A Matter of Circumstance

by Heather Graham

  “You’re stuck with me again, Mrs. Blayne. They’d set up a room for your husband. It will be yours—and mine—now.”

  “Oh.”

  “Don’t worry, Mandy, love. I’ll be as safe to be with as a teddy bear. Married women aren’t my style. Especially—”

  “Bigots?” she inquired sweetly. “A young bigot married to an old man for his money?”

  “Your words.”

  “Ah, but Miguel! Doesn’t that scare you to pieces? What if the story were close to the truth? Poor young me, married to poor old Peter! I mean, after all, think about the situation! You half attacked me at first, but then I discovered that you’re my savior.” Dragging the blanket with her, she came up to him, still smiling sweetly. “And here you are…young…muscled like a panther. I could just lose my mind!” she told him, lightly stroking his cheek with the tips of her nails.

  He didn’t move. Not a muscle. Not until he grinned slowly and snaked an arm around her so swiftly that she wasn’t even aware of his intent until it was complete. She was pulled against him, while his fingers brushed tantalizingly over the small of her back and her buttocks.

  “Mrs. Blayne—Mandy, darling!” he drawled in a soft and perfect parody. “Aren’t you forgetting that your husband is a wonderful, wonderful lover?”

  “Let me go!” she snapped. He’d meant to call her bluff! He did, pushing her from him. “Like I said, Mrs. Blayne, I’ll be as safe as a teddy bear.”

  She recovered somewhat and smiled coolly again. “Good.” But she was bluffing again. Touching him had been dangerous. Coming too near him would always be like tempting fire. She had realized it too late.

  “Dublin!” she muttered beneath her breath. “Like hell! Cop—I wonder.”

  “I am a cop.”

  “Miami Vice, I take it.” She sighed elaborately. “Humph. Where is Sonny Crockett when you need him?”

  “Metro Miami. Investigator, homicide. Homicide gets kidnappings and death threats. And I’m sorry about not being Sonny Crockett. Luck of the draw, what can I tell you?”

  “The truth is always nice.”

  “That is the truth.”

  “You’re a half-Cuban detective who was born in Dublin?”

  He laughed. “I think I fascinate you, Mrs. Blayne.”

  “Egos like yours always fascinate.” The words were out quickly; she suddenly regretted them, along with her foolish actions. “I’m sorry,” she said for what felt like the thousandth time. “Really, I am. I’m alive. I’m grateful.” She couldn’t help looking back up at him and shrugging. “And you’re a teddy bear, if you say so.”

  “I am.”

  He was still grinning, aware that he intrigued her. And if he was bitter about what he considered her bigotry, he was also amused. It was a mixture of feelings she didn’t particularly appreciate, but what did it matter? They had been cast into this situation together, she by no choice at all, and he simply because he had become a little overinvolved in his job. Besides, he could laugh at her all he wanted. She had one on him, too. She wasn’t Senator Peter Blayne’s wife.

  His smile faded suddenly as he watched her, and he sounded tense when he spoke next. “You can, uh, take a shower and get dressed now if you want. Breakfast is on, and then we’re going on to the island.”

  Mandy nodded wearily, reminded that she was still a captive. She whispered her next words. “Do you really know where we are?”

  “Yes, I think I do.”

  He stiffened suddenly, and she realized that someone had come up behind him in the hall. His next words carried the heavy Spanish accent again. “Now, my love! In the shower. We eat, we go!”

  The door closed. She wrapped herself in the still-damp robe, collected the clothing he had given her and slipped from the cabin to the head.

  She was delighted to find a stack of new toothbrushes beneath the sink, so pleased that she issued a little cry of sublime happiness. Then she paused, shivering to discover that joy could be found in such a little thing under these strange circumstances. But, she told herself wryly, it seemed that as long as she was breathing and alive there could be elation in little things, and she might do well to seek it out.

  She was uninterrupted in the shower this time, though she didn’t close the curtain completely but kept a wary eye on the door, determined to be prepared if someone did burst in on her. That thought made her shiver and burn all over again, and she wondered once more at the contradictory range of emotions Miguel could elicit from her. She clenched her teeth as she rinsed her face, reminding herself again that he was just a cop doing his duty as he saw it and that his opinion of her was a harsh one.

  This wouldn’t last long! It couldn’t! If they’d met at a cocktail party she would have coolly accepted his hostile notions, shrugged, then forgotten him. It was nothing more than the situation and her fear that were creating this horrible tendency to lean on him, to care what he thought. She didn’t know anything about him. Not even his whole name. Not whether he was married or not, maybe a father of four or five. Maybe…

  She turned the water off and dried herself quickly, then dug into the clothing that Maria had so grudgingly lent to her. Well, pooh to Maria—Mandy didn’t like the clothes. The shirt was some kind of a ridiculous halter top in bright red that should have been worn in the early seventies. The cutoff jeans had been tie-dyed with a total lack of artistry and were too big, but at least they came with a ribbon belt. The whole effect was ridiculous, and Mandy thought wryly that Maria had planned it that way. For God’s sake, what was the girl jealous of? Mandy wondered irritably. Then she decided she was glad she wasn’t eighteen anymore; it was a hard age, when it seemed that women, especially, struggled to find security.

  And then she wondered why she cared what she wore as long as she was wearing something, and why she cared one way or another about Maria’s psyche, when the girl was doing everything in her limited power to be miserable.

  Chin up, kiddo, she told herself. This whole thing boiled down to attitude. The sharks had stripped away her courage yesterday; she was going to dredge it back up for today. She was caught in a nightmare vortex, but even nightmares came to an end. This, like all things, would pass.

  Thus determined, she swung open the door—only to have her head-high attitude quickly lowered a peg in confusion, because it wasn’t Miguel waiting for her when she emerged, but Roberto. She didn’t like the way he looked at her, and she didn’t like the way he reached for her arm, sliding his hand along her ribs. She jerked away from him, saying that she was quite able to walk by herself, and hurried topside with him at her heels.

  The first thing Mandy saw was the island—if one could call it that. It was really nothing more than a large growth of mangroves with a few handfuls of sand creating a spit of beach. Straining her eyes against the sun and the foliage, she could see some sort of ramshackle structure.

  Roberto shoved her in the back. “Move.”

  She did so, quickly taking a place beside Miguel, who was already eating. The food smelled wonderful. It appeared that they were eating omelets. Even the coffee smelled rich and strong.

  Maria, pouring more coffee for Julio, lowered her rich dark lashes and gave Mandy a narrow glance, sniffing delicately at her appearance. Julio barked out something to her, which brought on an immediate argument, with Maria stamping her foot and sullenly shouting and gesticulating. Julio gestured back, totally infuriated, and to her own irritation Mandy found herself inching closer to Miguel, barely aware of the arm that came around her shoulders, except that it gave her a sense of safety and security.

  She didn’t have the faintest idea what the argument was about, except that she was involved, and if Maria had been in control of the weapons Mandy would surely have been shot on the spot.

  Señora Garcia stood up suddenly, clapping her hands over her ears and snapped out a single word. Julio and Maria both ceased their fighting instantly; Maria tossed her head in silence and stalked off below deck, while Julio slipped an arm ar
ound his mother’s shoulder and spoke to her softly, apologetically.

  Miguel took that opportunity to whisper to her, “Maria resents waiting on you. She thinks that you should be made to work. Julio says that you cannot be blamed for your husband’s incompetence.”

  “Peter is not incompetent!” Mandy snapped indignantly.

  He gave her a strange gaze, then looked away. “That’s rather beside the point right now, isn’t it? Here comes Maria. Take your food.”

  Maria, still sullen, was approaching Mandy, balancing a mug of coffee and a plate at the same time. Mandy accepted the coffee and set it down with a stiff, “Gracias,” then held up her hands to accept the plate.

  Maria—purposely, Mandy was certain—let go of the plate just short of Mandy’s hands.

  The hot eggs spilled over her bare legs, burning. Mandy jumped to her feet to get the scorching food off her, while Maria jumped back, ostensibly in a startled fit of apology.

  It was suddenly too much for Mandy to handle; she took two furious steps forward and caught the startled Maria by the shoulders and shook her.

  “You little brat! Grow up! I didn’t ask to be here, you idiot! You hurt me again and I’ll find a way to hurt you back!”

  Maria instantly started screaming as if Mandy had been trying to throttle her. Miguel leaped between the two, wrenching Mandy hard against his chest. Julio was shouting again in disgust, and Mandy suddenly realized with a little swallow that he was the only one who hadn’t pulled out his gun. Both Roberto and a nervous Juan had their weapons aimed right at her.

  She was wide-eyed with fright for a second, then she tossed her arms into the air. “You want me to behave? I’ll behave! But keep that spoiled brat away from me!”

  She spun around with such vengeance that she took even Miguel by surprise, returned to her seat and sipped her coffee while she wiped off her legs, looking for damage.

  There was absolute silence for a moment. Then Mandy heard Julio say in English, “Clean it up, Maria.”

  “Me! The American whore dropped it. Julio, she half strangled me. Me—your cousin!—and you take her side!”

  Mandy glanced up just in time to see Maria’s huge almond eyes filling with tears. “Oh, for God’s sake!” she snapped, and stood, doing her best to scoop up the eggs that lay on the deck onto the fallen plate. She shoved them at Miguel with a viciousness that caused him to raise one brow, but he gave her an amused grin and a little thumbs-up sign, then turned to give the plate to Maria.

  Maria looked as if she would not accept it. She opened her mouth and closed it again, then finally snatched the debris and flounced away to discard it below.

  Mandy hadn’t seen Señora Garcia moving, but suddenly the dignified lady was standing before her, holding another plate. Mandy hesitated; Miguel sat down beside her. “Take it,” he advised softly.

  She did, thanking Julio’s mother with another “Gracias.” Señora Garcia smiled grimly in return and started into a soft monologue that left Mandy staring at her, quite lost.

  “The señora apologizes to you for Maria’s behavior,” Miguel told her. “The girl is her niece, and not her daughter. If she had raised her, she would not be so rude. She would be much more a lady.”

  Mandy didn’t know what to say; she merely nodded. She liked Mrs. Garcia, but she didn’t know what she thought of her as a mother. After all, she had raised Julio, and Julio was definitely a kidnapper.

  “Eat,” Miguel warned her. “We are going to the island.”

  Mandy was startled to discover that she could eat with such an appetite; she was hungry, and the food was excellent. She finished one cup of coffee, then Señora Garcia came back over and offered her more. She asked Miguel something, and Miguel laughed.

  “What?” Mandy asked.

  “She asked if you wouldn’t prefer Cuban coffee. I told her no.”

  “Did you?” Mandy asked him a little coolly. “As a matter of fact, I like Cuban coffee.”

  “Now and then, eh? Patronizing the locals?”

  “Oh, God!” she muttered. “You’re as bad as the rest of them! You’re the damn bigot!”

  “Shut up!” he told her suddenly.

  “I will not—”

  His fingers closed around her arm and he bent down to whisper to her tensely. “Mandy darling, we do not sound like a sweet pair of illicit lovers sitting here arguing about coffee!”

  She glanced at Julio quickly and saw that he was gazing at the two of them suspiciously. She lowered her head quickly, then made a point of arguing back in a whisper that could be overheard.

  “I’m sorry, Miguel, really!” She ran a finger delicately down his chest. “I’m just so afraid of everything! And Peter will certainly find out about the two of us now….” She let her voice trail away.

  Miguel’s eyes were on her in amazement—an amazement he quickly hid as he slipped an arm around her shoulders again. “You could always tell him the truth. You could get a divorce.”

  “Oh, but Miguel! I just love the money! Think what it does for us! I love making love in the Jacuzzi. I love the silk sheets, the champagne we sip—just touching one another—in the sunken garden….”

  She heard him swallow sharply and, despite everything, she had to lower her head with a little shiver. What was wrong with her? She should be ashamed, but all she could think was that there were certain triumphs to be gleaned in any situation!

  When she raised her head again she discovered that all the men were staring at her, and that she didn’t like the look in their eyes at all.

  She inched closer to Miguel again and heard him swallow sharply. This time she didn’t take any great pleasure in the effect she had caused.

  “Well,” Julio said stiffly, rising. “Juan—supplies. Roberto—get the dinghy ready. Juan—you and I will take Señora Blayne first. You will come back for the others. Move quickly now. You’ll need the day to get back.” Juan rose, following orders like a trained puppy.

  Mandy discovered then that she didn’t want to leave Miguel’s side; she was nervous, but also grateful that she would be with Juan and Julio, not Roberto. Small comfort, but all she had.

  “Señora Blayne—come!” Julio had a hand extended to her; she hesitated, so Miguel prodded her slightly. She stood, but didn’t take Julio’s hand. He shrugged. “Starboard, Mrs. Blayne. The dinghy is ready. Mama, you come, too.”

  Mandy preceded him to the rope ladder and climbed over without looking back. Juan was there, ready to help her into the dinghy. She cringed at the feel of his hands on her waist, but he released her quickly, and once again she was grateful that he was not Roberto.

  Señora Garcia followed her down; Juan helped her, too, with the greatest respect. Julio came next, then the dinghy moved away from the ship.

  Mandy stared straight ahead, toward the island.

  * * *

  Sean couldn’t believe his good fortune—just Roberto and Maria left aboard with him. If he could only assure himself that the two of them were occupied he could take a chance at the ship’s old radio. He’d found it easily that first night, when he sat around with the three men drinking beer and telling them his woeful tale of being madly, passionately in love with a married woman, a rich American bitch, but oh, so sweet!

  “Hey, Miguel, help me!” Roberto told him. He was pulling boxes of food from the galley cabinets to the deck.

  “Sí, sí,” Sean said agreeably and ambled down to the galley.

  Maria was there. She turned and leaned against the counter, giving him a broad, welcoming grin.

  “Hello,” she said in a soft, sultry voice.

  He smiled, because she was such a pretty kid—with such a lot of growing up to do. Circumstances, though, hadn’t been in her favor. Maria had grown up in a household of political protesters. Her father and mother had died; her uncle had been jailed in the old country and then the new.

  Sean felt that he could understand her, and even Julio Garcia, in a way that Mrs. Peter Blayne never would. Julio did
n’t know that he was wrong; in his own way he had been at war all his life. Involved in a dying protest that knew no rules, all was fair. He was too young to remember the revolution when Castro had overthrown Batista. He only knew that suppression had given way to new suppression.

  He wanted to be an American. He just didn’t know how. Just like Maria. She wanted to be a woman. She wanted to be free and liberated. She didn’t know how to go about fulfilling her wishes, either.

  “Hi,” he answered casually.

  Julio had given her a little pistol, too. She had it tucked into the waistband of her very American designer blue jeans.

  He was very tempted to reach for it. Maria would be incredibly easy to seduce and overpower.

  But the timing was wrong. Julio and Juan had Amanda Blayne on the shore, and though Sean instinctively believed that Julio would never kill her on purpose, he just might panic and become dangerous because of his very nervousness. He hadn’t quailed at all when he had riddled the dock with bullets.

  Maria sauntered up to Sean and drew a bloodred nail over his naked chest. “You are stupid!” she told him huskily. “She is not for you. You will grow tired of her, yet you risk so much for her!”

  He had to think about that one. She is not for you….

  No, she wasn’t. She was a married woman. And though he had acquired a reputation for his nightlife and the chain of broken hearts in his wake, he’d always stopped short when it came to married women.

  He was supposed to be distant, professional. Yet she—far beyond the situation—was making him crazy. At the moment he wished with all his heart that he’d never lost his mind and gone diving after the speedboat. He wished he’d never thought of his story….

  He wished that he’d never seen her face. Her perfect, beautiful, delicate Anglo face. Tawny eyes, tawny hair, tawny…flesh. Sun golden, sleek, curved, sensual. He wished he’d never seen her, touched her, known her, watched her, listened to her….

  It made professionalism damn near impossible. He even hated the fact that he liked her. Liked her brand of determination, so wholehearted that she’d been ready to swim miles in the dusk for freedom. So heated that she refused to bow to anyone—not even with a trio of guns aimed at her.