by Lucy Score
“Come on.”
It was surprisingly clean inside. The wood floor was neatly swept. The miniscule bar jutted out from the corner eating up most of the space in the twelve by twelve room. All five of the patrons stopped what they were doing to stare.
“Anyone seen Papi tonight?” Antonio asked.
They stared some more. The bartender spoke first. Aiden thought it was English, but the jumble of words and phrasing was beyond him. The kid answered in kind, and Frankie met Aiden’s gaze over Antonio’s head.
“Not here. Come on, let’s go,” Antonio said, grabbing Frankie’s hand and pulling her toward the door.
“What was that?” Frankie asked as Antonio towed her back to the van, Aiden behind her.
“What was what?”
“That language you were speaking.”
Antonio laughed and they climbed back in the van. “That’s Bajan slang. Everyone speaks it. Come on, let’s go. Birdspeed.”
“Birdspeed?” Frankie asked.
“Yeah, quick fast.” He nodded.
They barreled down the road at “birdspeed” before Aiden could ask the question. “Had anyone there seen Papi?”
Antonio shook his head, bouncing in his seat over a bump. “No. No Papi there tonight. We’re trying the next rum shop.”
“How many rum shops are there?” Frankie asked.
“About fifteen hundred,” Antonio answered without batting an eye.
They hit four of the fifteen hundred in half an hour. It was midnight now, and Aiden was beginning to wonder if the kid was taking them on a wild goose chase. Frankie was dejected beside him. She didn’t even fight it when he pulled her into his side.
At least not until the zombie-like moan erupted from behind them. Frankie shrieked and put up her hands like she was going to karate chop the zombie while Aiden tried to push her away from the danger.
It was a man, not a zombie, that slowly rose from the rear bench seat.
“You okay back there, Uncle?” Antonio called.
The man grumbled something incoherent. He raised a small bottle of rum to his mouth, gulped some down, and then collapsed back on the seat.
“That’s my Uncle Renshaw,” Antonio announced.
“What the hell’s wrong with Uncle Renshaw?” Frankie demanded, reluctant to lower her hands.
“He got a big fare. Six tourists. Americans. They needed a ride up north. Big money.”
“Looks like he celebrated a little hard,” Aiden commented.
Frankie slapped a hand on his leg. “That’s it!”
“What’s it?”
“He’d make more cash kidnapping someone than just driving a tourist around, right?”
“Presumably.”
Frankie leaned between the front seats. “Antonio, where would Papi go if he had some real cash? Where would he celebrate?”
Chapter Twelve
Big Chuck’s Groceries, Fish, Lotto, and Rum Shop was a ramshackle abode perched atop a steep hill with what was probably a breathtaking view of the Caribbean. However, seeing as how it was pitch dark and there were no street lights, Frankie could only assume the view was beautiful.
“I have to pee,” she announced. “You two look for Papi, and I’ll meet you in the bar.”
Frankie found the tiny bathroom crammed in between shelves of canned goods and bags of cookies and chips. The whole place smelled like fried fish sandwiches. And when her stomach growled, she remembered how much of her dinner she’d left on her plate back at Uncle George’s. A lifetime ago, when all she had to worry about was Aiden’s hand on her leg. She wondered if Cressida had devoured Hot Surfer Guy.
Leaving the bathroom, she stopped and ordered four fish sandwiches and a round of Cokes to go. Holding the greasy paper bag, she went in search of Aiden and Antonio. She found them in a conference with Aiden staring at his phone in a dark corner of the nearly lightless bar. It was a ramshackle shed held together with sheet metal, wood, and prayers. The floor was dirt. The bar was greasy. And there were only a handful of wooden stools for seating.
“What’s going on? Is he here?” Frankie asked.
Antonio pointed to a man holding court at the center of the bar. Dirty red hat? Check. Glinting gold tooth? Oh, hell yeah.
“What are we doing over here when he’s right there?” she hissed, pointing wildly.
“He’s not interested in talking,” Aiden said succinctly. Clearly he was pissed. The tic in his stupid perfect jaw was working overtime.
“Yeah, he told Mr. Money Bags here to leff he.”
“Translation?”
“Leave him alone,” Antonio supplied.
“We’re going to have to do this the hard way,” Aiden said, dialing the phone.
“What’s the hard way?”
“I’m hiring some private security who won’t ask too many questions about why we need this asshole to talk.”
“Private security? Are you going all Blackwater right now?” Frankie hissed.
“Let me handle this,” Aiden insisted. “We’re not leaving without answers.” He turned and walked out of the bar.
Fuckity fuck fuck fuck. Frankie watched Papi, the big man with his circle of friends, buying rounds, telling stories.
She shoved the bag of fish sandwiches at Antonio. “Hold these, don’t eat mine, and go find Aiden. I’ll meet you outside in a minute,” she ordered. She sidled up to Papi and his gang. They made way for her, eagerly parting like the sea for Moses.
“Papi, Papi, Papi, you’re a hard man to find.” He was in his late sixties, she guessed, by the fuzzy gray hair under the hat and the softly wrinkled skin around his eyes. He had dark dots on both cheekbones, grizzly stubble on his weak jaw.
“Hey, Mami. What can ol’ Papi do for you. Bradley, a drink for my lady friend.”
Frankie took the vacated bar stool next to him and picked up the rum the bartender poured for her.
“Papi, you took my friend. You can tell me where he is.”
Papi laughed, and after a second, the rest of his friends joined in. “I already tol’ your friend. I don’ want his money. I don’ need his money. You get me?”
“If you don’t want money, what do you want?” Frankie said, lowering her voice to a flirtatious purr.
“I’ve got me mates, me rum, and a good story for the day. What more do a man want?” Papi asked.
“How about another story?” Frankie offered.
“I’m listenin’.”
Frankie was desperate. The man had information she needed, and if she didn’t get it out of him the nice way, Aiden was going to throw tens of thousands at some mercenaries to drag the truth out of him.
She leaned in and whispered her offer to him. Papi’s eyes widened to the size of the soggy coasters on the bar.
“You tell me everything you know in return?” Frankie asked, clarifying.
He nodded as if in a trance. “Oh yeah. You got a deal. But you first.”
Frankie shot a glance at the door to the grocery and made sure Aiden and Antonio were nowhere to be seen.
“A deal’s a deal,” she said, untying the halter top to her dress.
Her unbound breasts enjoyed the temporary freedom and the weak breeze pushed down from the drooping ceiling fan above. Papi’s jaw dropped, hypnotized. The rest of his cronies followed suit.
She counted to five, making sure everyone had seen what needed to be seen and then tied her dress neatly back in place. She downed the shot of rum in one swallow and slapped the glass back on the bar.
“Drinks for everyone,” Papi announced coming out of his breast trance and tossing his arms in the air. The crowd cheered.
“Talk, Papi,” Frankie insisted.
“Okay. Alls I know is dis guy calls me up and says he got a driving job for me. He needs me to pick up his frien’ at Oistins. Oh, and his frien’ might not want to get in the car so I should bring some help.”
“He asked you to kidna
p someone.”
“No, no, no! Dis man, he gives me your friend’s number. I call him and tell him I have a surprise for him. Drunk Americans are not bright, not bright!” Papi pointed a gnarled finger at Frankie.
“Preaching to the choir, Papi. Keep talking.”
“So, he’s like ‘Cool, man. A surprise.’ An I’m like, I’ll see you on the sidewalk. I’m in a white van. And he went there willingly, and my frien’ helped your frien’ into the van, and that’s that.”
Poor, stupid, drunk Chip.
“Where’d you take him?”
“Rockley Ridge Resort by Sandy Lane. But good luck getting’ in dere. Some big to-do tonight. All Hollywood an’ stuff. Lotsa security.”
“Who took Chip off your hands when you got to the resort?”
Papi shrugged and pushed another glass of rum at her. “Don’ know. He did not feel the need to introduce himself. He pay me. I leave.”
“What did he look like?”
“Big burly like guy. Like a bear. I dunno. But he was just hired muscle, I think. He said his boss would be happy.”
“What did they do with Chip?” Frankie asked.
Papi tapped her glass with his and they drank.
“Ahhh, that’s the good stuff,” Papi hissed out. “Anyway, your friend was sleepin’. He passed out drunk on the ride. So, the big guy just carried him toward the elevators like a bride.”
“And you left and came here.”
“To celebrate an easy night’s work.”
“Thanks for your time, Papi,” Frankie said, sliding off the stool.
“Thanks for your boobs,” he said enthusiastically.
“Yeah, yeah.”
She found Aiden and the kid pacing the sliver of front porch of the shop. Aiden was dialing. Antonio was munching on a fish sandwich.
She plucked her own sandwich out of the bag and grabbed one of the Cokes she’d stashed in there. “Call off the cavalry, Aide. We got a location.”
Aiden hung up the phone. “Where?”
“Rockley Ridge Resort,” Frankie announced, pleased with her investigative abilities.
“Let’s go!” Antonio said, waving them toward the van. “My uncle will wake up soon and want to go home.”
“The fourth sandwich is his,” Frankie told him.
“Thanks, Frankie. You’re a hell of a girl,” Antonio said, wrestling the wheel one-handed while clutching his sandwich in the other.
“Here. You might as well eat,” Frankie said, handing Aiden another sandwich.
“How’d you get him to talk?” Aiden asked, peeling back the wrapper and eyeing the fish.
Frankie looked everywhere else but his face. “I just asked, and he told me.”
“Bullshit,” Aiden said.
“I told him what information I needed, and he was happy to share,” she lied.
“So, you’re not going to tell me how you dragged the information out of him when he turned down a thousand bucks just a few minutes earlier?” Aiden pressed.
“I guess some things are worth more than money,” Frankie said innocently.
“Kid, you know anything about the Rockley Resort?”
Antonio whistled. “FAN-cy. Good security, too,” he said cagily.
Frankie whipped out her phone, praying it still had a charge. It was dead. “Shit. Gimmie your phone, Kilbourn.”
He handed it over, and Frankie opened the browser. “Why were you googling me? Creeper!” She slapped Aiden’s arm. His last tab was an image search of her.
“I told you. I’m interested in you, and when I’m interested in something, I do my research.”
“First of all, I’m a someone, not a something, buddy. Secondly, where do these pictures come from?”
“Social media mostly,” Aiden said, leaning over her shoulder to look.
“Excuse me, guys,” Antonio called from the driver seat. “I think you’re getting off track.”
Uncle gurgled from the backseat and dragged himself into a seated position. He cleared his throat. “Ah ah HEM!”
Frankie handed him the bag with the last sandwich and Coke.
Uncle nodded his thanks and dug in.
“Right. I’ll yell at Aiden later.” Frankie decided. She typed in the resort’s name and hit the news tab.
“Double shit. This is not good. Little Miss Trellenwy—what the hell kind of name is that? You rich people are the worst at naming kids.”
“Back to the matter at hand,” Aiden nudged her.
“Right. Trellenwy Bostick, Hollywood star and heiress to Napa Valley wine fortune got married there today,” she said reading from a gossip site. “So far no pics because the security’s too tight. How are we getting in there?”
“I can get you over the wall about a half kilometer down. You’ll have to fight your way through some vegetation, but you can come out on the beach,” Antonio put in.
“Antonio, I hope you only use your powers for good,” Aiden said to the boy.
“Mostly good,” Antonio promised.
“We can’t sneak into a wedding like this,” Frankie said looking down at her mini dress.
“What else do you have with you?” Aiden asked.
“Nothing good enough to crash high society except for my bridesmaid dress.”
He stroked a hand over the hair on his chin. “That’ll do.”
Chapter Thirteen
Frankie didn’t know who Aiden called or how they managed it, but as Antonio buzzed up to the front door of their hotel, the concierge was waiting outside with two garment bags.
Aiden swung the side door on the minivan open just wide enough to grab the bags and throw cash at the man, and then they were off again.
Uncle was snoring peacefully in the backseat having washed down his fish and Coke with the rest of the rum.
“If this dress gets wrecked, Pru is going to kill me, and then she’s going to kill you because I’m going to tell her this is all your fault,” Frankie announced. She slid onto the bench seat behind Aiden and unzipped the bag to reveal the reason behind her second part-time job. The two-thousand-dollar bridesmaid dress. The one Pru had offered to buy for her. The one Frankie insisted on buying herself even though her fingers physically cramped while signing the credit card slip. The gold sequined v-neck gown cost more than the entire rest of her wardrobe combined.
He turned around. “What makes you think this is my fault?” Aiden demanded.
“Eyes up front, mister. Both of you,” she said, when Antonio adjusted the rearview mirror. “I’m saying it was your idea to use the wedding clothes to sneak into another wedding. I’m sure Pru’s no bruises, no cuts, no hickeys also extends to no destroying your couture.”
Aiden slid over in his seat to block the kid’s view. Frankie did her best to shimmy into the dress while keeping everything important covered with her mini dress. Finally in the gown, but without the proper undergarments, she twisted in the seat.
“Zip me, Aide?” she asked, offering her back to him.
She peered over her shoulder as he abandoned the buttons on his Oxford shirt, leaving it delectably open. Regrettably, she’d missed him getting into his pants.
She felt his hand at her hip, holding her in place while he guided the zipper up to the middle of her back. Her flesh burned where his hand still lingered, and she scooted away from him.
She’d already come to her senses once tonight. Once was more than enough where kajillionaire ladies’ man Aiden was concerned. Besides, they had a groom to find.
“Rockley straight ahead,” Antonio announced, pointing in the direction of the van’s headlights.
“Drive past it and then turn around,” Aiden ordered peering through the window into the night.
The resort was walled off quite literally by a tall stucco wall painted a soft, sandy yellow. It seemed to go on for a mile. Not only was the gate closed, but there were half a dozen security people standing at attention in front of
it.
“Who did you say was getting married?” Aiden asked Frankie.
Frankie consulted his phone. “Trellenwy Bostick. Technically she and her groom got married last weekend in Napa at her family’s vineyard. This is the party. Ultra-exclusive, all the non-wedding guests at the resort had to sign non-disclosure agreements,” she read. “Private security to ensure Trellenwy’s privacy. Blah blah blah. Basically, we’re screwed.”
Antonio drove past the resort and pulled into a gravel parking lot that flanked the beach. “I can get you in,” he announced confidently.
“What are you going to do? Forge us an invitation?” Frankie asked.
“Me and my brother used to walk to the resort on the beach. Sold a few bracelets before security chased us out.”
“The beach will be crawling with security,” Aiden pointed out.
“Yeah, but between the road and the beach is like a jungle. Trees, bushes, no lights,” Antonio grinned.
“And if the gate is guarded and the beach is guarded, no one will be looking in the jungle,” Frankie said triumphantly.
“Exactly. Hang on, guys.” Antonio floored the old van past the hotel gate as if he were a man on a mission.
“Slow down, desperado,” Frankie yelled.
“If we go by all slow and pokey, they’re gonna get suspicious.”
Aiden laughed softly.
“I’m going to let you out down here, further away from the hotel in case you make a lot of noise climbing the wall.”
“Let’s do this.” Frankie wedged her feet into her incredibly impractical wedding heels. She hoped the jungle was more of a neatly trimmed landscape that she wouldn’t break both ankles exploring.
Aiden eyed her in the dark interior of the van. “Maybe you should stay put. Let me go find Chip.”
“Please. Like I’m going to let you go in there alone. Besides, a couple dressed for a wedding will be a hell of a lot less suspicious than James Friggin’ Bond wandering up the beach in a tux. You’re not leaving me.”
He looked like he wanted to argue further but wisely shut his mouth when Antonio swerved across the road and pulled up to the curb. “Good luck, guys.”