by Lisa Jackson
Warm tears gathered in her eyes at the thought of her relatives, now with faces and names. She thought about her home, a place she remembered. Her sister Carole had been at the teary meeting as well, telling Janet to divorce the bum and get on with her life. As Carole rationalized, Janet could “take Tim to the cleaners.”
Had there been happy moments with her sisters? Nikki concentrated, but no other memory of either woman drifted through the foggy corridors of her past.
Sniffing, Nikki tried to think of Trent, of the times he’d been there. Had he helped her cook in the tiny kitchen alcove? Had he been around to patch the leak in the roof near one of the windows? Had he swept her into his arms and made love to her there on the rug before the fire or on the daybed tucked under the eaves?
Her throat filled, but she remembered nothing but the incessant pounding of the rain when her sister had poured out her heart, alternately crying and swearing about Timothy Jones, DDS and SOB.
Heartened by the breakthrough, Nikki became impatient, trying to force more memories. She sifted through the address book again, stopping at the section marked N. Sure enough, David Neumann’s name, address and phone number were neatly recorded. Yet she hadn’t even scribbled Trent’s number in the book. Strange.
She tossed the little address book aside and looked through her wallet, stopping again at the family portrait. Had Janet remarried since her divorce from Tim? And Carole? Did she have a husband?
Do you? a voice in her head demanded. She glanced at her wedding ring, shining and mocking, a symbol of possession that felt awkward around her finger. Why couldn’t she remember Trent slipping the little band of gold on her hand? Had there been music at the ceremony? Probably not. A bridal bouquet? A wedding dress of any kind?
“Stop it!” she growled at herself. All she was doing was creating a headache of mammoth proportions, and she didn’t want to have to take any more medications for pain. Right now, while she had time alone, she needed a clear head.
In frustration, she walked back to the closet and pawed through her own clothes, half expecting to find a cream-colored linen suit suitable for a wedding, or a plethora of negligees, or...what? Discovering nothing, she turned back to the bed and her heart nearly stopped beating. The camera! Biting her lip, she picked up the 35 mm and checked the back. Nine pictures had already been taken. Her throat went dry. Surely, if she’d been on her honeymoon, some of the snapshots would be of Trent. Her fingers were sweaty as she clicked open the back of the camera, removed the film cartridge and slipped the undeveloped film into her purse. What would she do if Trent wasn’t in the pictures? And, oh, Lord, what would she do if he was?
The shadows in the room were getting darker as the sun dipped behind the ridge of mountains to the west. It was still daylight, four in the afternoon by her watch. Trent would be back soon and she hadn’t accomplished much. Her stomach growled, reminding her that she hadn’t eaten since breakfast at the hospital, but she didn’t have time for food. Not yet.
Propped on the bed, with her Spanish-English dictionary lying facedown on the night table, she gathered her strength and tried to dial her mother in Los Angeles, but was told by the operator that all outside lines to the United States were busy.
Wonderful, she thought sarcastically and made a mental note of the people she needed to call. Her family, of course, and her editor at the Observer, Peggy Hendricks. Also, she’d call Connie Benson, a co-worker and close friend. If Nikki really had been seeing Trent in the few weeks before she’d flown to Salvaje, certainly someone she’d known had met him—a friend or a co-worker, if not the members of her family.
She had to work fast. Searching the room for an extra room key, she found nothing. Well, that wasn’t going to stop her. She slung the strap of her handbag over her shoulder, locked the door behind her and made her way through the hall to the elevator.
With a groan of ancient gears, the lift arrived and she climbed in with an elderly couple and a teenage girl draped in a beach towel. With a deep tan and perpetually bored expression, the girl glanced at Nikki, flinched, then slid her eyes away. Blushing, Nikki noticed that the little old lady with apricot-tinted hair was staring at her face.
“My goodness, what happened to you?” she said, her eyes concerned behind owl-like glasses.
“I... It was an accident. I, um, fell off my bike,” Nikki replied, hating to lie, but not wanting to tell her life story to the anxious woman.
The woman clucked her tongue. “Well it looks like it’s healing. In a few days, you’ll look much better. But you’ve got to keep the scabs soft. With vitamin E—”
“Phyllis, please.” The gentleman shook his head. “I’m sorry, Miss. My wife used to be a nurse and she can’t ever give up her profession.”
“It’s fine,” Nikki assured them both, glad to hear good old American English.
“Don’t you go out in the sun too much,” Phyllis advised as the elevator shuddered to a stop. “Wear a hat. The sun’s no good for you, anyway. Causes wrinkles. Just look at me.”
“Come on, Phyllis.”
The teenager slid out of the car as soon as the door opened, and the gentleman shepherded his wife toward the front doors. Nikki started toward the registration desk on the far side of the lobby.
The hotel was old, with thick plaster walls, paddle fans and rich-hued carpets spread over cool tile floors. In the center of the lobby, a screened aviary lent guests a view of brilliantly colored birds and lush tropical plants that flourished around a central pond and small waterfall. Goldfish and koi swam beneath the lily pads while a toucan screeched from an upper limb of a small palm.
If she were feeling better, if she believed that the man who claimed to be her husband was whom he said he was, if she could remember more of her past, Nikki knew she would enjoy this beautiful old hotel with its dark furniture, whitewashed walls, slow-moving fans and graceful ironwork.
She made her way to the desk and tried to speak with the thin man at the register, but her halting Spanish wasn’t any better than his attempts at English. Trying to avoid staring at the scabs on her face, he forced a smile and located an older man with thick silver hair, glasses and a ruddy complexion.
“How can I help you, señora?”
Hiding her nerves, she told the man that her husband had mistakenly taken the room key and she’d locked herself out of her room. The lies came easier as she went on, and with very little explanation, she was given her own key. She asked to see their registration form, and the man, though his white eyebrows lifted slightly, showed her the receipt Trent had signed. An imprint of an American Express card identified him as Trent McKenzie. Skimming the rest of the information, she noted that he lived in Seattle, though the address meant nothing to her. She forced her tired mind to memorize the street and telephone number, then asked the man behind the desk about a camera shop or a place she could develop pictures.
“For the film?” he said, his lower lip protruding thoughtfully. “On the waterfront. José’s. He can get you pictures in two, maybe three days.”
Three days! “Doesn’t anyone here do it in an hour?”
The ruddy man laughed. “Santa María is not New York,” he said. “Talk to José. Maybe he can...rush the job for you.”
She turned away and nearly tripped on a boy of about five who was staring at her. His eyes were round and he pointed at her face before running to catch up with his mother, a tall, graceful woman in a voile dress. The woman glanced at Nikki, offered a smile filled with pity and promptly scolded her son for staring.
Nikki cringed inside. She wouldn’t be able to get out without drawing attention to herself. Though her scabs were healing and her black eye had nearly disappeared, she would still attract attention wherever she went.
She needed a disguise. Something simple. Dark glasses and a hat with a scarf attached that she could wrap over her face. Wit
h the traveler’s checks still tucked in her wallet, she could buy something inexpensive. All she needed was a shop, and certainly a hotel this large catering mainly to tourists, would have a little store.
Thanking the clerk, she walked as quickly as she could down a corridor leading to an exit when she felt someone watching her. Her heart slammed against her ribs as she saw him, lounging lazily in a chair near the terrace doors, his eyes trained on her, one boot propped on a table. Slowly, Trent pushed himself upright. His face was impassive, devoid of emotion, as he approached his “wife.”
“Been busy, haven’t you?”
Oh, God, did he hear her ask about developing the film? Her throat was as dry as cotton. “I couldn’t stand being in the room a second longer.”
“So you decided to check up on me.”
She wanted to deny it, but wasn’t going to lie. Well, not much, especially when she’d been caught red-handed. She inched her chin up a notch. “Look, Trent, I can’t recall diddly-squat about my past, I don’t remember you, or why—or even if—we were married. You haven’t acted much like a bridegroom on his honeymoon, and I feel like you’re hiding things from me, so why wouldn’t I come down here and try to put a few of the pieces of my life together?”
“You want me to act like a bridegroom?” he asked, taking a step closer. “Is that what you want? To barricade ourselves into the bedroom for three or four days?”
“No, I—”
“It can be arranged, you know. Just say the word and I’ll carry you upstairs and we’ll get down to it.”
“You don’t understand—”
“You don’t understand, damn it! I’ve tried hard not to rush you, Nikki. I figured that it would be better to wait until you wanted me as much as I want you.” His lips flattened over his teeth and he grabbed the crook of her arm roughly. “You want to go upstairs? Now? Just you and me?”
“No!” her voice was strangled, and she felt fear mixed with awe at the pure animal lust in his eyes.
“I didn’t think so.” In disgust he dropped her arm and shoved his hair from his eyes. “This is driving me crazy!”
“You? At least you have a past.”
“You will, too,” he said, his voice harsh.
“Easy for you to say.”
“Why can’t you trust me?” he asked, his eyes an arresting shade of blue. For a second she saw a flicker of despair in his gaze, but it was quickly hidden.
“I don’t know you.”
He looked as if she’d slapped him. “Oh, hell, I’m not arguing about this again! Come on.” He grabbed hold of her wrist and started for the elevator.
“No!” She refused to budge and nearly stumbled as he tugged on her arm. Several old men who had been smoking near a window cranked their heads in Nikki’s direction.
“Let’s go,” he ordered through clenched teeth.
“I already told you I don’t want to go back to the room.”
His jaw worked and a vein throbbed at his temple. “Either you go willingly into the elevator or I bodily carry you up there.”
“You can’t—”
He leaned closer, so that his lips were nearly brushing her ear. “I’ve got news for you, baby. I can do anything I damned well please. You’re my wife, I’m your husband and, if you haven’t noticed, this ain’t the good old U.S. of A.”
“That doesn’t mean—”
“This society isn’t quite as sophisticated as ours. Women’s rights haven’t been an issue down here. In fact, I think it’s legal for a man to do just about anything he wants to the woman he marries.”
She could barely breathe. “That’s archaic!”
“Welcome to Salvaje.”
“Great place for a honeymoon,” she muttered. “Who planned this vacation? The Marquis de Sade?”
“You.”
She went cold inside. Who was this man, this monster, whom she’d married? He tried to propel her toward the elevator, but short of being dragged, she wouldn’t move. Inching her chin up mutinously, she decided to call his bluff. “If you’re going to carry me, then get on with it. If not, then let me go!”
Grinding his teeth, he dropped her arm again. “What is it you want from me?”
“Answers. Straight answers.”
“I’ve given you answers.”
“Not enough.”
He closed his eyes for a second and pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and finger. “Okay,” he said slowly, as if forcing himself to be calm, “why don’t we go to dinner and you can ask me anything your little heart desires?”
He was mocking her, but she didn’t argue. All she wanted was the truth. Again he took hold of her elbow, but this time his grip was less punishing, and he guided her through double glass doors to a restaurant with a garden. She insisted they sit outside, and Trent, though he looked angry enough to spit nails, didn’t object.
The maître d’ led them through the potted plants to a private table positioned near the rock railing. Beyond the short wall was a view of the ocean, darkening with the coming night. The scents of jasmine and lemon wafted on the sea breeze and soft Spanish music floated on the air from speakers hidden in the lush vines and flowers surrounding the tables.
“It really is beautiful here,” she said, nervously. She wondered how she would feel if she’d never fallen over the cliff, never lost her memory, and was deeply in love with this mysterious stranger who insisted they were wed.
“If you say so.”
A waiter in red shirt and black slacks appeared, and Trent ordered wine for her and a beer for himself. The waiter glanced at Nikki, his soulful eyes lingering on her face a fraction longer than necessary before he disappeared.
“You sure you want to be here?”
“Of course I do.”
“People stare.”
“Let them. I’m not contagious,” she said, and Trent settled back in his chair. Though he outwardly appeared relaxed, Nikki knew better. There was a restless tension lying just under the surface of his calm demeanor. Hands tented under his chin, he stared at her accusingly. “You should have waited until I got back before you came out of the room.”
“I told you, the four walls and I had run out of conversation.”
“I was only concerned that you might fall on that ankle.”
“The ankle’s a lot better.”
He didn’t respond, but glanced casually around the garden, as if he were an interested tourist, but Nikki couldn’t fight the impression that he was looking for something or someone lurking in the shadows.
The drinks arrived, and after quickly scanning the menus, Trent ordered for both of them. He exchanged words and a chuckle with the waiter and slid a sexy glance in her direction. Nikki refused to be intimidated, though her stomach was churning nervously. She thought of the camera in her purse and bit her lip. She couldn’t very well develop the film with Trent around, and yet she saw no way of getting away from him today.
Placing her napkin over her skirt, she heard snatches of conversation from tables tucked between the pots overflowing with flowers. Quiet conversation and the clink of glasses were punctuated with soft bursts of laughter. People enjoying themselves, relaxed and happy, on a tropical island for a vacation.
“So you think you’re ready to take on the town,” he said, eyeing her.
“The whole island, if I have to.”
He took a swallow from his beer, then picked at the label of his long-necked bottle. He scanned the garden slowly, as if gathering his thoughts, but his gaze was wary, his lips a little too tight over his teeth.
“How’d things go at the airport?”
“Not great. We got reservations out of here, but not for a few days.”
Her heart sank a little. It was crazy, of course, and she wanted to return to her home
and her life, but she felt cheated, as if she’d come to this Caribbean island with a purpose not yet served. Even if her plan had simply been to sightsee, she’d been robbed. And if this trip were truly her honeymoon, then it had become a disaster, because she and the man seated across from her were at odds, more enemies than lovers.
The waiter returned with steaming bowls of a thick fish chowder, which burned all the way down Nikki’s throat. Her conversation with Trent lagged and she sipped her wine throughout the meal of swordfish, a spicy rice dish and sautéed vegetables.
She was nearly finished with her second glass of wine when the waiter returned with a dessert cart. She shook her head. “I can’t,” she insisted, and Trent grinned widely.
“I was beginning to think you were a bottomless pit.”
“After watery gelatin, gooey oatmeal and wilted, tasteless vegetables at that hospital for the past week, everything looks good.”
“Except dessert.”
She grinned and finished her wine. “Maybe later.”
“In bed?” he asked, his gaze locking with hers. She couldn’t move for a second and unconsciously she licked a final drop of wine from her lips. She thought of the film hidden in a pocket of her purse. Would it develop into snapshots of Trent, smiling and carefree on his honeymoon? Bare-chested and incredibly sexy, with the wind in his hair and desire burning bright in his eyes? Suddenly the ring around her finger seemed heavy and tight.
Trent paid the bill, then helped her from her chair.
“I—I don’t want to go upstairs yet,” she admitted.
“You’re not tired?”
“It’s barely eight,” she pointed out. “Besides, it seems like I’ve been in bed forever.”
“Not with me,” he said, and her pulse leapt wildly. He took her arm, and she wondered if he was being helpful, or making sure that she wouldn’t bolt, that he wouldn’t lose her.