Adam read her thoughts. “No, no. Not the balcony itself. Just the exterior access points. If he tries to come across the roof and drop onto our balcony, he’ll be spotted in the security room.”
They both knew what “he” Adam was referring to. “What about the rest of the resort?”
Adam explained the general precautions Tom had shown him and ended with, “And you’ll have two armed security men following you wherever you go. I can introduce you to them later if you’d like.”
“Absolutely. Do I have to notify them before I leave the room?”
“No. They’re stationed in the security room on this floor, and their only job is to monitor our quarters. Once you set foot in the corridor, they’ll know it and will pick you up in the lobby—very subtly, I might add,” he told her. “If they’re as good as Tom thinks they are, we’ll hardly know they’re there.”
“Good. I’d rather concentrate on regaining my memory than watching my back.”
Adam gave a nod that told her he understood completely. “Would you like to meet them after dinner?”
Maddy glanced around. “Are they here now?”
Adam shook his head. “No. I saw one of them in the lobby when we came downstairs, but I imagine he went back into the Fortress when he realized that we were coming to the dining room. The staff in here has received extensive training in security measures,” he explained. “If you want to meet your shadows, though, I can send for them.”
Maddy thought it over. “No, I don’t think so. I’d rather wait until tomorrow and see if I can pick them out myself.” She grinned at him. “After all, a good spy should be able to spot a tail from a mile away.”
Adam shook his head. “Sorry, Maddy, my love.”
She frowned. “Sorry about what?”
He shrugged. “I said you were a spy, but I never said you were a good one.”
AS IT TURNED OUT, Adam was wrong; Maddy decided she would have made a very good spy indeed. It took her less than five minutes the next morning to spot her security guards.
The first one was ridiculously easy. After breakfast on their balcony, Adam had taken his turn in the shower, and Maddy had decided to start exploring without him. She left a note saying she’d meet him in the rose garden near the fountain and headed downstairs. She picked out guard number one before she even reached the lobby.
He was a tall, sandy-haired fellow in his late thirties wearing light blue chinos and a matching polo shirt, with a fanny pack strapped around his waist. He was idling in a nook near the concierge’s desk, and though no one else in the busy lobby seemed to notice him, he caught Maddy’s eye immediately, because there was no reason for anyone to be in that out-of-the-way nook unless he was waiting for someone.
Maddy was halfway down the stairs when he caught sight of her and straightened visibly—not as sharply as a soldier coming to attention, but enough to betray his interest in Maddy and a connection to the military somewhere in his past. When she moved across the lobby toward the rear exit that led to the garden, “Sandy” came out of his nook and followed at a discreet distance.
So much for guard number one.
Pleased with herself, she breezed out the door and down the stairs. She strolled past the terrace dining area and headed for the fountain at the center of the garden. From there, she could see her own balcony, and she glanced up just in time to see Adam, dressed in the hotel’s white terry bathrobe, step to the rail. He had Maddy’s note clutched in one hand. When he caught sight of her, he seemed visibly relieved. Maddy waved to him and he flapped the note at her, then disappeared into his bedroom.
So much for reassuring her husband. Now to the real task of unmasking guard number two.
Maddy crossed to one of the benches that dotted the garden. This one had an outer wall of the hedge maze behind it, and when Maddy sat facing the rose garden, she had a commanding view of the back of the hotel.
“Well, drat,” she muttered in disappointment. She’d been hoping that guard number two would be a challenge, but she picked him out immediately. He was by the fountain, just standing there watching her, making no attempt to hide his identity. But then, why should he? Adam had said the guards would be discreet, not invisible. They were there to protect her, not play cat-and-mouse with her, and it seemed that they were doing their job adequately so far.
This guard, who was shorter and darker complected than his partner, nodded to her, acknowledging that yes, indeed, he was one of her bodyguards, then he redirected his gaze, scanning the rest of the garden.
“Well, so much for that game,” she said, slapping her hands against her thighs as she stood.
“What game would that be, my dear?”
Maddy whirled to her right. A silver-haired gardener was massaging his back as he struggled to rise from the bed of chest-high rosebushes he’d been pruning. His pale blue eyes twinkled at her as he continued, “You’re a little old to be playin’ hide-and-seek and too young to be talking to yourself.”
Maddy laughed. “True on both counts. You must be Judge Bradshaw.”
The elderly gentleman with the delightful Carolina accent removed his battered straw hat. “At your service, Miss, though I can’t imagine how you deduced my identity.”
“I was told that no one was allowed near this garden with a pair of pruning shears except Judge Cameron Bradshaw,” she explained. “Ergo, you had to be the Judge—or an exceptionally foolhardy serial gardener.”
Cameron chuckled heartily. “Serial gardener. I’ll have to remember to tell that one to Elizabeth. Although I suspect she’ll think that’s a very fitting description of me. Which means you were right on two counts, Miss…”
“Mrs. Hopewell,” she supplied. “Madeline Hope-well.”
A light of recognition flared in the Judge’s eyes. “Mrs. Hopewell, of course! Liz told us all about you when she was going over the weekly report with Elizabeth.” He stepped out of his bed of roses and joined Maddy on the path of crushed seashells. “I must say, you look astonishingly healthy for someone who’s been through such an ordeal, my dear. The dreadful attack resulting in memory loss…” He clucked his tongue sympathetically. “Very tricky business, amnesia. You know, I sat on the bench for a number of cases that involved amnesia.”
“Really? I wouldn’t have thought amnesia was all that common.”
“Oh, the real thing isn’t common at all, but as a defense strategy…oh, my, yes,” he said, lowering himself onto the stone bench. He patted the space beside him, leaving Maddy with two choices—be rude or sit and listen. Since Cameron seemed sweet and totally harmless, Maddy sat.
“You’d be astonished,” the Judge continued, “at how many defendants use the temporary-insanity plea because they’ve conveniently lost all memory of committing the crime with which they’ve been charged. Actually, in all my years on the bench, I had only one amnesia case that I felt was truly genuine.”
“Oh? What was it?”
“A sixteen-year-old girl murdered her entire family with a butcher knife and then blotted out everything—including her own identity.”
Maddy thought about her own amnesia and the nightmare she’d had almost every night since. She also thought about the feelings of guilt she couldn’t shake. “Do you really think that’s possible, Judge? To kill someone and forget all about it?”
“Oh, certainly. The mind is an amazing instrument, but it can only tolerate just so much anguish. If I had murdered my family I think the only way I could live with the guilt would be to forget everything—even who I am. You see, this poor girl…”
The Judge went on with the particulars of the case, and Maddy listened to the long story without realizing that Judge Cameron Bradshaw was as wily as a fox. Before she knew it, the Judge had finished his amnesia tale and coaxed Maddy into telling him about hers!
Under his gentle prodding, she told him everything the police knew about the attack in the airport parking garage, and even explained what had prompted Adam to bring her here to recuperate.
Maddy was amazed at how easy it was to confide in the charming old gentleman. He was kind and supportive, and the concern he expressed seemed entirely genuine. By the time Maddy finally spotted Adam coming out of the hotel, she felt as though she’d made a friend.
“Oh. There’s my husband now,” she told Cameron.
The Judge looked at the veranda. “Is that him talking to Agent Luther?”
Maddy took note of the man who had emerged from the building with Adam. They were similar in height and build, but where Adam was dressed casually in slacks and a polo shirt, the other man was dressed in a crisp gray suit that looked much too warm for the island at this time of year. “Agent Luther?” she questioned.
“Yes. He’s the Secret Service point man for the President’s visit. He’s bringing our security up to presidential standards.”
Maddy rose and Cameron did likewise. The men had stopped at the edge of the porch and were deeply involved in conversation. “I wonder what he wants with Adam,” she murmured more to herself than the Judge.
Cameron answered, anyway. “I can’t say for certain, of course, but I would imagine that the threat against you is something that would be of great interest to the Secret Service. If the police are right and, God forbid, your assailant makes another attempt—”
“I suppose you’re right,” Maddy conceded. Then, anxious to join her husband and find out what was going on, she turned to her new friend and extended her hand.
“Judge Bradshaw, I can’t tell you how nice it was to meet you,” she said warmly. “It seems you have a green thumb with people, as well as roses. Thank you for letting me ramble on.”
“It was my pleasure, Madeline. Thank you for taking the time to visit with me.”
“I hope we can do it again.”
“You can count on it, my dear.”
The Judge watched as her bodyguards fell in behind her at a discreet distance. Then he went back to his roses, but part of his mind was now occupied by this lovely new guest. She was a thoroughly delightful young woman who clearly didn’t deserve to be suffering such a terrible ordeal.
There was obviously nothing he could do to help restore the poor girl’s memory, but surely there had to be something he and Elizabeth could do to make her stay more enjoyable.
If he thought about it long enough, he was sure he could come up with a good idea. And if not, Elizabeth would. That was why they made such a good team.
Yes, indeed. Somehow they’d think of something special for their lovely guest.
CHAPTER SEVEN
MADDY WAS BARELY halfway across the garden when Agent Luther completed whatever business he had with Adam and returned to the hotel lobby. As Adam descended the veranda stairs, Maddy could see a scowl forming on his handsome face.
“I ought to turn you over my knee, Madeline Hopewell,” he said as soon as he reached her.
Maddy searched for evidence that he was joking, but she didn’t find any. “Why?”
“For running out on me. Don’t ever do that again.”
His tone alone was enough to raise her hackles. “Don’t order me around, Adam,” she snapped. “And don’t expect me to spend the rest of my life walking two paces behind you like a well-trained dog.”
He shook his head as though trying to clear it of irritation and disbelief. “God knows I’ve never expected obedience from you, Maddy, but I thought you had an ounce or two of common sense. Running off by yourself like—”
“I wasn’t alone,” she informed him. “I have bodyguards, remember? I wanted to see if I could spot them, and once I had I knew I was as safe as I’m ever going to be until my assailant is caught.”
“Not true. You’re safer with me,” he argued. “Those bodyguards are just backup.”
Maddy’s dark eyebrows arched. “Forgive me for injecting a note of reality into your macho fantasy, but what, exactly, do you plan to use to protect me in the event of an attack? A slingshot? Bow and arrow? Harsh language?”
His dimples started to deepen the way they always did just before he smiled, and all the wind left his sails. “Sorry. I guess that sounded really stupid, but it just scared me silly when I came out of the shower and you were gone.”
“I’m sorry, too. I promise to be less impulsive and more considerate.” She grinned at him. “Next time I want to ditch you, I’ll tell you where I’m going as I tie you to a chair.”
“Very funny.”
“Adam, the point is, you can’t stay glued to my side all the time.”
“I can try, can’t I?”
Maddy finally realized she wasn’t going to get the last word on this subject, so she might as well stop trying. “What did the Secret Service agent want?” she asked him. “Are we in hot water with the law?”
“How did you know he was…”
Maddy pointed toward the other end of the garden. “I was talking to Judge Bradshaw when you and Agent Luther came out of the hotel.”
“Oh. It was no big deal. The hotel security chief told him about us, and Luther was just voicing his concern over the potential threat to your life.”
“Don’t you mean the potential threat to the President?”
“Well, he did express the hope that we might be gone before the Chief Executive arrives,” Adam admitted reluctantly.
“Will we?”
“I don’t know. Our reservation extends through the end of the month, but I suppose the length of our stay depends on Detective Hogan’s investigation and the state of your health.”
“You mean the state of my memory,” she said.
“Yes.”
Maddy smiled at him. “Then let’s see what we can do about that. Shall we go a-wandering?”
Adam smiled, too. “All right. One trip down memory lane coming up.”
“GOOD MORNING, sir. I’m sorry for the delay. May I help you?” Liz Jermain asked the slight bespectacled gentleman, the last of the three guests who’d arrived this morning on the hotel’s motor launch.
Liz’s smile was so pleasant and her voice so friendly that no one would ever have guessed how harried she was. It had been a while since she’d had to handle the front office entirely alone, and before the day was out she was going to have a long talk with Tom Graves about the scheduling of his employees security-training courses. Liz understood the importance of these ongoing sessions, but they shouldn’t leave her so shorthanded that one employee calling in sick could throw the entire office into chaos.
“I’m Arthur Rumbaugh,” the little man told her. “I have a single on reserve for the next two weeks.”
“Do you have a copy of your confirmation slip?” she asked as she prepared to key a new entry into the computer.
“I’m afraid not,” he replied. “I made the reservation four days ago and the slip hadn’t arrived in the mail before I left home yesterday. However—” he removed an index card from the breast pocket of his suit coat and handed it to Liz “—this is the confirmation number I was given over the phone.”
“Thank you.” Liz keyed in the number and up popped the name Rumbaugh, Arthur, along with all the information that had been taken over the phone from him four days ago.
Working quickly, Liz cleared his credit card and ran his driver’s license through Tom Graves’s newest toy— a scanner that automatically recorded the guest’s photo and ID information in his registration file. While that was processing, she invited Rumbaugh to sign the old-fashioned guest register, which was nothing more than a charming and sentimental tradition that her grandmother, Elizabeth, refused to let go of. Rumbaugh signed the register and everything else that was required, and Liz was finally able to process the card key for his room.
“Here you go, Mr. Rumbaugh. You’re in room 156, which is in the south wing.” She handed him the key folder with one hand and with the other gestured toward the bellman.
“Where is that, exactly?” he inquired. “I have a terrible sense of direction.”
Liz smiled at him. “The bellman will show you.”
“But couldn’t you…” He gestured toward the hotel floor plan that was lying on the counter between the check-in stations. “I’d really like to get a sense of where I am in relation to your other facilities.”
“Of course.” Liz placed the diagram on the counter between them and showed Rumbaugh his room, which was on the east side only two doors away from the hotel’s southernmost exit.
“Mmm. Rather out of the way, isn’t it?”
Oh, brother, Liz moaned inwardly. Outwardly she smiled at her picky guest. “Yes. It’s a very quiet part of the hotel.”
“And where is it, exactly, in relation to the suite the President will be using?”
A huge red flag began waving, and though Liz’s expression didn’t change, she withdrew the map. The entire staff had standing orders from Graves and Agent Luther to notify them about anyone who asked questions like this. “In the Presidential Suite,” she replied, giving a nod to the bellman who was standing patiently behind the guest. “You’ll find a map of the island and all the resort’s facilities in your room, Mr. Rumbaugh. Please let us know if there’s anything we can do to make your stay more enjoyable.”
He seemed on the verge of asking another question, but instead, he muttered a thank-you and followed the bellman into the central foyer.
Liz felt almost sorry for him. It was clear that the demanding guest was going to drive her staff crazy, but he was probably harmless enough. Tom and Luther wouldn’t see it that way, though. Once Liz marked Rumbaugh’s computer file with a special security flag and made note of his question regarding the President’s room, the poor guy would become a bug under a microscope. The security checks that had been run on him when he reserved his room were nothing compared to the surveillance machinery that would go into motion.
But Liz had her orders, and she wasn’t about to defy the Secret Service. She shifted her attention to her computer monitor and keyboard.
“Good morning, Liz. You’re looking exceptionally lovely today.”
The familiar masculine voice came from right behind her, and Liz’s hands froze over the keyboard before she’d entered a single stroke. When she turned to Duke Masterson it was all she could do to keep him from seeing how much he’d startled her. She glanced around to see who was in the vicinity and for the first time this morning was glad her office staff was elsewhere.
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