Never Too Late

by Patricia Watters

  Andrea couldn't help the warmth curling inside with Jerry's words. She hadn't intended to look good for him, but for some reason, after she put on the suit and saw herself in the mirror, it mattered what he thought. The suit covered everything she didn't want him to see—the stretch marks on her belly, breasts that were no longer as high and firm as years past, yet managed to fill the top of the suit nicely and in a youthful way. But when he stripped the suit off her and she turned around, he didn't seem to care that she was a woman past her prime, the glint in his eyes told her he liked what he saw, and he intended to take what he wanted. And that was all the spark she needed, because when she looked at him, sleek, and muscular, and fully aroused and ready for her, she wanted what he was offering too...

  "It's a nice suit," she said, lamely. "It's comfortable. And the batik pattern is pretty."

  "Yeah, pretty," Jerry said. He walked ahead a few feet, then turned around and said, while walking backwards, "Look, I'm having trouble. You're looking good. Trim. Your legs... I want to stop the sex. It's like an addiction. You give. I take. I want more. It's all go while we're here away from everything, but back home... nothing's changed. This trip has been hell, and there's not a shred of affection between us, and all I want to do when I see you is screw the hell out of you like I did on the beach. So it has to stop. No more sex."

  His gaze dropped and she knew he was looking at her breasts nestled in the shirt where she'd unbuttoned it and tied the tails together in a knot that left her midriff bare. She hadn't intended to be seductive when she'd tied up her shirt, only to be cool. He walked up to her and put his hands on her waist and looked at her soberly. Then he licked his lips, and his nostrils flared, and the muscles in his jaws bunched, and he said, "Oh shit," then dropped his hands, turned, and walked in long strides ahead of her, not looking back until they came to the alcove with the drift log where they'd rolled around in the sand satisfying their lusts. He stopped then and looked down where the surf had washed away every trace of two bodies in a frenzy of passion.

  His fists curved into knots as he stood staring at the empty sand.

  Standing barely an arm's distance from him, Andrea also stood looking down at the spot where they'd been. It was strange and awkward, both of them looking down while imagining what happened there, like watching a porno film together, except the actors in the film were themselves. Then she looked up at Jerry, and said, "If I thought I could stay in my parent's suite without killing my father, figuratively speaking, I would, but it would be impossible, especially now that he knows about our stupidity on the ship."

  "I'll think of something." Jerry raised his gaze from the sand, but only high enough to focus on her breasts nestled in the shirt. For a few moments he stood staring at her, and she made no move to stop him, or call him down for it. Instead, she waited.

  "Hell," he said. "This isn't helping things." He grabbed the tail ends of her shirt and tugged her to him, and she thought for a moment he intended to kiss her. Instead, he began working the knot loose, his knuckles pressing against the underside of her breasts as he did, until the shirt gaped open. She looked down and saw the swell of her bosom rising and falling with each intake of breath. She glanced up and saw a heavy pulse beating in Jerry's throat as he stared. Then he said in an irritated voice, "Button it up before I do something we'll both regret." He turned and continued toward the bungalow.

  Andrea followed along behind while buttoning her shirt, feeling a sense of disappointment. When he'd tugged on the knot, she thought he was after more, and she was ready to do exactly what he didn't want to do. She was more than ready. She'd almost removed her shirt she was so sure what he was after. But when he turned and walked away instead she felt... bereft. Nothing was making sense. She hated him. And she wanted him. And more than anything, she hated him for making her feel that way.

  Kicking aside a swollen mass of kelp laying on the beach, she plodded along behind Jerry and was relieved when they turned into the path leading to the bungalow because even though she hated everything about what was going on in her confused mind at the moment, she wanted a repeat of what happened on the beach. She didn't care that there would be no love or affection, or laughter or romping. She just wanted to release some of the tension that had been building.

  Once on the front deck of the bungalow, however, Jerry was the first to notice that something was wrong. "The door's ajar," he said.

  "I'm not surprised," Andrea replied. "Everyone rushed out in a huff."

  "Yeah, but your father was last to leave," Jerry said. "He wouldn't have left the door ajar. Stay back and I'll take a look inside."

  "Wait!"

  Jerry turned.

  Andrea shrugged. "Be careful."

  Jerry got an odd little half smile, which made Andrea feel even more apprehensive because she realized she still cared. And Jerry was about to enter a place where Alessandro Cavallaro or one of his paid assassins might be waiting. A sobering thought that brought a tightening to her chest and a queasy feeling in her belly. But when Jerry pushed open the door and she was able to see past him, she saw that the place was in shambles.

  "They've been here alright," Jerry said. "Obviously looking for your handbag or the stamp. They must have been waiting somewhere around here until everyone left. But they didn't find what they were looking for so they'll be back... probably the reason someone was following you on the beach. They think you still have the stamp, or know where it is."

  Andrea moved to stand beside Jerry and stared in disbelief. The place was a wreck—seat cushions slashed with stuffing pulled out, the contents of dresser drawers strewn about the place, chairs turned over and tables askew. "We can't stay here," she said.

  "I know," Jerry replied. "And we can't stay at my place either. Whoever did this is after you. He could be watching us now, which leads me to believe he doesn't have a gun, at least not with him at the moment. If he did, he'd be here pointing it at your head." He walked over to the telephone which, to his surprise, was still connected to the wall, and picked up the receiver.

  "Who are you calling?" Andrea asked.

  "Inspector Schribe," Jerry replied. "After he sees this place and makes his report, I'm taking you to stay with your parents while I track down Cavallaro. When I'm through with him, his face won't be quite so pretty, and what's inside that thong of his just might be missing."

  Andrea started to remind Jerry that he was no match for Alessandro Cavallaro, but knew it wouldn't make a difference. Jerry was protecting what was his, and she knew from twenty-five years of living with the man that he'd never back down if someone he loved was being threatened. A sobering thought. Jerry caring enough to lay his life on the line for her.

  And then she remembered that Jerry was also an alpha male, and she suspected it was more about claiming his territory than defending a loved one. And like it or not, what happened on the beach was nothing more than Jerry claiming what was his, and she needed that reminder periodically.

  CHAPTER 8

  Andrea and Jerry arrived at Andrea's parents’ suite at Finnigan's Hideaway about the same time Inspector Schribe did. They'd just come from Andrea's bungalow, where both Inspector Schribe and the island police inspected the place and made reports. Andrea's parents knew nothing yet, but Andrea could predict her father's reaction. More aptly, his action.

  Hire a bodyguard for her and fly the man to the island at once.

  When her father answered Jerry's rapping, he looked startled to find Jerry standing in the doorway, with Andrea and Inspector Schribe standing behind him. Jerry got right to the point. "I'm putting Andrea in your care, Ellison," he said, in a voice that was not open for discussion. "Her bungalow was trashed, no doubt by Cavallaro or one of his men. Until Cavallaro's arrested, Andrea isn't safe. You keep her here with you and I'm going after the man."

  "That's a whole lot of bravado," Carter said, "but what makes you think you can catch a man who's been eluding authorities for years?"

  Silence hung as the men s
tood eyeing each other. Then Jerry replied, "Because that gutter I grew up in taught me how to deal with scum like Cavallaro. Hiding on this island isn't much different than hiding in abandoned buildings or shadowy inner-city alleyways. I can still find my way around in the dark with only a knife for protection, and I'm sure I can figure out how to use it if I have to."

  The inspector patted Jerry on the shoulder. "Unfortunately, this isn't the inner city. Andros Island is one of the last unexplored areas in the western hemisphere. Cavallaro's inaccessible when he's here. Like I said before, he's hiding out at a base camp buried deep in the interior of the island, and besides that, the place is fortified by booby traps. So far, it's been a one-way trip in for anyone Cavallaro doesn't want in there."

  "What kind of booby traps?" Carter asked, eyes sharp with interest.

  "The kind the Viet Cong used to kill and maim," the inspector replied. "We've known for some time there's someone skilled at setting and monitoring those kinds of traps. On occasion, islanders have wandered in and found themselves with spikes in their legs. On two occasions we sent men in to search for Cavallaro's headquarters and neither man came out. We suspect they were killed and their bodies dumped in a blue hole. The island's riddled with them. When the tide's rising, ocean water's pushed into the holes, and when the tide changes, the water's sucked back into the ocean, along with any dead body that's been dumped in."

  Carter, who'd been listening intently, straightened his spine, threw his shoulders back, and said, "I'll go in then." All heads turned his way, faces displaying total disbelief.

  Barbara, who'd been standing in the background observing the interaction, hurried over to her husband and placed her hand on his arm. "You can't possibly be serious," she said. "You're not a young man anymore, and it's been over fifty years since you were in a jungle."

  Carter eyed his wife while patting her hand clutching his arm. "Some things stay with you a lifetime," he said. "I'm in good enough shape to hack my way through brush if I have to. But there are trails leading in there. We just have to find them."

  "No, Carter. You just can't—"

  "You're right, Mr. Ellison," the inspector said, cutting Barbara off. "There are trails cut through the brush into the interior, but they're riddled with booby traps."

  "Which is why I should go in," Carter said. "I know how to locate traps. If the person setting them was trained in Nam, I know the same tricks he does. I was in Special Forces over there while serving in the Mekong Delta next to the Cambodian border. The place was riddled with mines and booby traps and it was our job to go in and clear them out before the troops went in."

  "Wait!" Andrea interjected. "What are you talking about, Daddy? You never said anything about being in Special Forces."

  "It's not something I talk about," Carter said, in a tone that told Andrea he was closed to further questions. She stared at her father, trying to absorb what she'd learned. All the years she was growing up he never talked about Vietnam. She knew he'd served in the military there, but he never once talked about it. But for Carter Ellison III to have been in Special Forces, clearing away mines and booby traps... This was a side of her father she'd never known.

  "Carter," Barbara pleaded, "you're seventy-four-years old, your reflexes aren't what they used to be, your memory's good but not that of a man in his twenties, and you have no business going into the interior of this island... for what? To capture a man who's involved in drugs?"

  "I'd be going in to get the son-of-a-bitch who wants to kill our daughter."

  "Then hire a bodyguard for Andrea!" Barbara cried.

  Andrea looked at her mother in shocked surprise. Her mother, a woman always calm, always collected, always in control. "She's right, Daddy," she said. "You could have a body guard here in a couple of hours and quit all the talk about going after Alessandro Cavallaro. Neither you nor Jerry should consider anything so ridiculous." She looked at Jerry and waited for his response.

  Jerry eyed her sharply. "Cavallaro's trapped on this island with no way off, and you're a key witness in indicting him now that the authorities have your handbag with his fingerprints all over it and drug residue inside that can connect him with an illegal transfer of money with drug payoff. If he's not caught now, he'll come after you after we leave the island because he knows your testimony is all that's needed to have him arrested and put away, probably for life."

  "Well, it's no longer your problem," Andrea clipped, all but admitting to her parents that the marriage was over. But beneath it she knew she didn't want Jerry to carry through with this idiotic plan because she still cared about him. That thought had a sobering effect on her. And as impossible as her father could be, she didn't want him going in there either.

  "It's my problem as long as you're my wife and the mother of my daughters," Jerry said, looking at her in a way that told her he'd do this thing, regardless of her wishes.

  "Alright," Carter said to Jerry, "you can come since you have some street smarts. You might even be of use helping me hack my way in there. But you'll do what I say or we won't get past those traps."

  Jerry looked at Andrea's father long and hard, muscles in his jaws flexing, hands curved into fists at his sides, the almost identical stance and demeanor of her father, Andrea noted. If the men had been in grade school, they'd be squared off for a fight. But instead of exchanging punches, Jerry's hand relaxed, the muscles in his jaw slacked, and he said, "I'll do what you say, as long as you don't give me any more crap about stealing your daughter. I've provided well for Andrea and the kids, and if she decides to call it quits with me, I'll make sure she's well off financially so she won't have to leave the house I gave her unless she wants to."

  "You mean she won't have to move into a house I might give her—"

  "Stop!" Andrea said, stepping between them and planting a palm against each man's chest, like a referee holding off a fight. "You two have been playing this psychological game of chess for twenty-five years and I'm the only man on the board and I'm fed up with it. I'll be the one to decide where I live, when and if the time comes."

  Jerry let out a muffled grunt, and her father responded by reaching for the aluminum tube in his lapel pocket, having second thoughts, and shoving it back in, and saying, "I've got to make a phone call." He slipped his cell phone from his pocket and punched in a number, and when the line connected, he said, "I need a man. Who's available?" After listening to a voice on the other end of the line, he said, "Yeah, Howell will do. Have him at the air field in two hours and tell him he's taking a trip to the Bahamas." He signed off and slipped the phone into his pocket.

  And Andrea knew her bodyguard was on his way. Over the years her father enlisted the services of such men when she or her mother would be out in a crowd where they could get kidnapped and held for ransom—the Ellison fortune was ripe to be tapped. Until now, she'd always been annoyed by what seemed like an overreaction to marginal circumstances. But the circumstances at the moment were definitely not marginal, and the threat to her life was real.

  Her father turned to the inspector, and said, "I'll have a man here in a few hours to stay with my wife and daughter. In the meantime, I'll need a topographical map of the island. I assume you can get one for me," he said in an authoritative voice.

  The inspector seemed to take offense to that, the look on his face saying he wasn't yet ready to turn things over to a lesser man. "It's too dangerous," he said, "and I'm not authorized to send anyone in with you, so I can't let you do this."

  "You can't let me?" Carter said. "How do you intend to stop me, inspector? Is there some law that says no one's allowed in the interior of the island except drug cartel members?"

  The inspector's eyes sharpened with a kind of begrudged admiration for a man well into his later years, still forceful and fit, challenging him. "No law," he replied, "but I advise against it. Even if Cavallaro himself wasn't a force to reckon with, you'd still be up against a dense forest riddled with booby traps, and Cavallaro or one of his men could be
anywhere in there."

  "Let me tell you a little about tracking down men and finding booby traps, and how it was done in Nam," Carter said...

  As her father talked about impalement devices, and bamboo whips, and sapling spikes, and moving silently in the jungle while uncovering booby traps, Andrea noticed Inspector Schribe looking at him with rapt attention while slowly stroking his chin with his thumb and forefinger. And as she watched the man's face, she knew exactly the moment it dawned on him that her father was his ticket to nabbing a man he'd been after for years. But the look on Jerry's face, as he watched her father, was entirely different—eyes narrowed, nostrils flaring, jaws clenched. And she realized, as she listened and watched, that this whole escapade into the interior of Andros Island was not so much about capturing a man who was a threat to one man's wife, and the other man's daughter, as it was about two aging commandos in a power struggle.

  Eyeing the men with a blend of worry and vexation, she said, after her father had finished his spiel, "All I can say to the two of you is, even if you manage to hack your way to where Alessandro Cavallaro is hiding out, what's to say you won't kill each other before you get there?"

  Jerry let out a short guffaw, and replied, "It would be tempting, but your mother seems to want the man in her life, and for personal reasons I'd rather see Cavallaro dead than your father."

  To which Andrea's father responded by shoving a cigar in his mouth and raising a butane lighter to it while holding Jerry's gaze. A clear challenge, which Jerry didn't meet.

  The inspector looked from one man to the other, and said, "I'm going too. We won't be a team, but I can't stop either of you from going in, and you can't stop me from trailing behind either. But I'll be armed."

  As the men discussed the logistics of what they were about to do, Andrea paced the floor while contemplating a plan, not a brilliant one, but a viable one. Turning to the inspector, she said, "I have my own reasons for wanting to see Alessandro Cavallaro nailed to the wall—" she eyed Jerry and added "—figuratively speaking, so I'm going too. I'll act as a decoy to draw Alessandro out from wherever he is. The bodyguard and the rest of you can catch him when he comes out of hiding to see what I want. He never once threatened me in any way, so I don't believe he'd do anything to harm me when he sees me. By the time he realizes it's a trap, it will be too late for him to do anything."