"Sometimes I feel so desperate." She clung to him again, crying into his collar. "I don't think clearly sometimes."
"Neither do I," he soothed. "Like five minutes ago. It's all right."
He wasn't sure she'd heard. At any rate, she wasn't comforted. "I have to take care of them. The twins. Christian can't help. Not really. They're my responsibility now. When this contract came up, I never stopped to think how it could affect Marcus."
"I'll take care of the twins."
She shook her head, mouth trembling.
"What?" he demanded. "You don't believe me?"
"There will be a difference. Just as there was between Christian and Marcus. The twins are as different to you as Marcus was to him." She fingered the wedding ring, slipped it off, held it in her hand. He seized it, laid it on the desk.
"I'll prove it to you. Please trust me, Victoria. You don't have to do this alone." He kissed her wet mouth, moved his lips over her face, swallowing tears. "Trust me," he breathed into her ear. "Tell me you do."
"I do." She pulled out of his arms. "I'll tell them I won't do the campaign unless they can work Marcus into it."
"You'd do that?"
She nodded.
"Go for it, novia."
She smiled, running her fingertips over her cheekbones.
"I have to take Marcus now, though," he ventured. "For a couple of days. If I don't, he'll feel slighted, lose his confidence in me." He thought of the next few days, the harrowing schedule developing, the fact he hadn't fished with Alejandro in over a week. The added responsibility of Marcus would unbalance the scale precariously. "You understand I have to take him, don't you?"
"Take me too. And Alex and Ari."
The scale tipped, threateningly. "Is that what you want?"
"Yes. Someplace where we can be alone. Someplace where you can love us, and we can love you back." Fresh tears sprang up and spilled over. "I really want that."
"How do you feel about yachts?"
He had surprised her, but she smiled broadly.
"I just happen to have one I think you'll like."
* * *
"Jesus!" Sheila Massey exclaimed when they came out of the study. "Did someone's mother die? I'll have to do you from scratch."
Victoria said softly, "No more shots today. I'll call New York tomorrow and... explain."
Zac went upstairs to tell Lizbett to add the twins to the packing ritual, then went in search of Victoria. He found her in the closet, enveloped in a sense of urgency, dragging clothing from the hangers. Garments suitable for the socially elite Hotel Valdez dining room on a Saturday night.
He exercised exceptional gentleness as he took the dresses from her and rehung them. "You won't need these. You haven't been invited onto the Andrea Elena II. We're just going to sail around for a few days and swim, and lie in the sun, and get fat." He faced her, holding her gaze with his. "And make love. Every chance we get."
She seemed to fold up. He wondered if he had reduced her to the frailty of her state with his earlier reprimand, and questioned the sanity of Andrea Von Felsberg's advice about the squeaky wheel getting greased.
Victoria covered her face with her palms, shoulders rounded, murmuring, "Are you sure you want us?"
The helplessness she exuded scared him a little, but his desire to be needed, his penchant for control, outweighed the ambiguity. He eased her hands away, kissed her, gently at first, and then penetrated her deeply, aiming to stir her, take her past remorse. "I want you, Victoria. Trust me."
He urged her down to the hallowed rug and made love to her, not knowing which of her proclaimed maladies drove her—fear, insecurity, loneliness, or lack of attention. He understood from her fervent response that she was hungry. Hungry for sex, the means to right her unidentified agitation.
* * *
He made use of her packing time to cancel appointments and make apologies that couldn't begin to cover the next few days. Then he called a classmate and asked him to tape his philosophy class, the third one he had missed. One conclusion fought its way to the forefront. A graduate degree had been one thing he desperately wanted when he left that freighter six months ago.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Zac and Josh loaded the Irish in drenching twilight humidity, always the hottest time of day, once the breeze died. When finished, they stood at the rail, drinking beer, watching for Josh's mama to return from foraging the Bay Shore freezer and the grocery.
Josh, who had helped unload the cars and reload the boat, remarked, "They sure got a lot of stuff, don't they, Mr. Z.?"
Below, Victoria and Lizbett were unpacking clothing, toys, water paraphernalia and Victoria's art supplies, distributing it to designated staterooms.
The gentle vibration of the idling engines soothed Zac, helping him frame a tolerant answer, "Yeah, they do. I think it's called trappings."
"Seems like when we took the Irish out with Ms. Carron and Allie that time, we just got on and went." Josh sipped his Corona reflectively, staring over the calm bay. "Is that the way you remember it, too?"
"Carron traveled light." He attempted to deflect his recall beyond that. "Would you like to repeat what we talked about? Just so I'll know we've got it right?"
"Yes, sir. I'm supposed to bring the jeep and meet you at the Freeport marina two nights from now—"
"Days from now."
"Yes, sir. Early enough so's we can get back to Ramona by dark. And you want me to bring Delilah, for sure. I got it, Mr. Z."
"What else?"
"Flashlights. Real big ones."
Zac had called Luke, given him his itinerary from the hour of departure to the hour of return. Luke would tell Jan. Jan would relate it to Maggie; Maggie, out of hurt and anger, would tell Ian that Zac was cruising with Victoria.
Zac tabled Maggie's hurt and anger for now.
He had called Gerald with the same itinerary, apologized for his upcoming absence. After getting Gerald's vague compliance, Zac had asked a Fischer's Landing foreman to cover for him.
He had coached Victoria to leave the same information with the hotel desk and each of them recorded new messages for their personal voice mail.
"Hi, it's Zac. Changes in latitudes. I'm taking the Irish out for a few days. You can reach me Thursday night."
Victoria had included the Irish's marine number in her message.
Josh brought Zac's up short from mental rehearsal of the coming event. "Are we having a surprise party? I like a mystery, but should I know the rest of it?"
"Not yet. Once we're in the jeep, driving back to Ramona, I'll tell you." Plenty of time on the fifty-mile journey. "Trust me, for now."
Josh grinned, shrugged.
"And plan to sail with us—when we've made the turn around back to the Irish," Zac added. "You and Lizbett can watch the Disney movie with the children again."
Josh laughed, jostling Zac, shoulder to shoulder.
"But, Josh?"
Josh raised his heavy black brows.
"Don't forget Delilah."
* * *
Lizbett and the children were assigned the master suite, sleeping bags readied on the plushly carpeted floor for Marcus and Alex. After making hasty home arrangements for her own children, Sylvania moved into the stateroom next to Lizbett and her charges. Victoria took up stately quarters across the hall. Zac settled for the bunk and shower tucked away behind the non- air-conditioned captain's bridge.
He pulled the Irish away from the dock long after the children's bedtime. Sailing into the Gulf far enough to prevent spotting land on waking, he dropped anchor and activated the signal lights to prevent being run down by a freighter.
After a shower, he lay on his bunk in the sweltering quarters, listening to the generator grind out power to feed the air-conditioners on the lower level.
A cognitive review of the material "stuff" Josh had observed, along with the events and trauma of the day, filed through Zac's mind. For the first time, he actually faced the grave differences in the w
ay he and Victoria viewed life. He examined the cloak of mental turmoil that governed hers, rehashing what she had told him of her past, incidents for which he credited the current chaos. Lacking immediate solution, he sought a glimpse of the hope of a stable relationship, wanting to feel the assurance he always portrayed to Victoria.
The feasibility of their love eluded his mental grasp.
He had been tempted to pick Alejandro up, bodily, and bring him on board the Irish, knowing the benefit he would reap from four days of sun and sea air. But once Alejandro knew Victoria would be included—never mind knowing he was second choice—he would balk or sulk, or both. When Zac had reconsidered her plea "to be taken somewhere they could be alone so they could love him, have him love them back," he tabled his desire for his father and Victoria to share the same cruise.
Now, he pondered Lizbett and Sylvania's part in the solitude Victoria had claimed to desire.
The added complication of Gerald and Pierce Chandler's feud, the effect it could have on his and Victoria's relationship, edged into his deliberations. With an all-out vendetta threatening, Gerald wanted Victoria in his camp and was depending on Zac to accomplish the goal.
Using people didn't appear to be part of Gerald's makeup, but Zac knew how much Gerald believed in the Fischer's Landing project and how much he wanted to see gambling in the state. Guilt edged into Zac's reflection. Considering Gerald's proposed plan for the yacht, a plan Zac had agreed to take into consideration, he hoped Victoria wouldn't become attached to the Irish or expect it to remain accessible.
He shifted his weight in the narrow bunk, reminded of the simplicity of his year on the freighter. How easy it would have been to sign on for Ruffin's new tour; how easy it would be to call Ruffin now, talk to him, get a grip on the simpler reality of just sailing around—
"Zac?"
In the door to the bridge, a willowy form materialized between him and a cloud-cloaked moon. She left the door open and glided across the small space. He shifted his weight on the bunk again, making room, his bare butt against the cool steel of the bridge wall. Ruffin's alluring itinerary vaporized in scented shampoo, soap, and Victoria.
"Nice." He gathered her to him, pressed his lips to the top of her head, to her temple, inhaling. He found her mouth, tasted, ingested. He discovered her body to be as sleek and cool as her jade-green eyes had been during tonight's decorous family dinner, and when he'd shared goodnights with her and the children outside their staterooms.
Now he ran his hand down the pronounced curve of her hip, up her inner thigh, creating a wake of fire. Flame burned his awareness and raged into new hope, delicately disguised in the feasibility he had sought moments before.
"Do you ever wish I had gone onto that freighter with you that night in Portofino?" she whispered against his throat.
That took no consideration. "No. I wouldn't change one thing."
"I do." She arched and moaned, "If I had only known."
* * *
He woke to the intense heat of the bridge, the sun in his face, the smell of coffee brewing, bacon frying, and Victoria's perspiration-drenched body tucked into the inverted question mark of his own. He suddenly realized why God hadn't cast him loose to drown in the sea of a self- imposed, downward spiral after the loss of Maggie, Allie and Carron. God was lenient enough to let him know Victoria as he knew her at this moment.
A sustaining moment that tempered the unease in his gut.
She turned in his arms and placed his hands on her breasts. "I love your hands." Her face wore a pillow crease. Dregs of sleep left her voice husky, her eyes a little vague.
"My brown hands." Contrast prevailed in the stark light. He raised himself, hooked one leg over her.
"I love them on my body. Sometimes I close my eyes—odd times—and I see the picture in my mind." She moved her mouth to his for an instant before slithering from beneath his touch and the suggestion of his body, with the grace of a serpent. "The children," she said softly. "They'll come looking for me."
The promise in her smile gave him valuable insight into the age-old philosophy of Adam succumbing, too easily, to the infamous apple.
* * *
Zac gave their first day out a superior rating.
Ariana learned to say, "I love you, Zac," and announced it repeatedly over lunch. Marcus, after minimal coaxing, showed his adventuresome spirit by plunging off the back of the Irish into the blue abyss of the Gulf and Zac's waiting arms. To Zac's delight, Victoria lost her bikini top when she followed Marcus's brave lead. Miraculously, Alex took an extra long nap and, somewhere in the night, Victoria re-entered Zac's bunk, keeping the morning's promise.
Memory of her smothered cries drifted onto the sweltering darkness and whispered into his craving long after she had gone.
"That's good, Zac. So good. Oh—yes. Oh God, I—" She had arched, run rigid. "—love you. I love you. It's so good."
He heard the words in his mind every time he captured her green glance at breakfast the following morning. The way she delicately blotted milk from Ari's upper lip with one hand and caressed his inner thigh beneath the table with her free hand, intrigued him.
Victoria was two women, and Zac was in love with both.
* * *
Zac and Josh sat parked across the street from Fischer's Landing in a private drive, tucked into the shadow of an eerily waving willow. Josh had removed a FOR SALE sign from the yard to prevent attracting the attention of passing traffic.
"So what if it's not tonight, Mr. Z? What if it was last night? Or tomorrow night."
"It wasn't last night. Gerald would have told me when I talked to him today. It won't be tomorrow night because Ian knows I'll be back. It's tonight."
"How do you know?" Zac heard curious awe, not skepticism.
"Telepathy is a gift, Josh. Not always a comforting one."
Josh mimicked the old Twilight Zone theme.
"Yeah," Zac agreed, his smile begrudging. "There he is." A white pickup truck passed slowly. "Right on time. Accommodating bastard."
Ian never drove the truck to work, but Zac had seen it at Maggie's, and he'd known the Nissan hatchback wouldn't do for the petty high stakes Ian planned tonight. He removed the jeep key, stuck it in his pocket, swung his legs through the open door to the concrete. "Bring the flashlights. I'll bring Delilah."
Josh's breathing took on an abrupt, asthmatic quality. Zac felt his own tension oozing from his sweat glands, felt his throat close up a little, his breathe turn ragged. Delilah leaped from the rear of the jeep, stood close by his leg, sensing his mood. They began walking along the tree-shrouded street, their athletic shoes treading quietly, except for an occasional twig or pebble.
The truck turned in at Fischer's Landing, the lights doused predictably. Ian would find his raid a little more complicated now, though. An express-ordered, chain-link fence had gone in four days before, complete with a sliding gate, chained and secured with a mammoth padlock.
They slowed, stopped in the shadow of a banana tree gone wild. Zac whispered for Josh to listen.
"For what?"
"Bolt cutters."
A stealthy silhouette, easily detectable in the light from a passing car, moved to the truck bed, then crossed to the gate.
"Hear that?" Zac said, after the solid, snapping sound of the lock being cut, the clank of a chain swinging, banging. Zac smiled to himself. Ian was neither smart enough, nor quick enough, to catch the hardware before it fell, echoing on the blacktop.
"How'd you know he'd use cutters?" Zac heard Josh's grin.
"The gate is too new for him to have hustled a key." And Maggie hadn't been given one. No one had, other than Gerald and Zac.
The truck pulled through the gate, the engine vibrating powerfully, resounding in the early summer night. Ian was more of a souped-up-car-freak than an astute thief.
"Give him a chance to get inside the lot."
Ian pulled the truck across the lot; brake lights flashed, backed toward them a moment, then vee
red toward the metal shack.
"You okay, Josh?"
"Yeah."
"Scared?"
"Yeah."
"Me, too."
"I like it, Mr. Z."
Zac liked it too, because it would lead to the elimination of this problem. He imagined drawing a wide, black line through Ian McCumber's name, taking him off his problem list. Maggie's list too.
"Don't get hung up on the feeling, Josh. There's not much future in living off events dramatic enough to scare you."
"Is that my lesson for tonight, Mr. Z?"
Zac chuckled. If he never got to teach philosophy in the Houston ghetto, maybe he could impart wisdom to Josh and see the results first hand.
"Yeah. That and God's third commandment."
"Thou shalt not steal."
"You've got it."
They advanced to the supply yard, just inside the gate, after hearing the second lock clank open, thud on the blacktop. Delilah padded beside them, her nails clicking a perfect pattern against the pavement. Zac felt her neck straining against the short leash. He reached down, rehearsing the hinge that would free her. They waited a lifetime beside the hood of the truck before Ian reappeared in the open shed door.
"Now," Zac said. Two synchronized lights blinded Ian.
"Hey!" Ian called out, a benign reaction, Zac thought. Ian's arms circled two fat rolls of insulation that he peered around, straining, blinking. "Who the fuck—"
That got lost in the click of the leash, and Zac's soft directive. "Okay, Delilah."
Delilah's reaction renewed his faith in animal loyalty. She bounded forward, sucked her tail end into her shoulders and sprang through the open air onto Ian's chest. A chest made vulnerable in a panic-spurred, split-second reaction when he dropped his intended haul. He fell back, half inside the door.
Josh and Zac moved forward in perfect unison, bearing down with the flashlights, keeping him blinded. He writhed on the blacktop, unwisely. With each move her victim made, Delilah's teeth tore more forearm flesh.
"Delilah," Zac called. A split decision presented itself, but decency won out. "Delilah, stop."
She opened her mouth, releasing the mangled arm. Ian moaned, drew his arm to his ribcage, glaring wildly into the light.
Slightly Imperfect Page 22