Lethal Affair

by Jean Thomas

  “Brenna, when did you find this letter?”

  She didn’t answer him at first. When she did, it was with a clear reluctance. “The afternoon of market day when I came back here to print out the photos on my memory card.”

  “And you’re just now showing it to me?”

  Her tone changed from reluctant to obstinate. “You know why I withheld it. You would have been after me again to leave the villa and get off the island.”

  “Damn right I would have.”

  “There you are.”

  “But you’re showing it to me now. Why?”

  “Because I learned who the mysterious Curtis is. I met him at dinner last night. He’s Curtis Hoffmann, a close friend of Marcus’s staying here at the villa. There was something almost obscene about him.”

  “And that’s it? That’s your single reason for letting me see the letter, which I’m supposing from all indications was written by his wife?”

  “Isn’t that enough?”

  “No, it isn’t. I think there’s something more, Brenna. I think, after adding up all the pieces, you’ve come to the same conclusion I have. That Marcus Bradley is probably responsible for Zena King’s death. Oh, he wouldn’t have murdered her with his own hands, but he engineered it somehow. He had to eliminate her to protect his secret. That is what you believe now, isn’t it?”

  * * *

  Casey was challenging her. Brenna knew she could no longer oppose his arguments about Marcus.

  “All right,” she admitted, “it is what I believe now. I suppose on some level I sensed all along there was something wrong about Marcus. But the truth is, I deceived myself about who Marcus Bradley really is, because I so wanted the success he offered me. I’ll always be ashamed of that.”

  “It’s human nature to be ambitious, Brenna. To ignore your conscience because of it is also understandable. To go on ignoring that conscience, though...well, that’s another matter. But you never let yourself get that far.”

  She tipped her head to one side, considering him. “I’ve never known you to be a philosopher.”

  He leaned against the door behind him. “Being on suspension gives a guy a lot of free time. I’ve spent a good amount of it reading.”

  “I’m impressed.” She was silent for a few seconds, and then she asked him suddenly, “Casey, why are you here?”

  His eyes widened in surprise. “I thought I’ve been making myself pretty clear on that.”

  “Oh, I didn’t mean it like that. I mean, why did you show up at this ungodly hour of the night? All that you’ve been telling me could have waited until daylight. In fact, you could have called me and explained everything over the phone.”

  “No, I couldn’t.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because you and I are getting off this island. Now.”

  “You’re serious.”

  “You bet I am. In fact, opposition or not, I should have hauled you out of here long ago. But now we can’t afford to wait.” He checked his watch. “There’ll be signs of daylight in another hour. We have to get out now while it’s still dark, or we risk being stopped. You understand? You’re not safe here. As for me, I need to deliver that water sample in Miami before Bradley finds out that I have it.”

  “All right,” she agreed mildly.

  Those sexy green eyes of his gazed at her in disbelief. “Just like that?”

  “Just like that.”

  “It’s a holy miracle.”

  “Should I start packing?”

  “No,” he instructed her sharply, “we don’t have time for that. Just take your passport, wallet and whatever essentials you can stuff into a couple of totes and your purse. I’m sorry, but you’ll have to leave your painting gear behind.”

  “Meaning we have to travel light and fast.”

  “That’s about it. I’m counting on no one discovering your absence from here until we’re in the air.”

  “Can we find a flight this early in the day?”

  “Maybe nothing to Miami, but there’s bound to be a plane to somewhere. Getting away from St. Sebastian is what matters. We can make connections from elsewhere to Florida.”

  Casey handed the letter back to her. “Take this with you. We might need it.” He paused before opening the bathroom door. “Think you can manage in the dark out there to dress and gather what you need?”

  Brenna got to her feet and switched off the bathroom light, plunging them into blackness. “I can feel my way well enough.”

  “I’ll keep a lookout at one of the bedroom windows. There’s enough light with the security lamps outside to tell me if anyone is on the move. Ready?”

  “Ready.”

  Casey opened the bathroom door, and they slipped out into the dark bedroom. The next minutes were hurried ones for her, as hurried anyway as it was possible to get with only the faintest glimmer of light. Familiarity with the guesthouse, as well as the location of her possessions, helped immensely.

  Brenna chose a casual, comfortable outfit to wear in the form of a pair of dark slacks and a simple, plain top. Neither garment boasted any of the vivid colors she favored. She reasoned it was best to avoid them on this occasion in order not to draw any attention to herself. Her copper hair was bad enough, but if it became necessary, she could stuff her hair under the baseball cap she slipped into one of her totes.

  After that, it was not so easy to select what should go in the other tote and what should be left behind. A change of undergarments was essential and her Nikon, small enough to deserve space.

  It had already been determined that her painting supplies would have to be abandoned. The seascape and the painting of the square, as well as her sketches, would remain. They belonged to Marcus now. A part of his generous advance had paid for them. As for all the rest she owed him, and would not now be delivering...well, there was time to figure that out after she’d returned to Chicago. One thing was for sure. She couldn’t ask for the money back she’d loaned to her friends at home. The couple needed it too desperately.

  What was she doing wasting time worrying about this stuff?

  The underlying truth was she was nervous. Fearing discovery before she and Casey could get away. There was one certainty. She might not know what Marcus Bradley’s reaction would be when he learned she had cleared out, but whatever it was, it would be far from good.

  “Brenna,” Casey called softly from his vigil at the window, “what’s taking you?”

  She had filled the two totes with as much as they would hold. “I’m set to go.”

  “Then let’s roll.”

  He led the way to the front door where he halted her. “Wait here. I’m going to do a fast check outside to be sure it’s clear.”

  “Was Julio still leaning against the wall asleep when you left the window?”

  “No, he’s gone.”

  Brenna was alarmed. “And you weren’t going to say anything to me? Casey, you can’t go out there! He could be waiting in the shadows with a gun!”

  Before she could stop him, he was already out the door. Talk about nerves! He left her imagining the worst. That he would either be shot or would end up easily breaking poor Julio’s neck, as she was sure his FBI training had taught him the skill.

  Danger or not, Brenna was set to go after him when Casey was suddenly back, slipping inside the guesthouse.

  “No sign of any guard outside. Whoever was on the last shift either decided to call it quits for what’s left of the night or needed to take a leak. You have the key with you for the front door?”

  “Right here.” She produced it from her purse. “I suppose I should leave it behind.”

  “No. Take it with you and lock the door behind us. You don’t want to risk any of them testing the door and finding it unlocked before they have a good reason to start suspecting something’s wrong.”

  “I guess,” she said sheepishly, “that’s why I’m paid for being an artist, and you’re paid to be a special agent.”

  Once they were o
utside, she did as he asked and locked the door.

  “Okay,” he said, taking one of the totes from her to carry, “we’ve caught the break we need. Let’s not waste it.”

  Casey swiftly preceded her down the hill to the safe spot where he had left the Toyota. Only when they were out of range of the security lamps or any shouted challenge from the villa did Brenna think about relaxing.

  * * *

  The first, faint light of daybreak was tinting the horizon when Casey wound through the gray, nearly empty streets of Georgetown toward the road leading to the airport.

  He had learned to read Brenna in all her moods. Even now, after their long separation, those moods were familiar to him. They registered in the shifting expressions on her face. A quick glance at her beside him told Casey all he needed to know.

  “Okay, Rembrandt, what’s got you so deep in thought?”

  She frequently denied what she called his bogus mind reading. Not this time. “I was thinking...if the water sample proves to contain what Zena expected, some kind of chemicals blocking pregnancy, will the proof of that be enough to take Marcus down? Including whoever else might be in on it with him?”

  Casey considered her question for a moment before answering. “Probably not by itself, no. But with what the FBI is building, along with what Will’s journalist friend is compiling from people willing to talk, Bradley should definitely face charges. The trouble is, his money has bought all kinds of support for him here on St. Sebastian. The kind of support that may allow him to get away with Zena’s murder.”

  If Brenna was disappointed in his judgment, she kept it to herself, although he knew she would bitterly object to any vindication of Zena’s killer.

  The light in the sky was strengthening as, having now reached the open road, they raced toward the airport.

  Casey coached Brenna with a couple of rules before they arrived at the terminal. “I want you to remember two things. Until we’re off this island, neither one of us touches our cell phones. Whatever the emergency seems to be, we keep our phones off.”

  “I understand. Any calls can be traced to us and where we are.”

  “Exactly.”

  “What else?”

  “No credit card use. Keep the cards in your wallet until we’re home. Activity on them can also be traced. Strictly cash transactions.”

  “Uh, that might be a problem. I don’t have that much cash on me.”

  “But I do. I’ve been hitting the ATM machines around Georgetown. I’ve built up all the cash we’ll need.”

  “You’ve been anticipating this situation?”

  “I believe in preparing for negative possibilities, even when they’re unlikely to occur. You know that.”

  “Yes, you were always thorough.”

  Speaking of which...

  It was time again for Casey to check the rearview mirror, which he had been regularly doing since the start of their departure in the Toyota. The traffic at this early hour was almost nonexistent on this particular road, making it easy for him to be confident they weren’t being followed.

  It was better to be certain, however, even though it was too soon for any chase. Brenna wasn’t apt to be missed until breakfast, and then the hunt would begin. But by then, if all went well, they would be flying high over the Caribbean, far out of reach.

  The sun was up by the time they reached the terminal. There was already activity out on the field in the form of a cargo jet maneuvering into a takeoff position.

  “We’ll turn the car in before we hit the ticket counter,” Casey said, parking the Toyota in the designated rental lot. “Might make a difference if we have to run for a plane.”

  Not that he expected them to be that lucky, he thought as they gathered their things and headed into the terminal, but there was always the chance.

  This was not Chicago’s O’Hare Airport. There was only one ticket counter and no frustrating line ahead of them when, completing their business at the rental car desk to return the silver Toyota, they appeared in front of the solitary ticket agent ready to serve them.

  Or, as Casey grimly determined a few minutes later, ready to screw them.

  “What do you mean,” he demanded, “there are no available seats on any of the flights either today or tomorrow? I’m not specifying it absolutely has to be a U.S.A.-bound flight, man. Anywhere in the West Indies would be fine, as long as we can make some connection there back to the U.S.”

  The young man, well-groomed, handsome, looked like a mixture of races familiar in the West Indies—some Asian, some African, some Caucasian. But no detectable local dialect.

  “I am sorry, sir, but this is a small airport with a limited air service, and we’re simply booked full.”

  “Both days?”

  “I’m afraid so.”

  He’s lying, Casey told himself. He could hear it in the agent’s voice, see it in the way he avoided direct eye contact with Casey.

  “Uh-huh. And what about the day after tomorrow? Any chance of reserving two seats for then?”

  “Only if there are any cancellations. I could put you on the waiting list.”

  “Yeah, I bet you could.” Casey had the urge to reach across the counter and grab the guy by the throat. He would do it, too, if he thought shaking the truth out of the agent would work.

  Brenna at his side was obviously aware of his anger. She placed a hand on his arm, murmuring a low warning out of the side of her mouth. “Someone at ten o’clock near the gate. Looks like he could be security. Hadn’t we better go?”

  Chapter 9

  Casey waited until they got outside the front entrance to mutter a gruff “We’ve got a problem.”

  “The agent was lying, wasn’t he? He could have sold us seats on one of the flights out this morning.”

  “Oh, yeah.”

  “I think I understand just why he didn’t, but you’d better let me hear your explanation so we’ll both know we’re on the same page.”

  “We could make you an FBI agent yet, Coleman.”

  “And replace the paint brush in my hand with a pistol? No, thank you. Getting back to our dilemma...it’s Marcus, isn’t it? He’s put out a net to prevent our escape from St. Sebastian.”

  Casey nodded. “I counted on his not discovering this soon that you were gone, but I obviously underestimated him. Real trouble is the bastard’s got so much money he can pay just about anyone who matters on the island to do what he asks. That apparently includes the ticket agent back there. What do you want to bet he’s already phoning the villa to report we’re here?”

  “So what are we going to do?”

  Casey was impressed by Brenna’s calm restraint. “Wave down the next taxi that comes by.”

  “And go where? To your rental cottage on the beach?”

  “That’s the first place Bradley’s goons will look for us, although I have an idea he’s not in any great rush to find us. Why should he be? He has every reason to be confident we’re boxed in and can’t get away. That he can reel us in any time he’s ready.”

  “And can he?”

  “Not if I can help it. Men like him often have bloated egos that fail to consider their opponents have weapons, too. All of which is to say I lined up a few emergency surprises of my own to throw at him in the event we got grounded here. For those we need to go back to Georgetown.”

  “What are these emergency measures?”

  “I’ll tell you when we get there.”

  “Always the mystery with you, McBride.”

  “It’s just that telling you now could be a waste of time. Circumstances can change, making adjustments necessary. Better if I explain when we know exactly what the situation is.”

  A moment later a taxi swung into sight. Casey held up his hand for it. The driver pulled up to the front entrance to collect them. After Casey and Brenna settled themselves on the backseat of the cab, he leaned forward to speak to the grizzled driver.

  “You know where Crooked Lane is, don’t you?”

/>   The old man, looking over his shoulder, gazed at Casey wide-eyed. “Mon, dat deep into black folks’ neighborhood. Why you want ta go dere?”

  “To pay you a nice fare, with an even nicer tip, if you can get us there with no questions asked.”

  The driver nodded, tearing off in the direction of Georgetown.

  Brenna didn’t bother to question him on this one. Her only observation was, “After what you told me yesterday, I suppose there’s every reason why we wouldn’t ask the police to help us.”

  “Only one. They’re more likely to help Marcus Bradley than us.”

  “Meaning we’re on our own and on the run.”

  “That just about describes it.” He found her hand on the seat, warm and smooth, and squeezed it gently. “That worry you?”

  “I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t...well, maybe concerned is a better word.”

  “Anything specific?”

  “Yes. Casey, do you suppose Marcus knows you have that water sample?”

  “With the money he has in so many pockets on this island working for him, there’s a good chance he does know by now.”

  “He’ll want it back,” she said. “And he’ll make every effort to get it.”

  “Of course.”

  He hated that Brenna had to be involved in this thing. And that at this stage, all he had was a fierce self-promise to do whatever was in his power to make sure she stayed safe.

  To that end, he remained alert. And that, thank God, enabled him a few miles farther on down the road to put his self-promise to work.

  Speeding toward them was a familiar-looking green sedan. No way of knowing whether it was the same car that followed them that morning they were headed to Braided Falls, but Casey wasn’t waiting to make sure.

  “Brenna,” he ordered her sharply, “slide down in the seat out of sight! Fast!”

  She could have asked him why. Could have objected. But his tone must have relayed the urgency of the moment, letting her know how necessary it was for her to obey his command. Her action was immediate and swift.

  Casey also lowered himself, but only far enough to minimize being sighted and recognized by the occupants of the other car. He kept his face to the level of his nose above the bottom of the window on his side, making his eyes clear of any obstruction.