Jess must have been ten years old when her grandmother died. But no one, aside from John, knew Elizabeth had relinquished his legal ownership of the High Rock estate and placed it in her granddaughter’s hands. Only Jess could sign away her right to the estate. And because no one had known Elizabeth’s wishes, Carolyn had made that grave mistake. The one, it seemed with Jess’ return to the islands, had come back to bite her on the backside. The papers she’d signed in John’s stead twenty years earlier were pretty well null and void, regardless of the fact that Alexander McCormack possessed the original eighteenth century indenture.
If Jessica was asking questions about the deed, that could only mean she was aware of the deception. Carolyn nervously turned the ring she wore about her finger. Her niece wasn’t just putting her own life in danger, but hers as well.
* * * *
The flight from London to Lynden Pindling International Airport arrived mid-morning and on time. Detective Inspector Drew Mahon alighted and join the long line of passengers making their way from the plane to the immigration booth.
The queue had snaked outside and around the terminal, but had been processed quickly enough. Drew was just grateful to be finally heading out the main doors. He’d already lost precious time. He hurried to the nearest taxi and slid into the back seat.
“The El Greco,” he said.
He relaxed against the leather seat, grateful for the air-conditioning, and rubbed a hand down his face. He stifled a yawn. It’d taken him two days to get this far.
He’d returned a day later to speak to Jess and make sure she was all right. He’d wanted to offer his apologies for upsetting her, but he’d only encountered the housekeeper, Hilda, at the house. She’d been clearly worried about something because, unlike the first time, she’d readily engaged him in conversation.
Jason, Drew quickly learned from Hilda, had driven to London the night before to board his private plane.
“He came home,” Hilda had said, “found Mrs. McCormack had gone to Paris and left again.”
Hilda paused and pursed her lips. She’d known Jason for more than ten years, and yet it’d been the first time she’d seen him so agitated. And, she added, if Mrs. McCormack had gone to Paris, why did she overhear her make reservations for a flight to the Bahamas?
Drew frowned. Why, indeed?
He turned to look out the taxi window, taking in the mosaic of swaying palms, flowing traffic and large cruise ships dotting the sea view.
He’d asked Colin to check the information Hilda had given him. Jason’s plane had taken off for the Bahamas in the early hours of Monday morning. Drew had been booked on an overnight flight.
He released a long breath.
There was nothing wrong with a husband going after his wife, but Jess had lied about going to Paris. And it troubled him, too, that Jess had lied about her ex-husband. That she’d fled Madeley only hours after he’d questioned her. And yet Jess had left her son behind. She’d trusted Jason with her son’s life, but not her own?
Could it be his reservations about Jason McCormack hadn’t fallen on deaf ears after all? But had he pushed Jess too hard? Had he pressured her like he had Sean Wright?
Drew breathed deeply in. If anything happened to Jessica McCormack he’d be the one to blame. He had to know she was all right, although he’d no reason to suspect Jess had run off to anywhere until Hilda mentioned Tom’s unexpected appearance at the McCormack’s private chapel and the nature of his jealous outburst during the wedding ceremony.
The driver interrupted Drew’s thoughts. “The El Greco,” he said.
The taxi had stopped outside a brightly colored boutique hotel set back from the main road. Drew paid the driver and hopped out the car casting a swift glance toward the beach on the other side of the street. The sooner he checked in, the sooner he could start his search for Jessica McCormack. Jason had a day’s head start, but Drew hoped he found her before her husband did. It was still early, and being a policeman had its advantages.
* * * *
Jess had asked reception for an early morning wake up call, but she hadn’t needed it. Laying on her back, as she had most of the night, she stared at the darkened ceiling, pondering Carolyn’s words.
“And if you’ve any sense you won’t go back there either.”
Why would Carolyn tell her not to return to a place she’d never been to before? She relaxed her jaw and sighed for the umpteenth time. It hadn’t only been thoughts of her step aunt that kept her awake. She turned to her side and glanced at the clock on the side table. The bright green numbers glowed at her. Five thirty.
It’d been cowardly to leave Jason without an explanation.
No!
She shook her head against the pillow and dispelled the doubt settling over her. She gazed at her left hand. She still wore his ring. Their night together had meant everything to her. And she’d thought it meant something to him too.
“I want you to know it was never my intention to hurt you, Jessica.”
“I know, but you’re going to do it anyway and destroy us when we’ve only just begun. I thought tonight meant something to you.”
“It does. You know it does.”
She angrily swiped at the tears tracking down her face. Her feelings no longer mattered. The McCormacks had achieved their goal without soiling their grubby little hands. Jason had played her well. He’d known her heart even before she’d recognized the depth of her feelings for him.
She’d believed him when he told her he’d protect her from his father, only she hadn’t realized she’d need protection from him too. She rose from the bed and headed for the shower. She would get over him. She had to.
Forty-five minutes later, dressed in jeans, T-shirt and cardigan, and wearing her wig, Jess entered Terminal A at the Lynden Pindling International Airport. There were few personnel milling about in the early hours, but she found the check-in desk with relative ease, passed through the security area without problem, and then took a seat in the departure lounge among the passengers waiting to depart and those transferring from one flight to another. She released a silent breath and prepared herself for the long wait.
She rummaged in her bag for her sunglasses. If she could just close her eyes and relax then maybe she could stave off the migraine she felt—
Sudden awareness stilled her searching fingers and caused her to glance upward at the doorway. Her eyes widened and she gasped softly. She gripped the strap of her bag with slightly more force than necessary, and tried to still her trembling body.
Jason!
Of course he would’ve guessed where she was going. Her eyes scanned his face as his searched the area for…her. She raised a hand to her throat and fingered the fading marks.
He looked tired as if he’d not slept for a few days. Was that her doing? She shouldn’t care, but she did. He hadn’t shaved and his hair was a mess. Her heart fisted in her chest. Part of her wanted to go to him and smooth the tension from his brow—to hear his side of the story—but how could she be certain he wouldn’t lie to her again? Or try to manipulate her as he’d done before. He’d given her just enough information to make her question her mother, Sean, herself. He’d even used her fear, and her love, for her son against her to drive her into his arms.
Jason’s gaze swung in her general direction. She resembled her passport photo a great deal more with short hair, but she still ducked her head behind a woman with small children and pretended to search through her bag. After a few moments she risked another glance at the door. He was gone. She retrieved her sunglasses and put them on, hiding her tears and easing the pain behind her eyes. One day she hoped her heart would stop aching too.
* * * *
The chartered flight took a little over twenty minutes to reach South Andros Island. The view had been breathtaking. Jess had never in her life seen a sea more blue or sands more white. Or had such an incredible desire to submerge herself in both.
The plane rolled to a halt and she disembarked wi
th her fellow passengers onto the rudimentary asphalt. Even here there was no respite from the intensity of the early morning temperatures. It was already as warm as a midsummer’s afternoon in England. She briefly wondered which was better, the musty but air-conditioned thirty-three-seater craft behind her or the ferocity of an intolerable heat that stifled her body and clogged her pores.
She followed the rest of the passengers across the tarmac to the single story building at the far side of the runway. Jess smiled wryly at the painted black and white sign perched on the red-tiled roof that welcomed each visitor to Congo Town International Airport. She glanced around at the simple airstrip and the cluster of small aircraft gathered in a parking area. International wasn’t the word that sprang immediately to mind.
Theirs had been the only incoming flight to the Island that morning so the few passengers passed through customs with relative ease. Within minutes she stood outside the terminal in the sweltering heat in the hope of securing a taxi with air-conditioning.
She watched as passenger after passenger climbed into hired taxis, displaying names of resorts, hotels and lodges, and drive away. At the end of the mad scramble there’d only been one taxi remaining. An old man with bowed-legs moved toward her.
“Do you have a reservation, Miss? Which resort?”
Jess shook her head. “No.”
“Where do you need to go?”
“High Rock,” she said.
“You mean Driggs Hill,” the man dismissed. “You’ll be wanting the Emerald Palms Resort. I know for a fact it’s not fully booked yet. My wife does the laundry for the hotel.”
Jess bristled at the man’s presumption. Everyone kept telling her what to do, what to believe—who to trust. She took a deep breath and forced a polite smile on her lips.
“No, I mean High Rock.”
The old man’s obliging smile seemed to lose some of its radiance and he looked at her in undisguised surprise.
“Tourists who come here seldom go off on their own. There’s nothing at High Rock except deserted beaches, pine forests and mangroves.”
“Well, I’m not a tourist,” Jess answered quietly.
The old man peered closer at her. “No, I guess not,” he said. “But you’re not from the Island either.”
She gave him a non-committal smile. “I just want to see the old Thomas property.”
The old man narrowed his gaze. “There aren’t many people outside the Island who know about the old Thomas estate. Are you planning on buying it?”
“No. I’m looking for information.” She stiffened her spine and lied. “I’m writing an article on lesser-known plantation houses throughout the Caribbean. My research led me to believe the Thomas property could be one.”
“So, you think the Thomases of old were plantation owners.”
Jess shook her head. “The land used to belong to the McCormacks. It was later passed down to the Thomases.”
The taxi driver chuckled. “That sounds like an interesting story you’ve got there. Do you have a boat? You’re going to need one to get to the Thomas place. It’s only accessible from the sea.”
She really hadn’t thought this whole journey through. “Is there somewhere I can rent a boat and a guide for a few hours?”
“Well…” The old man pursed his lips and rubbed his jaw with his finger. “Driggs Hill isn’t too far from here. I know someone there with a boat who might be willing to help and take you to the old house. We can give him a try if you like.”
Jess relaxed and her smile broadened. “Thank you, Mr…”
“Lloyd. Marcus Lloyd.”
She extended her hand to clasp his. “That would be great, Mr. Lloyd.”
During the short journey to Driggs Hill the old man talked about the secluded house on the peninsula hidden from prying eyes. There was hardly a soul on South Andros Island who hadn’t heard of the sprawling property on the southeastern tip of the island, he’d said. But no one ever thought of the Thomas house as a plantation house since it’d never been referred to as such.
Since the death of the old woman who’d lived there no one had dared set foot on the property. It was practically in ruins now, he said. Even the local children, tempted to trespass, were warded off with tales of witches, ghouls and lost souls waiting to pounce should they cross the huge boulders marking the edge of the densely forested estate.
They turned off the beach-hugging road onto a piece of bumpy track that meandered through coconut groves and alongside channels and lagoons. Jess gazed at the handful of stone settlements dotted here and there over the untamed landscape—untouched by developers and unspoiled by tourists. Marcus stopped the car in front of one of the small dwellings.
“Welcome to Driggs Hill,” he said. “If you’ve a mind to wander, the South Bight is just beyond those trees. I won’t be long.” He left the car.
Jess watched him walked up to the front of the house and knock on the door. Within moments it was pulled open and the old man stepped inside. She sighed tilting her head against the leather headrest. Just one more day—two at the most—then she would return to England, back to her son, and put a stop to this nightmare.
A tap on the window made her jump. She turned her head to a young boy staring at her through the window. She smiled at the boy’s toothless grin, opened the car door and stepped out into the heavy warmth. Somewhere in the distance a chicken squawked loudly above the cacophony of birds and other wildlife calling through the trees.
“Hello,” she said. “What’s your name?”
“Sam,” the boy said. “What’s your name?”
Jess studied the bright eyes, the small eager face and cheeky grin that reminded her so much of Jake. Her chest tightened and she swallowed the small lump rising in her throat. She missed her son.
“Jess,” she answered.
“Do you want to go with me to the beach?” the boy asked. “I know a shortcut.”
She glanced at the house and then at Sam. Perhaps the air would be a little cooler by the water. She nodded and followed the energetic child through the trees. And emerged onto a secluded stretch of white beach.
Despite wearing sunglasses Jess raised a hand to her eyes, shielding them from the harsh glare of the sun reflecting off the sand. She’d not prepared for this trip in any way, shape or form, but she knew South Andros was separated from the north by three tidal creeks. The North, Middle and South Bights. She moved closer to the water’s edge, keeping a firm grip on Sam’s hand.
“Daddy!”
She spun about at Sam’s excited cry. He tugged his hand free of her grasp and ran across the sand toward a tall man striding in her direction. Marcus trudged beside him. The little boy whooped with laughter as his father swept him up into his arms. A pang of regret clenched Jess’ heart. The man continued toward her clasping Sam close to his chest.
She’d robbed Jake of moments such as these, and of a father who’d loved him. Tom had been good with Jake despite the troubles between them. She’d acted selfishly, taken her son away from his father and given him uncertainty in return. But she had to believe Jason saw no use in harming her son. Besides, she’d taken a leaf out of his father’s book, hiding her son in plain sight.
“Marcus tells me you want to go to the old Thomas place,” Sam’s father said as he drew near. He held his hand out for her to shake. “Antonio.”
Jess gathered her thoughts and shook his hand. “Jess,” she said introducing herself. “I hope it isn’t an inconvenience.”
Antonio kept hold of her hand. “Not at all.”
She pulled back, taking her hand with her.
“Antonio’s a bonefishing guide,” Marcus interjected. “Today is his day off.”
Jess groaned apologetically and looked at Sam. “I’m sorry. I’m taking you away from your son.”
“It’s no problem. If we don’t spend all day at High Rock then I’ve still got time to spend with this little guy.”
She glanced at her watch. It was almost nine o’clo
ck. With any luck she would be back in time for lunch before she needed to check-in for her three o’clock flight back to the mainland. And then back to England. Back home to her son.
“How far is it to High Rock from here?”
Antonio pursed his lips. “Fifteen. Twenty minutes.”
“You can leave me there. I have my cell phone. I can call you when I’m ready to return.”
“Are you sure?”
Jess smiled at Sam. “Of course. I also have a son. I would spend all my time with him if I could.”
“It’s lonely out there with only terns and whistling tree ducks for company,” Marcus cautioned. “Maybe a chickcharnie or two.”
“Chickcharnie?”
Antonio chuckled and shook his head at the old man. “That’s just some old Bahamian folklore. Jamaica has Bosee Anansee and Ireland has its leprechauns. We have the chickcharnie,” he explained. “Small birdlike creatures with three fingers, three toes and piercing red eyes that inhabit the pine forests,” he said.
“Who’s to say something doesn’t exist because it has never been seen?” Marcus said. He looked at Jess. “They can bring you good luck, if you happen to see one.”
Jess laughed off the superstitious nonsense. She was determined not to be spooked. Besides, she’d been responsible for her own luck lately. Good and bad.
“I’ll be fine. Really. What can go wrong?”
* * * *
Drew Mahon’s charter flight to South Andros Island touched down at Little Harbor in Mangrove Cay. He’d barely missed the seven-thirty flight to Congo Town with Jess on board and waited an hour for the next available flight to Andros. He’d lost more precious time.
The Nassau police had extended him every courtesy and use of their resources to find Jessica McCormack. They’d eventually tracked her to the Baja Mar Hotel in the center of town. But he’d arrived at the hotel to find she’d requested an early wake up call and had already taken a taxi to the Lynden Pindling International Airport. There’d only been one domestic flight that morning to Andros.
Blood of His Fathers (Sinners and Saints) Page 11