“So Cheyenne went by herself?”
Anders nodded.
Molly’s mouth hung open as she grappled with this new possibility. “I honestly don’t know if she would do something like that.”
When they reached the car, Anders walked with Molly to the passenger side. “Ain’t it odd Linus would jet to Paris for an impromptu vacation with his daughter when his wife’s due to have a baby at any moment?”
Molly shrugged. “Half the things rich people do don't make any sense to me. I guess when you’ve got enough money to do whatever you want, whenever you want, it makes you silly.”
“Now that’s the truth.” He opened the door for her and waited for her to climb in.
She turned back to him so suddenly she almost bumped into his chest. “Sorry. I’m dissing rich people and I totally forgot you’re one of them.”
The corner of his mouth quirked into a smile. “Don’t worry about it. I was too silly to notice.”
He was still chuckling to himself when he made his way around the car.
“What am I going to do about passports?” Molly said as Anders slid into the driver’s seat. “Will the government issue emergency ones?”
He shook his head. “They’ll still take a couple of weeks to process.”
“I don’t have a couple weeks.”
“It’s okay. I made a call. I just need a photo of you and Cheyenne and we’ll have the passports in an hour.”
“Will they be legal?”
“What do you think?” He cocked an eyebrow, giving her a look that said come on now, and started the car.
As he drove down the long, foliage-shrouded driveway, he felt Molly’s eyes on him. When he glanced her way, a smile blossomed on her pretty face, lighting it from within. Her eyes glistened with moisture. “I always knew you were a good man, but I had no idea how good. I’m terrified right now, but you’re keeping me steady. I appreciate that so much and I appreciate the offer of a loan. I hate having to ask anyone for money, but for Cheyenne, I’ll swallow my pride. I promise to pay back every penny.”
“About that. I’ve been thinking. You need to get to Jamaica as soon as possible. You don’t need to fly commercial. I have a plane. I only have to file a flight plan and—”
She leaned forward and kissed his cheek. It was a chaste kiss, not more than a peck, but it had the same impact as a spark touching a powder keg. His grip tightened on the steering wheel as fire blazed through his body. He dared a glance at her. She was sitting on her legs with her heart shining in her eyes. His chest tightened.
“Thank you,” she said thickly. “Just…thank you.”
Dagnabit. He muttered in his head and belatedly realized he’d used Molly’s word, but hell, it summed up exactly what he was feeling. If he was going to help her, he needed to put some distance between them because he didn’t want to hurt her. This, whatever it was, wasn’t going anywhere except maybe back to bed and he really didn’t want to take advantage of her like that. Molly was good people. She just wasn’t for him. He thought about creating some distance between them by intentionally pissing her off, but he’d be a total ass if he picked a fight with her while she was so worried about her daughter, and he honestly didn’t want her to hate him. She needed his help and he fully intended to give it. He just needed something that would force the two of them to cool their jets while they focused on getting Cheyenne back home safety.
And, suddenly, he knew just the thing.
After retrieving her snake-free car from outside the bar, Molly drove home to pack a sling style backpack for herself and a duffle bag for Cheyenne. Then she called a cab to take her back to Dixie’s because she wasn’t sure how long she was going to be gone and didn’t want to leave her car in the street again. She beat Anders back to the bar and was scarfing down a fish sandwich when he strolled in with Obie.
“Howdy, cowboy,” Molly said when he ran into Dixie’s ahead of his father. She slid off her bar stool and caught him up in a hug.
The place was hopping for mid-afternoon on a Sunday. Most of the seats were full, but the bar stool next to hers was open. As Anders headed toward it, several heads turned and one woman spontaneously rose to her feet, drawing curious looks from the other folks at her table. Anders seemed oblivious. His expression was impassive as he slid onto the empty stool and looked down at his son who was squeezing her like she was a tube of toothpaste.
“Take it easy there, Obie.” Anders touched his arm to urge him to let up.
“It’s all right.” Molly laughed, hugging the little boy back. “I really needed a hug like this.”
Anders turned away to catch the attention of the bartender.
Ashley, a young, pretty brunette not immune to Anders’ undeniable charisma, stopped what she was doing and came to see what he needed. “What can I do for ya, Mr. Ostergaard?”
“Did Mitch Thompson drop anything off for me?”
“Not that I know of. I haven’t seen him around.”
Obie climbed up on the stool Molly had vacated and she took the one on the other side of him so the boy now sat between her and Anders.
Ashley’s gaze drifted past him to the person who approached him from behind. A shapely middle-aged woman with big eighties hair and too much makeup stepped between father and son, giving her back to Obie and Molly. A cloud of cheap perfume wafted toward them, making Obie sneeze.
“You’re Anders Ostergaard, ain’t ya?” she said in a voice hoarse from smoking too many cigarettes.
“I might be.” Anders turned on his stool to face the woman.
“I knew it!” She cackled. “My friends didn’t believe me so I just had to come right over here and prove it to them.” She had a strong Appalachian accent and a laugh that sounded more like a cough.
“Where you from, darlin’?” he said, his accent thickening to match hers.
“Oh, my Lord, he called me darlin’.” She fanned herself with a hand. “Hiawassee, Georgia.”
“I’ve been up that way. It’s a real pretty area. I played at the Georgia Mountain Fairgrounds in ’07.”
Obie gazed up at Molly with a flat expression on his face. He must be used to strangers gushing over his parents when they were out in public. His mother was probably just as famous as Anders if not more so. Molly pushed her plate toward the boy, offering him the untouched half of her sandwich. He met her eyes with uncertainty. When she nodded, he gave her a small smile and then reached for the food.
“Me and my sister Peggy Ann saw you in concert,” the woman was saying to Anders.
“Did you now?”
“Can I get a picture and an autograph? Peggy Ann’s gonna die with envy. I’m Darlene, by the way.”
“Sure. Nice to meet you, Darlene.”
“I can take the picture,” Molly offered, holding out a hand for Darlene’s phone.
“Why, thank you, sugar. Let me get on the left. That’s my best side.”
While Anders autographed a napkin, taking care to spell the woman’s name right, something dawned on Molly. The gracious, polite man who was charming the leopard-skin leotards off Darlene wasn’t the same man Molly had gotten to know over the past few days. He had his game face on, a mask of sorts he put on when he was working. He’d made the transition so seamlessly Molly hadn’t seen the shift. There was some distance protecting the man he was with the person fans wanted him to be. He’d let his guard down around Molly at some point. He must have if she could note the difference.
Obie reached for her Coke and took a long sip to wash the sandwich down. Molly smiled and rubbed his back affectionately.
Mitch Thompson arrived while Anders was taking a quick selfie with two more fans who’d waited their turn to meet him. Molly hoped off her stool and helped Obie down before she stooped to gather her luggage. A big warm hand touched her back. She straightened to find Anders standing startlingly close to her. He bent his head and his warm breath tickled the sensitive inner shell of her ear as he spoke softly. “Mitch and I need to have a private chat. Grab y
our stuff, take Obie, and meet me outside.”
Then he turned away and followed Mitch to the office.
Pulling her gaze away from Anders’ fine backside, she looked down at Obie and flushed with guilt. The boy was gazing up at her with his father’s slanted blue eyes. He couldn’t know what she was looking at or why she was embarrassed, so she brushed it off and gestured for Obie to go in front of her. “Come on. Let’s get out of here.”
She placed a twenty on the bar to pay for her meal and waved to Ashley before following him outside.
Molly couldn’t believe she was actually going to leave the country with a bogus ID. It would serve her right if they didn’t let her back in. She’d worry about that later. The most important thing was finding Cheyenne before she got herself into real trouble. The thought of something bad happening to her baby girl made her ill.
Anders didn’t keep her waiting long. When he pushed open the glass door, he squinted against the bright Florida sunshine and stopped to slide on the pair of dark sunglasses he produced from his pocket.
“Is everything all set? Did Mitch have any trouble with the…you know?”
“The passports? Nope. Got them right here.” He patted the breast pocket of his white button-down shirt. He wore it untucked and unbuttoned, low enough to reveal the navy tank top beneath. He hadn’t changed the clothes he’d worn from the photoshoot, he’d only added the shirt.
He took the duffel bag from her and walked to the corner. She and Obie followed. “Where’s your car?”
“I didn’t want to leave it at the airport, so I called an Uber.”
“I don’t understand. Why would you need to do that? It’s not like you’re going with me.”
The Uber stopped at the curb. It was a black SUV with tinted windows. Anders refused the driver’s offer of help with the luggage and opened the rear passenger side door for Molly. Obie climbed in first while Molly stood on the curb baffled but adamant about one thing. “Anders, you’re not coming with me.”
“Have to,” he said, tossing the duffel into the backseat. “I’m the pilot.”
Chapter Twenty
Cheyenne used the bathroom in the dockside office to change her clothes and brush her teeth. Worried someone would come back and discover her, she moved quickly. The bathroom was tiny and white-walled with just a toilet and sink. There was no mirror and only one small window high in the wall. It was open, letting in the warm sea breeze, which carried the scent of salt water and fish. Her stomach grumbled at the thought of a fried fish sandwich. She had money in her wallet. She just needed to find a place that sold food. She’d seen a cruise ship docked not too far away. Where there were cruise ships and tourists, there had to be restaurants. She’d go that way and get a cab to the airport from there.
She was proud of herself for how calm and logical she was being. Deep down, she wanted to curl up in a ball and cry, but she wasn’t thinking about that right now. Right now, she had to stuff her bathing suit and swim shorts back into her backpack and find her wallet. She had eighty-five dollars and some change. She’d been hoping to use the money for the sci-fi convention in Miami, but that totally wasn’t happening now. When Molly got done with her, she was going to be grounded until she was fifty. At least the money would buy her something to eat and get her a cab ride to the airport. She hoped.
Realizing she should’ve found her wallet by now, her heart began to sink. She flipped the bag and dumped the entire contents onto the floor. The clothes she’d just changed out of, a hairbrush, toothpaste and toothbrush, deodorant, the mystery novel she was reading, a couple of pens, and the nearly empty bag of Twizzlers. The wallet was missing.
“Oh, my goodness,” she whispered. She shook the empty backpack as hard as she could as if that would make her wallet magically appear. It must have dropped out when she went through her stuff on the plane. Voices drifted through the open window.
She shoved everything back into the backpack. With a racing heartbeat, she stood up and double-checked to make sure she had everything before she hurried into the main room of the sparse office. Through the giant windows that overlooked the marina, she could see two men standing on one of the piers talking to a third man who was on a fishing boat. They were in the opposite direction of the seaplane and not looking her way. She dreaded going back to look for her wallet, but she’d never make it to the airport without money.
The men appeared to be deep in conversation. Taking advantage of that, she slipped out the door and made her way around the building as casually as possible. Once she was out of their direct view, she dashed to the farthest pier and made her way down the long, skinny boardwalk, passing a bunch of docked sailboats and motorboats. She was pretty certain the man called Wade hadn’t come back. He would have had to pass by the office and she was sure she would have heard him. She could only hope he’d stay away a little longer.
He’d left the plane’s door open and that was how she’d gotten out. She’d been afraid to open the cargo hold’s hatch. With no windows, she couldn’t know what or who she’d find on the other side, so she’d made her way up the staircase, peeked out the window, and fled when she saw the coast was clear. Somewhere along the way, she’d lost her wallet, but she was pretty certain she’d dropped it in her hiding spot between the two crates.
She hated the idea of going back inside that plane. If Wade came back while she was in the cargo hold, she’d be trapped. With a gut full of lead, she reached for the railing and climbed the steps. The plane dipped slightly under her weight as she entered the fuselage. It was quiet. The smell of exhaust fumes was heavy in the air. She started down the aisle toward the back of the plane when the door leading from the cargo hold opened. Cheyenne’s heart stopped when Wade stepped out. Still wearing a fancy three-piece suit, the dark-skinned man was distracted by something in his hand. Cheyenne wanted to run but she was so scared she couldn’t convince her body to move. Wade glanced up from the object and did a double take. His nostrils flared slightly and then he turned the object around for Cheyenne to see.
It was her Key West High School ID.
“I believe this belongs to you,” he said mildly in a heavy Jamaican accent.
Cheyenne gasped and took a step back. He slowly stalked toward her.
“Looks like I had a stowaway. Were you a witness too?” His expression changed. Darkened. Looked fit to kill. And then, quick as a snap, he came after her.
Cheyenne spun around and flew out the open doorway. Leaping from the top step, she landed squarely on the dock and then ran down the long pier. When she dared to glance back, she saw Wade stumbling down the steps of the rocking plane. He was coming. She had to go now. Heart pounding, Cheyenne rounded the corner of the whitewashed office building and nearly plowed into a bicycle that hadn’t been there before. A young Jamaican man was sitting behind the counter, talking on the phone. He didn’t spare her a glance. Guilt trickled through her as she eyed the bike. She couldn’t believe she was even hesitating. Her life depended on this. When he turned away, she grabbed the bike and hopped on. The rear wheel skidded in the sandy dirt as she got her bearings and began to pedal as fast as she could.
“Hey!” the man in the office shouted, but she didn’t look back until her wheels hit the blacktop.
Wade rounded the corner of the building, pushed the younger guy out of the way, and kept coming after her. Cheyenne’s heart leapt. She took off across the parking lot and shot out onto the empty street. Older than Anders and definitely not as fit, Wade ran out of steam before she made it to the end of the block. She hung a left and didn’t slow down until a half dozen blocks separated her from the marina.
The streets were pot-holed and narrow and sidewalks were absent or too dilapidated to use, so she stayed close to the stucco-sided buildings. She got off the main road as soon as she could and headed down a back alley. The tightly packed dirt was actually less rutted than the blacktop and made it easier to pedal. She kept an eye on the twin smokestacks poking out over the rusted r
ooftops as she weaved her way toward the cruise terminal.
Children ran around the dusty, garbage-ridden neighborhood, playing in the street. A group of senior citizens sat on plastic chairs next to a burned-out car. A man pushed a grocery cart full of junk across the road. No one paid attention to Cheyenne as she whirred passed them on her bicycle, but she was still on edge in the unfamiliar place. And Wade was looking for her. She could feel it.
How was she going to take a cab to the airport with no money?
Tears sprang to her eyes as she peddled down another small alley, this one tucked between a row of tiny square houses and a tall wooden fence struggling to hold back the irrepressible jungle. She came upon a pack of dogs and four children playing with a ball. The kids moved aside to let her pass, but one of the dogs broke free of the pack and ran after her bike, barking. Cheyenne liked dogs, but this one was snarling and nipping at her feet. She yelled at it to go away, but it didn’t back off until she reached the end of the alley. She hung another right, came out onto a much wider street, and saw the parking lot for the cruise ship terminal just ahead.
As she flew past the old-timey “Welcome to Historic Falmouth Jamaica” sign, her bike wheels bounced over the pristine red cobblestones and her teeth bumped together. She hit the brakes and jumped off the bike, then parked it beside the black wrought iron fence that surrounded the port entrance. No one stopped her as she entered the complex through the main gate and blended in with a group of tourists who were disembarking from a trolley. They were all heading toward the cruise ship, which was still some distance away. The sound of happy steel drum music greeted her as she entered the craft market.
The cruise ship terminal was nothing like the real Falmouth. This version looked like something out of a Disney theme park. Cheyenne had done all the parks for free a few years ago when her mom performed with some other country artists at the American Gardens Theater at Epcot.
Just like the theme park pavilions, the craft market crawled with more American and European tourists than actual Jamaicans. The covered kiosks in the center of the plaza sold things like T-shirts, hats and purses, painted coconuts, and handcrafted wood items, while the red brick buildings around the exterior housed familiar American restaurants like DQ, Quiznos, and Nathan’s. Cheyenne’s stomach grumbled as the scent of boiling hotdogs wafted toward her. She wet her dry lips and swallowed hard.
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