Body Double

by Alane Hudson

  Though Blake kept watch, they had no further encounters with the odd man from the airplane and his camera. The rest of their vacation was the romantic, relaxing, and fun getaway that a honeymoon should be. They grew closer, bonding over their shared experiences and quiet evenings spent in each other’s arms.

  It wasn’t until they were packing to leave, when her ring got momentarily snagged on a dress strap, that the honeymoon’s impending end began to sink in. Not just the honeymoon—her entire relationship with Blake.

  Tears welled in her eyes, and she blinked them away while she folded a pair of shorts and laid them in her suitcase. She picked up the flowery bikini he’d bought her and held it to her lips, remembering Blake’s warm, loving hands smoothing suntan lotion on her skin, and the time she stepped on a piece of glass left on the beach and how he carried her back to their room and then cleaned and bandaged her wound.

  He walked into the bedroom and set down a few personal items he’d gathered from other parts of the hotel suite.

  “I’ve had an amazing time with you,” she said, folding a dress and laying it in the suitcase.

  “Me too, love. It’ll be weird getting back to the daily grind after this.”

  She nodded, and another tear fell. Though she had a new job to look forward to, a job that would enable her to help people in need, she wasn’t ready to give Blake up. Who am I kidding? I’ll never be ready to give him up.

  “Hey,” he said, slipping his arms around her from behind. “We’ll figure something out, okay? This won’t be the end.” He kissed her neck and shoulder.

  “You’re married, and your wife will be home soon.” And he’d amended the prenuptial agreement to disallow either of them having a lover on the side, not that she wanted to be anyone’s little plaything, but even that was better than never seeing him again.

  “Hmm. Speaking of my wife...” He let her go and picked up his cell phone. “Let’s try to nail down the specifics, and then we can talk about what comes next.” Blake pressed a few buttons, and the sound of the phone ringing played through the external speaker.

  “Blake, hi,” Sarah said. “I was just fixing to call you. How’s the honeymoon? How’s Andrea?”

  “It’s great. She’s extraordinary.” He winked at Andrea. “Listen, we’re packing up to go back home this afternoon. Where are you and what’s the plan?”

  “That’s what I wanted to talk to you about. Am I on speaker?”

  “You are,” he replied. “Andrea’s right here.”

  “Hi, Sarah.”

  “Hi, Andrea,” Sarah said. “I have great news. We did it—we got the girls out, and they’re back home now, with a new understanding of the dangers and magnitude of the trafficking problem.”

  “Oh, my God. That’s fabulous,” Andrea said, relieved. At least there was some good news to focus on. Those girls were safe, and Andrea’s imminent heartache wouldn’t be in vain.

  “With our help, the Policía Nacional arrested several of the traffickers and charged them with kidnapping with intent to sell into bondage. The prosecutor wants to conduct interviews with me and the Rise Up folks involved, and so I need to stay until the middle of the week, maybe as late as Friday. Will that present any problems for you?”

  Andrea shook her head, smiling. She would have Blake for a little while longer.

  “No,” he said, “not at all.”

  “Andrea, can you swing by The Lighthouse tomorrow or Tuesday to see if Charlotte needs my face somewhere?”

  “You bet,” Andrea said.

  “Remind me what time your flight is. I’ll turn off my phone, in case my father calls when I’m supposed to be on a plane.”

  Blake scrolled through his calendar and read off the departure and arrival times.

  “Has he been calling since the wedding?” Andrea asked.

  “Not until this morning. I let him go to voice mail, but he didn’t leave a message.”

  If there was one good thing about her time with Blake coming to an end, it was that she would never have to see Harold Gentry again.

  Chapter 9

  Shortly before five o’clock on Sunday, two weeks after they escaped their wedding reception, Blake and Andrea waited by the airport carousel for their luggage to be unloaded. The way Andrea held her arm around his waist, her body tucked close under his arm with her head on his chest, felt like a hug. A goodbye hug. Though he had his arm around her, he couldn’t pull her close enough. The last two weeks had been the best of his life, and unless Sarah divorced him in spite of that stupid prenup, his time with Andrea would soon come to an end. That amendment was turning out to be the bullet he shot himself in the foot with.

  He saw her suitcase go by on the carousel but couldn’t tear himself away from her long enough to pull it off, and so he let it go around a couple more times.

  He turned his cell phone back on and found he’d missed eight calls, all of them from Harold Gentry. The jerk could wait a while longer. Instead, Blake called Steven, who told him he was parked near the arrivals curb in the limousine service area.

  By the time he saw his own bag, most of the other passengers had retrieved their luggage and left. There was no crowd to push through, no children playing nearby to worry about hitting with the bags as he pulled them off the belt.

  Blake kissed her forehead. “Guess there’s no more reason to delay.” She shook her head and wiped tears away. He grabbed Andrea’s suitcase as it approached and set it down beside him. When his bag came around, he picked it up. “Ready.”

  They walked in silence, dragging their wheeled suitcases behind them. Steven greeted them just outside the doors. “Welcome back, ma’am, sir.” He took Andrea’s carry-on bag from her and reached for Blake’s. “May I carry that for you?”

  “I got it. Just take Andrea’s.” He immediately realized his mistake, but it was too late to take it back. Andrea’s eyes widened, and she blinked like a deer caught unawares.

  Steven looked momentarily confused, but he didn’t press the issue. “Of course, sir. Mrs. Thomas, may I?”

  As they walked to the car, Blake’s phone rang. It was Harold calling again. Whatever it was, Blake was sure he wasn’t going to like it. At least the bastard had waited until the honeymoon was over to start bothering them. Blake tapped the screen to answer. “Hey, Harold. How are you?”

  “Blake, is Sarah with you?”

  “Of course. She’s right here.” Blake’s mind ran through possible reasons for Harold to be asking that question. Sarah should have covered for them if he’d called her. “Lovely as ever, I might add.”

  “Put her on.”

  “Is there a problem?” Blake asked, uncertain he should do as his father-in-law asked.

  “Put her on the damned phone.”

  Blake put it on mute for a second. “He wants to talk to you. Are you okay with that?”

  Andrea nodded and took the phone from him, then took it off mute. “What?” she snapped. If Blake hadn’t known better, he’d have thought she was Sarah. “At the airport.” She shrugged and handed the phone back to Blake.

  “What was that about?” Blake asked Harold. They reached the parked limo, and Steven loaded their luggage into the trunk while Blake and Andrea got into the back seat.

  “Explain to me how Sarah could be in Bogotá when she’s with you?”

  Blake’s stomach knotted. Harold was onto them. “Bogotá, Colombia?” He tried to sound surprised. “What are you talking about? She’s right next to me.”

  “She’s spent the last two weeks in Colombia. People saw her. Her passport was flagged.”

  “I assure you, she’s been with me,” Blake said, wondering why her passport would have been flagged. “I’ve got photos of the two of us in Hawaii to prove it.”

  Andrea put her thumb to her mouth and began to chew on the nail.

  “I swear to God, Blake, if you’re playing me, I’ll go to the District Attorney’s office—and stop at your mother’s house on the way. We both know how that c
onversation will go.”

  A cold dread stiffened his body. “District Attorney? For what?”

  “For fraud. If I find out your marriage isn’t real, I’ll have charges brought up.”

  “Whoa, wait a minute, Harold. I just got back from my goddamned honeymoon and you’re accusing me of not being married? Who the hell do you think you’re talking to?”

  “The lying son of a philanderer.”

  “Screw you, Harold,” Blake hollered into the phone, though the dead silence in his ear told him the bastard had already hung up. He wanted to throw the phone and smash it into bits, but that would just make trouble for himself. Instead, he spewed a string of curse words under his breath.

  Andrea looked at him with worry wrinkling her brow. “What was that about the District Attorney?”

  “He knows Sarah’s in Colombia. He’s threatening to charge me with fraud if my marriage isn’t real.”

  “It’s real,” Andrea assured him.

  “Did Charlotte tell you she filed the marriage license application?”

  “Yes, it’s done. If he wants proof, he can look it up. Your marriage to Sarah is now a matter of public record.”

  Blake nodded, though the conversation with Harold still bothered him.

  Considering what Sarah did for a living, he thought it strange that friends of Harold’s just happened to spot her among the seven or eight million other people in Bogotá. It was possible Harold had connections in the Colombian government. He did business internationally, so it would make sense, but why would her passport be flagged? Harold wasn’t above greasing some palms to get what he wanted. Did that include smoothing the way for Sarah to work on behalf of The Lighthouse? Blake dismissed the notion. He could see Harold strengthening ties with gifts or campaign contributions for his own benefit, but to help Sarah in her mission? Harold wasn’t that kind of guy.

  Chances were good he would want to see for himself that Sarah was with Blake, and next time, he would scrutinize her. Blake had to come up with some way to keep Andrea out from under his microscope, to keep him off balance until Sarah got back. He would start by emailing him the honeymoon photos—but not the most lovey-dovey ones. Harold would know something was up if his lesbian daughter looked happy in a passionate embrace with a man. A few snapshots wouldn’t satisfy him for long, though, especially if he had friends in the immigration authority who’d stamped her passport.

  “It’s not just about convincing Harold today,” he said. “It’s about selling him a story he’ll believe for the rest of his life.” And never threaten to reveal Blake’s father’s infidelity again.

  The ride to Sarah’s house was unusually quiet. Blake stared out the window, his face expressionless. Her attempts at conversation were met with silence. Andrea felt the distance growing between them, and there was nothing she could do about it. The honeymoon was over. A line had been drawn in legalese that neither could cross, a result of the amended prenuptial agreement he’d asked her to sign. Since they couldn’t make love, sleeping together would be uncomfortable. It would be best if she stayed at Sarah’s place. Being apart would be agony, but maybe it was better to quit Blake cold turkey than to suffer the temptation being with him would create. If Harold dropped by Blake’s house, Blake could come up with a plausible excuse for her absence. If they needed to be seen together, that could be easily arranged. Why, oh why had she insisted they amend the agreement to stipulate that Blake couldn’t take a lover?

  Screw fairness, Andrea thought. Sarah would never know. Even if she did, she wouldn’t care. She had no emotional connection with Blake, nor he to her. Their marriage was a legal union, nothing more. Still, Andrea had signed the agreement, and she would honor it. She wouldn’t be able to look herself in the mirror if she didn’t. If he invited her to stay with him, she would, but she would use a guest room. At least they would be together, even if they weren’t together.

  “We haven’t talked about where I’ll stay until Sarah gets home,” she said. “I’d like to stay at your place, but I don’t want to invite myself.”

  He answered with silence and kept his hands to himself.

  “That was a hint.”

  Still he didn’t answer, didn’t even acknowledge she’d spoken. Riding next to him was like sitting on a bus beside a stranger.

  “Blake?”

  “What?” he snapped, looking at her with an annoyed scowl.

  Dismay choked her and burned her eyes. “Never mind.” She had her answer. She stared out her own window, trying her best not to make a sound. A few tears dribbled from her eyes, and she nonchalantly blotted them away. He was done with her. She’d known parting ways wouldn’t be easy, but she didn’t expect to feel dumped.

  Déjà vu.

  When the limousine pulled up in Sarah’s driveway, Andrea opened her own door before Steven or Blake had a chance to do it. “Open the trunk please, Steven,” she said loudly enough for him to hear despite the fact that he hadn’t turned on the intercom.

  The driver reached down for the lever and the trunk popped open.

  “What for?” Blake asked, getting out of the car. “I thought you were just checking on the house.”

  Steven was moving too slowly for her satisfaction, and so she grabbed her suitcase and carry-on bag and hauled them out of the trunk. “The honeymoon’s over.”

  “Let me get those for you, ma’am,” Steven said.

  “No, I’ve got them.” She headed to the front door, dragging the suitcase on its noisy, rubber wheels.

  Blake jogged after her. “Wait. What’s wrong?”

  She parked the suitcase on the stoop while she hunted in her purse for the key. “I think it’ll be easier if we part ways here.” She found the key and slid it with a shaking hand into the lock, unable to get inside fast enough. “Thank you for the wonderful vacation. I enjoyed it immensely.” Once she had the door open, she pulled her suitcase across the threshold and tried to park it on the marble floor in the foyer, but it fell over with a crash, its telescoping handle catching the strap of her carry-on bag and yanking it off her shoulder as it went down. Andrea ignored the jumble of bags. Hold it together for a few more minutes. “It was a pleasure knowing you.” She started to close the door, but Blake was standing on the threshold, blocking it.

  “Oh, hell no.” Blake pushed past her and slammed the door. He took her by the hand and practically dragged her down the corridor to the great room. He spun around to face her. “If you don’t want to spend the next few days with me, okay. I can accept that, but I’d at least like to know why.”

  Tears streamed down her face, and her throat felt thick with pain. “The honeymoon is over. If your coldness and silence in the limo hadn’t made that abundantly clear, then your snapping at me definitely did. You’re over me. There’s no reason to drag this out any longer.”

  “Over you? Come here, babe,” he said, pulling her into his arms. She didn’t resist, but she didn’t hug him back either. “I didn’t mean to snap at you. Harold got me worked up. I’m not ready to say goodbye to you yet, and I’m definitely not over you. I don’t know if I’ll ever be over you.”

  Relief flooded her, mixed with embarrassment. Of course that phone call had been to blame for his sudden change in demeanor. Why would she have assumed he was over her?

  Maybe because the men she loved dumped her when she least expected it.

  She broke down and cried, sliding her arms around his waist, comforted by the warmth of his embrace and his body.

  He held her closer and bent his head to her ear. “Everything will be okay as long as we’re together.”

  “But the prenup,” she said, sniffling. To her relief, the fact that she’d jumped to conclusions about the reason for his stony silence went unacknowledged. “We can’t... you know.”

  “That doesn’t mean we can’t spend time together. Unless you can’t control yourself around me.”

  She laughed through her tears and squeezed him tighter. It would be hell, but she would try
if it meant a few more days with him. “Barely.”

  “Hey,” he said, lifting her chin to meet her gaze, “if I ever say or do anything that hurts your feelings, tell me. I wouldn’t do it on purpose, I swear. I appreciated when you called me on the ring business. I’ve never been with a woman who was direct enough to handle me.”

  “It was easier to do when I was an objective third party. I’m not so objective anymore.”

  He kissed her forehead. “I hear you. So what do you say? Come stay with me until Sarah gets back?”

  She smiled up at him. “Okay. I need to pack another bag until I can get a laundry done.”

  “Isabelle will have your clothes clean by tomorrow morning, but if you want to grab some more, that’s fine too, unless you want to walk around the house naked.” He winked at her, and she pushed him playfully.

  “Don’t you wish?”

  “Oh, yes I do wish.”

  After pulling up to the grand, two-column front entrance of Blake’s house, Steven retrieved their suitcases from the limousine’s trunk and carried them to the door, while Blake got the carry-on bags. He unlocked the front door by pressing a few keys on a panel, and he and Steven set the suitcases down in the foyer. Blake dismissed his driver for the evening and then ushered Andrea inside. She stood in the foyer, looking around at the splendor of his mansion, feeling more like a guest than a new bride arriving at her new home.

  Because she was a guest.

  It was clean and orderly and obviously decorated by someone with a flair for style and color and texture. While every room looked like it belonged on a magazine cover, the house had a bold charm and subtle warmth that matched Blake’s personality. Despite the mansion’s luxurious decor and stately ambiance, this was his home. Hopefully, being here would help him feel more relaxed.