Lethal Affair

by Jean Thomas

  She didn’t deserve to fight that battle all over, spend a sleepless night being haunted by Casey McBride. And she didn’t. She finally willed herself into a deep, uninterrupted sleep.

  Uninterrupted, that is, until what must have been hours later when she came awake with a restless inability to understand why. It took her a few minutes to realize she could no longer hear the peaceful hum of the air conditioner.

  Brenna had learned that, in the deep hours of the night, the tropical heat of the day, even a steamy heat, was known to cool down to a degree that was downright chilly. Had to be the reason why the thermostat had shut down the air conditioner. It was no longer needed.

  The temperature of the bedroom was comfortable enough without it, but the air in here felt stuffy now. She had to open a window.

  She didn’t bother turning on a lamp. It wasn’t necessary. The security lights outside that bathed the property provided enough illumination through the blinds to guide her from the bed to the nearest window. Lifting the sash, she knelt on the carpet to breathe in the fresh air.

  A breeze off the land not only cooled her face, it carried with it the wonderful scents of the spices that were grown on the island. Then, suddenly, she caught a whiff of something less pleasant. The odor of a cigarette. It had to be close by for her to smell it like this.

  Peering through the slats of the blind she hadn’t bothered to raise, Brenna was able to immediately detect the source of the smoke. Julio was out there, a burning cigarette in hand as he paced along the path that circled the guesthouse.

  This was no casual, midnight walk. His gait was too purposeful, too deliberate for that. Marcus must have ordered him to patrol her quarters. There was something else. He’d paused to crush his cigarette on the ground. Even in the shadows, the glow from the security light mounted overhead was sufficient enough for her to read his face.

  There was no other word to describe his expression. Sinister.

  She didn’t like it. Didn’t like that look on his face. Didn’t like Julio being out there. Didn’t like his keeping watch on her, because that’s what it was.

  Could Casey be right? Was she making herself vulnerable to some unknown, potential danger just by being here at the villa?

  * * *

  Casey couldn’t sleep. He was concerned about Brenna, convinced that Marcus Bradley was an unpredictable presence in her life. This was why he was here on the deck, listening to the waves crashing on the beach, instead of in his bed.

  He could tell the tide was coming in. There was no moon, but he could see a luminescence like foxfire on the crests of the waves, marking their position.

  He had to be honest with himself. There was something more than just Bradley troubling him.

  It was the memories of Brenna and him and why their affair had gone wrong. He had no business revisiting those memories, but he couldn’t help himself. Couldn’t stop himself from placing the blame for their breakup where it belonged. With himself.

  And there it is, McBride. The self-accusation you deserve.

  Because hadn’t he known from the beginning that persuading her to marry him was a mistake? Brenna had made no secret of her fear for his safety. She’d been raised on it by a mother who’d lost her husband, a Chicago fireman who’d died in a warehouse blaze.

  “It devastated her, Casey,” Brenna had confided to him. “It killed her in the end. Mom just seemed to fade away on Will and me.”

  Casey had sympathized with their loss, but he hadn’t seriously listened to Brenna’s argument that his work as an FBI agent was every bit as dangerous, perhaps even more so than that of a fireman. She had made repeated efforts during the course of their engagement to talk him into leaving the field and taking a safe desk job at the bureau.

  But he knew that wasn’t for him. He craved the adventure out there.

  It might have turned out all right if, on assignment in the Mideast to rescue an officer from the American embassy captured by terrorists, he hadn’t been caught and held himself. The FBI was unable to tell Brenna during those long, nightmare weeks whether he was alive or dead.

  In the end, a release for both the officer and Casey had been negotiated, but it was too late for Brenna and him.

  “I can’t take it anymore, Casey. I love you, but I can’t live with the fear of losing a husband. I just can’t. It’s easier to live with the heartache of letting you go.”

  That’s when Brenna had returned his ring to him. When his bitterness had followed. In time he had overcome that bitterness, but he’d never been able to forget her or what they had shared.

  And now here they were, thrown together again.

  Oh, hell, was this going to turn out to be another bad mistake?

  He looked up at the stars overhead, brilliant in the night sky, and realized he had no answer for himself.

  Chapter 2

  The first thing Brenna did when she emerged from the guesthouse the next morning, besides noting that it was going to be another clear, beautiful day, was to deliberately seek out Julio. Providing, that is, he wasn’t asleep in his bed after patrolling her quarters all night.

  She found him near the garage, where he was washing the Jaguar in the driveway. He looked much too alert to have spent the entire night without sleep. She decided he’d either deserted his post at some point or been replaced by another member of the staff at the villa. For all she knew, Marcus had a whole army of them working in shifts to guard her around the clock.

  Or maybe, thanks to Casey’s paranoia on the subject of Marcus, she was simply letting her imagination run wild.

  As it must have last night, she thought, when she had sworn the expression on Julio’s face was a grim, sinister one. His was nothing remotely like that this morning. He was all harmless smiles, greeting her with a cheerful, “Good morning, miss. I will have the car ready for you after breakfast.”

  She returned the greeting, adding a careless “Thank you, Julio, but I won’t need you to drive me anywhere.”

  “You are not doing the painting today?”

  “Not today, no. I’m planning on walking down to town, where I’ll probably spend most of the day scouting subjects for possible paintings at some other time. There are a lot of interesting colonial buildings in the city, as well as some fascinating stuff along the harbor, don’t you think?”

  He looked alarmed at her intention. “There are certain quarters in Georgetown that are not safe, miss.”

  “Well, I won’t be going anywhere near those.”

  “But you will let me go with you.”

  And have her feel all day like she was a prisoner, like she did last night? Not a chance.

  “Oh, I don’t think that will be necessary. I’ll be fine on my own,” she insisted. “It isn’t far to town, and with its being downhill all the way, it should be a pleasant stroll.”

  “But if you should be tired when you are ready to come back...”

  “Then I’ll just grab a taxi,” she assured him brightly, hoping he understood that, behind the brightness, was a stubborn determination that would permit no further opposition.

  Brenna could feel him gazing after her unhappily when she left him and headed toward the villa.

  Too bad. Because, like it or not, my friend, I mean to be free of you, at least for today and maybe all the other days I’m here on the island. And you can just report that to your employer and see where it gets you.

  Breakfast was waiting for her on the terrace. Marcus was not.

  Brenna must have looked puzzled by his absence, because the round-faced, plump housekeeper who was clearing his place at the table informed her, “If you are looking for Mr. Bradley, miss, I am sorry to tell you he has already gone to the place of the building of the resort. He is to meet the architect there at an early hour, you understand.”

  “Oh, it doesn’t matter, Gilda. I didn’t need to see him for anything.”

  Actually, Brenna was relieved that Marcus wasn’t here. He would have wanted to know what her plans
were for the day, and she didn’t want to have to lie to him again. He would learn eventually, anyway, from Julio that she’d insisted on going off on her own.

  Well, what of it? She was not going to have any of them trying to control her, and that included Casey.

  “What can I get you for the breakfast, miss?”

  “I’ll just have coffee and one of the muffins from the basket there. They look delicious, Gilda. And maybe a glass of juice, too. Whatever you have.”

  The housekeeper brought her a small pitcher of fresh papaya juice and while Brenna drank it and ate her muffin she consulted the guidebook for St. Sebastian she’d bought for herself the morning of her arrival on the island.

  What she ought to be doing today, Brenna thought with a guilty sigh, was going back to the beach to finish yesterday’s work. But that would have meant Julio transporting both her and all her gear, as well as the possibility of running into Casey again.

  And what she wanted, and meant to have, were several hours to herself. Not that she was going to ignore her obligation to Marcus. Which was why, when she set off on foot for Georgetown below, she went equipped with a tote bag containing her camera, sketchbook and the guidebook.

  Brenna hadn’t lied to Julio when she’d told him she meant to scout out subjects for future paintings. What she’d omitted, however, was her plan to save those interesting colonial buildings for another occasion. This time the camera and the sketchbook were going to record another destination.

  There was no shortage of taxis in the busy streets of the city, most of them used American cars that had seen better days. But any one of them was sufficient for her purpose. She had no trouble hailing a cab.

  “The airport, please,” she directed the local driver, who flashed her an enormous grin with teeth so white they were blinding. His speed at the wheel was less pleasing, making her immensely grateful the airport was only a few miles from town.

  Brenna was vastly relieved when he managed to drop her safely at the front of the terminal before racing off again to find a new fare. Entering the building, she made her way to the desk of St. Sebastian’s only car rental agency.

  The young woman behind the counter greeted her with a wide smile and a kindly “Help you, miss?”

  “Yes, please. I’d like to rent a car. Whatever you have that would be easy for me to manage.”

  The cheerful smile of the attendant vanished, replaced by a regretful shake of her head. “I am much sorry, miss, but there is no car for me to check out, only ones for me to check in. Which,” she added, “is not yet happening this morning.”

  “Are you telling me there’s nothing at all available? Not even for the day?”

  “Sadly, our fleet of rentals is not a large one, and the last of them was claimed an hour or so ago. But, miss, if you would like to leave me your name and a phone number...”

  Brenna decided against that measure. It could mean waiting for who knew how long, wasting her time hoping for a rental car to be returned.

  Cabs were plentiful at the airport. It looked like her only disappointing choice was to hail one of them to take her back into town. She’d spend the day doing what she’d told Julio she would do, actually scouting painting subjects in the city. That would teach her to be deceptive.

  The sunlight when she exited the terminal had her squinting against its intensity. Juggling her purse and tote with her head lowered, she searched for her sunglasses, found them and slid them into place.

  The first sight that met her gaze when she looked up was Casey McBride. He leaned against the side of a silver Toyota, muscular arms locked across his chest and wearing a sly smile that said he was pleased with himself.

  “All right, how did you find me this time?”

  “Nothing complicated. Just cruising around Georgetown, you know, seeing the sights, when I spotted you grabbing the cab.”

  “Another lucky coincidence, huh?”

  “Looks like it.”

  “I’d say it was more like you were waiting for me to turn up, probably watching the villa until I did.”

  “Me? Never. How are things at the villa, anyway?”

  “Fine.”

  She had no intention of mentioning last night and Julio. If Casey got one whiff of that, he would be on her to move out of the guesthouse and relocate elsewhere. No way was she going to jeopardize her career by alienating Marcus with an action like that.

  “So, you weren’t playing secret agent, hmm? You just went and tailed my cab in that silver chariot there for—what? The fun of it? Where’d you get it, anyway? Oh, no,” she said, “it was you, wasn’t it, who got the last rental car?”

  “Don’t tell me I went and snatched it out from under you? Sorry, but I need transportation.”

  “So do I.”

  “I thought that was being provided for you. So where is your shadow today?” Casey looked around, as if he expected Julio to be lurking nearby.

  “I suppose you could say I gave him the slip. A lot of good it did me, because now it looks like I went and traded one shadow for another one.”

  “Yeah, but I’m a much friendlier one.”

  He removed his sunglasses, as if to convince her with a full view of his face how harmless he was. It didn’t work. “I’m not so sure of that.”

  “Well, let’s say a social one anyway. Didn’t look to me like the driver Bradley assigned you qualified for that.”

  “That’s the point. I didn’t want friendly, social or any other kind of accompaniment. This was to be a solitary outing.”

  “Feeling crowded, are we? Like maybe too many people sticking too close?”

  “I just felt like being on my own today.”

  “You could get that by going back to town.”

  She hesitated too long. That perceptive mind of his, so valued by the FBI, guessed she was hiding something. “Or could it be that you have some other particular destination in mind?”

  Her silence confirmed it for him.

  “Tell you what,” he drawled in his faint Kentucky accent, “I’ve got the car and the time. So why don’t you let me drive you there?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “No?” He lifted those broad shoulders of his in a little shrug. “Of course, there is an alternative. You could always hire a taxi for the day. A cab driver should be impersonal enough for you. Providing, that is, you don’t mind the expense or the reckless speed these guys down here travel on questionable roads.”

  “I’ve experienced enough of that already, thank you.”

  “There you go then. You either abandon your intention or choose me, a safe driver.”

  “You’ve covered it all, haven’t you?”

  “Come on, Brenna. What’s holding you back? I promise to behave myself.”

  “I seem to remember some occasions when you didn’t.”

  “But not today. Guaranteed.” He opened the passenger door of the Toyota, holding it for her temptingly. Here she was about to make a mistake with a stubborn, take-charge agent determined to safeguard her.

  Oh, hell, she thought, harmless or not, either way she wasn’t going to be able to lose him.

  “You win.”

  Settling herself into the passenger seat, she placed her tote and purse on the floor at her feet. Casey was about to close the door after her when he realized something.

  “No painting gear?”

  “Not this time.”

  “Why is that?”

  She launched into a brief art lesson. “Painting on location is great. It can lend a kind of immediacy to a canvas you don’t get in a studio. It can also be a nuisance having to transport all your materials to the site, or ending up with the kind of weather that decides to shift its mood.”

  “Does that mean you’re playing truant today, Rembrandt?”

  “Not really.” She reached a hand down to pat the side of her tote. “I’ve got my camera and sketchbook to record the subject I’m considering for another painting. What I capture might be enough to
justify a studio picture. Your eyes are beginning to glaze over. You’re excused from class.”

  Laughing, he slammed the door, rounded the car and climbed in behind the wheel. After buckling his belt and putting his sunglasses back on, he turned to her. “Okay, what is this mysterious destination we’re headed for?”

  “A place called Braided Falls up in the highlands. It’s supposed to be spectacular. That’s what the guidebook says, anyway. Hey, what are we waiting for?”

  * * *

  She could be damned exasperating, Casey thought as he swung the Toyota around and headed them back toward Georgetown, which she’d indicated was the route they needed to go.

  On the other hand, she could also be bewitching with that flaming copper hair, amber-colored eyes known to spark with anger when she was provoked to it and a lush, seductive mouth. Not to mention those long, elegant legs, which were on full view in a pair of pale green shorts paired with a matching green-and-white-striped tee.

  There was something else he could tell with his sneaky, sidelong glance. With the free spirit of a true artist, she wasn’t wearing a bra under the tee. Damn, how was he supposed to deal with that and not lose control of the wheel?

  He’d promised Brenna to behave himself, but with her assets so close like this in the confinement of the car, Casey wasn’t so sure now he could restrain himself.

  Try, he ordered himself.

  They were approaching the city when, to his relief, he was distracted by a glimpse of her guidebook open on her lap.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Unfolding the map provided inside.”

  “What for?”

  “We’ll need it to get to the falls.”

  “Uh, both the car and our phones are equipped with GPS.”

  “Not reliable functions here on St. Sebastian, says the guide,” she informed him. “A paper map is a safer bet. You’ll have to go straight through Georgetown to reach the shore road on the other side. That’ll take us to the highlands road.”

  For the next fifteen minutes, Casey concentrated on weaving through the dense traffic of the city. After passing a cricket field, which Brenna reported was the favorite sport here on the island—another gem from the guidebook, Casey assumed—they found themselves on the open shore highway with the broad, blue Caribbean on their right and on their left an unbroken expanse of vegetation.