by Jenna Ryan
“Watching her movies. Once of an era, always of that era for some people.” He knocked then opened the door. “Amanda? It’s McCabe.”
A grainy film in full, unsaturated color played out over an entire wall of white. Heavy breathing reached him, together with the crackly sound of a saxophone.
“Oh, wow. So cool,” Rowena said beside him. Amanda had an old projector, honest to God film reels, and a soundtrack that reminded her of her grandfather’s record collection.
He spied a trail of smoke and followed it to a high-backed chair that would have comfortably seated two people his size. Circling around it, he approached from the front.
“Amanda?” He had to raise his voice to gain her attention. When he did, she blinked several times behind pop bottle lenses.
Momentary fear invaded her features. Until he crouched and allowed her to see him more clearly.
“Ryan.” Her face, reminiscent of wrinkled tissue paper, cleared. “How lovely to see you. What on earth are you doing here?”
“Dropped by for a visit.” He grinned, even though the use of his first name rankled. He’d left that name behind years ago, or thought he had. “Brought company. Rowena?” She joined him when he held out his hand to her, kneeling on the marble floor so the old woman could see her—in-as-much as she could see anyone. “This is Ms. Amanda Lee. Queen of many big screens, writer of seven plays, and one of the finest women you’ll ever meet.”
Snorting, Amanda sucked on her cigarette holder. “Boy’s full of royal shit.” She tilted her head with its short white cap of hair, she peered hard at Rowena’s face. “Rowena,” she repeated. “Why does that name sound familiar?”
McCabe squeezed her hand and said, “She was married to James, Amanda. Technically, she still is.”
“Uh, well, no. Technically she never was.” Rowena offered McCabe a brief smile. “You made the assumption. I just didn’t bother to correct you.”
“Why doesn’t that surprise me?” Although it did to some extent, and for some ridiculous reason it also pleased him. The old woman inhaled smoke deep into her lungs and blew it thoughtfully toward the ceiling. “I see. Figuratively speaking. Do I want to know the details?”
“I’m not sure any of us do,” McCabe said. “Where’s Daisy?”
“In Miami. Kidney stone. She passed it this morning.” Knocking off an ash, Amanda returned her attention to Rowena before glancing at him. “Robbie’s here.”
McCabe kept his features even. “Why?”
“To visit me, I imagine. She arrived two days ago. Lucky thing, what with Daisy’s stone and all. Robbie and I have had a nice long talk, Ryan. A nice long talk.”
McCabe knew Rowena was watching Amanda back. Absorbing everything and wondering. Processing. Possibly rethinking her decision to let Dancer take her son away.
“Believe it or not, I love James.” Amanda spoke to her alone. “I’m going to say he’s not entirely responsible for what he’s become. I hope he never struck you.”
Rowena smiled. “No, he never did that.”
Picking up a small device, Amanda pressed a button. Then she set the device down and motioned Rowena closer. “Are you beautiful?”
“I…”
“Yes,” McCabe interrupted and earned a biting look from the side. “She’s also frightened. James tried to kill her, Amanda.”
She inhaled more smoke, but beyond that didn’t react. “James does have a temper, I’ll admit. Did you cheat on him?” she asked.
“No.” Rowena seesawed her head. “At least not in the way you’re probably thinking. I started becoming suspicious of his business dealings, and of the people around him, especially when some of those people began to disappear with no explanation. He refused to answer any questions I asked about his work. In fact, he got angry when I pressed him. So I decided to do a little investigating of my own. I managed to get into his computers, and that’s when I discovered the nature of several of his businesses.”
“All crooked, I imagine.”
“Most of them, yes.”
“Did he ever speak to you about his family? About his father? His mother?”
Rowena frowned. “I’m not sure I thought of him as having parents.”
Amanda’s laugh was a rusty sound above the saxophone. “Did you think he was hatched?”
“No. Just…alone.”
“Well, he is that. In many respects, he always has been.”
Another door opened and a tall regal-looking woman with graying brown hair rushed in. She wore a navy-blue robe and mules that flapped with each step. Her arms came out as McCabe stood.
“My God, I don’t believe it,” she exclaimed. “You’re here!” Catching him by the shoulders, she studied his face in the flickering film light. “Still handsome as the devil. And twice as bad, I’ll wager.”
“Not quite.” He kissed her cheek, then angled her toward Rowena. “I didn’t come alone.”
“Yes, I see that.” Several seconds passed before she stabbed a knowing finger at Rowena. “You’re her, aren’t you? The woman who frightened Ryan into running.”
“Frightened?” Looking vaguely amused, Rowena stood as well. “That’s an interesting way of putting it. I didn’t think McCabe knew the meaning of the word fear.”
“Only where you’re concerned would be my guess, and assuming I’m right, which I often am.”
“Let’s leave fear out of this conversation, Robbie. You, too,” McCabe said to Rowena. “Yes, she’s her, and yes, I left.”
“Ran, more like.” Rowena looked over. “I was involved with James, Robbie.”
Robbie’s dark eyes widened. “So you must be…?”
“Rowena.”
Confusion invaded the woman’s features. “But I understood you were dead.”
Amanda crushed out her cigarette and removed it from the holder. “I strongly suspect James thought so, too. Am I right, Rowena?”
McCabe felt her muscles tense. However, all she said was, “Yes, he did. Until yesterday.”
“Ahhh.” That single syllable from Amanda spoke volumes. “Thus, the reason for your presence on Laurel Key. Neutral ground.”
Robbie linked her fingers as if in a prayer. “But what will happen when you leave? How will you leave?” She turned toward the door. “Is James here, too?”
“Not as far as we know.” When the movie ended, McCabe reached past Amanda to switch the projector off. “Look, it’s a long, involved story. I don’t particularly want to go through it, but I will since I’ve dragged you both into it. First, though”—he regarded Rowena—“there’s something you should know. I told you Amanda is James’s great-aunt.” He held her gaze with his measured one. “What I didn’t tell you is that Robbie is his mother.”
Chapter Six
There was a limit to how much her brain could take in and process in a short period of time. Rowena felt as if she’d been blindsided. Unsure what to say, and with everyone watching for her reaction, she managed a confused, “Is James’s father here as well?”
Robbie let her head fall back, closing her eyes. “I’m afraid my husband is dead. He passed on ten years ago. There’s only Amanda and me left now to… Well, I’d say to defend James, but that’s not how it is.” Opening her eyes, she sighed. “We recognize that James is of our blood. We don’t quite know how far family obligation should or can take us. Our emotions in that area have been stretched, to say the least.”
Amanda twisted another cigarette into her holder. “Ryan wants to topple James’s rather substantial empire. We’re not opposed to that. We’d prefer it if he didn’t kill James in the process.”
Robbie made a nervous laughing sound but said nothing more.
Holding an ornate silver lighter to the tip of her cigarette, Amanda asked, “What sort of information did you gather, Rowena, and why hasn’t Ryan used it against our naughty boy?”
Rowena didn’t feel like playing games. She doubted if Amanda wanted to, either. “There hasn’t been time. James kidnapped
our son. Legally he has rights in that area, but morally he’s too corrupt to even begin to raise a child.”
“Where’s the boy now? In or out of James’s possession?”
“Out. Just.”
“Oh, thank heaven.” Robbie pressed a hand to her stomach.
A noise at the door drew everyone’s attention to the threshold where a balding man somewhere in his early sixties was standing. He wore a pair of rumpled suit pants and an equally rumpled white shirt.
“Beckett.” McCabe acknowledged him first. “It’s been a while.”
The new arrival, who reminded Rowena of a traveling salesman, smiled and came into the room. “Only in the physical sense. At least you’ve been keeping in touch through email.”
“You have?” Robbie seemed surprised. “What could you two possibly have to say to each other? Or do you play word games online?”
“Sometimes.” McCabe drew Rowena forward once again. “Ro, this is Harry Beckett. He’s Robbie’s friend and colleague.”
“Call me Beckett,” the man said and gave her hand a hearty shake. “Robbie and I deal in very hush-hush matters, in our professional lives at least. We work in encryption for the FBI.”
Robbie chuckled and waved him off. “Beckett likes to think of us as spies… Are you tired, dear?”
“What? No.” Rowena felt as if she’d transported to another day and age, one where the world felt tilted and oddly surreal. She forced herself to zone back in. “Maybe a little. It’s been a long night.”
“One in which you didn’t expect to meet James’s mother.” Robbie nodded. “I understand, and frankly I can sympathize. In your position, I’d be overwhelmed and rather befuddled.”
Amanda’s astute gaze never left Rowena’s face. “You say your son is safe?”
Rowena regarded McCabe. “I hope so.”
“He’s safe,” McCabe promised. “A lot more so than we are at the moment.”
“I heard the gunfire earlier.” Beckett crossed to the window and peered out. “Can we do anything to help?”
“Food and shelter.” McCabe curled his fingers around Rowena’s neck when she swayed. “Not for long. Just until our batteries recharge.”
“Take the Tropico and Sunshine rooms upstairs,” Robbie told Rowena. “Can you whip up some french toast for them after they’ve rested, Beckett?”
“Do my best.” With one last glance out the window, he made a vague shooing motion. “Go on up, both of you. I’ll bring your things along in a few minutes.”
Rowena felt dazed and disoriented. Partly from lack of sleep, but probably more due to the surprise of meeting James’s mother. His mother? Seriously? Of course, he would have one. Everybody did. He’s just never given any indication that either of his parents were alive.
“Because monsters tend to be born in laboratories.” McCabe grinned when she snapped her head around on the wide stairwell. “I know what you’re thinking, Ro. It’s written all over your face. Mockerie seldom acknowledges anyone in his family.”
She wasn’t surprised. God, though, she needed a hit of caffeine, a shower, and however many hours of sleep she could manage with her mind in a tailspin.
“You might have mentioned the mother deal, McCabe.” She began climbing again. “A great-aunt’s one thing. A mother’s off the hook. And she works for the FBI. That’s…weird. It’s so against everything James stands for.”
“A lot of things are, family and friends included.” Draping an arm over her shoulders, he guided her toward the upper landing. “I don’t think Amanda will mind if we take the Palm and Jamaica rooms instead.”
It crossed Rowena’s mind to duck out from under his arm. She didn’t need the emotional turmoil of his touch moving its way through the internal upheaval she was already experiencing. On the other hand, however, it was becoming very clear to her that she needed his help quite desperately. Didn’t want it but wasn’t likely to get far without it.
Balling her fists, she stopped at the top of the stairs. “How could I have been so stupid? So blind? I missed everything about James that was bad. In other words, I missed everything.”
McCabe distracted her by grazing his fingers across her cheek. Old memories sparked, pushing out self-recriminations. Temper followed and had her grabbing his wrist and shooting him a warning look. “We’re not going there, McCabe. I have enough to be upset about as it is.”
“Remembering how it was between us upsets you?”
“Yes, and you know the reason why. Tell me what that reason was and we can talk. Otherwise, we’ll change the subject.”
“Okay, let’s change the subject.”
“So that’s it. That’s all I get?”
She refrained from shoving him away and somehow held on to her composure. “You were gone when I woke up. There was no suggestion of you coming back. You just vanished, like a puff of black smoke.” She settled for using her eyes to slash him. “I won’t blame you for any decisions I made afterward, but you could have told me it was over, that you felt suffocated or trapped or threatened or claustrophobic. Just something so I’d have a clear idea of where we stood. Where I stood.”
When he didn’t react to her pointed stare, she breathed out, and let some of her resentment go. “You know it’s really hard to have a one-way argument. Talk to me, McCabe. Too little too late is better than nothing at all.”
She let him graze his thumb over her cheekbone. “Okay, how’s this? The lack, or if you prefer, the fear was in me. I loved you; that was never a question in my mind. My limitations, my flaws, the issues that riddle my life top to bottom were why I had to leave.”
“Uh-huh. Well, that was as clear as mud. Let’s try something more mundane. Why McCabe with most of us and Ryan with these people?”
“These people are part of my past, or most of them are. The name Ryan belongs in the past, and that’s where I want it to stay. I’m not the same person I used to be. I got tougher as I grew up. I had to in order to survive. Please, Ro, I can’t deal with this right now. I know that it’s not what you want to hear, but it’s the best I can give you at the moment.”
“In other words, I have to trust you.” Could she though, she wondered, all the way? On the other hand, did she have a choice? Expelling a deep breath, she asked, “Is James insane?”
McCabe’s wry smile wasn’t entirely readable. “Depends on your definition of insanity. He’s unbalanced. Sociopathic. Homicidal.”
“Sadistic,” she added with a shudder. “I got into some fairly twisted files.”
McCabe’s arm came back over her shoulders, but this time she let it stay there. Why not take the comfort he offered? She’d feel foolish again soon enough.
Twisting the knob, he pushed the door to the Palm room open with his foot. When nothing stirred, he reached to the right and hit the light switch.
Looking past him, Rowena saw an exquisite tropical bedroom with delicate mosquito netting, a gauzy white bedspread, honey-toned bamboo floors, and flowers in pots and vases on every polished surface—the teak dresser, the armoire, the nightstand, even on the window seat. A palm leaf fan twirled high overhead, and the air was scented with the fragrance of wild roses and oleander.
“Well, wow! What a gorgeous space.”
“Sheets for the bed should be in the bathroom closet. Go on in. There’s no one here.”
“You think James will violate the longstanding pact he has with Amanda, don’t you?”
McCabe stowed his gun, checked out the armoire and balcony. “If he wants you dead badly enough, he might. Fury blinds him, Ro, and there’s a ninety-nine-point nine percent chance he knows we’re here.”
“The phone call aboard the Irish Lady?”
“It was Mockerie. The guy who answered passed out from the gas. Mockerie will know that was on us.” Less than half a foot in front of her, McCabe threaded his fingers through her hair. Then he wrapped them around the back of her head. “You don’t get it, do you, sweetheart? I want to bring him down. He hates me as muc
h as he hates you. You just deceived him more recently, so you’re at the forefront of his mind. Put the two of us together and the image of it plus our past history will send him into a frenzy of action. Of reaction. No thought, only do.”
Rowena held herself very still while subtle tremors of fear snaked through her system. “What if he comes here? He could hurt Robbie, Beckett, and Amanda for sheltering us.”
“He won’t hurt them, Ro.”
Frustration rose. “How do you…?”
“They’re not who he wants. Again, I need you to trust me on this. I know how hard this is for you, and I promise I’ll explain everything as soon as I can.”
She breathed out. “Fine. I’ll do my best.”
A smile touched the corners of McCabe’s mouth. “Maybe what you need is a good mind-clearing bout of sex.”
She shook free of his grasp, or tried. To deny that her senses were leaping would be a waste of time and energy. She could no more prevent her blood from surging to a boil than she could stop breathing. Regardless…
“Flowers and palm leaf fans won’t soften me up,” she said as his fingers slid down her neck and his thumb grazed lightly over her throat. “What we had together is finished. I’m only concerned with bringing James down and protecting Parker.”
McCabe’s eyes glinted. She recognized the danger in them and felt her pulse jump. There were no drums on the island, but her heart beat like one. A kind of primitive warning that she was suddenly too mesmerized to evade.
He gave her half a moment to break free or push him away. Her choice, she imagined. Then the glint in his eyes deepened, and his mouth came down onto hers.
…
Mockerie strode through the Las Vegas airport like a man on a mission. People moved out of his way, probably without knowing why. He had that effect when he was in a barely controlled fury.
Oh, he was hanging on. Close to the edge and ready to snap, but clinging. God help his pilot if the Irish Lady wasn’t docked where he wanted it.
His phone vibrated and he yanked it out. A voice came over the line. “We’re prepped and ready on the yacht, sir.”
“Who is this? Where’s Carson?”