Addicted To Him (Man Season)

by McClung, Mila

  “He’s merely a man, darling, with weaknesses. If we can find them, we can bring him down!”

  “I know.”

  “Take a walk before dinner. It’ll relax you.”

  “Is it safe? I keep thinking if Ned Grant is so clever, he knows we’re down here already.”

  “I doubt he does. His arrogance probably lets him think he’s won his little game.”

  “Do you have a map of the area around here? Maybe Fleet left me another clue I’m just not seeing.”

  “There’s one in the study.”

  They stepped through the stenciled hall and into a study with grey paneled walls. A palm-shaped ceiling fan sent chills over Tegan’s skin. It was a masculine room. Fleet would fit right in, sitting at the colonial style desk, catching up on his emails and memos. She could see him there; wished that her imagination could be real, could bring him there to be safe, with her. But then she realized he was always with her, no matter where they were – watching the same sea as it caressed the sand, feeling the sun kiss their skin, and the breeze soothing their brow. He was a part of her being, and she could physically feel that he was hurting. It nearly drove her mad.

  “Oh, I can’t stand this! We’ve got to find him, Mom!”

  “We will, Tegan, have faith! Here’s the map.”

  She pointed to a brochure on the desk that had been unfolded to reveal a recent, detailed map of the Keys. Tegan poured over it slowly, noting any seemingly minor name or reference. Her eyes caught on one name – Red Thorn Key.

  “This is it! It must be!”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “He cut his fingers on the thorns of the roses at the shop! That must be why he mentioned the rose petals!”

  Digby entered with Kenny and a beautiful brunette. She was as tall as a man, dressed in tight jeans, a tank top and sandals, her luscious chocolate hair tamed by a red rubber band.

  “I’d like you to meet Ryder Dane. She’s going to help us find Fleet!”

  “Hello.” The two shook hands. “Ms. Dane, do you know anything about Red Thorn Key?”

  “It’s odd you should ask that,” she said in a silken voice. “I discovered that Red Thorn Key is where Ned Grant and his sidekicks took Fleet Westcott! Apparently, Grant has a very private, well-secured retreat on the island, meant for his richest and most high profile clients.”

  “Can we go there? Maybe sneak up in a boat and find Fleet somehow?”

  “The compound is completely fenced, but I have a plan to get in. Grant doesn’t know me or Mr. Randall. I’m thinking if I could pretend to be his doctor and set him up as a very wealthy addict, we could gain access to the island.”

  “But Grant’s bound to check up on you both. Can you fake some documents so quickly?”

  “That’s one of the downsides to the plan. It’ll take a good two weeks to get the documents we’ll need.”

  “Oh, but we don’t have two weeks!” Tegan cried. “I’m afraid of what they might be doing to Fleet right now!”

  “Ms. Dane, isn’t there some legal tack we can use?” Callie asked. “If he’s being held there against his will …”

  “I discreetly inquired about that to the local authorities and they say there’s no evidence of him being taken there under force. They point to the video as proof he’s there of his own volition.”

  “This is not right! I know he’s suffering! I can feel it! I’ve got to get in there somehow!”

  “We’ll keep working on a better plan,” Digby consoled her. “You should rest. You may not be quite well yet.”

  “I’m fine. Physically, anyway. And I am grateful that you all are trying to help him. I think I’ll go for a walk, like Mom suggested.”

  “You want a partner?”

  “No, Kenny, I’ll be okay. Go downtown and see the sights. I know you were excited about going to the Hemingway house.”

  “Yeah, but it can wait until another time.”

  “No, go ahead. We can’t do anything now, anyway, can we?”

  She hurried out the door, tears streaming from her eyes. The frustration at being so close to where Fleet was, and not being able to save him, was ripping her apart.

  She began to roam aimlessly about the shoreline. There were all sorts of boats for hire, mostly for fishing, but some were for sightseeing. Tegan checked her purse; she’d brought most of her savings with her, money she’d planned on using to buy a car. But this was so much more important!

  She spied a craggy old bird in a sailor’s cap and ragged jeans, his brown barrel of a chest covered in white hair, matching the straggles sticking out from under his cap. He had wary blue eyes; they were watching her, sizing her up.

  “Can I help you, Miss?”

  “I’d like to rent your boat. You do take people for a spin through the Keys?”

  “Sure, I do, if they got the cash.”

  “Here.” She handed him three times the amount listed on a sign stuck in his boat’s front windshield.

  “That’s enough for all day! You planning on getting lost for awhile?”

  “Something like that. Can we go?”

  “I reckon we can! Hop aboard!” He reached out a thin but muscled arm, eased her onto the boat. “My name’s Grissom!” he offered. “What be yours?”

  “Is it necessary to know my name?”

  “These days it is. Got to be careful. The Homeland Security boys get awfully touchy about us carting strangers around.”

  “My name is Tegan St. Clair. Here are my IDs.”

  He studied over her driver’s license and a couple of credit cards then nodded. “Looks fine to me. Now, where would you like to go?”

  “Red Thorn Key.”

  “That’s a plain little island. You got acquaintances there?”

  “Maybe.”

  “That place caters to the rich and the insane … personally I’d take the insane over the other. What’s your business there?”

  She sighed; she didn’t have time for all his questions. She looked him over; he’d sized her up. Now she did the same with him. He seemed trustworthy. She’d have to chance it.

  “Mr. Grissom, I’m going to be honest with you. The people on Red Thorn Key are holding a man there against his will, a very wealthy man. They want his money, and I’m afraid if I don’t get him out of there they will kill him for it! I need to find a way to save him!”

  She was sobbing; she had tried valiantly to hold back, but saying everything out loud was too much for her.

  “There, there,” he comforted her, patting her back. “You love him, I suppose, or it wouldn’t be hitting you this hard. I never much liked the jerks that guard that place anyway! They’re always running me off from the best fishing spot this side of Cuba! Sit down and dry your eyes, Miss! We’ll get him out!”

  She nodded, sat down on a bench and dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief. Grissom started the engine and steered them away from the marina. Once out onto the open sea, Tegan stood and began to breathe deeply. The salt air revived her, gave her strength. She had no plan as to what they would do when they reached Red Thorn Key, and she wasn’t sure Grissom did either. But her determination would see her through. She wasn’t coming back to Marathon without Fleet Westcott. And damn anyone who tried to stop her!

  Grissom eased them into his favorite fishing spot; set up his pole and began to fish.

  “Is that it?” Tegan wondered, staring at a small island with high bamboo fences surrounding some swanky bungalows.

  “Yep. That’s Red Thorn Key. You’d think it was Fort Knox the way they guard the place!”

  “But how will we get to Fleet?”

  “Is that his name?”

  “Yes. Fleet Westcott.”

  “Seems I’ve heard of him. Wasn’t he on the TV a few days ago?”

  “Yes, he was talking about going to rehab, but they were controlling everything he said. I could tell.”

  “I consider myself a good judge of character, Miss. Most folks wouldn’t believe you, but
I can see in your eyes that you’re telling the truth. Sometimes the people there see me fishing, sometimes they don’t. We’ll sit here till dark, if they don’t come out by then. Once the sun is down, we can swim over to the beach there. I’ve noticed a blind spot where their cameras don’t reach. I can cut the bamboo and sneak you in … after that you’re on your own. I can’t do much more.”

  “It’ll be enough! Thank you.”

  “Don’t thank me yet. The day ain’t over. You hungry?”

  “Yeah, I am.”

  “I’ll whip us up some stew. You can go below and freshen up if you like.”

  “Okay. And I will say thank you now. You’re a kind man, Mr. Grissom.”

  “Don’t let nobody know. I’ve got to keep up my crusty old sailor image for the tourists.”

  He laughed, his barrel chest quivering like Jello in an earthquake. Tegan smiled, took the steps down into the cabin.

  Grissom’s seafood stew was excellent, full of lemon and herbs and tender fish, but Tegan supposed anything decent would have seemed good to her growling stomach. Worry had taken over and dulled her appetite since she’d last seen Fleet. She knew she had to build up her strength though, and ate until her insides were near busting.

  She set her eyes to the shore, watching carefully to see any movement or change. She could make out shapes of people behind the bamboo, shadows draping the beach huts. She wondered if Fleet was among them, feared he was locked in some dank dungeon, clinging to life, or drifting off in a drug-engorged haze.

  The day lingered far too long. Grissom fished and smoked and told her a myriad of tales about mermaids and sea serpents and killer sharks. She listened impatiently, pacing the boat deck, twitching in anticipation of the night.

  Finally the sunset blasted upon the horizon, sending waves of orange and gold to douse the yellow globe then smothering it in deep shades of blue and purple. The sky filled up with bitter stars and streaks of black clouds, hinting at a nearby storm.

  “Our luck’s holding out, Miss! They either ain’t seen us or they’re too busy to fuss over a lone fishing boat in their mist. Are you a good swimmer, I hope?”

  “I am. I was born and raised in California. My parents took me to the ocean every weekend. I used to surf when I was a teen.”

  “Well, I’m glad of that! I didn’t want to be teaching you at this late date! You didn’t bring a suit?”

  “No, but I can manage in these shorts. Don’t worry about me.”

  “I know your mind’s set on this thing so it ain’t no use in me thinking about it too much. I don’t have a raft, or I’d pitch that out for you. Do you think you’re ready?”

  “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

  “Let’s go then!”

  He slipped into the water, waited as she did the same. It was warm, felt as soothing as bath water as they swam slowly and quietly towards the shore. The island was lit up with dozens of electric lanterns; they could hear voices on the other side of the bamboo. They reached the beach. Grissom pointed at two posts with cameras. They ran beneath them, made for a stretch of unguarded fencing. Grissom drew out a long knife, hacked at the bamboo till it cracked, opening a small space for Tegan to slip through.

  “There you are, Miss,” he whispered. “I’ll be waiting on the boat till you come back. Take care now!”

  “I will. Thanks again, Mr. Grissom!”

  He waved her off, disappeared into the black. Tegan took in a big breath; slid between the fencing and fell out on the inner side. She hid quickly in a bunch of hydrangeas as two young blondes scuffled past. They were laughing like mischievous school kids; the odor of marijuana followed them. They had found a supplier and were breaking house rules by smoking it. Or so they said in giggling voices.

  “Naughty Ned will have our hides for this if we get caught!” one said.

  “Yeah! But I’d like to hang his hide if you get my drift! Mother was a bitch sending us to this dump!”

  “So true! I could be in Aspen right now, sexing it up with that Duke I met in Austria!”

  “He wasn’t into you, dear Apple. He was all over me!”

  “The hell he was, Peach! I had him at hello!”

  “Well, I had him at first glance!”

  “You did not!”

  Apple pushed Peach; a regular shoving match ensued. Tegan rolled her eyes, frustrated.

  Peach fell down on the stone path, landing dangerously close to Tegan’s right foot; she yanked it out of sight too late.

  “Someone’s there!” Peach whispered, shivering.

  “Oh, you’re lying!” Apple shrugged, and pulled her up. “Come on, let’s enjoy this stash while we can!”

  “I tell you I saw a foot!”

  Apple peered into the darkness. A crab conveniently came crawling out of the flowers.

  “It’s a crab, you idiot! Come on!”

  She hurried the girl away.

  Tegan waited until they were out of range then she began to explore the island, taking great pains to avoid the cameras posted at several intervals. Guards walked through every so often; they seemed unarmed, at least to the naked eye. She would cower in the sanctuary of the numerous bushes and shrubs each time they appeared. Her nerves were unraveling. She had no idea where to look for Fleet, but she knew he was there. She could feel him.

  A great commotion echoed from a nearby bungalow. It sounded like a scene from an 80s action film, with all the cussing and crashing. Tegan peered into the window; saw Fleet Westcott, dressed only in jeans - flinging off guard after guard as Ned Grant stood watching. Her heart tightened when she recognized Fleet; it took all her willpower to keep from bursting blindly into the room.

  “I have to wait,” she told herself. “If I go in now, we’ll both be caught.”

  “That’s enough!” she heard Grant yell. “Fleet, you are a lot stronger than I gave you credit for. But I’m tired of waiting. Sign over everything to me now, or I will have the girl killed.”

  “I never should have believed you when you said you had her! But I was messed up from the withdrawal. Now that you’ve obliged me by drugging me up again, my thoughts are clearer. And I won’t sign anything unless you prove to me that Tegan is in danger!”

  “This is futile, son. Just sign the God Damned papers!”

  He held them out; Fleet ripped them to shreds.

  “For the last time, I am not your son! My father was a womanizing, wife-beating bastard but he was a better father than you could ever be!”

  “Shut up, you stupid fool!” Grant screamed, frightening the guards. “Get out of here, all of you! I want to talk to Fleet alone!”

  They scrambled out the door, just missing Tegan, who had fled to the safety of a rose bush, scraping her limbs on the thorns as she jumped.

  “Your father! YOUR FATHER!” Grant shouted. “I took care of him! He thought he was so strong, beating my poor sister half to death! And then he went after you. But I showed him! I showed him who was really strong!”

  Fleet stood there quietly, trying to comprehend what Grant was saying.

  “You poisoned him? You?”

  “Yes, I did! I couldn’t bear to see him hurt her anymore!”

  “Then you let her take the fall for it? You let her go to jail?”

  “She insisted on it. I couldn’t stop her.”

  “You could have, if you’d been man enough! Damn you!”

  Fleet pounced on him like a wild animal, began to pummel him into the floor. The guards were all down the walkway, passing round cigarettes, oblivious to the shellacking their boss was taking. Tegan couldn’t bear it; she burst in. Fleet glanced up then did a double take. He dropped the whimpering Ned Grant to the floor.

  “Tegan? Are you real? He did have you, after all?”

  “I’m real, darling, but Grant didn’t have me. I came here on my own, to rescue you. But I think Grant is the one who needs rescuing! Please stop, don’t become as twisted as he is.”

  He rushed to her, smothered her in throbbing ar
ms, his breath quick and furious. He pulled her face up, kissed her so tenderly she melted into him. All the tension, the worry and frustration, oozed out of her as he swept her up and carried her out the door.

  “Wait, the guards are nearby!” she whispered. “Come this way!”

  She pointed him in the opposite direction. He let her stand, took her hand in his and allowed her to lead him to the break in the bamboo fence. They squeezed through, made a dash for the beach.

  Someone yelled: “There he is!” And the spotlights bathed them in a harsh glow. Then the guards filed out of the fence gate and surrounded them on the sand. Ned Grant, flanked by two guards, hobbled onto the beach.

  “This won’t do, Fleet. We can’t let you get away now.”

  “You can’t kill us, either. Or can you trust all of these men to keep quiet about murder?”

  “Nonsense! You’re demented, saying things like that! My guards are used to the ravings of drug addicts! Go back to your room, and end this ridiculous charade.”

  A crowd was gathering behind them; other guests of the retreat, followed by a line of doctors in white coats. Apple and Peach were leading them, pointing fingers.

  “We told you!” Peach said, nodding her head so that her pale blonde hair danced in the lights. “They were beating this guy! We saw them!”

  “Dr. Grant, is this true?” a gruff woman asked.

  “Of course not!” he lied. “This patient got out of hand. He was beating me! We have the situation well-covered. All of you, return to your rooms!”

  “I don’t think we will, Dr. Grant,” the woman decided. “We’ve heard way too many rumors about your methods. As a matter of fact, that’s why we came here. You’re under arrest!”

  She and two male doctors pulled out badges. The guards drew tasers they had hidden in their shirts. The cops drew guns. Ned Grant, realizing defeat, slumped into the two guards’ arms. Then he laughed.

  “I should have known,” he kept repeating, “I should have known.”

  “Take him to his office! Lee, Miller, see that they do!” the gruff woman ordered. Then she stepped forward. “Mr. Westcott, are you all right?”

  “Yeah, sure. But why didn’t you tell me you were a cop?”