“Your city cop’s on the way, probably with half the patrol cars in town. So let’s get out of here and let him clean up the mess. He knows how to find you.”
His arms felt so good, so right, but I pushed him away. I walked to the east balustrade, took a firm grip and looked down. My head swam, my breath whooshed out. I swayed. Josh pulled me away.
Stubbornly, I went back and did it again. This time my vision cleared, and I could see straight down to the driveway, which was now clearly lit by at least six pairs of headlights from Sarasota’s finest, with museum golf carts closing in fast from the rear.
“Rory? Time to go.”
“Is he dead?”
A brief pause, then a terse, “Yes.”
“Then let’s go home,” I said.
We popped into the elevator and were out of there before the phalanx of cops could climb the stairs.
We did all the right things, of course, even while escaping the law. I called Aunt Hy and told her Josh was taking me out to supper. I apologized for the last-minute notice.
Supper. I almost gagged as I said it. I was covered with Parker St. Clair’s blood and other bits of matter I won’t try to name. I’d never shot anyone before, let alone shot someone dead.
Josh called Ken and filled him in, promising we’d both be in in the morning to make statements. No, the gun we’d left lying beside the body wasn’t mine, Josh replied to Ken’s question. It was Parker St. Clair’s, but the last prints on it would be mine.
Josh took me back to his villa, where we both showered. (No, not together.) He loaned me a slinky silk robe. I carefully folded the clothes I’d been wearing and stuffed them in a plastic grocery bag to hand over to Ken in the morning. We drank supper while watching old movies on TV. (No, I have no recollection what they were.) Along about three in the morning we had scrambled eggs and toast. And then I fell into bed. In the guestroom. But I wasn’t so far gone I didn’t visualize the smiles of delight I would have to face from Aunt Hy, Marian, and Jody when I returned to the Ritz. Dear Rory had stayed out all night with Josh Thomas.
Whoopee!
They were going to be so disappointed.
Not that I was going to tell them the truth, of course.
Naturally, the morning was mostly gone before Josh and I made it to Cop Central. (I will not describe walking through the lobby of the Ritz-Carlton wearing Josh’s shorts and polo shirt.) By the time Ken showed us into a conference room, he was glowering. Or maybe it was not our tardiness that distressed him. It was possible he had a pretty good idea of where I had spent the night and was simply glowering at Josh. Fortunately, being the good cop he was, Detective Sergeant Ken Parrish finally assured me that it didn’t look like I was in danger of being added to the list of America’s Most Wanted. And since Josh and I had picked up my gun on our way out last night, there wasn’t going to be a flap about that either.
It was two in the afternoon before Josh and I stopped at Mike’s Place for some much-needed food. Then, in spite of my aching head, I asked him to drive to the park way out at the south end of Pelican Key. In the last few weeks I’d faced a lot of the demons in my life, but there was one left. I couldn’t let it go.
We sat at the same picnic table, but the sea breeze was stronger, cooler, than the other times I’d been there. An omen, I feared. This was a conversation I wasn’t going to like.
I sneaked a peek at the man sitting next to me. The strikingly handsome face, the oddly pale skin, black hair, black eyes. The ever-alert stance of his super fit body. The strength, the utter reliability I wanted to believe in . . . and couldn’t. He’d backed me up this time, but would our interests always coincide? Was he “family”? Or was I plunging down a rabbit hole far worse than Alice’s?
“Are you really on vacation?” I asked. “Or was that a cover for investigating Parker St. Clair?”
“Both. Martin sent for me, and since I knew St. Clair was in Sarasota, I wasn’t averse to killing two birds with one stone. Sorry. Tripped over my clichés,” he added apologetically
“Was I the other bird?”
He actually had the grace to squirm, his black hole eyes fixed on the current racing between Pelican Key and the barrier island to the south. “Martin and your Aunt Hy concocted the scheme. Job-generating, matchmaking—whatever it was, I swear I had nothing to do with it. They love you, you know. I guess they thought I might be able to pry you out of the doldrums.” Josh’s gaze followed a fisherman who was reeling in a violently flopping fish. “To be honest, if it hadn’t been a good opportunity to keep an eye on St. Clair, I might not have come. Like you, I’m inclined to balk at being manipulated.”
I nodded. That I could understand.
“But Martin founded the company I work for. Which, oddly enough, isn’t so different from Parker St. Clair’s. He was my father’s mentor and friend, then mine. I owed him. So I came to Sarasota and did what I was told. I looked up a girl named Rory Travis.”
“Tell me about the mannequin,” I said.
Into the sudden silence, Josh sighed. “Martin was truly pissed about that,” he said, “but you were a tough nut to crack. More armor-plating than a tank. I thought shock tactics were warranted. As it happened, Martin didn’t agree with me.”
“Then it was you.”
“Oh, yeah. I’d heard about the Roman chariot stunt, and the mannequin seemed like a good idea at the time. I mean, why shouldn’t we cloak and dagger types get to wear an actual cape on occasion?” Josh looked at me, hopefully, as if he could cajole his way out of this mess.
And then he made his biggest mistake of all. Taking my silence for forgiveness, he picked that particular moment to offer me a job. Working with him in his Clairity-like company that operated on the shady side of legality. And maybe of honor as well.
“Rory?”
“I’ll call a cab,” I said.
“What?”
“Do you know how I felt that night,” I hissed, “kneeling on the floor in the midst of all those shattered pieces? Can you even imagine the horror as the nightmare came rushing back?”
Josh’s eyes snapped. He bent his face to mine. “And then you got angry,” he said. “You got angry, and you set out to find the person who did it. You set out to help Billie. You set out to find a murderer. And you did. So don’t look down your nose at me, Travis. What I did’s called tough love, and, by God, if I had to, I’d do it again.”
I told him what he could do with tough love. And the job as well. I called a cab.
Josh scribbled an international phone number on a card and thrust it into my hand. I was tempted to tear the card into tiny pieces and throw it at his feet. I left him sitting there, at the picnic table, staring out over the sun-sparkled channel, looking into a world only Tony Gianelli could see. He was alone. And, as far as I was concerned, he could stay that way.
A month or so later, Ken Parrish and I spent a long weekend in Key West. I am happy to report he has skills that go way beyond Eagle Scout.
I didn’t call Josh Thomas/Anthony Johns/Tony Gianelli.
But even though I had long since memorized the phone number, I sometimes took his card out of my wallet and fingered it, remembering . . .
I didn’t call.
But I would. Someday—maybe soon—I would.
~ *** ~
About the Author:
Believing variety is the spice of life, I also write Regency, Romantic Suspense, Steampunk, and Futuristic. (Please see list below.)
The Golden Beach (GB)books are not a classic series. Some have connected characters; others, only a connected setting, a very real Florida Gulfcoast resort and retirement community whose name has been changed because the residents would like to keep its uniqueness a deep, dark secret.
I am always delighted to hear from my readers. I can be contacted at [email protected]. My website is http://www.blairbancroft.com/. My blog: http://mosaicmoments.blogspot.com/
Twitter: @blairbancroft
Blair’s books:
Romantic Suspense, Thrillers & Mystery
The Art of Evil
Florida Wild
Limbo Man
Death by Marriage (GB)
Orange Blossoms & Mayhem (GB)
Shadowed Paradise (GB)
Paradise Burning (GB)
Futuristic Paranormal series (debuting late 2014)
Rebel Princess
Sorcerer’s Bride
Royal Rebellion
The Regency Warrior Series (in order)
The Sometime Bride
Tarleton’s Wife
O’Rourke’s Heiress
Rogue’s Destiny
Other Regencies & Historicals
Brides of Falconfell
The Mists of Moorhead Manor (Summer 2014)
Airborne - The Hanover Restoration
The Captive Heiress (medieval)
Lady of the Lock
The Last Surprise
Mistletoe Moment
The Courtesan’s Letters
The Temporary Earl
The Harem Bride
A Season for Love
A Gamble on Love
Lady Silence
Steeplechase
Contemporary
Florida Knight
Love at Your Own Risk
Art of Evil Page 24