A Matter of Circumstance

by Heather Graham

  “Not here it isn’t!” Amanda protested, frustrated. “Julio, this is a huge country! Peter Blayne doesn’t run it, he just plays his part. The courts can be slow, justice slower, but they’re the best shot we’ve got! Julio…”

  “I cannot go back,” he said flatly, rising. “If you want some time away from your room, now is it. The day is beautiful, the surf is warm. Come out to the beach.”

  She rose along with him, ready to take her plate to the counter. Señora Garcia took it from her hands, smiling.

  Mandy stepped outside with Julio. The others fell silent as they passed by. Mandy caught Sean’s eyes on her, but they were filled with the sun’s reflection, and she couldn’t read their expression.

  She gazed at him just as blandly, then walked on toward the surf with Julio.

  “What happens,” she asked softly, “if Peter Blayne doesn’t respond to you? I’m telling you right now, he doesn’t have the power to walk up to a federal penitentiary and demand that your father be released.”

  Julio stared at her. “He’d best find that power.”

  “You’d kill me?”

  He sat down on the sand, letting the water rush over his bare toes. Mandy did the same. “I would have to send him a piece of you next.”

  “A…piece of me?”

  “A finger, Mrs. Blayne.”

  She thought that she would keel over into the water. It wouldn’t happen; the Coast Guard were on their way. Sean…

  Sean was laughing away with the charmingly voluptuous Maria up at the house.

  She lowered her head, thinking that no matter what he thought of her, Sean would never allow her to be…dismembered.

  “I would not wish to harm you,” Julio added.

  “Thanks,” Mandy breathed bitterly. She turned around, looking back to the house. Sean, with his guarded gaze, was still watching her.

  And so was Roberto, in that fashion that sent horrible chills down her spine. There was something about his grim look that was like a rabid dog’s. She felt that she could almost hear his teeth gnashing, as if he would devour her like a shark.

  Shivering, she looked back to the water. To the sea. It stretched out endlessly, as if they were alone in the world. With nothing better to do and a yearning to move, Mandy stood and started walking out into the waves.

  “Where are you going?” Julio demanded sharply.

  She turned and stared back at him, laughing with real humor. “Where could I go, Señor Garcia? I’m going to swim, nothing more. I certainly don’t expect to swim back to Miami, if that’s what you’re afraid of.”

  He had the grace to laugh sheepishly in return, and Mandy kept walking until the water came to her chest, then she began to swim.

  The sharks were still fresh in her mind, so she didn’t venture too far, but it felt so good to be moving. She swam against the current; she swam with the current. She floated on her back and felt the sun on her face.

  When she got back to the beach, Julio was gone. He was sitting with the others nearer the house. They had switched from coffee to beer to cool them against the heat of the sun.

  Mandy lay back in the sand for a while, resting, then headed for the water once again. She knew the physical exertion would help her to sleep, to keep from thinking.

  When she came out again, she faltered. The others had gone into the house; only Roberto waited for her. Roberto, who liked to keep his gun out, smoothing it with his fingers while he stared at her. He stroked that gun like…like a man would stroke a woman.

  Mandy kept her distance from him, tossing her hair back, squeezing the water from it. She realized from the direction of his eyes that the soaked shirt was tight and see-through against her breasts.

  Sucking in her breath, she crossed her arms over her chest and strode past him, heading for the house. He didn’t follow her—except with his eyes.

  In the house she discovered that Maria was loudly playing a portable radio. The girl was sitting in the parlor, idly dangling one long leg over the arm of the sofa, listening to the music. She looked Mandy up and down and smirked at her. Mandy ignored her, aware that she was damp and that her hair looked like a mop. What did it matter?

  In an annoying way, though, something did matter. Mandy was still itching to slap Maria. She didn’t like having that scornful laughter directed her way, nor did she like the way the girl watched Sean. Exactly what Maria wanted was written all over her lovely face, expressed soundlessly in her sensual pouting lips.

  Poor kid, the teenage years were rough. Poor kid hell!

  Mandy returned Maria’s stare with a shrug, then looked around the kitchen. Lunch was on the table. Julio and Sean were eating; Maria had apparently already finished.

  Señora Garcia laid out a plate for her. It was fish, deliciously spiced. Mandy sat and ate; Sean and Julio both glanced at her, then resumed their conversation.

  She grew irritated again that Sean Ramiro—policeman extraordinaire—still did nothing. Then she noticed that even while he was eating, Julio carried his gun, one hand in his lap, ready to make a grab for it.

  When Julio finished eating he went up to his mother, encircling her waist with his arms to say something. Sean leaned across the table to her. “Want to go back outside?”

  She would never understand what possessed her to snap back at him, but she did. “No, thanks. We bigots like to be alone!”

  He sat back, lashes shielding his eyes, his mouth tightened in a grim line.

  Mandy stood up and waltzed past Maria and her radio, surprised to hear a voice with a beautiful Bahamian accent announce that it was almost four o’clock.

  Swimming had done one thing for her; it had caused time to pass. But, like an idiot, she had resigned herself to a locked room when she might have known freedom.

  With a sigh she sank down on her mattress, then realized with a bit of a start that there was a kerosene lantern on the floor, and a book of matches.

  Sean had kept his word.

  With shaking fingers she lit the lantern. It occurred to her that she could probably light a fire and burn down the entire place. It also occurred to her that they might let her burn to death, and she wasn’t desperate enough—yet—to risk that.

  She frowned suddenly as a little pool of light fell around her. There was a book beside the lantern. She picked it up and read the title; it was on Caribbean fish. It might not be compelling, but it was certainly better than nothing. It had probably been the only thing that Sean could find in the place.

  Smiling slightly, she began to leaf through it. Then she began to yawn, and to her amazement she found that she was drifting off. She blew out the lantern and let sleep come.

  Later, probably much later, because it had become dark, she awakened with a start. Puzzled, she rose up on her elbows, keenly attuned to the darkness, frightened to the core, but not sure why.

  And then she knew. There was no sound, no movement—but she knew. Someone was in the room.

  And it wasn’t Sean.

  Someone was in the room and moving swiftly. She opened her mouth to scream, but a hand came down over it. A heavy sinewy weight fell against her, and she heard a terse whisper in Spanish.

  Madness catapulted through her. She couldn’t scream, so she tried to bite. She tried to kick and flail and fight, but that wiry arm remained around her, firm and unrelenting.

  She could feel his breath. She could see again that image of gnashing teeth, of brutal hunger.

  She tried everything, but she couldn’t dislodge the hand over her mouth nor the weight bearing down on her.

  She heard the sudden tearing of fabric and realized that his free hand was on her halter top. She felt his palm on her flesh, hot, urgent.

  That was when she managed to twist her mouth free at last in a spurt of desperate energy. She gasped for breath, then screamed as loud as she could, and long.

  His open palm crashed against her cheek, and the world seemed to spin. But it didn’t matter, not at all. Because the door had burst ope
n, bringing help.

  She needed no light, no sound, no movement. She recognized the presence filling the doorway, filling the room.

  Sean.

  CHAPTER 8

  One moment Roberto was above her; the next he was not.

  Light streamed surreally into the room from the parlor beyond. Gasping for breath, Mandy clutched the torn halter top to her, scrambling to her feet.

  The still ebony night was immediately shattered. She was suddenly surrounded by shadows and shouts, and between those bursts of staccato noise she heard the heavy sounds of fists landing against flesh.

  There was a loud crash. Roberto and Sean had gone flying through the doorway together to land on the parlor floor, both grim, both bloodied—both still at it. Shaken, Mandy followed them. Julio was yelling; Maria was screaming; and Señora Garcia was watching the proceedings, white-faced.

  Just then a gun went off. Mandy screamed again, but no one heard her that time. Sean and Roberto had both ceased fighting at that shot, twisting to stare at Julio.

  Mandy didn’t understand what followed. Everyone was speaking in Spanish. Roberto was obviously swearing vehemently and trying to make some point. Every bit as vehemently, Sean was arguing his side. Señora Garcia tried to say something, and Maria started up again, staring at Mandy, then spitting in her direction.

  Julio shouted out a command, which everyone ignored, so he shot another bullet into the ceiling—which finally brought the silence he desired.

  With everyone quiet once again he started to talk to Roberto, and then to Sean. Finally he paused to stare at Mandy who was standing, wide-eyed and ashen, in the doorway. He cocked his head with interest, then shrugged and spoke to the two men again. Roberto protested; Julio swore.

  And then, whatever the argument had been, it was decided. Sean and Roberto both stood and walked grimly out the front door. Señora Garcia crossed herself and stepped into the second bedroom, slamming the door. Julio followed the two men outside.

  “What is going on!” Mandy finally screamed, clenching her fists at her side.

  Maria, elegantly decked out in a long gauzy nightgown that nicely displayed her attributes, gave Mandy another of her scornful looks and spoke disdainfully. “You—you are the problem! You will get him killed!”

  “What?” Mandy demanded, startled and alarmed.

  “It is all your fault.”

  She’d had it with Maria, and no one else was around. Mandy strode to her in a sudden fury and grabbed a handful of dark glistening hair. “You tell me this instant what is going on!”

  “Oww! Let go!” Maria screeched, trying to free her hair. “Julio says they are welcome to fight it out over you! And Roberto is a killer, you stupid puta! You will get Miguel killed!”

  “Julio is not going to let them kill one another!” Mandy snapped.

  “Roberto will break Miguel’s neck! And all because of you!”

  “He tried to rape me, you stupid little witch!”

  “You should have enjoyed him—”

  “Enjoyed? Rape? If you like him so much, sweetie, you’re welcome to him! Now get out of my way!”

  Mandy shoved Maria aside, wondering just how much of a killer Roberto was. Any man could look tough with a gun, and that seemed to be the source of Roberto’s strength. She tried to assure herself that he was nothing but hot air, and that Sean could take care of himself.

  But she was frightened. Very frightened. If something did happen to him, she wouldn’t be able to live with herself.

  If she lived at all, she thought grimly, because she would fight Roberto herself until she had no breath left in her body.

  Mandy swung open the front door. The natural coolness of the ocean breeze touched her cheeks soothingly, but she felt no ease as she paused and stared into the star-studded night. She could see the three of them down near the surf.

  Julio’s gun was in his hand; Sean and Roberto were wrestling on the sand, coming together, drawing apart, falling to roll on the beach together.

  Mandy ran down to where Julio stood. He was watching the action with no apparent emotion.

  “Why are you letting them do this!” she screamed at him. “You can make them stop.”

  “I cannot. No one can.”

  “You’ve got the gun—”

  “Miguel says that you are his, only his. Robert says that you are no virgin to be returned untouched. If you’ve had one lover, he should have rights, too.”

  “You didn’t kidnap me for that vulture’s amusement, Julio! Come on, think! You’re in charge of this thing, aren’t you? Julio, you’re wrong in what you’re doing, but you’re a man with morals and ideals. You—”

  “I am not in this alone now! If Roberto loses, he loses!”

  “And if he doesn’t? Julio! I can’t believe this of you!” She paused, swallowing, because there was a set expression on his handsome face. “Julio! I am a person, not the spoils of war! And you know that!”

  “Roberto cannot shoot Miguel. They are evenly matched, no weapons. That is fair—and it’s all that I can do.”

  “Fair…” Mandy paused in horror, because beyond Julio, the two men were on their feet once again, carefully circling each other.

  Mandy caught her breath. There was a scratch on Sean’s shoulder, and a smear of blood at the right corner of his mouth, but he looked all right otherwise. The shimmering fury of the fight was in his narrowed eyes; he appeared more than ready to keep up the battle.

  Roberto was the one looking the worse for wear. He was wiry and strong, but he simply didn’t have Sean’s powerful shoulders or arms. Roberto had already accrued one black eye—which was puffing and turning an ugly green color right now—and his jaw was swollen, too. But he still had a look of blood lust about him, as if he was playing right now. As if he would win when he was ready.

  Sean suddenly ducked his head and made a lunge for Roberto, throwing him to the ground. They rolled together, then split apart. Roberto didn’t look so self-assured this time, but he smiled slowly at his opponent and reached into his pocket, drawing out a switchblade.

  “Look out!” Mandy screamed.

  Sean saw the blade. It made a rushing sound as Roberto brought it slicing through the night, and Sean ducked. Roberto struck nothing but air. The pattern was repeated. Sean was a second ahead of it every time.

  Mandy spun on Julio. “You told me he had no weapons! You said that it would be fair. You said—”

  “I cannot intercede! Don’t you understand? He must beat Roberto, or Roberto will not respect him.”

  Mandy didn’t think that Roberto would ever respect anyone. No matter how this ended, he would try to stab Sean—or anyone—in the back whenever it suited his purpose.

  She started walking across the sand, but Julio caught her shoulders. “What are you doing?”

  “Roberto has a knife. Miguel will have me!”

  “Get back here! Do you want to wind up cut?”

  “I’d rather be cut,” Mandy retorted vehemently, “than handed over like a trophy!”

  “No!” Julio said, but she wrenched herself away from him, ignoring his gun as if it didn’t exist. She didn’t believe that he would shoot her.

  Sean saw her coming. “Get out of here, Mandy!”

  Roberto laughed, thinking to take advantage of the distraction. He lunged; Sean escaped in the nick of time. Mandy instinctively reached down for a handful of sand to throw in Roberto’s eyes.

  She did throw the sand, but it didn’t matter. In that split second Sean had kicked Roberto’s wrist, sending the switchblade flying out into the night.

  Then Sean was flying, too. He threw himself against Roberto, sending the man down on his back, with Sean on top of him. He rolled Roberto over, wrenched the man’s arm behind his back, then straddled him.

  Mandy gasped with relief and sank onto the sand herself. She watched as Julio walked over to the two men and spoke to them, clipping out orders in a soft but furious rush of Spanish.

  Mandy’s finge
rs dug into the sand. She realized suddenly that she was touching something metallic. Her eyes fell to her fingers, and she saw that she had the knife. Her fingers curled completely around it. While the men were occupied with one another she slipped it into the pocket of her cutoffs.

  Sean got back to his feet then; Julio was still talking to Roberto in scathing tones as Sean walked over to Mandy. He threaded his fingers through his hair, grinning at her, and reached down to help her to her feet.

  She accepted his assistance, staring at him. “Are you—are you okay?”

  His grin deepened and he shrugged. “Yeah, Ma, you should see the other guy.”

  She lowered her head, smiling, then allowed him to pull her to her feet. He slipped an arm around her, and they returned to the house together.

  Maria was waiting in the kitchen. When she saw Sean, she gave a little cry of ecstasy and raced toward him, ignoring Mandy. Maria leaned on his free shoulder, kissing the cut there between bursts of excited concern.

  Amanda eyed her with tolerant patience, raising a brow to Sean and moving away.

  He set Maria away from him, speaking softly but firmly. She touched his shoulder again. “I will take care of it—”

  “There is no need, Maria. It is nothing. I…” He paused, pulling Mandy back to his side. “We are going to bed.”

  He started walking, leading Mandy with him. She glanced back to see Maria standing there, and despite everything she felt sorry for the girl.

  She and Sean seemed to share an opinion of Maria: that she was still a child, a child trying to play in a grown-up’s world, no matter how lovely her face or figure.

  I could be jealous, Mandy thought, and it was a disturbing idea. It was…the circumstances, she told herself. But it was more, and she knew it. Their time together had been limited, but it had also been very intense. She felt that she knew him better than people she had known for years and years. He angered her; he intrigued her. He absolutely fascinated her.

  The other bedroom door opened before they reached their own. Señora Garcia, still ashen, came out. She spoke softly to Sean, and he replied in kind. She smiled at last, nodded, then returned to the bedroom she apparently shared with Maria.