by Rachel Woods
“Wait a minute, what the hell are you talking about?” Icarus grabbed me.
“I’m talking about your text message with—”
Confusion crossed his features. “What text message?” He shook his head. “I didn’t send you a text.”
“Liar!”
“Quinn, will you please calm down and listen to me!”
“No, I will not calm down, and get your hands off me!” I said, trying to twist away from him. “You are not going to get away with blackmailing me! I am going to the police, and I am going to have you arrested!”
“Blackmailing you?” He frowned, looking genuinely confused. I couldn’t tell if he was really shocked or if he was a damn good actor. At that moment, I didn’t give a damn. I just wanted to get the hell away from him.
Pushing away, I turned and started walking, trudging through the soft, powdery sand, not caring where the hell I was going, as long as it was the hell away from Icarus.
“Quinn, wait! Listen, I don’t know what the hell is going on,” he said. “I don’t know why you think I’m trying to blackmail you, but—”
I faced him. “Stay away from me, okay.”
“Quinn, listen to me,” Icarus said. “I don’t know anything about blackmailing you. I don’t know—”
“You asked me if I got your note and I did,” I told him. “I read your damn note.”
“I don’t know what note you read,” Icarus said. “But, it wasn’t the note that I sent you.”
“The maid told me that you told her to deliver that note to me,” I said, yanking away from him, stepping back even though I wanted to step closer, into his arms. What the hell was wrong with me? How could I still want him, knowing he was plotting to extort money from me? Was I nothing more than one of those sex-starved women Joshua had described? Eager for some good sex.
I was beginning to understand why I’d lost three cases, back to back to back. Obviously, I’d lost my mind, in addition to my sense of logic, pragmatism, and discernment. There was no other explanation for my attraction to Icarus except stark raving lunacy. The woman I thought I was would never be controlled by lust, allowing desire to impede her judgment. Problem was, the old Quinn was missing in action, but I needed to find her, quickly, before the new Quinn made any more ridiculous decisions.
“I did tell the maid to deliver the note,” Icarus said. “But, my note said—”
“I know what the note said,” I told him, taking a few more steps back, irritated by how the sight of him made me swing wildly from lust to rage and back to lust. “And you need to know that I’m not going to let you blackmail me!”
“Quinn, I—”
“Go to hell!” I told him. “And don’t worry about taking me back to the hotel. I’ll get a damn cab.”
Chapter Nine
Back at the hotel, I paced back and forth in the living room, trying to control my scattered thoughts, trying to make sense of what was happening to me.
Feeling crazy and desperate, I walked from one couch to the next, sitting down and then jumping up. One moment, I was nervous and jittery and convinced that my life as I knew it was over. The next second, I was calm and introspective, certain I would find a way out of the mess I’d made of my life.
Nevertheless, I wasn’t sure what was going on with Icarus and didn’t know what to believe. Was Icarus telling the truth? Or had he lied to me? Was he the blackmailer? If so, why would he go through the grand pretense of trying to make me believe he hadn’t sent that text message? Was he playing some kind of psychological game? Trying to mess with my head? Trying to make me think … what? I didn’t know. Everything was too confusing.
Once again, I couldn’t think. I needed a fresh perspective. I needed someone else’s opinions and ideas and thoughts and deductions to help me come up with some conclusions and a plan to deal with my situation.
Grabbing my cell phone, I called my best friend Lisa.
“My life is ruined,” I blurted out, close to tears, when Lisa answered.
“What? Wait a minute, what are you talking about?” Lisa demanded. “Quinn, calm down and tell me what the hell is going on, okay?”
It took a few deep breaths, and several times I had to stop and get myself together so I wouldn’t burst into tears, but eventually, I was able to confide in Lisa. After I’d finished, there was an odd pause, during which I’d wondered if the line had been accidentally disconnected, but then Lisa said, “Pay him.”
I jumped up from the couch, my heart pounding. “What?”
“Pay the chauffeur and then leave that damn island.”
“I’m not going to pay him,” I said, confused and offended by her suggestion. “I’m not letting him get away with this!”
“You don’t have a choice, okay,” Lisa said, a fierce demand in her voice. “Pay him, and then tell him you want to see him erase the video, and then get on a plane, and—”
“If I pay him once, what’s to stop him from blackmailing me again?” I asked, pacing the length of the couch. “He’s probably got a dozen copies of that damn video!”
Lisa sighed. “I know but—”
“No, I can’t,” I said, circling the couch counterclockwise.
“Quinn, think rationally, okay?”
Sinking to the couch again, I said, “I haven’t been able to think rationally for the past six months, and I doubt if I’ll start right now.”
“Listen. That devious limo driver is going to have you all over the Internet,” Lisa said. “He said the whole world will know. The story will be anxiety-ridden prominent attorney makes porn video.”
“I know that,” I said, panic exploding within me again.
“Then you know there’s too much at stake for you to play around with this guy,” she said. “You’ll give your grandfather a stroke and your dad a heart attack! And what about the partners at Ellison, Zupancic, and Cox?”
“Oh God …” I whispered, remembering the moral turpitude clause in the employment contract I’d signed. If the video was released, the firm could fire me, and no other prominent self-respecting establishment would want their reputation tainted by my seedy antics.
“Do you really want everybody at your firm to know that you went to a sex hotel?”
“Yeah, because you told me to,” I said, flushed and yet chilled, my body going hot and then ice cold, intermittently. “I never would have come to this place if you hadn’t insisted that I needed sexual healing to get over my anxiety!”
“Wait a minute, are you blaming me?”
“It’s your damn fault that I’m in this mess!” I yelled, unable to temper my irrational thoughts. “You wanted me to come here! It was your damn idea! If I hadn’t listened to you then none of this would have happened!”
“Yes, it was my idea,” Lisa admitted, her tone curt and clipped. “But I didn’t put a damn gun to your head!
Incensed, and yet with no argument to dispute her, I said nothing, just drew my feet beneath me and stared at nothing, no longer trying to get hold of the emotions warring within me.
“Look, I don’t mean to make you feel worse about all this,” Lisa said. “And, honestly, I think I got so upset because …”
“Because?”
“Because I do feel responsible,” Lisa said. “You’re right, I pushed you to go to St. Mateo. I convinced you that you would feel better about yourself if you had a bunch of crazy sex.”
“Like you said,” I told her, “you didn’t put a gun to my head. I could have said, no, I don’t want to go, I don’t want to have sex with anyone.”
“But, if I hadn’t told you about the hotel—”
“Lisa, it’s not your fault,” I said. “Really, it’s not.”
“Okay, maybe it’s not completely my fault,” she said. “But, I am somewhat to blame for this hell you’re going through, and I want to help you.”
“There’s really nothing you can do.”
“Except be there for you,” Lisa said. “I could fly down there. I have some vaca
tion—”
“No, no, don’t do that,” I told her. “You don’t have to disrupt your life because of my stupid choices.”
“You wouldn’t have made those choices if I hadn’t—”
“Lisa, don’t, okay? Assigning blame is not going to solve the problem.”
“A hundred thousand dollars will solve the problem,” Lisa said. “You’ve got to pay that asshole and then leave that damn island.”
“I know that.”
“Do you, really?” Lisa asked. “Quinn, you only have five days to get the money. I think you should call your banker and start getting things in motion. It’s not going to be easy to get a hundred thousand dollars cash.”
“Yeah,” I said, distracted by the worry and panic threatening to overtake me. “I know.”
After the call with Lisa, I stood, walked across the living room to the French doors, and stepped out onto the terrace. The warm breeze with its floral fragrance entranced me. Lying on one of the chaise lounges, I closed my eyes and tried to relax, tried to forget about my problems for a moment or two. Despite the turmoil in my life, I dozed off.
It wasn’t a peaceful, refreshing nap. My subconscious conjured up a virulent nightmare, one in which I was running through the forest. Someone was chasing me, and they had a gun. Every now and then, I heard a gunshot and the petals of a hibiscus flower would explode as the bullet tore through it. Eventually, I tripped, and when I scrambled to my knees, my pursuer stood before me, pointing a gun in my face.
Trembling and cowering, I stared up into the face I knew well. My own face. As all my anxiety dreams had before, this one ended with me shooting myself.
With a crying gasp, I awoke, shaken and slightly disoriented, my heart slamming. Pulling my knees to my chest, I scanned my surroundings, wary, half-expecting to hear gunshots. Another anxiety nightmare. The first one since I’d arrived in paradise, which was supposed to have stopped the crazy dreams. Disappointed and discouraged, I realized I still wasn’t close to being over the anxiety. And maybe, I wouldn’t get over the anxiety until I discovered what was fueling it. Why had I started making foolish decisions six months ago? What was driving the illogical self-sabotaging tendencies threatening my career?
I wasn’t sure, but somehow, someway, I needed to figure it out.
DAY FOUR
Chapter Ten
“Oh, Ms. Miller,” said the housekeeper as she was about to leave my suite after delivering my lunch—niçoise salad, fruit, and a dirty martini.
After a third sip of the olive-brined vodka, I glanced up at her. “Yes?”
“I almost forgot,” she said, walking back into the dining alcove, slipping a hand into the wide pocket on her aqua-colored apron. “This is for you.”
Paralyzed, I glared at her. “What is that?”
She held an aqua-colored envelope toward me. “I think it got lost. The butler said he found it in the trash.”
“In the trash?” I eyed the envelope, suspicious, reluctant to take it.
The housekeeper shrugged. “That’s what the butler said. Then he saw your name on the back of it, and he told me to give it to you.”
I nodded and then said, “Just leave it. I’ll open it later.”
The maid gave me a polite nod, then placed the envelope on the table, and left, wishing me a wonderful day on her way out.
Taking a few more sips of the dirty martini, I studied the envelope as though it was a rattlesnake, coiled and ready to strike. Wary, with trembling fingers, I pulled the note from the envelope and stared at it. Quinn, call me. Icarus. Beneath the bold, decisive strokes, there was a phone number. Hope rose in me, filling me with elation, but I fought to ignore it.
Confused, I read the note again, over and over. The more I read the words, the less they made sense and the more puzzled I became. Had Icarus been telling me the truth? I don’t know what note you read, but it wasn’t the note that I sent you. Or, had he bribed the maid to deliver the envelope and give me some lie about the butler finding it in the trash? He had to know I was suspicious of him. Maybe he’d decided he needed to fool me into thinking that he was innocent, and on my side.
Was it possible that Icarus was blackmailing me in plain sight, right in front of my face?
Despite my doubts about him, I wanted Icarus to be innocent. I needed him to be innocent. Because if he wasn’t, then how could I continue to allow the attraction and feelings I’d developed for him to run rampant. Common sense dictated I should hate him and want him behind bars for his attempt to extort money from me.
Couldn’t rely on my common sense these days, though.
I jumped up, abandoning the lunch I had no appetite for, and hurried into the bedroom to get my cell phone. I sat on the chaise and, with the note from Icarus on my lap, I called the number he’d scrawled across the pale aqua paper.
The phone rang several times, and then the answering machine came on. I ended the call, not wanting to leave a message. Anxious to talk to Icarus, I decided to go to the front atrium and ask one of the staff members to find him.
While waiting to talk to a desk assistant, I wandered out of the foyer and to the front entrance.
The circular drive in front of the hotel was teeming with activity, limousines arriving and departing. Chauffeurs opened doors, helping women out. Drivers closed doors after helping women into the backseats of their respective cars. Bellmen hurried to load and unload expensive luggage while young, slim, attractive St. Matean personal assistants strode out to welcome whichever sex-starved woman had been assigned to them.
In the midst of the frenzied activity, I sidestepped over to a marble column, hoping to spot Liberada. As my eyes drifted to and fro, I spotted Icarus. I froze, and something plummeted within me as I watched him escorting another woman out of a limo. Envy rocked me, and I nearly collapsed. Realistically, I’d suspected that Icarus had been assigned to more than one guest, but having the proof of my suspicions right in front of me was too much to bear.
As he and the woman ascended the stairs, Icarus glanced in my direction. Our eyes met as he walked past me, but there was no recognition in his gaze, and a moment later, he looked away.
I went back to my suite, feeling stupid and naive. Crawling into bed, I buried myself beneath the covers and sobbed myself to sleep.
Hours later, I woke and found the room flooded with a copper golden glow. The sun was setting. The clock on the bed table told me it was a few minutes after six. Shocked that I had slept so long, I stumbled out of bed and into the bathroom where I took a long, scalding shower, trying to wash away the shame and guilt, trying to refresh and awaken a sense of determination and decisiveness.
Wallowing in bed and crying wasn’t going to make my problems go away. I needed to analyze and evaluate my predicament, come up with options, make some decisions, formulate a plan, and carry it out. Easier said than done, I thought, stepping out of the shower. But I couldn’t just curl into a ball and die. I had to try to use all of the perceptive and resourceful skills I employed as a litigator to figure a way out of this predicament.
After drying off, I slipped into a robe and went into the bedroom. Moments later, there was a knock at the door. Housekeeping, I figured. Probably here to inquire about my dinner plans. Not in a rush, I went into the living area and opened the door.
Icarus stood before me. Lust flooded me, like a shot of adrenaline, leaving me dizzy and weak. My attraction to Icarus was too powerful and hypnotic, like a drug.
We stared at each other for a moment too long before I asked, “What the hell do you want?”
“I want you to know that I didn’t send that blackmail note,” he said. “I would never do something like that, I would never blackmail anyone. But especially not you.”
The earnest sincerity in his gaze made me feel horrible for thinking he could be so conniving and mercenary. And yet, I was worried by my lack of wariness, wondering if my desire for him was causing me to ignore the signs of his treachery.
“I know you
didn’t send it,” I said, even though I didn’t really know, I was just hoping. “I got the letter you wanted me to have.”
“I don’t understand,” he said. “If you got my letter, why did you say—”
“I got two letters,” I told him, stepping back, allowing him entrance.
“Two letters?” he asked, confusion in his gaze.
“I don’t really know what’s going on,” I said and closed the door. “But, one of the maids told me that she was told to deliver a letter to me, and she said it was from you. And it was that blackmail letter.”
“What was the maid’s name?”
“I don’t know. I don’t think I asked her.” I turned to him. “And I don’t think she was one of the original four housekeepers I was introduced to when I met the staff assigned to me.”
“What did she look like?”
“She had a very light complexion,” I said, remembering. “Dark curly hair pulled back into a ponytail. Does she sound familiar to you?”
Frowning, Icarus looked contemplative. “Sort of, but not really. Matean women come in various complexions from light to dark and every shade in between.”
“I need to find out who that maid was,” I said, my mind churning. The time for tears and self-recrimination had passed. It was time to figure this mess out. “And once I do, I can find out who told her to deliver that blackmail letter to me.”
“Maybe I could help with that,” Icarus said.
“How?” I asked, encouraged by the determination in his gaze. He seemed to be just as upset as I was about the blackmail demand and was, perhaps, committed to helping me find out who the hell was trying to make my life hell. I was hopeful but cautioning myself. I still didn’t know if I could trust Icarus. He might be trying to trick me into thinking he was for me when, really, he was against me. I didn’t like feeling so paranoid, but I didn’t think I could afford to let my guard down completely.