Shelter in the Tropics

by Cara Lockwood

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  “WHERE’S MY SON?” Cate asked for the fifth time, as she leaned through the bars of her holding cell in the tiny Aruba jail where the officers had brought her to be processed. They’d taken a mug shot and her fingerprints, and had left her in a single cell with two metal cots, a cracked floor and a single, stainless-steel seatless toilet.

  Cate didn’t know if anyone could hear her. She pressed her face to the bars but could only see the jail cell opposite and what looked like part of a wall. She knew a hallway lay beyond, because she’d walked down it after she’d been led through the main door, a large steel thing with a small Plexiglas window. On the other side of that was the desk where a female officer had wordlessly taken her fingerprints.

  Cate squeezed her eyes shut, and a single tear slipped down her cheek. Had she been wrong to keep her son from his father? Even if that father is a monster? She only wanted to do what was right by Avery. Because if she’d stayed in Rick’s mansion, she would’ve ended up dead. She knew that for a fact. Eventually, he would’ve gone too far and killed her.

  Suddenly, she remembered Tack’s vow: I will protect you and Avery. Did he mean that? Or was it just one more lie? And if this was his idea of protecting them, then they sure didn’t need this kind of protection. Cate glanced around her concrete walls with the blue paint peeling off in huge chunks. Still, part of her hoped against hope that he had meant his promise. Who else would help her now? Mark? He was an island away, and he probably didn’t even know she’d been arrested. Even if he did, he’d told her more than once that if she was ever caught it would be hellish to nightmare trying to get her out of jail, that she’d likely be extradited to the United States as quickly as the Caribbean police forces could get her there. She knew Mark didn’t have a backup plan, because he’d said more than once if plan A didn’t work, there wasn’t a plan B, so they sure as hell should hope plan A worked. But it hadn’t.

  Because of Tack Reeves.

  But did she truly believe that? Cate wasn’t even sure anymore. She had been so certain he’d betrayed her on the boat, and yet part of her realized the look of shock that crossed his face when he saw the police was real. They’d led him away in a different police car, and she had no idea where they took him. A different police station? Somewhere to be interrogated? Was he getting Adeeb’s visa right now? And even if he was, could she blame him?

  Still, something told her he hadn’t called the cops. She hoped it wasn’t because she was starting to have feelings for the man. You’ll believe anything a man says if you start thinking with your heart instead of your brain. Wasn’t that what happened with Rick? Hadn’t she turned a blind eye to all his faults because she’d been in love? Hadn’t that led her to the worst decision she’d ever made by marrying him?

  She pressed her head against the cold concrete of the cell wall. It was the only thing in the cell that was cold. A big ceiling fan circulated humid air through the jail, but the place didn’t have air-conditioning. A big, brown roach skittered across the cracked concrete floor, and Cate tried not to shudder. How long would she be here? Could she even get a lawyer in Aruba? She had no idea whether she’d even see a judge before she was sent back to the United States. None of the Aruba police were saying a word, after the initial charge.

  She wished she’d gotten a chance to hug Avery. That’s what she thought of now as she closed her eyes and cried more hot tears, sitting on the steel bench in her cell, hugging her knees. She hadn’t gotten a chance to hug her boy goodbye, not before the cuffs were put on. She hated that he’d seen her like that, being led away to a police car. What would he think? He must be so confused and scared. She wished she’d told him the truth. She realized her mistake. Now some stranger, probably a police officer, was going to have to tell him his father was alive, and that she’d lied to him about it. The thought felt like a flaming arrow through her heart. She should’ve been the one to tell him that. She could’ve explained. Now she wouldn’t get that chance.

  Tack had been right. It had been wrong to try to keep this from her son. She should’ve told him the truth, and she should’ve—to the best of her ability—explained why she’d made the choices she’d made. Then he would’ve at least understood she’d done it for him. Now he might never know. He might grow up poisoned against her. The thought made her feel nauseous.

  There was so much about her life that she’d do differently if she had the chance for a do-over. What she wouldn’t give to have five minutes with her son to try to explain.

  But there was nothing she could do. Nothing to do but wait.

  She swiped at the tears on her face, not caring if she smeared the little mascara she still wore. Sweat dripped down her back, and she wished there was a window in her cell, anything that might let in a breeze, but she was surrounded by crumbling cinder blocks.

  Cate found herself wishing that Tack Reeves would walk through the door, and then instantly wondered why that desire popped into her head. Wouldn’t he go to save Adeeb? Try to do what he could to convince Rick he held up his end of the bargain? Why wouldn’t he be bargaining for a visa right now?

  Because he loves you.

  Maybe, it’s that simple. Maybe he was a man who said what he meant. Just because everything out of Rick Allen’s mouth was a lie, didn’t mean Tack was a liar, too.

  Hope fluttered in her chest. Did she want to believe Tack loved her, or was she just clinging to the ridiculous hope that he’d come save her? Did it matter at this point?

  Her life as she knew it was likely over. Her son would grow up hating her. Rick would see to it that she never saw daylight again or felt the rain on her face. Would it matter if she knew if Tack really loved her or not?

  Amazingly, it did. She realized, sitting in that cell, that she wanted to know. Did he? He’d told her he did, but was he telling the truth?

  If Tack came for her, he loved her. If she never saw him again, it was because he chose Adeeb. Could she really blame him, though? Could she?

  Cate hugged her knees a little tighter.

  * * *

  NOT LONG AFTER Cate had been taken to the police station, Tack and Avery were shuttled into an unmarked police sedan, where someone had handed Tack an Aruba police shirt, taking them away from the docks in the opposite direction the police had taken Cate. The short drive down the shoreline left little time for Tack to plan, and the driver, a plainclothes detective with a square jaw and a mean look about him, was not amenable to answering any of his questions.

  “Where are we going?” Tack asked the man, only to get nothing but steely silence.

  Tack stared at the back of the man’s head, and then glared at the rearview mirror, but the man never once looked up. He might as well have been deaf.

  “We have a right to know where we’re going,” Tack said once more. “And if it’s not the US Consulate, then I damn sure want to know where else you plan to drop us.” The detective sent him a quick look in the mirror, but again said nothing. “Where did they take Cate? Is she going to be processed?”

  “Where’s my mommy?” Avery asked, eyes wide as he glanced at Tack. He hadn’t meant to make the boy worry, but of course he’d know they were talking about his mother. “Do you know where my mommy is?”

  “I don’t know, Avery.”

  “Does he know?” Avery asked once more, pointing at the back of the driver’s head. He didn’t turn and didn’t even move. The man clearly could not care less. He’d have to have a heart made of granite not to be affected by the boy’s plea.

  “Hey, man, her son wants to know where she’s being held, that’s all,” Tack said, softening his approach. “Can you do us a favor and let us know?”

  The detective simply leaned forward and turned up the stereo a little louder, the sounds of Bob Marley blaring through the interior of the car. Jerk. Granite was probably too soft a rock for his
heart.

  “I want my mommy,” the boy whined.

  “I know, and I’m going to do my best to find her. I promise. It’ll be okay,” Tack said, trying to comfort the boy and hoping he wasn’t telling a lie. Would it be okay? And where was the square-jawed detective taking them? Eventually, they’d get to their destination, and Tack would have a long, long talk with the detective’s supervisor.

  Tack saw as they turned onto a narrow costal highway, and thought about how much Aruba reminded him of St. Anthony’s Island. He wondered if they were going to the US Consulate. That’s where he’d go if he planned to repatriate the boy. They didn’t have his passport, so they’d need to secure some ID there. The good news was that he had an inside man there, John Benoit, who might be able to help them. Or, at minimum, figure out what was going on.

  Avery reached out then and grabbed Tack’s hand, saying nothing as he did so, a small instinctual need for comfort. Tack squeezed the little boy’s hand, amazed at how small it was in his own, and felt suddenly extremely protective of the boy. He’d promised Cate he’d look after them both, and he meant it. The boy was scared, and Tack just wanted to ease his worry.

  “Hey, you know that your mom loves you more than anything, right? That she’d do anything for you?”

  Avery nodded.

  “Well, she won’t be separated from you for long if she can help it. She told me you were the sun in her sky.”

  Avery giggled a little. “She did?”

  “And no matter what anybody ever tells you, I want you to remember that your mom loves you very much.”

  The little boy made a face as if to say, Of course.

  Not long after that, the car pulled into the elegant roundabout of a luxury hotel.

  “Woah!” Avery cried as he saw the blue-green ocean behind the hotel, and the blue-and-white-striped covered recliners lining the private beach.

  “Are we stopping here?” Tack said, suddenly confused. This resort wasn’t the consulate, clearly. Tack had a bad feeling about this.

  The square-jawed detective stepped out of the front seat of the car and opened the back door, letting Avery out, but slamming the door shut in Tack’s face before he could get out. A flip of the key-chain remote, and the car doors locked, trapping Tack in the back seat.

  “Wait. Where are you taking him?”

  Tack grabbed the door handle, but it didn’t budge. “Avery!”

  The boy glanced back, looking uneasy. “Tack?” he asked, fearful.

  Tack nearly broke off the interior handle trying to get the door loose. Then Derek stepped out of the lobby, a huge shit-eating grin on his face.

  “Nice to see you, Reeves,” he said through the tiny opening of the window. Tack hurled his elbow at the window, but it didn’t even make a crack.

  “You better not harm a hair on that boy’s head or I swear to God...”

  “You can swear all you want, but you don’t need to worry. I’m not going to harm him. He’s my golden ticket.” Derek wrapped his arm around the boy’s shoulders, tugging him closer to his side. Avery reluctantly went, his worried eyes focused on Tack. “I’m taking him straight to Allen and getting my reward.”

  “No. You can’t take him off the island. Not without the FBI involved. If it’s kidnapping charges, they’d be the ones—”

  “You don’t even get it, do you?” Derek tilted back his head and laughed. “You really have lost a step since Kabul, buddy.”

  “Why don’t you let me out of this car, and we’ll see who lost a step.” Tack planned to take the man apart. Slowly.

  Derek just laughed. “No, thanks.”

  “I see you’re still a coward.” Tack had thought Derek Hollie was a sniveling coward the moment they’d met.

  “You better watch your mouth.”

  “Or what? You’ll call the MP to save you—again?”

  Derek’s face flushed red with anger.

  “I should’ve killed you when I had the chance,” Derek growled. “Should’ve slit your throat while you slept.”

  “Believe me, the feeling is mutual.”

  Derek grabbed Avery’s shoulder, and the boy flinched, his lower lip trembling in fear. Tack hated that man. Hated what he did to Adeeb and hated that he was making Avery scared. All he wanted to do was make the man bleed.

  Then he glanced at the Aruban detective. He was Tack’s only hope at this point. “You’ve got to let me out,” he said. “We’ve got to stop this man. He’s got no legal grounds to take that boy. I demand we go to the US Consulate...”

  “I don’t think we’ll be going to the consulate,” Derek said. That’s when he reached into his pocket and pulled out a wad of Aruban florins, brightly colored rainbow bills, and handed them to the square-jawed officer standing nearby. The detective tucked the money into his jacket pocket and grinned. That’s when it became clear that maybe the real authorities, the FBI, might not be involved in this case at all. Maybe this was just Allen’s way of using money once more to get what he wanted. It all clicked then for Tack—it was why he hired so many private eyes and didn’t let the FBI take over the investigation. He wanted complete control of it. The good news was this meant that Cate might not face jail time, after all. The bad news was that she might never get out of jail, depending on how much money Allen used to bribe the local authorities.

  “We’ve got a plane to catch. So sorry we can’t stick around,” Derek said, grinning as he led the boy to a waiting limo. He glanced at the square-jawed detective. “Take him for a drive. A loooong drive.”

  Silently, the detective turned and climbed back into the car. Tack didn’t like the sound of that. He had a sinking feeling he didn’t want to find out what awaited him at the end of that long drive.

  As the detective turned the car out of the hotel parking lot, he saw Derek take Avery inside the hotel. He glanced at the bulletproof partition separating him from the driver, and wondered how the hell he was going to get out of this.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  TACK SAT IN the back of the unmarked police car trying to figure out what the hell he ought to do. He wasn’t handcuffed, that was the good news, but his hands weren’t going to do anything against the bulletproof plastic separating him from the driver, or the automatic door locks. Tack had tried to break the back windows, but they were shatterproof, too, and without a sharp tool he wouldn’t get anywhere. He glanced at the small holes in the middle plastic partition and wish he could somehow fit his hands through so he could throttle the crooked detective who sat in the front seat. Meanwhile, the detective reached over and turned on the stereo. The sound of reggae filled the car as they sped away, down a road lined with bright, tropical flowers. He thought he’d been in trouble when the police had surrounded the dock. Out of the frying pan, into the fire.

  Then an idea hit him. Fire. The matches that he’d picked up on the deck of Cate’s boat! He jammed his hand into his pocket and found the old matchbook, along with the safety pins that had toppled onto the ground when she’d made that abrupt turn. His idea was insane, but it just might work. He lit a match from the matchbook and carefully held it up against the back of the front seat. After a little coaxing, the fire caught, and suddenly the driver’s seat began to smoke.

  Tack tapped on the glass. “Hey, buddy,” he called. “Your seat’s on fire.”

  The detective turned, alarm on his face as the smoke reached his nose. It would’ve been comical except for the fact that he nearly careened into oncoming traffic. Clearly, he was not a man who acted well under pressure, Tack thought as he shifted to the passenger side and tried to brace himself against the car’s violent turns. You’re not going to put the fire out weaving, Einstein.

  “I’d suggest pulling over, man,” Tack offered, hoping that he could do that without hitting a tree. Or the bus in the next lane.

  Glanc
ing in the rearview mirror, eyes wide, the detective slammed on the brakes and skidded to the side of the road where he leaped out, and then, filled with a panic that left him careless, he clicked his key chain and threw open the back door. Tack was ready for him. One swift kick sent the man sprawling backward. Tack rushed out of the car and tackled him, the way he’d done with dozens of offensive linemen when he’d played high school football. Piece of cake. One hard shot to the face, and the detective was down, groaning. Tack grabbed the keys.

  He rushed to the front of the car, grabbed a half-consumed soda can from the cup holder, went to the back and doused the smoking seat with it. Then he slammed the door shut, returned to the driver’s seat and drove off, leaving the groggy, square-jawed detective yelling at him in his rearview mirror.

  He had only one thing on his mind: save Avery. He sped off in the direction of the airport, his heart pounding. He knew it was a long shot to catch them. Allen would be flying Derek back to Chicago on a private jet, no doubt. They could easily already be wheels up by this stage. Tack had spent a few weeks on Aruba just last month, and he knew his way around the small island. It took him only a few minutes to reach the airport. He careened down the narrow highway to the airport, but in his bones, he already knew he was probably too late. Private jets didn’t have the same kind of security that commercial ones did. In the back of the airport, he screeched to a stop, just as a he saw a small jet roll off down the runway. Allen Enterprises was written along the side. No doubt the boy and Derek were already aboard.

  Now for plan B, he thought, jumping back in his car and making his way to the US Consulate. He was going to get Cate out of jail.

  * * *

  CATE WASN’T SURE how long it had been since her arrest. Her cell had no windows and no visible clock, just the garish overheard fluorescent lights occasionally flickering overhead. It felt like days. She’d drifted in and out of sleep at one point, but the lights, the hard metal cot and the eerie emptiness of the rest of the jail made it impossible to get any real rest.