by Amy Vansant
I want to kiss those crow’s feet.
How was any of that fair?
He got sexier, she bought a new night cream every month trying to fight back time.
She opened her eyes and found her attention floating to the silver tray of complimentary products, specifically the bottle of mouthwash. She’d always wondered what crazy people used public mouthwash. A stack of waxed-paper shot glasses sat on the tray, but surely some idiot had swigged straight from the bottle, right?
She’d never used public mouthwash.
Now she understood. Some situations called for community mouthwash.
Shee poured herself a shot, swished and spat. After a moment’s consideration, she took another hit.
Rack ’em and stack ’em, bartender. Listerine for all my friends.
Shee squatted on her heels and rested her head on the edge of the counter.
I have to go back out there.
Maybe it was a dream. Maybe he’d be gone.
The sting of minty alcohol in her mouth said it’s real.
This is happening.
She straightened, feeling wobbly, closed her eyes again and took a deep breath, willing herself into a trance of tranquility.
Breathe in...one, two, three, four...breathe out...one, two, three, four...
In her mind’s eye, Mason waded from the Mediterranean sea, a shirtless, sexy Neptune, leading a team of men to the beaches, the rising sun glinting off the polished leather of his soggy Italian loafers...
She opened her eyes and stared at herself in the mirror.
“You have issues.”
The image agreed, echoing her sentiment, and she nodded.
“Fair enough. Let’s do this.”
She took one strong step toward the exit and then threw herself backwards to avoid the door as Beatriz entered, bucket in hand.
“Which toilet?” asked the housekeeper.
Stunned into obedience by the command in the woman’s voice, she pointed to the first.
“There wasn’t much. Coffee. Mostly dry heaves really—”
Why am I sharing all this detail?
Beatriz ignored her and pushed into the stall.
Okay. Good talk.
Shee bared her teeth in the mirror one last time, searching for flakes of soggy croissant, and then strode into the hallway.
Here we go.
All eyes locked on her as she entered the lobby.
Everyone remained in the spots they’d occupied when she’d left and she flashed a smile she feared appeared more like pain than joy. “Sorry. Hi, Mason. It’s good to see you.”
His arms remained at his sides this time, having learned his lesson—hugs equal barf.
“I heard about your Dad. I’m so sorry,” he said.
“He heard your dad died,” said Angelina turning her face away from Mason to give Shee a hard stare.
Dad’s dead to the world. Right.
“Thanks. Yeah, it was, uh, sudden.”
Shee watched Mason nod.
If I held a block of cheese beneath that jawline, he’d slice it into neat squares.
Mason seemed lost in his own thoughts, oblivious to her gawking. “He was the inspiration for everything that’s mattered in my life.”
He looked at her with the same sort of portent Angelina had shared.
Is he talking about me being something that matters?
Croix watched their silent exchange.
“Awwww...” The girl’s voice lilted upward as if she’d found a lost kitten behind the desk. Plunking her elbow on the counter, she rested her chin on her fist and blinked, wide-eyed. She looked back and forth between Shee and Mason until Shee could bear it no longer.
“Let’s go somewhere,” she said motioning for him to follow her.
Dodging a bemused-looking Angelina, she walked down the short hallway to the back door, strode onto the porch, jogged down the stairs and didn’t stop until she reached the end of the pier. She considered taking a few more steps into the Intracoastal Waterway and splashing around until an alligator found her. Maybe an affectionate manatee could wrap its flippers around her and accidentally drag her to the depths.
She heard the nubs of Mason’s loafers on the composite decking behind her.
Uneven.
A limp?
She turned and watched him approach.
“You’re limping,” she said.
He smiled using only the right side of his face, one dimple dropping like a tiny, adorable sinkhole.
That’s a wistful smile. Regret?
“Limps happen when you forget to bring your other leg,” he said, jerking up his pant. His metal right ankle glinted in the sun.
She gasped. “When? How?”
“About two months ago. Mission.”
“You were still out there? You’re nearly fifty.”
He chuckled. “Well, I’m retired now. Just one mission too late.”
“What are you now? A Captain?”
“Commander.”
“Hm. Congratulations,” she said, but her mind wandered elsewhere, flickering images of Mason jogging with her on the beach at eighteen, his tan legs pumping, his feet hitting the sand.
He tapped his leg. “I wish the rest of me was built out of titanium. I’d hurt less in the mornings.”
“I know what you mean. Aging sucks, doesn’t it?”
They both fell silent, frozen smiles on their faces.
Nah. This isn’t awkward at all.
“You disappeared,” he said, after the longest twenty seconds of her life.
Her gaze dropped to the dock. “I had to.”
“For twenty-seven years?”
Shee toed a hunk of broken shell off the edge and into the water.
Seventeen, officially.
Before that, she’d only been hiding from him.
“No, I, uh...”
“I looked for you.”
“I know.”
She hadn’t meant to admit she’d known. She’d heard he was looking for her, and hid all the deeper. That was before she had to drop off the grid entirely, before everything changed.
“That’s all you have to say?” he asked.
He sounded angry. It was like reliving the day they parted all over again. In her mind’s eye she saw her room again.
The ugly lamp. The wooden jewelry box. The pile of clothes with the damp blue bikini on top...
No allergy medicine in sight this time to calm her nerves. Just three decades of raw disappointment and loss.
She looked up at him, realizing she hadn’t answered.
“I’m sorry, what?”
He wore his exasperation like a heavy winter coat, the weight of it threatening to drag him to the ground. “I finally find you and your response is, ‘Hey, hope all’s well with you, say hi to the family, see you in another thirty years?”
She noted his southern accent had faded over the years—
Wait. Did he say family?
She sniffed. “You have a family?”
“What if I did? Would you care?”
Shee found herself muted by the question.
Yes.
The idea of him with a family hurt.
How selfish can I be?
He had the right to be happy. Right?
Let’s pretend I really feel that way.
“No. I mean, I’m glad you have a family—”
“I don’t.”
Her shoulders unbunched. “Ohthankgod.”
He laughed.
“You?” he asked, his tone and the wrinkle between his eyebrow telegraphing he didn’t want to hear she was happy without him, either. He looked like a man preparing to be slapped across the face.
“No,” she said.
The news made the corner of his mouth curl up another millimeter.
“Never?”
“No.” Without meaning to she glanced up at Mick’s window. She wanted to tell him Mick was still alive, but it had been a friend who lured her father to his own
assassination attempt.
What if Mason is next in a long line of traitors?
It was a thought. Why would he show up now after all these years? Had someone sent him? Who’d know he’d be the perfect weapon to wield against her?
She rubbed at her nose, obscuring her expression to keep him from seeing her every thought. She felt transparent.
“I, uh, have some things I need to do. Are you staying here?” she said.
I need to keep him close until I figure him out.
He turned his palms to the sky. “I’d planned to, I mean, it is a hotel, but—”
She nodded. “Right, yes, stay. I’ll be back in a bit.”
He ran a hand through his short dark hair and turned enough for her to glimpse the gray peppering on the sides above his ears.
Sexy.
Not fair.
“We’ll have dinner or something,” she added.
He nodded. “Sure. I’ll check in.”
“Great. Great.” Shee opened her arms and took a step forward to embrace him. “It is good to see you. It really is.”
He squeezed her to him until she wondered if he’d ever let go.
Don’t. Don’t let go.
He released her and took a step back.
“See you in a bit?”
She nodded. “Definitely.”
“You’re not going to run?”
She snorted a laugh. “No. I promise.”
“Sounds good.”
He didn’t move and Shee found herself wondering if it would be odd for her to hop into one of the little boats bobbing beside the pier and roar off into the sunset.
“I’ll walk you back?” she asked, skinnying past him and turning.
“I might stay out here a second.” Mason moved to the end of the pier, his back turned to her. The hands he’d thrust into his pockets stretched his khakis across his butt tight accentuating the curve—
Cut it out. Go.
“Okay. See you soon.”
She headed for the hotel, trying hard not to bolt. As she approached the back door she saw Angelina and Croix scatter toward the lobby.
Voyeurs.
By the time she entered, the two women had bunched around the reception desk, pretending to be deep in conversation.
“Oh, there you are. We wondered where you two went,” said Angelina.
Shee scowled. “Nice try.”
“Where’s Romeo?” asked Croix.
“He’ll be here to check in soon. I need to know everything about him. Run every search, pick through his suitcase, everything.”
Angelina’s head cocked, and in her arms, Harley’s did as well, as if they were both run by the same puppeteer. “Why? Who is he?”
“He’s someone Dad and I used to know.”
“And this is how you treat old friends? Poking through their luggage?”
“I’m not poking. You are. I have to go.”
“Where?”
Good question.
Shee searched the walls for an answer. “Out. Important stuff.”
Angelina frowned. “Uh huh.”
Croix poked Angelina’s shoulder to get her attention. “I think Romeo has Miss Know-It-All flustered.”
Angelina nodded. “Me, too.”
“Shut up.” Shee glanced behind her to find Mason framed by the screen door, still standing at the end of the dock. Still, she lowered her voice. “It was an old friend who tricked Mick. Remember?”
Croix’s eyes widened. “You think he—”
“I don’t know. That’s the point.”
“Classic honeytrap,” murmured Angelina, staring out the back door.
Shee turned her attention to Croix. “His real name is Mason Connelly. Write that down in case it isn’t what his I.D. says.”
“Like I can’t remember one name.” Croix mumbled. “Like I use pens.”
Shee glanced out the back again and saw Mason heading toward the hotel, his limp more pronounced.
When he doesn’t think I’m looking.
Her heart filled with empathy as she pushed herself toward the front door.
“I have to go.”
Bracco opened the door, and she hustled out, stopping at the top of the stairs.
A black pick-up truck with California license plates sat idling beside Angelina’s Land Rover.
He didn’t turn off his truck?
She looked at Bracco.
“Is that his? The guy who just came in?”
Bracco nodded. “Chilly sat.”
She walked to the truck. As she grew close, a moppy, floppy-eared face popped up to watch her approach.
She put her hand on the window and the pup licked her palms from the opposite side, leaving long wet smears on the glass.
He has a puppy?
Shee frowned.
This has got to be a trap.
&&&
Chapter Twenty-Two
Angelina moved to her desk, dropped Harley onto the fuzzy black bed and tried to look as casual as possible. The back screen door creaked open.
“Hello again,” said Mason, entering the lobby.
“Hello!” chimed Angelina and Croix in unison. They glanced at each other and Angelina could tell they’d shared the same thought.
Take it down a notch.
Croix cleared her throat. “Can I help you with anything, sir?”
Angelina fought an eye roll by glancing down at her phone as it chimed the arrival of a message from Shee:
Put him on a lower floor. Away from Mick.
The phone dinged again.
He has a freaking puppy.
“Do you have a room available?” asked Mason, moving to the reception desk. “And do you accept pets?”
Croix frowned. “No, we—”
“Sure we do,” said Angelina.
Croix continued. “Like I was saying. No, we don’t just take pets, we love pets. You have an alpaca?”
Mason laughed. “Dog. Pretty boring.”
Croix typed something into the system. “Okay. Little predictable but... Let’s see. How about the seventh floor with a nice view of—”
Angelina cleared her throat and Croix glanced at her without moving her head from its lowered angle. Angelina raised her hand to the center of her chest and pointed down.
The girl paused, seemingly confused.
Grimacing, Angelina tapped out a text message.
Lower floor.
A dinosaur roared on Croix’s phone and she glanced at it before moving it to the shelf beneath the desk, far from Mason’s view.
“I’m sorry. I thought that room was open. Will third floor do? Still has a nice view of the Intracoastal Waterway...”
Angelina gave her a thumbs up behind Mason’s back.
He nodded. “Sure. That’s fine.”
Angelina’s phone dinged. Shee again.
A room you can ransack.
Angelina scowled. Who does she think I am?
Another ding.
Check his safe. His luggage. Check unusual places like the heels of his shoes for hidden compartments.
Angelina snorted a laugh.
Drawn by the snort, Mason turned.
Angelina sniffed. “Sorry. Allergies.”
Her phone dinged again.
Check hiding places in the room too. Under drawers, etc.
She’d barely finished reading before it dinged again.
Check—
Angelina stopped reading, turned the sound off on her phone and dropped it into her purse. It vibrated a few more times and then stopped.
Mason handed Croix a credit card. “I’m going to grab Archie while you run that.”
Croix nodded and Mason headed out the front door. She watched him disappear and then looked at Angelina.
“Why the lower floor?” she asked.
“To keep him far away from Mick. Orders from the heir apparent.”
The girl nodded and ran Mason’s card for authorization.
“Well, his credit’s good for
the price of a room,” she reported.
Mason returned a minute later with a harnessed puppy on the end of a black nylon leash. Harley jumped to her feet, yapping the alarm, and Angelina scooped her up before she could leap from the desk like an attacking howler monkey.
“She thinks she’s terrifying,” she said.
Mason told Archie to sit. The puppy did, but he didn’t like any part of it. His butt wiggled on the floor, tail wagging. He wanted to say hi to Harley as much as Harley wanted to chew off his toes.
Mason took his room key from Croix and lifted his small duffle bag.
“Can I help you to your room?” asked Croix.
“I’ve got it. Thanks.”
He moved to the elevator and pressed the button. Before the doors opened, he turned to glance back at the two women, as if he could feel their gaze on the back of his neck.
They smiled.
The elevator doors parted and Mason and his furry companion stepped inside to disappear behind a wall of silver, the ladies still grinning their goodbyes.
The moment the doors shut, Angelina plucked her phone from her purse and stood, Harley still dangling in her other palm, her glossy black eyes riveted on the elevator.
“That was a good idea, not to let him too close to Mick. I didn’t think of that,” said Croix.
“Shee sent us a detailed plan.” Angelina handed the girl her phone, and Croix scrolled through the messages.
“Why do I feel like she’s done this before?”
Angelina rolled her eyes. “The insulting part is she’s acting like I haven’t.”
“So what do we do now?”
“We wait until he goes out.”
“What if he doesn’t?”
“He can’t sit in his room all day. I should have given him the Things to See and Do list. Dammit.” Angelina pounded the counter lightly with the side of her fist.
“You think he’s going to climb to the top of the lighthouse or go watch rescued turtles swim around a tank?”
“He might. Who knows?”
Croix smacked her lips, her gaze locked on the elevator. “I’ll tell you what, for an old guy he—”