.
“Yes,” she nods. “And mouthy.” Natalia gives a small shrug. “You used to be mouthy.”
“I learned the hard way how to hide my true intentions.” There is bitterness in my voice, but I do not regret the lessons that molded me.
“I think it is the only way to learn,” Natalia looks up at me. Is there a plea in her gaze? She knows I will not bend to my son as easily as he thinks. She’s told him as much…is she now hoping that I can teach him without killing him?
It’s a fine line.
“I did the best I could.” Natalia turns to the sea again. “He is a good man, really,” she smiles. “He reminds me of you—your confidence, intelligence, cunning. All the things I loved about you once.”
“Once?” I say. “I don’t think I ever stopped loving you.” She doesn’t turn to look at me but her jaw clenches. I reach out and take her hand from where it rests in her lap and pull it to my chest. “Why, Natalia? Why didn’t you tell me?”
When she meets my gaze, there is fire in her eyes. “You left me to die.”
“I thought you were dead.” My voice is quiet, her hand still held to my heart.
“You used me to escape…”
“You were holding me prisoner.”
She laughs. “My reasons are clear.”
“Not to me.”
She pulls her hand free and stands. “I would have been beholden to you, Robert. You would have felt obliged to care for me, to absorb me into your world and to make it impossible for me to forge my own path in life.” Her eyes hold mine. “You are not a partner Robert, you are a predator.”
I stay seated, allowing her to feel taller than me—bigger. Stronger. “So instead you hid from me for the last two-and-a-half decades. Because this wasn’t just avoidance, Natalia.” I wave at the ship. “Our paths must have crossed countless times. You hid from me. You hid Fernando from me.”
“Yes,” she says it simply. “I did not wish for you to control me.”
I laugh, because it’s the same thing Sydney says to me. Will I ever tire of trying to control women who do not wish to be? What stroke of fate will teach me that lesson? Because obviously words are not enough.
“Why are you laughing?” Her voice is tight.
“Sorry,” I wave a hand. “I am. Truly sorry.” The mirth dies from my voice. “If I’d known you were alive, I would have come back for you.”
“No, you wouldn’t have.”
I meet her eyes, so dark and angry. “You doubt how I felt?”
She sneers. “You do not know what love is.”
“I loved you.” I link my fingers in my lap, holding them steady. “The pain of losing you changed me.” I clear my throat. “In many ways, it made me who I am.” I hold her gaze. “Losing you broke a part of me. And the sharp edges left behind allowed me to find the success I so desired.”
“Then thank me for hiding. If I’d revealed myself, what would have become of you?” There is disdain in her voice.
“Who knows what would have become of us—who knows how my ambitions in life might have changed?”
Natalia shakes her head. “You wouldn’t have changed.”
“I did. We all do.” I hold her eyes with mine, refusing to be the one who breaks the connection. I won’t turn my back on her again.
I won’t make the same mistake twice.
Natalia turns away, walking to the edge of the deck and holding the rail.
“How do you know Sydney Rye will go back to your house?” Natalia changes the subject.
I stay seated on the bench, watching Natalia’s hair blow in the wind. “I just do.” She can’t stay away from me as much as I can’t stay away from her. That’s why my plan to make her mine would have worke
d—and why this one will too.
“You’re so sure of yourself?” Natalia looks over her shoulder at me. “Whatever broke in you has served you well.”
I nod, agreeing again that I have fared well. That I have taken everything I wanted.
And that’s not going to change.
I smile at Natalia. “Don’t worry,” I say, my voice a deep and comforting baritone. “Everything will work out just fine.”
She doesn’t smile back, just raises one brow. “Yes,” she agrees. “It will.”
My escape that day must have broken something in her, too. “How did you survive?” I ask.
She does smile now. “I always had an escape plan, Robert. You should have trusted me.” Before I can ask any more details, the door opens and Fernando steps onto the deck. Natalia’s eyes light when they land on him. That is true love.
“Mother, Seraphina is looking for you.”
“Thank you.” She places a kiss on Fernando’s cheek before stepping inside…leaving me alone with my son.
I wait in silence—anger wafts off him, as pungent as the briny sea air. “My mother has forgiven you,” he says.
I glance at him. “Has she?” I stay seated, letting him be taller…believe he is bigger, stronger, wiser.
“She’s had my entire life time. I just learned you lived a few months ago.” His accent is not as strong as Natalia’s, and it’s different. Her voice holds the remnants of a childhood in the mountains, his the sophisticated lilt of an international education. He’s spoiled.
“And I’ve known of your existence for a day.”
His expression does not soften. “That’s no excuse.”
A smile slips across my lips. “You want me dead?”
Fernando shifts his weight from one foot to the other. A tell. But of what? His eyes meet mine, clashing blue and green. Anger. “I wanted you scared.”
He’s still a child.
I raise one brow. “You did not succeed.” There will be no trophies for trying hard in this relationship.
Fernando takes a step toward me and stops short. I don’t flinch. In a physical fight we are well matched—he has the strength and speed of youth, but I the skill and mental fortitude of experience. “I don’t want to fight you,” I say. “I think we can work together. Amy and Josh came to me some time ago asking for help with destroying Joyful Justice.”
Savage Grace (A Sydney Rye Mystery, #12) Page 18