My toes curled, and the chaotic scene around me faded as his lips caressed mine. Like we had all the time in the world. Like I wasn't under arrest. Like Mark wasn't standing right next to me…
"Jesus, Diana," cried Mark. "Where do you find these guys?"
I ignored him and stared up at Andre. His dark eyes were laughing. "How do you get yourself into these situations?" he asked softly.
My brain couldn't catch up to reality. "Andre," I said blankly, "what are you doing here?"
He shrugged. "Still working for asshole rock stars."
The officer snapped back into arrest mode. "Time to take you back to the office." He grabbed my elbow to lead me away.
"Arrest her for what?" Mark demanded. "You can see there was a mix-up with the guitars."
The officer was adamant. "She's broken at least five laws. Some are quite serious," he said in his best sorry-you-are-going-to-jail voice.
"Jes," agreed the taxi driver, "an' she broke my taxi with her guitar."
"Starting trouble wherever you go." Andre shook his head. "You haven't changed a bit. Except the cuffs. Nice addition." He gave me a smoky look that made my stomach drop and my girlie parts tingle.
Mark ran his hand through his hair. I felt bad for him. Knowing me was probably going to make him bald. "Reunion's over," he huffed, stepping in closer.
Andre tore his eyes from mine for a glance at Mark. I saw surprise in his eyes and something else that I couldn't quite identity.
Andre turned to the taxi driver. "Señor, you are mistaken," he said smoothly. "The guitar was not the lady's. It belonged to Carlos Rodriguez."
Everyone gasped; I rolled my eyes.
"Carlos Rodriguez," the taxi driver repeated reverently.
"Yes," said Andre. "His sister brought it back from the States as a gift for him. She took the wrong case when she got off the plane. This lady," he said indicating me, "was trying valiantly to return it."
Everyone looked at me.
"Yeah! I wasn't breaking any laws." I could feel a drop of sweat between my shoulder blades. The tropical air felt like a furnace compared to the icy coolness inside the airport.
"Carlos Rodriguez would consider it a personal favor if you would release the lady," said Andre smoothly. "He will, of course, pay for all repairs to your taxi and would like you to have front-row tickets for you and your families at his concert on Saturday. Will you do him this small favor?"
I had to hand it to Andre; he certainly hadn't lost his touch. He could be a little overbearing at times, but right now I was happy to have him on my side.
The taxi driver bobbed his head and smiled, already re-telling this tale in his head.
The officer was equally impressed, but trying not to show it. "It does appear that the lady was trying to return Mr. Rodriguez's guitar. Her intentions were good, despite the way she went about it." He gave me a disgusted look. "I certainly would release her, however, the other officers," he said, nodding to the dozen or so behind him that looked like they couldn't wait for me to run so they could shoot me, "may not see it that way."
Andre nodded. "Perhaps they would like to accompany you to the show. Did I mention Carlos would like you all to come backstage after the performance?"
A wide smile split the officer's face. "Okay, loco lady," he said and snapped off my cuffs, "you free to go cuckoo somewhere else. Just don' do it in my airport!"
I bit back a retort. I'd had it with people calling me cuckoo today.
Andre walked back to the limo, presumably to get business cards and info on the show for the taxi driver and the officers. The crowd started to disperse; traffic, however, was still snarled.
I turned to Mark. "I am so sorry about this. What a mess!"
He stared at me for a second. "That has to be the understatement of the year." He shook his head and pointed towards the limo. "Who is that guy? Another old boyfriend?"
I hesitated, not sure how much to reveal. That's the tough thing about old boyfriends and new boyfriends. You wanted them to stay in separate universes, not colliding into each other and going all black-hole on you the way it usually worked out for me. Andre had been a summer fling with the potential for so much more. He had been the bodyguard for Billy Prescott when he'd been filming in Maryland. I sighed. That had been the one week in my career when I'd actually felt like a rock star. My time with Andre had been the cherry on top.
"Andre was part of my Jack Daniel's summer," I tried to explain, using Mark's vernacular. "You know the same way that hoochie who interrupted us on your boat last week was part of your Jack Daniel's summer?" I replied, referring to a not-so-wonderful moment when I'd been in Mark's arms, and his past had come calling at the door in a mini-skirt and heels.
"That doesn't make me feel any better," he grumbled. I watched as emotions played across his face with understanding and desire finally winning out over ego and anger.
His eyes softened, and his lips tipped up at the corners. He reached for me and drew me towards him. "I really missed you."
"I missed you, too," I whispered and nuzzled my face against his neck with a contented purr.
His lips found mine, and for a few seconds the chaotic scene around us faded away. His hands tangled in my long hair and tugged my head back. He looked into my eyes.
"No more making out with old boyfriends," he admonished. "That asshole stole my first kiss."
"Yes, sir," I said meekly as he kissed me again.
"No makin' lovey-dovey in my airport!" yelled the officer.
Mark released me with a chuckle. "We'd better get to my hotel before we both get arrested."
The limo door opened and Andre stepped out. I felt Mark tense as he approached us. Now that I was out of cuffs, I had a few words for Andre.
"Where are those no-good producers, Roger and Phil?" I huffed.
Andre pursed his lips, debating what to share. "They'll be in town tomorrow for the big concert this weekend."
"They stole my song, Andre!" I cried, my voice cracking. "'The Rum Song' is mine, and you know it!"
He nodded. "I do," he agreed.
"I want to see Carlos," I insisted.
"Not sure that's a good idea. Carlos makes Billy Prescott look stable," Andre said ruefully.
"You really know how to pick employers." I folded my arms. "I don't care. Roger and Phil haven't returned my calls, so I'm going to Carlos."
I was adamant. Billy Prescott had been a spoiled prima donna when I'd met him last summer, but he hadn't gotten the best of me and neither would Carlos Rodriguez.
Andre hesitated, glancing around. The taxi driver had finally moved on, and a clean-up crew was taking care of the ruined guitar.
"Don't make me follow you all over this island," I threatened. "You know I'm not letting this go."
He sighed. "Give me a few hours. I'll see what I can do. Your number still the same?"
I nodded. Mark groaned.
"Sorry," I whispered to him.
Andre chuckled and walked back to the limo.
Mark gave me a sideways glance. "Just an old boyfriend, huh? You have that dreamy, faraway look like when I kiss you. Only I'm not kissing you."
I flushed. Wow, I really needed to work on my poker face.
"Andre was a fling last summer." I turned to him. "Nothing else. Believe me," I insisted.
"Oh, I believe you when you say it's over," he replied. "But I don't think he thinks it's over. Not by a long shot."
I watched the limo pull away and had a bad feeling he probably was right.
* * *
The clock in the dashboard of the rental car displayed 5:15 p.m. I stole a look at Mark's profile. He looked okay, but his hands were gripping the wheel a little too tightly. Our romantic getaway had not gotten off to the best start.
I was sweaty and feeling like I'd been run over by a bus. I looked out the window as the car pulled up to a red light.
"Hey!" I pointed out the window. "That guy's selling Coronas!"
Mark stared ou
t the window. "That must explain why everybody on the road drives like a maniac. They're all drunk."
I rolled down the window.
"What are you doing?"
"Getting a beer." I waved the guy over.
Mark raked his hands through his hair. "I'm not even sure that's legal, Diana."
I made a face. "Do you really think he could just stand in the middle of the intersection selling beer if it wasn't?"
Mark glanced in the rearview mirror. "I don't know. I'm just trying to avoid any more run-ins with the law."
He had a point.
I handed the guy a five, and he handed me back two beers. Puerto Rico was getting better by the minute.
I took a swig and groaned in delight as the ice cold beer slid down my throat. "Selling beer at intersections. What will they think of next?" I smiled at Mark.
He shook his head in disapproval, but his lips twitched with a suppressed smile.
As we drove to the hotel, Mark brought me up to speed on the search for his cousin, David. David's mother, Marcie, was able to confirm that Charles and David still had the jump drive containing the stolen employee files. David had said that Charles was getting paranoid and looking over his shoulder constantly. Charles was sure the gangster he had originally promised to sell the files to, and then had double-crossed in lieu of the higher offer, was in Puerto Rico to hunt him down. Mark's job was to pay Charles the money for the fake files and convince David to come back home with him. Ed didn't care about the money as long as they got David back. Once David was out of harm's way, they'd try to get Charles picked up by the authorities.
Only things weren't going so well. Mark had arranged two prior meetings to make the exchange, and both had gone bust when Charles got spooked and never showed up.
"I'm supposed to meet him tomorrow morning at the beach," he added, finishing up the story.
"Then what?" I asked.
"Then I hand David a plane ticket on the next flight home. It's up to him to take it or leave it." Distaste was evident in Mark's tone. There was no love lost between the cousins. David had been jealous for years because of his perception that Ed favored Mark over him.
"Sounds simple enough. But we've seen this go bad before," I reminded him.
"Yep, but this time David and Charles are scared. The investigators I hired in Miami are sure that the gang-banger they double-crossed is in Puerto Rico. It's only a matter of time before he tracks Charles down."
That didn't sound like it would end well for Charles. "So if the exchange goes as planned tomorrow, then you're free for a few days?" I asked hopefully.
"Yes," he said with a smile, "I am. And I plan on spending them watching you in that bikini you promised to bring."
"Just watching?" I asked with a laugh.
"I like to watch," he said, putting his hand on my leg. I caught my breath as his hand traced a lazy path up my bare thigh.
I purred. "How far away is the hotel?"
"Not far."
The radio played a soft Spanish love song. My eyes closed, finally feeling a bit of peace.
And then I heard it.
Dun-da-dun, dun-da-dun, dun-dada-dun-dada-dun-dun-dun. I shot up in the seat and turned the radio up.
"I can't believe it!" I shouted at the radio.
"I know. I couldn't believe it either the first time I heard it. It's surreal," he added with a sympathetic look in my direction.
"The Rum Song" was blaring over the radio, sung by a man with a Spanish lilt. I had to admit he was doing it justice, but it irked my every nerve to know no one knew it was my song. I know I should've been excited just hearing my song on the radio. But I was more pissed than anything else at the moment.
"He's a thief!" I growled. "And Roger and Phil are going to pay for this."
"So explain this to me again," said Mark, trying to talk me down off the ledge. "You turned over your rights to 'The Rum Song' in exchange for them producing it?"
I shook my head. "No. I turned over the rights to three of my songs, but I am supposed to be paid a percentage of every sale once the production costs are covered. And I am supposed to have creative control over the songs. Meaning I get the last say on how the songs are used." That clause had taken more than a little arm-twisting.
"And you haven't heard from either of these guys since when?" Mark asked.
"Since October," I replied. "They sent me an email saying that the songs were shelved for the time being because there hadn't been enough interest. I've emailed them and called them at least once a month since and haven't heard a word."
"Yeah, sure sounds like they're screwing you over," he conceded.
"Thanks for pointing that out." I crossed my arms. My beer was getting warm, my libido was cooling off, and my song was blaring on the radio. This wasn't feeling like paradise to me anymore.
My spirits lifted a little as we pulled up to the hotel. A parking valet and bell hop dressed in crisp white uniforms indicated this wasn't just another chain. White columns lined the way up a gently sloping staircase. The air was hot and moist in the sun, but the open-air reception area with fountain and large paddle fans was cool and inviting.
Mark led me to the back of the building and down a beautifully paneled hallway. The sounds of the ocean were getting closer. We stopped outside a room, and he inserted a plastic key card. The door opened into a sumptuous suite featuring dark, heavily carved Caribbean furniture with crisp white and green upholstery. I glimpsed a four-poster bead draped in gauzy white mosquito netting through the door to my left. I walked out onto the balcony, which ran the length of the room, and looked over the ocean below. Waves crashed against giant boulders sticking up out of the water, birds dived for fish as a few diehard sunbathers soaked up the last rays of the day.
It was magnificent.
"So this is what first class looks like." The warm air and beautiful scenery were beginning to work magic on my frayed nerves.
Mark laughed. "Yeah, I guess it does."
He came up behind me and circled his arms around my waist. Nuzzling my neck, he whispered, "And this place has a bigger bed than the boat."
"I saw that." I leaned back and pressed my body against his, tilting my head back and gazing up at the bright blue sky. I could feel him hard against me. I wiggled a little and was rewarded with a nip on my neck.
"No hickeys," I teased.
"Once again," he said wryly, "you're confusing me with your other boyfriends."
"I was joking." I spun around to face him and drink in his fresh, masculine scent.
"Oh?" he murmured, softly kissing my lips. "I seem to remember you begging me for one not so long ago."
I looked up into his bright blue eyes and bit at his lip. "You said you would put it somewhere that didn't show. That's not going to be so easy now."
"Why's that?" he asked.
"Because I only plan on wearing a little, tiny bikini."
"Guess I'll need to get creative," he said, his lips against mine.
Before my dress could hit the floor, Mark's phone rang.
He ignored it.
It rang again. He growled against my lips.
The third time it rang, he answered it.
"What?" he barked. "Where? Jesus!" He swiped a hand through his hair. "I'm on my way now. I'll call you when I have news."
He disconnected and turned to me. "That was Ed," he began. "David called Marcie and said there are three guys after them. One of them just shot Charles in the arm when they were trying to get away."
I gasped. This had just gone from annoying to dangerous. "What are you going to do?"
"He said Charles is insisting they head for Aguadilla airport on the west side of the island. There's a flight leaving tomorrow morning for The States. It's a couple of hours from here. For the moment they're in another motel. Charles wants to meet now and make the exchange."
"Call the police," I insisted. "This has gone far enough."
"If I call the police now, all our efforts to protect
David are for nothing. David is facing federal charges," Mark reminded me, "and Charles won't have a problem turning him in to save his own hide."
"I don't care. This is too dangerous."
Mark pulled on his shoes and kissed me on my head before I could say another word.
"Trust me," he said. "I can handle this. I'll be back in an hour."
"I don't have a good feeling about this."
"Just try not to get any hickeys while I'm gone," he said, as he walked out the door.
CHAPTER THREE
An hour later, I was sitting in the beautiful beachfront cabana bar watching the water and sipping my second Hurricane Hangover served in a hollowed-out coconut. The drink menu had declared 'only one drink per customer' because of the excessive alcohol. Juan, my overly attentive bartender, had made an exception just for me.
Not for the first time, I was wondering why a commercial real estate developer such as Mark felt qualified to chase bad guys and negotiate terms of surrender. He'd once told me that he had spent some time overseas working for old college buddies who ran a private security firm, but I had a feeling there was more to that story than he'd revealed. According to Mark, he'd been recruited for his MBA credentials and had been in charge of all of the mundane duties such as payroll and accounting duties. But something just didn't add up.
The 'what if's' were starting to work me into a frenzy when my phone rang. A number I didn't recognize popped up on the screen.
One and a half Hurricanes had me in the chatting mood, even if it was to a telemarketer, so I answered. "Hello."
"That dress you were wearing brought back fond memories of L.A.," came a husky voice.
Andre. How did he remember me wearing this dress? "You have quite a memory."
"Boyfriend there?" he asked casually.
"No, he's off chasing bad guys," I replied flippantly.
"So you know?" He sounded surprised.
"Know what?" I leaned forward in my seat.
There was a pause. "Nothing," he deflected. "So do you really want to meet Carlos?"
I'll admit that his distraction worked. "Yes," I replied, my temper flaring. "I can't wait to meet the asshole who stole my song!"
2 Queenie Baby - Out of Office Page 2