She turned the handle without knocking or ringing the bell and entered ahead of him.
The sound of a loud football game blared from the big TV. Lincoln craned his neck, trying to see who entered, his bandaged knee elevated on a big leather ottoman.
“Arizona?”
She went to him, leaning over to adjust the pillow supporting his knee. “Don’t tax yourself, Lincoln.”
He grimaced with the movement of his knee, but managed a response to her sarcasm. “I’m not going to lecture you. I hurt too much.”
Holding back a grin, Braden walked to the dining room table adjacent to the living room, where he saw satellite images and maps of Julian’s property and the properties surrounding it. It was what had brought him and Arizona here. Lincoln was going to help get him inside the villa and search for Tatum, or traces of her.
“Do you have anyone coming over to help you?” Arizona asked her brother.
“Mom tried to send a nurse.”
She straightened with her hands on her hips. “And you refused, of course.”
Lincoln eyed her indignantly. “Why weren’t you answering my calls?”
Arizona picked up a big plastic mug from a side table. “You’re out of water.” She went into the kitchen, the sink in the island counter facing the living room.
“Why didn’t you answer your phone?” Lincoln hollered.
“I was busy with a robber who was looking for technical information on Braden’s computer,” she answered.
Braden stopped looking at the satellite images of Frenchman’s Cay and moved back into the living room. Arizona returned with the mug, refreshed with ice and water, and put it on the table.
“Why didn’t you answer my calls?” Lincoln repeated, clearly not believing her.
Remaining leaned over, she moved so that her face was above his. “I didn’t want to be lectured.”
He held on to her gaze with real concern. “Answer your phone when I call.”
Her demeanor softened. “Okay.”
The brief exchange showed Braden a lot. They may be at odds when it came to Arizona’s stubborn insistence on being a reporter for the rest of her life, but underneath was a well of deep affection, an unbreakable bond. She and Lincoln were close.
He had that with Tatum. They were close in age and hung out before adulthood led them in different directions. He wished he hadn’t lost that connection. And he wished he hadn’t lost it while he was married to Serena. But that was when he had. He’d spent too much time and energy trying to make his wife happy.
What if he never saw her again? It was taking too long to find her. A pang of fear sliced him. No. He could not allow that. He had to find her.
“Do you have any idea what these people are trying to get from you?” Lincoln asked.
“No.” He caught Arizona’s look and ignored it.
She went into the kitchen again, this time to inspect Lincoln’s refrigerator.
Tatum had run a freight forwarding company that frequently shipped items controlled by government regulations. He worked for a highly technical corporation. Different arms. Same export restrictions. Hamilton didn’t export. They sold to the U.S. government. Only. But that didn’t mean someone wouldn’t try to steal from them.
“There’s a file over there with the images and maps,” Lincoln said to Braden. “Property lines and utilities. I also have the name of a man who’ll have equipment you’re going to need.”
Although Lincoln didn’t push the technology angle, he must be thinking what Arizona thought. “Great. Thanks. Where will we be meeting for the equipment?”
“I’ll let you know. Have to be careful.” He gripped his leg above the bandage on his leg with another grimace.
Arizona paused in removing things from the refrigerator. “Have you taken your pain medication?”
Lincoln stopped rubbing his leg to look at her. “Yes, Arizona. But it still hurts like holy hell. What are you doing in there?”
“Making you a casserole that will feed you for a few days.”
“Cheesy chicken?” His mood brightened.
“None other.”
Lincoln looked up at Braden. “She’s a great cook.”
“Arizona?” He watched her open a can of Campbell’s nacho cheese soup and chuckled. She looked as if she could be the star of a chick flick, dressed that way, red lipstick, dangling earrings, all legs.
“Seriously. She can cook.”
The smell of slowly cooking chicken wafted into the living room. She added onion to the mixture and returned her attention to the bowl of vegetables and cheese.
“She still hot on the trail for a story?” Lincoln asked.
“I don’t think so.” She’d been respectful of him in that regard.
Lincoln’s brow lifted. “It must be the similarities between Tatum and her fiancé.”
Trevor had been kidnapped in the Caribbean and Tatum may have fallen to the same fate. If that were true, she had a deep, compelling reason for wanting to help him. Or maybe it had nothing to do with want. Maybe it was more of a need.
* * *
This time they flew to the airport closest to St. John Island. There was ferry service from Cruz Bay to Road Town, but Braden had chartered a boat. It would be less conspicuous, and he and Arizona could stay mobile, docking at different marinas if necessary. The important thing was to stay off Julian’s radar for as long as possible. She walked beside him toward the fifty-foot Hatteras yacht. He was glad to be back on his sister’s trail. The sooner he could find her, the sooner he could go home to his son.
The port was busy, with taxis picking up and dropping off tourists and the noise of ferries leaving and arriving. Early evening, there were plenty of people milling about.
Aboard the yacht, Braden began preparing to motor somewhere more secluded. He doubted Julian would learn they’d returned, but he’d err on the side of caution. He saw Arizona go into the wheelhouse and moments later heard the engine start. When he’d suggested they charter a boat, he shouldn’t have been surprised when she’d taken over the details and made the arrangements herself. She’d sailed many times before.
He detached them from the pier and she drove the boat out to sea, following the shoreline in search of a place to moor.
Arizona flipped through the satellite stations, not staying on any one long enough to engage. He could feel her boredom.
Abandoning his notebook where he’d been jotting down ideas about his sister’s disappearance, he went to her. He took the remote from her and sat beside her as she eyed him indignantly.
She was wearing a navy-blue sundress with two big white stripes across her chest with white sailing shoes and star earrings. Casual but still sexy on her. He found a history channel and put the remote down, far enough away from her impatient hands.
“Don’t you ever have a day where you do nothing?” he asked.
She thought about that a moment. “I don’t watch TV.”
“I can tell.”
Her blue eyes drilled into his, searching for clues to his teasing. He’d rather talk anyway. To her. Despite the inner voice that cautioned him not to, he was compelled to find out more about her. The desire had been there from the start. Seeing her with his son changed things, made it harder to deny what drove him.
“Normally when I’m on a boat like this, I’m with friends, fishing or parasailing or something,” she said, as though she felt she had to explain.
Doing something adventurous. Active. She loved to be active just like him. He’d met other women who shared that passion with him, but none to the degree Arizona did. She matched him that way.
And she didn’t abhor kids as much as she claimed. He saw it for himself. She cared. When Aiden wasn’t jumping all over the place and making noise, he was a lovable kid
.
He shouldn’t be thinking this way. Not only did he not trust her, he needed more time to get past his divorce. Aiden needed more time, too. He hadn’t adjusted yet. He still harbored hope that his parents would get back together.
“Stop looking at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like you’re enjoying the fact that I don’t do well with idle moments.” Close, but not quite. He was glad she hadn’t guessed his true thoughts.
“I don’t do well with idle moments, either.”
Standing, she wandered over to a table and traced her finger around the top of a lamp. “Did your ex-wife like the same things you did? Being active? What things did you have in common?”
Apparently, she was as curious about him as he was about her. That could be dangerous. He tried to think of the things he and Serena had in common.
Arizona stopped tracing the lampshade and lowered her arm to her side. “Didn’t you have anything in common?”
Wonderful. Now she wouldn’t let it go. “We had chemistry.”
“Chemistry.” She said it flatly. “As in...sex?”
He didn’t reply.
She moved back toward the sofa. “You married her just because you had good sex?”
“It wasn’t only that.” Now it was his turn to stand up. He moved over to the glass door that led to the stern.
It wasn’t something he hadn’t wondered. Why had he married Serena? Her question on what they had in common still bothered him. Didn’t he know? He hadn’t thought of it when he met her. The sex had been great, but it wouldn’t have been that way if he didn’t have feelings for her, would it?
“Wow,” Arizona said.
He turned to face her incredulous expression. “It was more than that.”
“Was it?”
She’d already met Serena. What more could there be? Serena was materialistic and frequently came across as haughty. Funny, how Arizona came from far more money and behaved with considerably more integrity. Serena had her pegged for another of his kind, the working class. The middle class. And then she’d discovered who Arizona was. He wondered if that bothered her. Her ex-husband hadn’t been good enough for her but he may be good enough for someone like Arizona.
“I’m beginning to understand why you’ve been divorced twice.” She’d stepped closer to him.
“I loved Serena. She was the one who left me.” Even to him, he sounded defensive.
“Do you still love her?”
He thought about it for a moment. “No. It didn’t take long for me to disconnect.” Which is what had told him he hadn’t loved her as much as he thought he had.
“Huh.” She half nodded, noncommittal.
“Haven’t you ever had relationships fail?” he asked. “Haven’t you ever been rejected?”
“Well...yeah. Sometimes.”
Sometimes?
She began wandering again. Fingering the back of a chair this time.
“You’re the one who does the rejecting?”
Stopping, she flashed a glance to him before resuming her wandering. A picture of a beautiful sailboat received her attention next. She looked up at it.
“I wouldn’t call it rejecting. Boys broke up with me in high school.”
“But not after?” After Trevor. He began to get a bigger sense that not just his recent divorce stood in the way of a relationship with her.
“I haven’t been interested in men lately. My family tries to set me up with people every once in a while, but I always end up in tabloids.” She scoffed. “In hindsight, I can see why. None of them mattered that much.”
She’d loved Trevor that much. No one compared. The last thing he needed was another woman who had expectations he couldn’t—and wouldn’t—live up to.
“They weren’t Trevor?” He finished her sentence.
She pivoted. “They set me up with all the wrong men. Sons of rich men. Some were famous. Others were just overgrown spoiled children.”
“Or engineers.”
She folded her arms and didn’t respond. But he had her thinking.
“They weren’t Trevor,” he repeated.
“I just wasn’t interested in any of them,” she snapped. “Can we talk about something else?”
“Sure. How about the real reason you want to be a respected journalist?” She still hadn’t faced the root cause of her disinterest in men. She hadn’t let go of Trevor.
She took some time assimilating that.
As they stood across the salon from each other, staring, the moment stretched. He looked at the way her breasts plumped above her folded arms. She ran a look down to his jeans. Then their eyes met again. Hers remained offended. His, he was sure, were a lot warmer.
“You think I’ve turned to journalism because of Trevor?” she asked.
“Yes.”
That made her mad. “What is wrong with making a positive change in my job?”
“We were talking about your inability to date men.”
Lowering her arms, she walked to him. “I don’t have an inability. And this is about more than dating. You and Lincoln both think my ambition is a bandage for Trevor.”
He took in the flawless perfection of her skin and the fiery light in her eyes. “All right. Then explain your disinterest in men. It’s been four years since Trevor died.”
Her head jerked back as though avoiding a slap, and then she did her own absorption of his face, negating his accusation. Disinterest did not describe what was shooting between them right now. Whether she didn’t believe in mistakes or not, it would be one if they started anything up. His divorce, her fiancé’s death. Both were baggage they’d have to overcome. While he may want to, it might be too soon. And if Arizona hadn’t overcome her fiancé’s death after four years, when would she?
“Do you really believe a serious journalism career will give you recognition? Is that really the only reason you’re pursuing it?”
“It’s not the only reason. There’s money and recognition, too.”
“Oh, yeah, the recognition. You’re not really making a change, though, are you? International news is still news.”
“Real news.”
“It will keep your name in the press.” Jackson Ivy’s daughter. Not Arizona Ivy. Jackson Ivy.
That made her fumble for a moment. “Reporting is what I do. It’s what I know. I went to college for journalism.”
Her unhappy profile and the sound of defeat in her voice put him in check. “Just another observation. You also jump out of planes and scuba dive at night. What’s not to love about that?”
It worked to disarm her. Smiling, she opened the glass door and stepped out onto the stern, where a small area opened and two built-in benches offered seating. He followed her to the stern railing.
“I love this,” she said. “St. John is one of my favorite places. It’s still so wild.”
Most of it was a national park. The ocean shimmered in the setting sun. He stood beside her as the burning orb slipped beyond the horizon and cast the sky into marvelous shades of pink and gray. He had to agree. This was one of the best places to be. Sunsets would never be redundant to him. He’d never get tired of seeing them, and he shared that with her. They had so much in common. Was he mistaken about that? Had he finally found a woman he had more in common with than sex?
A sudden urge came over him to disarm her. Charm her. Enchant her. But...
Into what?
That last thought stopped him from doing something he was pretty sure he’d regret in the morning.
* * *
Arizona was still plagued by everything Braden had said earlier. Trevor did have a lot to do with her disinterest in dating, but not her professional aspirations. Why did he think they were intertwined? Why did Linco
ln? It was the idea that her ambitions were nothing more than a tool to occupy the emptiness in her heart that bothered her.
She watched him steer the dinghy to shore, broad shouldered, short dark hair unaffected by the wind. What was it about him that made her care what he thought? And why did his probing trouble her so much? Because he was right?
She would still be in the news if she became a good reporter. But it wasn’t the news that she took issue with. It was being Jackson Ivy’s adorable daughter, the one who did the silly news. Isn’t she cute? If she did serious news, she’d be taken seriously.
Helping to pull the dinghy up onto the beach, she walked with him through the sand along the shore. They were supposed to meet Lincoln’s friend here.
The sky was dark now and the beach secluded. Lincoln had helped them choose this cove. There was a campground near here, but no resorts.
A man appeared ahead, moving toward them. Arizona thought he was a local or a tourist and not the man they were meeting.
“Douglas?” Braden said the code word.
The man stopped. “Roger.”
The man glanced at Arizona before turning. “This way.”
At the edge of a group of palm trees, he stopped next to a long duffel bag. Braden removed a wad of cash that had bulged his front pocket and handed it to the man, who flipped through the hundreds and then nodded. Without a word, he left them there.
Braden hefted the duffel over his shoulder.
“What’s in there? Enough to start a rebel war?” she asked as they walked back to the dinghy. Hopefully they wouldn’t have to use any of it. Writing about violence she could do. Living it was different.
Watching Braden handle the bag, Arizona was glad her brother had overfilled it. He moved with grace and ease as he put the bag into the dinghy. She enjoyed the show. He turned to her, offering his hand. She gave him hers and he tugged her closer, lifting her by her waist and depositing her into the boat. Her hands still on his shoulders, she looked down into his magnificent green eyes, cloaked in the night. Lingering a little longer, he finally slid his hands off her waist and began to push the boat to deeper water. She sat, entranced, still tingling from his hands.
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