by Nancy Bush
“Sounds good.”
“What time do you think Tucker will be back?”
“I don’t have any idea. I only met Aimee the one time before yesterday. I really only saw Tucker when he would show up at my place.”
“Give me your number and I’ll call you.”
Callie met his eyes. Their lies about their phones crossed her mind and she was pretty sure he was thinking the same thing, too. She recited her number as he punched it into his phone and he gave her his as well.
“We’ll talk later,” he said as he left. “Maybe if we work together, we can figure out how you figure in to all this. Maybe it is coincidence,” he said quickly, expecting her to argue her side again.
Perversely, when he showed a conciliatory side, she immediately went the other way. Teresa . . . Jonathan had said. It hadn’t been Marissa. Her deceased husband had known Teresa. It was time she gave him that information.
She opened her mouth to do just that, but he was already heading for the door.
Tonight, she thought, hating herself a little as her mind had already started worrying about what she was going to wear as if she were getting ready for a first date.
It was afternoon by the time Teresa rolled over in her bed, lifted the sleeping mask she’d purchased at the hotel store from her eyes, then thought grimly about what she needed to do today. She had to leave with Tucker. Had to in order to be safe. But she didn’t want to. Not now, not when she was getting her mojo back without fucking Andre.
What had she seen in him for so long? What magic had she thought he possessed?
And Aimee . . . the conniving bitch had argued with her again about Tucker when she’d phoned her this morning!
“Answer,” she’d snarled into the phone, prepared to go knock down her door if necessary, but finally Aimee had picked up her end of the line. “Well, finally,” she’d said testily. “I’m here and I’m taking Tucker with me tonight. Don’t even ask. It’s too long to go into. Just get him ready. You’ve got the passport?”
“ Ye . . . e . . . ss . . .”
How long has it been since I’ve seen my son? she’d asked herself. More months than she wanted to count. “Is there another problem? I warned you I was on the way, when I was in Miami yesterday.”
“People are looking for you,” Aimee reminded.
“I know. I’ll deal with it. Did the man asking about me give you his name?”
“West Laughlin.”
Teresa hadn’t known how to react. “West Laughlin? Stephen’s . . . half brother? How could he be here? I don’t even know him.”
“Well, he knows you and he knows about Tucker, and he’s with a woman that Tucker can’t stay away from, probably because she looks like you.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Tucker found this woman at the outdoor market, I believe. She resembles you. Her hair’s the same and she looks a lot like you in the face, too. Tucker keeps going over to her place.” In a tighter voice, she had added, “He gave her the bracelet.”
“What?”
“He’s lucky I didn’t whip his hide. He stole it from me.”
“He gave the bracelet to this woman?”
“That’s what I said. She’s working with Laughlin. They came together. They must have tracked you here.”
“Impossible. I’ve only been here a day!”
“They came here and he threatened me. Said he would look into my background if I didn’t tell him where you were.”
“You have to get that bracelet back!”
“He wants Tucker, Teresa.”
“Tucker’s my son,” she’d practically shouted into the phone.
“They’re dangling the bracelet like bait. You want it back? Get it yourself. But you pay me what you owe me,” she had added tautly, as if Teresa could forget.
“I can’t believe you lost the bracelet!” she’d yelled at her. She’d counted on the money it would fetch. It was part of her plan. And the money she’d gotten off the fat man with the expensive boat last night hadn’t been near what she’d hoped for.
“Tucker took it from me and gave it to them,” Aimee had corrected angrily.
“What did you tell them about me?”
“Nothing. But they’ll be back.”
“Jesus, Aimee.”
“You can’t come here unless you want to face him.”
She’d been incensed. If she didn’t have the bracelet she didn’t know what she’d do. “I can’t pay you until I get the bracelet back.”
“Then you won’t get Tucker.”
Teresa had damn near thrown her phone across the room. She’d wanted to strangle Aimee. “Well, I’m going to come get him, so you’d better get him ready.”
“He’s not here.” And then she’d gone on to explain he was on a fishing boat with a friend of his and the friend’s father. That hadn’t set well with Teresa, either. She only had so much time.
“So help me, Aimee, I’m taking Tucker back to the States tonight. I’ve got a ticket and we’re catching a flight to Miami.”
“Are you taking him to Andre?”
“What are you, stupid? You know I can’t do that. Andre wouldn’t know what to do with a child, especially Stephen’s child. I’m not going back to Andre.”
“But he’s the man you love.” She had sounded concerned, though Teresa had known it was a fake. Aimee had always found Andre attractive, and she was probably just hoping Teresa was done with him.
“You’re working off old information,” Teresa had told her. “Andre’s not the same man he was.”
“You said he was the most beautiful man in the world.”
“I said a lot of things,” Teresa snapped back at her. “I was a lot younger. So were you. No, I’m taking Tucker far away from everything.”
“Andre will find you,” she had predicted.
“No, he won’t. He’ll give up on me. He’s got the handmaidens now. It’s not the same.”
Aimee had subsided into silence for a moment, then said, “I don’t know about these handmaidens. You and Andre were a team.”
“Yeah, well, that was years ago. I know you had a thing for him, but you wouldn’t feel the same now,” she’d added, giving Aimee a dig. Aimee hadn’t been able to keep her eyes off Andre. She’d lusted for him in a way that had made Teresa laugh behind her back sometimes. It wasn’t that Aimee wasn’t pretty enough. It was that she was just so focused and humorless. God. Being around her had been exhausting, and she could see things hadn’t changed in the intervening years.
“Tucker is on Jean-Paul’s boat,” Aimee had then revealed.
“What?” Teresa had been incensed. “You knew I was coming! You shouldn’t have let him go.”
“You told me to treat him like my own son. You told me that,” Aimee flashed. “He wanted to go. What was I supposed to do?”
“Keep him close. When will he be back?” Teresa had demanded, cutting through any further explanations.
“Tonight.”
“When, tonight? Give me a time.”
“Whenever Jean-Paul returns,” she had said in that uncaring way of hers that drove Teresa crazy.
With an effort, she’d held on to her patience and had managed to pry the name of the boat out of Aimee, who never seemed to offer up information unless she was asked directly.
“Call me when he’s back,” Teresa had ordered, then hung up in a fit of pique, grinding her teeth together as she recognized she would probably have to change those airline tickets. And these people who were looking for her? West Laughlin and this woman? Why were they in Martinique now? How had that happened? Were they watching Aimee’s place? It was a possibility, she supposed, unless Aimee was lying to her for her own purposes.
Climbing out of bed, Teresa took a long, hot shower, fighting the weariness produced from long days and nights without the proper amount of sleep. Last night had been fun, if not as productive as she’d hoped. The big lunk had a lot of money to spread around and he was happy
to do it, buying Teresa food and drink and promising all manner of things. They’d gone to his boat, which actually had a very nice queen-size bed in a room below. She’d debated on whether to drug him first and forgo the sex he was expecting, but in the end she’d gone through with it, thinking of the experience as a kind of purge against Andre. The latest Mark wasn’t much of a lover and it had taken a few tries for him to even show some proper enthusiasm; his dick was a wet noodle that only halfheartedly rose to the occasion. But they’d finally managed and afterward, when he’d suggested another drink, it had been easy to lace his with the roofies she’d smuggled into her suitcase. She’d worried about that a little, but the small bottle of “shampoo” she’d taken with her sailed right through, and it worked like the proverbial charm.
With Mark out cold, she had done a quick inventory of what he had on board the boat, but apart from a well-stocked liquor supply, there had been basically nothing of any value but boat paraphernalia. It had kind of pissed her off. She’d always picked up hotel guests in the past, not boaters. Even though the boat itself had to be expensive, there had been nothing to steal. Angry, she’d emptied his pockets and netted herself about three hundred dollars. He had a bank card, but she didn’t know the PIN and as soon as he woke up and realized he’d been rolled, he would cancel any one of his credit cards, though she had looked longingly at his black American Express.
Nope. They would be on her trail too fast. And she already had enough searchers to worry about.
She had to get Tucker out of here. Had to move fast. But he was on that other goddamned boat.
Unsettled, she packed up her belongings and checked out of her hotel, leaving her bags with the bellman. She re-booked them on the latest flight out to Miami that she could get and maybe there was still a chance they could make it.
Restless, she took a cab to the pier and sat around several different outdoor cafés, waiting. Hours passed and as they did, her nerves tightened. She had visions of Andre on his way to her. Maybe on a flight from Miami at this very minute. Or maybe he was already here, going back to their old haunts, searching the crowd for her.
Suddenly afraid, she headed into a tourist shop and purchased a scarf to wrap loosely around her head, disguising the color of her hair. It wasn’t enough, but it was something.
Where the hell was that damn fishing boat? How long did it take?
Her anger at Aimee intensified as she waited. How could she let the bracelet fall into Tucker’s hands? What was wrong with her? She was too lax, too trusting. Goddammit! The woman was half-French and gave new meaning to the term laissez-faire. She and Teresa had been friends, or maybe frenemies, back in the day, but that was long ago. Aimee had hustled a bit herself, but hadn’t lived for the thrill like Teresa had. She’d lacked the imagination and the talent.
Still, she’d been there for Teresa when she’d shown up with a toddler in tow, and she’d agreed to keep the bracelet as a form of good faith. Teresa had made it very clear she always wanted the bracelet back. How could she let Tucker get his hands on it? Of course, Aimee didn’t know its true value; Teresa had made sure of that. She’d had it appraised at one time, and the figure she’d been given had enough zeroes to take care of Tucker and her needs for years to come. But she couldn’t have the bracelet with her when she was with Andre; he would have taken it from her. Even while she was compiling her secret nest egg, the bracelet had always been the cornerstone of her financial plan. And it was hers. Stephen had given it to her.
God . . . damn . . . it!
She had to find this lookalike and get the bracelet back. And who was this West Laughlin? They couldn’t take her son away. What gave them the right to even think they could?
And fucking Aimee. Was it too much to ask for her to just take care of her son for a little while? She acted like Teresa should just fork over the small fortune they’d agreed upon even when she was the one who’d screwed up with the bracelet!
Pressing her palms to her face, Teresa tried to contain her anger and fear. Aimee was only a small part of the problem. Andre and the handmaidens . . . they were the bigger issue. She could feel them behind her like the hounds of hell.
Damn them all, she thought viciously, dragging her black sweater closer to her neck to combat the kicky, little breeze that had sprung up. She’d dressed in black slacks, blouse, and sweater. Only her scarf was colorful, a touristy purchase that was a map of the island in sea greens and blues.
A man on the dock was standing by a dark post, watching her. Aware that there was always an underworld in every tourist haven around the globe, no matter how lovely the place was, she paid for the latest cup of coffee she’d been dawdling over and walked away. She’d been a part of that underworld more often than not herself, and she had great respect for it.
If only life had been easier for her, she wouldn’t have to go to these lengths.
But there’s a thrill there, isn’t there?
Yes . . . most of the time . . . Even last night with Mark had sent her nerves thrumming, gotten her juices flowing. But then a dark cloud enveloped her as she thought back to the accident on Mulholland and the little boy who shouldn’t have been there.
She wished this Jean-Paul and the Sorciere de Mer would show up. Sea Witch, huh? Hunching her shoulders, she kept moving forward, reminding herself to be patient. She wouldn’t be able to just snatch up Tucker, if she found him, but she would at least know when he got home.
And she would get to see him again. The thought brought a hotness to her throat even as it worried her. She loved him. She truly did. He was the only thing that mattered. Except . . . how was she going to go about grifting saddled with a son?
“Mademoiselle.” The male voice came out of the darkness, startling her. She scurried away from it. What the hell was she doing? It felt like it had grown dark in an instant. She needed a lighted bar and a group of people, not this aloneness, yet she didn’t want to get too far from the pier. Where the hell was the boat?
Hearing footsteps behind her, she picked up the pace. She could see the lighted sign and string of lights ahead. Another café, with a man plucking on a guitar. Too far from the boat dock, though.
Had Aimee lied to her?
Suddenly certain she’d been had, she pulled out her cell phone and plugged in Aimee’s number. You better damn well answer, she thought, listening to it ring on her end. When it went to voice mail, she clicked off and dialed again, only to have the same thing happen. This time she left a message: “I don’t give a damn about those people, I’m coming your way, and if—”
Abruptly she ran into a wall of flesh that had moved from the shadows.
“Whoa. Pardon-moi. I didn’t see you.” Looking up, a half-gasp formed on her lips. She stumbled backward, and in the uncertain light along the docks, gazed at the person in surprise. “What are you—”
The hit came from behind. Teresa crumpled to the ground and dimly heard rapid French shooting back and forth between two people. Vaguely, she understood they were thinking of getting rid of her. No! She tried to struggle, but apart from a moan, she couldn’t move.
And then she was helped to her feet and half-carried away. A rag of some kind was placed over her mouth and nose, and there was a terrible, chemical smell, and then nothingness.
Chapter Fifteen
Daniella stood in the empty prayer room and felt humiliation and building rage. She was alone. Left behind once again. Given all sorts of platitudes while the birds with the beautiful plumage flew away and the wren stayed behind.
It had been over a day since Jerrilyn had finally wound down and stopped screeching like a cat in heat while she and Andre had sex in front of them, all the while looking at the rest of the handmaidens through slitted eyes, a smile curving her lips in satisfaction. Daniella had forced herself not to react, and when the torture was finally over, all the handmaidens had headed to their rooms to get ready for their next great adventure. Daniella had yanked her robe from over her head and quickly hung it i
n her closet. Then she’d thrown on a pair of jeans, a short-sleeved T-shirt, and a zip-up cardigan that she could take off for airport security. Dressed, she’d quickly and efficiently finished packing a medium-size suitcase. She’d tossed in shorts, capris, T-shirts, several sundresses, underclothes, a pair of sneakers, her sandals, and the black flats she could team with anything. Her makeup bag had gone in next along with other toiletries, a brush, and a comb.
The first one ready, she had sat down at the table and waited impatiently. The rest of them had trickled out, though Jerrilyn had taken a leisurely shower and yawned, dressed in her own satin, blue robe.
“You’d better hurry,” Daniella had told her, and she’d rolled her eyes and sauntered back to her room.
Andre had come out, looking incredibly handsome in a loose white cotton shirt, chinos, and deck shoes, his hair still wet from his own shower and pulled back into its habitual leather thong. He had a three-days’ growth of beard that made him look rakish and Daniella had felt something inside her turn to liquid.
He’s the prize you’re fighting for, she had reminded herself. You can’t do anything to hurt him.
He had smiled at her and sat down next to her, which had set her heart aflutter. His ankh lay on top of his shirt, and he’d picked up the cross and tucked it inside his collar. She had been able to see a vee of dark skin and she’d leaned forward without thinking and kissed his warm flesh.
And then he had said with regret, “I’m going to need someone to stay behind and watch over things.”
“Not me,” Daniella had blurted.
“I think so.” He had taken both her hands in his. It was so rare to have his undivided attention, to have him be so nice to her, that she had been disarmed in spite of herself. “We’ll take care of the defector in our midst. Maybe you can think of a way to rid us of Robert Lumpkin.”
“Teresa was supposed to do it,” she moaned, searching for some kind of rebuttal.
“Yes, she was. And we all know how that turned out. I’m counting on you, Daniella.”