“Don’t be sorry, Mr. MacDonald,” Kyle shook the man's hand. “I’m in your debt.” He turned to his investigator. “Tom, get this man down to see the lieutenant. Just tell him what you’ve told me, Mr. MacDonald And don’t worry, I’ll compensate you for any time—”
Mr. MacDonald drew his small frame to a dignified posture. "I don’t need compensation, Mr. Jagger. Not for doing my duty as a citizen and helping out that nice Miss Delaney.”
Kyle smiled. “Thank you then, Mr. MacDonald.” He waited until the little man was out the door and then called back Tom Keaton. “Tell Lieutenant Griffen to meet me at the airport, and, Tom, see to it that Mr. MacDonald gets a nice necklace for his wife. Put it on the expense account and you and I will settle later.” Keaton nodded, and left with MacDonald. Then Kyle was out the door himself. He was beginning to feel both elated and ill. The baggage clerk was a liar. The baggage clerk was also an employee of Executive Charters…
Kyle remembered the statement given by Jake Henry he had read. “I sure don't like to think that lovely lady could be a thief, but she had that case with her when she came through. She came in with a big, heavy suitcase, a canvas bag, some kind of a ladies handbag, and that very metal case. I didn’t think a thing of it—I’m not a customs agent, you know, just a clerk…”
He could remember the statement almost word for word he had read it so many times. Soon after that came the damning sentence. Someone had obviously asked how she had managed to carry it all.
“Oh, ah, the lady wasn’t carrying her suitcase. She had her cabby with her…”
Kyle left the car in a no-parking zone, treaded steps with which he was well familiar, and moved to the area designating the space of Executive Charters. He had to slow his steps consciously, to breathe consciously, to force himself to smile, appear easy.
Jake Henry was working. “Hi, Jake.” Kyle leaned easily over the counter and smiled at the saturnine little man. He had to fold his fingers together; he was dying to reach out and press his hands around the man’s throat…
“Hello, Mr. Jagger, sir. Are you taking a plane out? I haven’t heard anything about you coming—”
“No, no, Jake,” Kyle interrupted, still smiling. “I just came by to see you. I wanted to ask you a few more questions about the Delaney woman.”
“Oh.” Jake Henry smiled agreeably, but Kyle sensed a change in his demeanor. A fine film of perspiration was already appearing on his forehead.
“Jake, you said to the police that Ms. Delaney had a cabby with her when she brought her luggage in. Would you recognize the man?”
“Oh, ah, I'm not sure, Mr. Jagger. That was more than four months ago now, and you know, I see hordes of people every day. There’s always cabbies around, you know?”
“Yeah, well, Jake, we’ve found the cabby.”
The man was sweating profusely now. He ran a finger around the back of his starched white collar.
“Oh? Do you think the cabby will remember right? A cabby sees even more people and suitcases and such than I do, you know, sir?”
“This cabby remembers, Jake.” Kyle suddenly dropped his relaxed pose. He reached across the counter and gripped the man by the lapels. “Listen, Jake, this thing burns me, man, it burns me real bad. Not only was my company used, my plane used, but it was almost my life that was taken and that of a lady whose life means even more than my own. Now smuggling is bad, Jake, real bad. But murder is worse. I don’t think you're a killer, Jake, but I do think you know how that gold got aboard the plane. Now listen real good, because this is what is going to happen. You’re going to turn yourself in and you’re going to give the police the name of your accomplice. Because if you don’t, you won’t only have to worry about the Australian government thinking you were the one guilty not only of smuggling but also attempted homicide, you’re going to have me thinking you’re guilty of attempted homicide. The court will give you a chance. I won’t.”
Jake Henry was shaking like a leaf blown in winter. His face had turned a mottled purple. He gasped only once in protest. The look in Kyle Jagger’s eyes convinced him that thirty years in a penitentiary would be preferable to the treatment he would receive from this man.
“I didn’t touch the plane, Mr. Jagger, I swear I didn’t touch the plane. I didn’t know anything about the plane being touched—I just figured there’d be some plan to pick up the stuff in Buenos Aires. I swear I didn’t touch the plane…”
Kyle felt his fingers tightening on the man’s lapel. He had never felt such a black rage in his life. Beads of perspiration were breaking out on his own brow while what felt like a chill was gripping his muscles, fogging his mind, tensing his grip. He took a deep breath; he was beginning to shudder… He had lifted Henry above the ground until his toes scraped…
“Jagger, please, for God’s sake!” Henry begged in a breathless garble.
Kyle dropped the man, biting down hard.
“Jagger!”
Kyle turned to see that Lieutenant Griffen had arrived. He looked at Griffen tiredly, then finally spoke. “Mr. Henry here has another Statement to make for you, Lieutenant. I believe it will agree with the new information you've received from Mr. MacDonald.” Kyle turned back to lake Henry abruptly, filled with disgust. His voice became very quiet—deathly quiet. “Who fixed the plane, Henry?”
The little man switched his eyes nervously from the lieutenant to Kyle. Even with the authorities around it was apparent he didn't trust the latter. He licked his lips nervously. “I don’t know anything about the plane being fixed—”
“You’re a liar, Henry,” Kyle said, his eyes pinioning the man.
“Smithfield!” Jake Henry suddenly babbled. “Ted Smithfield, the mechanic. The whole plot was his idea, Mr. Jagger. He threatened me, I had to go along. But you’re not going to find him; he lit out right after you were discovered on the island. He knew the Aussies would keep someone there… he knew he’d never recover the gold. I didn’t want in on it. I didn’t. Smithfield said that if I didn’t get the gold on the plane, he’d get me. I swear, Mr. Jagger.”
Kyle turned from the man in disgust, sure he would feel the urge to throttle the man again if he stared at him any longer. Walking slowly from the scene, Kyle could hear Griffen reading Henry his rights. The sound began to grow dim. My own employees, Kyle thought, and I threw that gold at Skye on the island as if she were the lowest of thieves…
Kyle had come within five feet of his rental car when Lieutenant Griffen hailed him. “Jagger!”
Kyle stopped and waited.
“I intend to extend my apologies to Miss Delaney, Jagger,” the lieutenant began, “and I want to extend them to you too. Of course, we’ll still need you to fill out a few forms, and I’m sure you’ll want to know when Smithfield is apprehended, but you can be out of here in a maximum of three weeks. And, of course, we’ll cover any of Miss Delaney’s expenses—”
“Lieutenant Griffen,” Kyle interrupted. “Neither Ms. Delaney nor I need expenses covered. Executive Charters was used in this; I’m responsible for Executive Charters. And I’ll stay to fill out all your forms. Then I want to go home. I’ll take a trip back when you catch Smithfield. I have a few other affairs to handle.”
“Okay, Jagger. Listen, I really am sorry about Miss Delaney.”
Kyle paused, feeling his temper rise again. “Skip it, Lieutenant. You were doing your job.”
The lieutenant kept apologizing, going over the evidence. Kyle slid into the car, waved, and headed back out for the Harbour Bridge.
He wanted to get to Skye.
Virginia opened the door for him, looking uneasy.
“Skye is cleared,” Kyle said.
“Wonderful!” Virginia said, but she didn’t look as if she had received news that wonderful. “Skye is still on the couch. Go talk to her and I'll fix some drinks.”
Kyle walked through the foyer and paused. Skye was staring at him dolefully. He frowned. She looked like a little urchin huddled in the blanket, her hair sp
illing around her, her cat eyes narrowed. His heart took a little lurch; despite the baleful glare she was giving him, the mass of her spilling blond waves and the grace of her position touched the desire he had been ignoring through the intensity of the past days.
“You’re cleared,” he told her.
Her expression changed to one of surprise, wary disbelief, and then incredulous joy. “How?” she demanded.
Kyle sat across from her in the chair Virginia had vacated, idly moving the crochet items. He fingered a half-made bootie as he talked, telling her about the cabby, about his trip to the airport, telling her about Henry, about the man they still had to apprehend. “So you’re clear, Skye. Entirely clear. We have to stay on to fill out some paperwork, but that’s it. All over. We go home to Montfort.”
The expression of joy that had been Skye’s vanished.
“What the hell is the matter with you?” Kyle demanded. “First Virginia, now you. I just told you that your biggest worry in the world is over and you’re looking at me as if I’m asking you to dig a grave and crawl into it.”
Skye straightened on the couch. “I really don't see how I can go to Montfort with you. Your wife just called here.”
“Who?”
“Your wife! You remember her—Lisa Jagger.” Oh, God, Skye thought, she sounded so shrill. She couldn’t help herself. She took a breath. “Lisa called here about a half hour ago. She said to tell you something about calling your bluff. She was just charming. She apologized very sweetly to me, but said she was sorry, she does love you, and she doesn’t intend to sign a thing. She also thought it only fair to warn me that she didn’t think a child such as myself could possibly hold your interest and—”
Skye broke off, closing her eyes, clenching her teeth.
“Go on," Kyle growled.
“And… and that as soon as you tired of me in bed you would come to your senses and realize a little sport wasn’t worth your empire. Or your ‘bluff.’ Whatever that means.”
Kyle stood, hands in his pockets as they so often were when he was angry. He returned Skye’s glare.
“And you let Lisa’s phone call bother you?”
Skye finally lowered her gaze. “Kyle, I really don’t think it's a good idea for me to go back with you. If you’ve only been bluffing her, then you aren’t taking any stands against her. Solve your problems with her. I’m grateful, very grateful, Kyle, for all that you’ve done for me. But—”
“But nothing! I’m leaving here exactly three weeks from today. You’re coming with me. That was the deal. Damn you, I’ll hold you to it if I have to drag you by the hair.”
Skye bit her lip, looking down at her fingers. “Then use what you have against Lisa, Kyle. What can I believe if you have a way to free yourself and you refuse to use it?”
Kyle froze, locking his jaw aa he stared at Skye. His “bluff” was his son. And he wasn't terribly sure he could stand to inflict that kind of pain on Chris, to disown him publicly. What if Chris didn’t understand? There had to be another way.
But he couldn't, wouldn’t, lose Skye, or the child that she carried that was also his.
He reached down, took her face between his two hands, and stared into her accusing, but tantalizing cat’s eyes. “You’re going to have to trust me,” he said, and his voice was hard. He released her. “Three weeks, Skye. Be packed and ready to leave in three weeks. Because I am threatening you now, and I will carry out my threat.”
He turned, brushing past Virginia, who was holding a tray of champagne glasses, and he left without another word.
Interlude
Skye actually heard herself laugh as the suction of the tide beneath her feet suddenly caused her to lose her balance, bringing her down with little grace to sit awkwardly in the water. She had been staring blankly out to sea for so long that the water had risen without her being aware. Consequently she was fully dressed and soaking wet.
But it was warm and getting wet didn’t really matter. It was a secluded beach, and she loved the area. Off the beaten tourist track, it was both forlorn and beautiful. Steven had brought her here when he had first married Virginia and made Australia his home.
And now, here, in this private place where the sea birds cried and the surf lulled with its endless encroachment upon the sand, she had actually laughed.
But her laughter was short. Oh, Steven, she thought, if only you were here! What would you think of Kyle? He has demanded that I go home with him; he gave me three weeks…
But in all that time, Steven, he hasn’t seen me, he hasn’t even called. He’s married, Steven. He says that he wants to marry me, but he has some kind of a hold over his wife and he refuses to use it! Is he playing me along, Steven? I should really tell him to go to hell. Lisa said she was calling his bluff, and it appears she has been able to do so rather well…
I’ve never met anyone like him, Steven. He orders me about, and for some absurd reason, he’s getting away with it. I have to tell him to go to hell! If I have any pride at all, that is exactly what I should do—refuse to be dragged to his home and displayed before his family. He’s telling me to turn my entire life around! And he’s the worst damned chauvinist I’ve ever met. Imagine me, Steven, of all people, with a man like that…
He doesn’t know that I love him, Steven. And I don’t think that I dare let him know. He thinks that I’m after his name, his position.
He thinks that if I loved him—according to him—I would go with him willingly. But I'm afraid, Steven. What if he does tire of me? I don’t want to be like Lisa, not a wife, but an obligation.
Then there’s my pride. This is the first day I've been out. The reporters are finally beginning to leave me alone.
A chill gripped Skye. The thunder of the waves began to intensify; the breeze whipped against her face and she balanced to her feet again, toes gripping the wet sand as she hugged herself. She had known her twin so very well, for a moment she could almost envision his face, hear in the wind the exact reply he would have given her.
Pride? What is pride, Skye? You love this man with all your heart, and you’re going to let pride stand in your way? No, Skye, use your pride. Go to him with pride. Let your pride and dignity be the things that will see you through.
Skye closed her eyes and felt the water and air around her. Then she hugged her arms around herself and turned from the surf, pausing only to retrieve her shoes before she left the sand of the beach behind her.
She disappeared just moments before the man who had filled her thoughts walked down to the waves from the north rather than the south, and stood just a short distance away from where she had been. It was a secluded beach, but it wasn’t so strange that he had chosen the same place to come for solace. Their minds and their hearts worked alike, even when they couldn’t touch, or even talk.
A secluded beach would always be reminiscent of her.
He observed the surf, but he didn’t really see it; his eyes were far away, full of turmoil. Tomorrow, he was thinking, would she be there? Or would she have flown again? She had every right to do so… He had said terrible things to her. He had pushed and bullied her. She wasn’t like Lisa, not a damn thing like Lisa.
He was afraid, afraid as he had never been before. He loved her so much that now his hands began to sweat. He had left her with an ultimatum. He had left her in anger. And he hadn’t dared talk to her, because with her he lost all control.
So he stayed away.
Would she understand if she knew his son was at stake?
Or would she care? Was marriage everything to her? It seemed so.
Did she still love Trainor? And had she only refused to marry the other man because it was his child she carried?
Kyle’s fists clenched harder and harder until the clipped nails dug hard into his palms. He didn’t feel them. Nor did he hear the lonely dry of a gull, or the monotonous pulse of the surf.
The sounds were merely echoes of his mind.
He had wanted Skye to carry his child. Now s
he did. But what he had so desired now left him with a bitter dilemma. Would she come with him only because of the child?
Would she come with him at all?
Why had he been so horrid to her?
I'm afraid. And I’m vulnerable, and I don’t know how to handle it… I can have anything in the world, except for the one thing in the world that I want… And I don’t know what the hell I'm going t0 do…
Kyle turned away from the surf, having never really seen it. He absently dusted sand from his jeans, unaware that his leather shoes were soaked from the waves. As he left the beach and approached his car, his figure drew many an eye from the street, but he was oblivious to it.
He was entangled in the dilemma of his own mind. And he could think of only one answer.
He had to maintain the position of power. It was all that he had.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
November 3, San Francisco
It might have been easier if Kyle had seen her during the three weeks of his ultimatum. If he had called, if he had whispered a single endearment, if he had once given her the support of saying, “I love you.”
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