Lancelot's Lady

by Cherish D'Angelo

The little bugger was a fighter.

  When Winston couldn't stand the crying any longer, he demanded a table in the corner.

  Don't make too much of a fuss, Win. Be invisible.

  But even the need for invisibility had its limits.

  In less than half an hour, he polished off a greasy platter of scrambled eggs, bacon, sausages and pancakes. He also finished a carafe of strong coffee, the kind that flowed thick like syrup from the spout. Food and caffeine would kick his metabolism into overdrive, not to mention keep him vigilant and on his toes. He needed all his faculties to pull off today's venture.

  As he was leaving, he noticed the baby had fallen asleep. The parents looked relieved. He paused a foot away and let out a vicious sneeze. He was good at faking them. A well executed sneeze allowed a PI to hover near a target and collect information. It was also great for scaring the be-jesus out of someone―like the baby.

  Grinning, he hurried from the restaurant just as the baby's cries were unleashed. He loathed babies. Even more, he detested happy couples.

  Returning to his room, he found a newspaper and his freshly laundered suit inside waiting for him. He tucked the remaining Cohiba cigar in the jacket pocket. He couldn't wait to smoke it. Perhaps after he and Rhianna consummated their new relationship.

  The red light on the phone was flashing and he called down to the front desk.

  "You have a package, Mr. Duke," the attendant said.

  "I'll be right down."

  With a smile, Winston strode out of his hotel room.

  Minutes later, he carried the package containing his beloved Glock into his room and locked the door.

  "My little beauty has arrived."

  He sat on the unmade bed, stroking the deadly weapon and checking the cartridge. He flicked on the safety. Wouldn't do to have it go off prematurely. Tucking the gun into the inside pocket of his jacket, he arranged the briefcase with the folder on Rhianna on top. He closed the case and locked it.

  Stripping off the tourist outfit, he slipped into the suit, selected a silk tie and tucked his fake ID next to the cigar in the jacket pocket. In the bathroom, he looked at his reflection, at the excited gleam in his eyes.

  There was nothing stopping him now.

  He made a quick phone call to a private airstrip he'd found in the island Yellow Pages. After reserving and pre-paying the pilot of a small plane with Duke's VISA, he hung up, his getaway plan in motion.

  He was hungry. But this time, not for food.

  Twenty minutes before nine, a taxi arrived to carry him to his destination―the Bayshore Marina. This time, he observed his surroundings on the way. The streets of Nassau were littered with leaves, tree branches and garbage, all victims of the ruthless evening storm. The city already had street cleaners out, unsmiling old men who swept the sidewalks and cleared debris from the roads, which were still slick with rain, the morning sun still struggling to dry them.

  It didn't take long before Winston regretted his choice of attire. The suit and high humidity made him sweat profusely. He shifted uncomfortably in the back of the taxi and spread his hefty legs apart, praying he wouldn't find a sweat stain on his crotch. Or on the back seat when he climbed out.

  At the marina, he walked almost bowlegged, trying to dry the dampness between his legs. Already a prickly heat rash had formed where his flabby thighs rubbed together.

  He spotted Roland Saunders with an older white man. They were loading boxes into the speedboat.

  "I hope you haven't forgotten about me, Mr. Saunders," Winston said evenly.

  The older man glanced up. "You must be Mr. Duke. I hear you're heading out to Angelina's Isle."

  Winston bit his tongue and nodded. Last thing he needed was another nosy parker sticking his big nose in where it wasn't wanted.

  "Denny Dorchester," the man said, holding out a hand.

  Winston hesitated, then shook it once. "What are those boxes for?"

  "Supplies for Tyler," Saunders replied.

  "How come you have to drop them off? Doesn't this Tyler guy have his own boat?"

  "This is his boat," Dorchester cut in.

  "Are you coming with us?" Winston hoped the question sounded friendly and not panicked, like he was feeling.

  Dorchester's eyes glinted, then he shook his head. "I have to go into town."

  Winston could breathe again. "Nice meeting you."

  He watched the older man climb the ramp. When Dorchester reached the top, he turned to look back.

  Winston scowled. Keep going, you fuck-wit.

  Saunders started the engine. "Ready to go, Mr. Duke."

  "Call me Charles."

  Saunders nudged his head toward the back bench of the boat. "You've got lots of room there. Jump in."

  Winston climbed aboard and settled his wide girth into the seat. The buttons of his jacket strained against his gut. He sucked in his stomach and covertly patted the side of the jacket. As long as he kept it buttoned, the gun wasn't visible.

  Within a few minutes, Misty's Dream slowly chugged away from the marina, and once they were clear of the high traffic area, Saunders opened the throttle.

  "Since I'm showing up unannounced," Winston shouted, "tell me a bit about this Tyler guy."

  "Tyler likes his privacy."

  If Saunders thought that would end the questions, he was wrong. Winston needed to know who he was up against.

  "Must be hard living out there," he said.

  Saunders shrugged. "Angelina's Isle has everything he needs and wants."

  "Except a way to get off it."

  "That's what I'm for."

  "What's he do for food and other groceries?"

  "I usually go out every month or so and take him what he needs."

  "Kind of a hermit, is he?"

  "Kinda. Once in a while he comes back with me."

  Interesting, Winston thought. The island was isolated, and that would work in his favor. So would the fact that this Tyler guy didn't seem like he'd offer much of a problem.

  "How many people live on that island?" he asked.

  "Just Tyler, his daughter and his caretakers―the Atkinsons. Plus your friend Miss McLeod." Saunders hesitated before saying, "Did someone in her family die?"

  "Not yet," Winston said, putting on a somber face. "But he's not expected to live past the week."

  Saunders gave a nod. "Must suck having to be the bearer of bad news."

  "I've delivered worse."

  The young man eyed him for a moment and Winston held his gaze. Saunders was curious. Hopefully, he'd stay that way and not become suspicious.

  He yawned. He wasn't much of a morning person, especially at this ungodly hour.

  "How long does it take to get to the island?" he asked.

  "Just under an hour."

  Winston's stomach lurched. "Oh shit," he muttered.

  Saunders flicked a look over his shoulder. "Something wrong?"

  "I shouldn't have eaten such a big breakfast."

  "You don't get seasick, do you?"

  "I don't know. It's been years since I've been in a boat."

  "Try to think of something pleasant," Saunders suggested. "It usually helps."

  Winston scowled. He was sick of people giving him advice. "How about you show me how to work this boat," he said. "That'll take my mind off puking."

  "Sure."

  Saunders slowed the boat and Winston shuffled closer.

  "So this thing tells you what direction you're going in?" he asked, putting on his best eager student face. "What do you do when you want to turn around and go back to Nassau?"

  Saunders gave him a crash course in watercraft operations, showing him how to use the GPS and how to accelerate, decelerate and navigate the markers in the water.

  Boating for Dummies, Winston thought.

  Only he wasn't the dummy. Saunders was.

  Chapter 27

  The morning sun awakened Rhianna early. With a heavy heart, she left the sanctuary of her bedroom and went downstairs,
unsure of what she'd say to Jonathan. But she didn't have to worry about that. The house was quiet. Empty.

  In the living room, she stared at the photographs of Misty and her father on the fireplace mantle. She'd miss them both when she was gone. With Jonathan out of her life, there'd be a huge hole in her heart. It wasn't so much that she craved the excitement of spending the nights with him. She craved everything about him. He had awakened something in her. A need for human contact. A desire to feel something more. He'd shown her love, even if he'd never said the words.

  Tears gathered in her eyes, but she blinked them away. "No more crying."

  Taking a deep breath, she squared her shoulders. If she was going to be alone for the day, she might as well make herself useful. Besides, if she kept busy, she wouldn't have as much time to dwell on the fact that Jonathan despised her. He was probably counting the days until she left.

  Books were stacked on the floor in the den, so Rhianna started there, shelving them while dusting. When all the shelves were clean, she grabbed a sturdy kitchen chair in order to reach the top of the bookcases. As she was dusting, her rag caught on a pile of loose papers. She pulled them down, planning to replace the papers when she was done.

  But luck wasn't with her.

  As she strained on her tiptoes, she heard footsteps approaching.

  "What the hell are you doing?" Jonathan demanded from the doorway.

  She twisted around, about to give him an explanation, but lost her balance. She let out a shriek and toppled sideways, as the papers in her hand fluttered to the floor.

  Lucky for Rhianna, Jonathan caught her.

  "I'm sorry," she murmured, unable to look at him. "I needed something to do."

  "So you thought you'd come poking around in here?" he asked, setting her on her feet.

  She could feel the heat in her cheeks. "I wasn't poking around. I was trying to dust up there."

  Ignoring her, he leaned down and began gathering the papers on the floor.

  A couple of yellow-edged photos caught Rhianna's eye and she plucked them from the carpet. In one picture, she recognized a younger version of her employer. JT stood beside an attractive, dark-haired woman―Jonathan's mother, probably. The next photo showed a happy boy of about six.

  Jonathan, she guessed.

  She flipped over a third photo. "Oh my God…"

  "What's wrong?" Jonathan demanded.

  Her hand trembled as she turned the photo toward him.

  He shrugged. "What about it?"

  Rhianna choked back a sob. "Why do you have a picture of my mother?"

  ~ * ~

  Jonathan was speechless. Had he heard Rhianna correctly?

  Clearing his throat, he said, "That can't be your mother."

  "Well, it is. I have the same photo at home. At your father's house."

  "This," he said, plucking the photo from her hand, "is the picture of the woman my father was having an affair with. I told you about her. I took this from my father's jacket pocket before I left home." His jaw clenched. "I kept it to remind me of how much the mighty JT Lance values family. This woman tore mine apart, with his help."

  Rhianna's face went ghostly white.

  "I'm sure she just looks like your mother," he said, frowning.

  "I'm telling you, that is my mother."

  "I don't believe this," he muttered. "First, the photo of my father in your room, and now this."

  If this woman was Rhianna's mother and his father's mistress, then he and Rhianna were connected in ways they'd never imagined.

  "I don't want to talk about this right now," he said, heading for the living room.

  "Wait!" Rhianna yelled after him. "You can't just walk away. We need to talk about this, figure things out." She followed him to the bar and poured a drink. "I don't believe my mother would betray my father. She loved him. I know that."

  "How would you know? They died before you were born."

  He could tell by the hurt look in her eyes that he'd cut her deeply.

  "My aunt told me they loved each other," she said. "They only had eyes for each other."

  Jonathan let out a frustrated sigh. "My father kept this picture on him for years. It tore my parents apart."

  Rhianna was crying now. "I'm sorry about that, but I still can't believe she―I won't! My parents were happy together." She downed the drink in one gulp and slammed the glass on the counter.

  Jonathan's head throbbed. What a mess!

  "I don't believe JT would sleep with my mother, then years later send me an invitation to care for him," Rhianna said coolly.

  "My father has always been a ruthless business man."

  "But this isn't business, Jonathan. This is personal. If your father slept with my mother, then they were both adulterers." Her voice grew sad. "And it means JT has been lying to me since day one."

  He was unable to offer any words of comfort. What could he say? There was only one person who knew the truth, and he was busy dying nearly two hundred miles away.

  "Listen, Rhianna, we don't know for sure―"

  She held up a hand. When she finally spoke, her voice was listless, emotionless. "I'm going to lie down."

  When Jonathan was alone, he released a pent-up sigh.

  "Damn you all to hell, Dad," he said under his breath.

  But if his father was going to hell for what he'd done, he wouldn't be alone.

  I'm right there with you, Jonathan thought.

  He tried to get Rhianna's face out of his mind. Even with these new developments, his feelings for her were strong. That was probably what his father banked on. The old man had sent Rhianna here like the proverbial lamb to a slaughter, and Jonathan took no pleasure in being the executioner.

  He recalled the last conversation he'd had with his father. The one where JT had told him he'd made a huge mistake marrying Sirena.

  "She'll leave you as soon as someone dangles something better in front of her nose," his father had warned. "It won't matter if it's a role in a major film, more money, or other fringe benefits. Sirena is a classic gold-digger."

  "She loves me!" Jonathan had yelled. "And I love her. That's all that matters."

  How naïve he'd been back then. Love didn't guarantee a happily ever after. Nothing could.

  Just like now.

  He loved Rhianna. There was no use denying that now. He loved her with every fiber of his being. If that blasted photo wasn't standing between them he would have asked her to stay. Not that he could guarantee marriage. He couldn't. Not yet. But the thought of Rhianna leaving him, walking out of his life, hit him hard and left him feeling empty.

  "How do I fix this?" he said with a groan.

  Could he salvage their relationship?

  He flipped through the papers Rhianna had found and removed the photo of his parents. They looked so happy. In love? Maybe. But definitely happy. The back of the photo was stamped with a date. Jonathan had been five when the photo was taken.

  "Were you happy?" he asked. "Did you really love each other?"

  His father smiled back at him.

  Jonathan closed his eyes.

  There was only one way to get at the truth and it meant facing the man who had betrayed him―and his mother. Maybe if he faced his father and asked him point blank about Rhianna's mother, the old man would finally tell the truth.

  But would the truth set Jonathan and Rhianna free? Or would it act like a guillotine, severing their relationship and any chance of a future together?

  "I have to find out," he said, opening his eyes. "Besides, he owes us that much."

  And I owe it to Rhianna to clear up this mess once and for all.

  Jonathan glanced toward the stairs. It would be an awkward week or two before Roland returned with the boat. If they could make it until then―without pissing each other off completely―he'd make arrangements to go back with Rhianna.

  A knock on the door jolted him from his thoughts.

  Frowning, he strode to the door and flung it open.
<
br />   "I brought Misty back," Marvin Atkinson said, stepping inside. "She wants a popsicle."

  Misty grinned and immediately went into the kitchen.

  "Thanks," Jonathan told the older man.

  "No problem." Marvin's eyes narrowed. "Okay, what's wrong, Tyler?"

  "Nothing."

  "Yeah, right. You're not a very good liar."

  "I guess that's one thing I never inherited from the old man."

  Marvin stared at him, then gave a nod. "Woman troubles, huh?"

  "You have no idea."

  The next thing Jonathan knew, Marvin had confiscated the sofa, along with a glass of brandy, and was nodding and listening while Jonathan unleashed all of his frustration and resentment about his father.

  "I've spent so many years distancing myself from him, swearing I'd never be like him," he said tiredly. "Now I don't know what to do. Do I stay out of this mess and go back to life as I know it? Or do I confront him?"

  "You say JT's dying?" Marvin asked.

  "According to Rhianna, he's got a brain tumor. Cancer of some kind."

  "How long?"

  "She said he could go any time, although he was given six months. I just don't understand why he thought sending her here would be a good idea. He knows how I feel about him."

  Marvin swirled the amber liquid in his glass. "Seems to me that he's reaching out to you. Why else would he send her here?"

  "To make my life miserable."

  "From what I've seen, you've been anything but miserable these past few weeks."

  Jonathan shrugged. "So we had some fun while she was here. It's just a summer fling."

  "Really. Nothing more than that?"

  "I don't know," Jonathan replied with a groan. "I'd like to think it's just a thing, but I think it's more." He picked at a paint splotch on the hem of his shirt before looking at Marvin. "I want it to be more."

  Marvin grinned and the wrinkles around his eyes doubled. "Finally. The truth is revealed."

  "What truth?"

  "You love her, you idiot. The Missus and I have known that for the past week. It's obvious."

  Obviously not so obvious to me, Jonathan surmised.

  "That's what you two have been doing all day?" he asked Marvin. "Talking about me and Rhianna?"

  Marvin snorted. "What else is there to talk about?"