Andre blew out his breath. "Okay, but there are some ground rules."
"I'm listening."
"Not now," he said. "I'll pick you up in ten minutes. Where're you staying?"
I gave him the hotel's name.
"Nice," he replied.
"I need to call Mark and let him know where I'm going," I said. "I'm starting to get worried. He was supposed to be back by now."
"I don't think you have to worry about him. I'm sure he can take care of himself," Andre replied cryptically.
A frown furrowed my brow. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"Later," he said, adding, "and wear something that shows off those runway model legs if you want to keep Carlos' attention."
As soon as I hung up with Andre, I tried Mark's number. It went to voicemail. Instead of leaving him a message I sent him a text.
Me: Hope everything is ok. Pls call asap. Going to Carlos Rodriguez's house. Xoxoxo
Well, if that didn't get a reply from him, then nothing would.
I hustled upstairs and pulled out a light jersey knit dress. It was black and clingy and showed plenty of leg. I paired it with jeweled, high heel sandals, making me well over six feet. I figured it wouldn't hurt to have a height advantage over this jerk. I fluffed my hair and swiped on some lipstick, wishing I had time for some strategic flat-ironing.
The limo was waiting for me when I walked into the lobby. Andre stepped out from the passenger side and opened the back door. He gave me an appreciative grin and ushered me in, climbing in behind me.
"You do know how to make an entrance."
"Thanks," I replied with smile. I had forgotten how charming and handsome he was. "You haven't changed a bit," I added.
He grinned, his white teeth pleasantly contrasting his swarthy skin. "So quick rundown," he said getting to the point. "I left Billy's employ last fall. I did a short stint for an actress with a bad drug problem, who shall remain nameless. Not a lot of fun. So when Roger called me two months ago and asked me to work for Carlos, his new Boy Wonder, I signed on without a second thought."
I nodded.
He shrugged. "Imagine my surprise when I walked into Carlos' studio and heard him singing 'The Rum Song.' I asked questions. Roger and Phil were very open. According to them, you knew all about this arrangement. They said you were fine with letting someone else sing your song if it meant air time. I figured you'd get paid either way, so who was I to question the arrangement?"
I was steaming. "You could've called me!"
"I believe your parting words to me were, 'Drop dead you arrogant asshole.' Or was it, 'I wish I had a gun?'"
"I was angry," I sputtered. "With good reason, I might add!"
He nodded. "I fucked up. I should've told you about Melissa."
"You mean you should've told me you had a wife!" I spat.
"Yep, I was married. Still am. But I haven't seen her in four years. I told you all this. She's old-school Catholic. We were married in the Catholic Church. The least that I can do for her after ruining her actual life is not ruin her after-life," he explained.
"That sounded stupid then, and it sounds stupid now."
"Yeah, but it works for us."
"Not for me it didn't!" I tried to reel my anger in. I needed Andre's help right now. "Well, I wish you the best of luck in your weirdo marriage. I've put all that behind me," I added primly.
"All behind you, huh?" He raised his brows and leaned closer. "Seemed to me you were having a nice ride down memory lane at the airport."
"I have fond memories of you." I was starting to lose myself in his warm, dark eyes.
"How fond?" he asked with a wolfish grin.
I felt a tingle when his eyes held mine in a challenge. "Very fond."
That seemed to disturb him more than the argument. He sat back and looked out the window.
"Now can we please talk about my song?" I asked, trying to put an end to the conversation about our ill-fated love affair. Talk about your Lifetime channel movie of the week!
"There's not much else to tell," he said, glancing back at me. "They released the song last month, and it went crazy on the island. They're planning to release it in the U.S. after the concert Saturday."
"Did you tell Carlos I was coming?" I asked.
Andre nodded. "He can't wait to meet you. He called you his muse."
I made a face. "I wrote the song. I'm nobody's muse."
"That's not how he sees it," Andre replied. "And while we're on the topic of Carlos, a few words of warning. He's a complete nut job."
"'Nut job' is a pretty broad term. I mean you could pretty much classify everyone in my family as a nut job. Myself included. I need specifics."
"You got any pirates in your family?" he asked.
"Like music bootleggers?" I asked.
He shook his head. "No. The eye-patch, cutlass wearing kind."
"He's a pirate?" I asked.
"Yep. Seventh generation of Blackbeard the Pirate."
"Wow. So what does being a pirate involve?" I asked curiously.
"You'll see."
"So I shouldn't be alone with him because he might make me walk the plank?" I joked.
Andre raised an eyebrow. "No. But he likes to claim women as his plunder and ravish them. I'm in charge of making sure the ravishing is voluntary."
"How's it going so far?"
Andre shrugged. "There's usually a queue of women at the front door waiting to get in to be ravished."
"I just don't understand how having a pirate sing my song is better than having me sing it," I cried. "It just stinks! Am I so hard to work with?"
Andre laughed. "No. Girl singers don't make as much money as guy singers. That's all."
"Did you tell Roger and Phil I was coming?" I asked suddenly.
"Nope, thought I'd let you handle that. Give the boys a nice surprise. They'll be here tomorrow afternoon."
I was lost in thought for a second. "Why are you doing this?"
He paused a moment. "Because I owe you one. And because I'm sick of working for assholes. Sooner you become a rock star, the sooner I start my new job as your bodyguard, right?"
* * *
During the time it took to reach the villa, I jotted off another quick text to Mark letting him know Carlos Rodriguez was playing pirate when he wasn't singing The Rum Song. I was hoping that venting via text to Mark would help me blow off enough steam so I wouldn't punch Carlos in the face when I met him. Moments later, the limo pulled up to a secluded villa. It was something you might see in a re-run episode of Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous. Fountains, tropical plants, and even a big parrot, who cat-called me as I walked up the marble steps, graced the wide veranda.
"Not too shabby," I observed as we walked into the large, open-air living room.
"It gets better," Andre said, as he led me out to the pool area. "Until two months ago, Carlos had been rooming with two of his friends in a boarding house in San Juan and role-playing pirate games on the weekends. Roger and Phil rented this for him to give him a taste of the good life."
"Motivation."
"Yep." He nodded.
I wouldn't have minded some motivation that looked like this. The pool had a large waterfall at one end, and at the other was a diving board. A giant hot tub was off to one side with another small waterfall cascading into it.
"Ahoy, there," a voice called from across the pool.
The sun blurred my vision, but I had the distinct impression of a lean, muscular man with long, dark hair. There was a splash. A second later a dark head appeared from the water. An attractive young man hoisted himself up out of the pool effortlessly. Water sluiced off his tan, hairless body.
"Nice abs," I said, because I just couldn't help myself. They were nice the way abs are only on a twenty-something. Think Brad Pitt from the Thelma and Louise days.
"Nice legs, m'lady," he returned.
Andre groaned.
"Thanks." I held his gaze.
"So you're the siren who
wrote 'The Rum Song,'" he said reverently, a Spanish accent mixing with the pirate dialect.
I'd had about enough of the pleasantries. "Yeah, and you're the asshole who stole it," I replied.
"You wound me, m'lady," he replied in his best Captain Jack Sparrow voice. "I but took advantage of an opportunity. It's the spoils of war."
I rolled my eyes and turned to Andre. "Does he always talk like this?"
"Pretty much," he replied with a sigh.
Carlos pulled on a silky black robe, sat down on a chaise lounge, and motioned for me to join him. "Would you like a drink?" he asked politely.
"I would," I replied, sinking into a chair with a view of the pool.
"I have some excellent rum." His tone was challenging.
"Not funny." I crossed my legs casually, watching with satisfaction as his eyes followed their movement.
"I'll make you a martini," Andre said, walking over to a tiki bar in the corner.
"A double, please," I called. "Sorry about your new guitar. That was quite a mess. Is your sister here?"
He pulled his eyes from my legs long enough to make eye contact. "Margarite is out to dinner with a friend. She said you made the trip quite exciting," he added.
While Andre was making my drink, Carlos was sizing me up. "Did you bring your guitar?" he asked, lighting a thin cigar.
"No, I didn't think this would be a social visit."
"We must jam together," he replied excitedly. "Life is too short to hold a grudge. Perhaps we could have a parley to put an end to this unpleasantness."
Andre returned with my drink.
"Parley away," I replied as I took a gulp.
The Pirate seemed a little annoyed with my flippancy.
"No," he said. "You don't understand. A parley is when opposing sides come together to resolve their differences."
"Oh," I replied, "I do understand. And the only parley I'm interested in is the one where I'm named as the writer of 'The Rum Song,' and I receive my cut of the booty."
"You haven't received your cut?" His eyes searched my face. If I didn't know any better, I'd think he was actually surprised.
"Nope. Not a dime."
"Well," he replied. "That hardly seems sporting." He leaned back in his chair pensively and took a draw on his cigar.
"Agreed! Say, this parley thing just might work." Sarcasm dripped from every word as my patience started to run thin.
"I'll speak to Roger and Phil. Those rapscallions have some explaining to do."
"Yeah, they haven't been real interested in parleying with me. Maybe they'll parley with you," I added.
He nodded. "But as far as credit for 'The Rum Song,' I don't think that would be possible right now. We've developed my career around that song."
I made a face. "What career? You've been singing the song for a couple of months. I've been doing it for years."
"And yet—with all due respect m'lady—I've made it into a hit in only a couple of months, and you didn't."
Argh! Schooled by a pirate. He was right, of course, I thought dejectedly.
"Where's the plank?" I asked, feeling the martini going to my brain. "Might as well walk it now and get it over with."
Carlos leaned forward and patted my leg. "No need to scuttle the ship, m'lady. We'll find a solution."
"So I've got to ask." I paused to take another swig of my drink. "This whole pirate thing." I waved my hand around. "What's it all about? I mean do you actually go on stage as a pirate?"
Carlos looked uncomfortable.
I glanced over at Andre. His eyes were dancing as he waited for Carlos' response.
"Roger and Phil don't feel the public is ready to embrace my pirate heritage. But I'd rather be keelhauled than pretend to be Justin Bieber with a Spanish accent." He shook is shoulder-length black hair. He had the whole Johnny Depp thing spot on.
I was starting to get a feel for this situation. "Maybe you should mutiny," I suggested.
Carlos stared at me for a few moments. "Aye, m'lady, that's always an option. But my coffers are a wee bit small. And mutiny is a luxury that I can't afford quite yet. But I like how you think," he said, pointing his cigar at me.
My phone rang. I didn't recognize the number. I gave Carlos a one-sec finger.
"Hello?"
"Where are you?" Mark demanded.
"Where are you?" I countered.
Mark sighed before answering. "At the hotel, looking for you."
"Didn't you get my texts?" I asked.
"No, I lost my phone."
"Are you okay?"
"Yes," he replied impatiently. "Where are you?" he repeated.
"I'm at Carlos Rodriguez's house."
I turned away from Carlos, adding in a whisper, "He's a pirate, Mark."
"What?!" he yelled loud enough for everyone to hear.
"He's a pirate," I said loudly into the phone. "A pirate is singing 'The Rum Song.' How funny is that?" I hiccupped.
"Are you drunk?" he asked loudly. I pictured his hand raking his hair. I made a mental note to suggest he start using Rogaine.
"You don't have to yell. I tried to call you, and I sent you two texts. And in answer to your question, I might be drunk."
"When did you send the texts?" His voice was suddenly serious.
"About thirty minutes ago, why?"
"Because the goons chasing David and Charles have my phone. What exactly did you say?" he asked with concern.
"All I said was that I was going to Carlos Rodriguez's house and that 'The Rum Song' was being sung by a pirate."
I thought I heard Mark mutter a swear word. "Great, now they know where you are."
I rolled my eyes. "And why would they care?"
"Because Charles and David owe them, and I'm these guys' only lead to get to those two idiots." He paused. "Strike that. I was their only lead. Now they have two."
Crap. He had a point.
"Look, they've got my phone, and I don't want to take any chances. Put Andre on," Mark ordered.
"Oh, so now you want to talk to Andre," I began sarcastically. Andre sat up in his chair and motioned me to hand him the phone. I swatted his hand away. "I'm a big girl. I can take care of myself."
"Diana, these guys have guns. Do you have a gun?"
The word 'gun' had a sobering effect on me. Maybe I should let the professional handle this.
"He wants to talk to you," I said, handing the phone to Andre.
Andre took the phone, said a few words, and then handed it back to me. "We need to leave," he announced, turning to Carlos. "Get dressed. I'll call in more help, but in the meantime I want you both in the limo."
Excited by the prospect of treachery, Carlos sprinted off to his room.
Andre turned to me. "This place isn't exactly a secret with all the girls partying their way through the door. It won't take these guys long to figure out where you are."
"This is ridiculous."
Andre's eyes showed real concern. "I can't take the chance. Mark said you were in imminent danger."
"What does he know about 'imminent danger'?" I asked. "He's a real estate developer."
Andre pursed his lips. "He might be that as well."
"As well as what?" I asked.
"Diana, your boyfriend's a spook."
CHAPTER FOUR
Andre's phone rang, cutting off the questions surging through my head at his announcement. I waited impatiently for him to finish.
"What were you talking about?" I demanded as soon as he hung up.
"Not now. I've got to get more security out here."
"Not now? Are you kidding me, Andre?"
Only Carlos' dramatic entrance in full pirate regalia, including a wicked looking cutlass, could have distracted me.
"I am prepared to do battle with these bilge rats," he announced from the top of the veranda.
Andre shook his head in disbelief.
I wondered for the hundredth time how this guy was a better choice to sing my song than I was. Roger and
Phil had a lot of explaining to do.
Carlos squinted off into the distance. He pulled a spyglass from his belt and peered through it. "Sail Ho!" he cried.
Andre followed his line of sight, swearing softly at the sound of tires on gravel.
"Get in the car," he ordered.
He didn't need to tell me twice. I was pretty freaked out at how quickly the thugs had found me.
The driver started the limo as Andre opened the door.
But Carlos had other ideas.
"Say there, mate," he yelled to Andre. "We must defend our ship. Arm yourself!"
Andre's plan for getting in the limo and out of sight was quickly unraveling.
A tricked out SUV ground to a halt in front of the limo, blocking our exit. I heard the click of the locks and glanced up at the limo driver. He looked at me in the rearview mirror and put a finger to his lips. He drew something from his jacket pocket, and I heard the distinct click of a gun being armed. I lowered the darkened window next to me just a crack so I could hear the conversation about to take place.
I saw Andre put a hand up to Carlos, warning him to stay back. But Carlos was having none of it.
"Time to run a rig on these landlubbers!" Carlos exclaimed, swaggering down the steps looking for all the world like Captain Jack.
I watched as four guys exited the SUV. I guess two were the Miami gangbangers; heavy gold jewelry, droopy drawers, and an unmistakable attitude. The other two looked Hispanic and were much more low profile. Locals by the looks of it.
I heard Andre say politely, "Can I help you gentlemen?"
One of the gangbangers lowered his sunglasses and took a hard look at Andre. He sniffed and worked his mouth a little before saying, "No, I think we goin' help ourselves just fine. Whatcha think, Freddie?" he asked the guy next to him.
"I think it is what it is, my man," Freddie replied noncommittally.
And then they saw Carlos.
He must spend every waking moment studying the Johnny Depp pirate movies, because his entrance was nothing short of spectacular.
"Gentlemen," he called. "Welcome to my humble abode." He waved his hand grandly and descended the stairs.
The only noise was his cutlass clanking against his boots. It took the gangsters a minute to recover from the shock of Carlos the Pirate.
2 Queenie Baby - Out of Office Page 3