2 Queenie Baby - Out of Office (3 page)

"Thanks for pointing that out." I crossed my arms. My beer was getting warm, my libido was cooling off, and my song was blaring on the radio. This wasn't feeling like paradise to me anymore.

My spirits lifted a little as we pulled up to the hotel. A parking valet and bell hop dressed in crisp white uniforms indicated this wasn't just another chain. White columns lined the way up a gently sloping staircase. The air was hot and moist in the sun, but the open-air reception area with fountain and large paddle fans was cool and inviting.

Mark led me to the back of the building and down a beautifully paneled hallway. The sounds of the ocean were getting closer. We stopped outside a room, and he inserted a plastic key card. The door opened into a sumptuous suite featuring dark, heavily carved Caribbean furniture with crisp white and green upholstery. I glimpsed a four-poster bead draped in gauzy white mosquito netting through the door to my left. I walked out onto the balcony, which ran the length of the room, and looked over the ocean below. Waves crashed against giant boulders sticking up out of the water, birds dived for fish as a few diehard sunbathers soaked up the last rays of the day.

It was magnificent.

"So this is what first class looks like." The warm air and beautiful scenery were beginning to work magic on my frayed nerves.

Mark laughed. "Yeah, I guess it does."

He came up behind me and circled his arms around my waist. Nuzzling my neck, he whispered, "And this place has a bigger bed than the boat."

"I saw that." I leaned back and pressed my body against his, tilting my head back and gazing up at the bright blue sky. I could feel him hard against me. I wiggled a little and was rewarded with a nip on my neck.

"No hickeys," I teased.

"Once again," he said wryly, "you're confusing me with your other boyfriends."

"I was joking." I spun around to face him and drink in his fresh, masculine scent.

"Oh?" he murmured, softly kissing my lips. "I seem to remember you begging me for one not so long ago."

I looked up into his bright blue eyes and bit at his lip. "You said you would put it somewhere that didn't show. That's not going to be so easy now."

"Why's that?" he asked.

"Because I only plan on wearing a little, tiny bikini."

"Guess I'll need to get creative," he said, his lips against mine.

Before my dress could hit the floor, Mark's phone rang.

He ignored it.

It rang again. He growled against my lips.

The third time it rang, he answered it.

"What?" he barked. "Where? Jesus!" He swiped a hand through his hair. "I'm on my way now. I'll call you when I have news."

He disconnected and turned to me. "That was Ed," he began. "David called Marcie and said there are three guys after them. One of them just shot Charles in the arm when they were trying to get away."

I gasped. This had just gone from annoying to dangerous. "What are you going to do?"

"He said Charles is insisting they head for Aguadilla airport on the west side of the island. There's a flight leaving tomorrow morning for The States. It's a couple of hours from here. For the moment they're in another motel. Charles wants to meet now and make the exchange."

"Call the police," I insisted. "This has gone far enough."

"If I call the police now, all our efforts to protect David are for nothing. David is facing federal charges," Mark reminded me, "and Charles won't have a problem turning him in to save his own hide."

"I don't care. This is too dangerous."

Mark pulled on his shoes and kissed me on my head before I could say another word.

"Trust me," he said. "I can handle this. I'll be back in an hour."

"I don't have a good feeling about this."

"Just try not to get any hickeys while I'm gone," he said, as he walked out the door.

An hour later, I was sitting in the beautiful beachfront cabana bar watching the water and sipping my second Hurricane Hangover served in a hollowed-out coconut. The drink menu had declared 'only one drink per customer' because of the excessive alcohol. Juan, my overly attentive bartender, had made an exception just for me.

Not for the first time, I was wondering why a commercial real estate developer such as Mark felt qualified to chase bad guys and negotiate terms of surrender. He'd once told me that he had spent some time overseas working for old college buddies who ran a private security firm, but I had a feeling there was more to that story than he'd revealed. According to Mark, he'd been recruited for his MBA credentials and had been in charge of all of the mundane duties such as payroll and accounting duties. But something just didn't add up.

The 'what if's' were starting to work me into a frenzy when my phone rang. A number I didn't recognize popped up on the screen.

One and a half Hurricanes had me in the chatting mood, even if it was to a telemarketer, so I answered. "Hello."

"That dress you were wearing brought back fond memories of L.A.," came a husky voice.

Andre. How did he remember me wearing this dress? "You have quite a memory."

"Boyfriend there?" he asked casually.

"No, he's off chasing bad guys," I replied flippantly.

"So you know?" He sounded surprised.

"Know what?" I leaned forward in my seat.

There was a pause. "Nothing," he deflected. "So do you really want to meet Carlos?"

I'll admit that his distraction worked. "Yes," I replied, my temper flaring. "I can't wait to meet the asshole who stole my song!"

Andre blew out his breath. "Okay, but there are some ground rules."

"I'm listening."

"Not now," he said. "I'll pick you up in ten minutes. Where're you staying?"

I gave him the hotel's name.

"Nice," he replied.

"I need to call Mark and let him know where I'm going," I said. "I'm starting to get worried. He was supposed to be back by now."

"I don't think you have to worry about him. I'm sure he can take care of himself," Andre replied cryptically.

A frown furrowed my brow. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Later," he said, adding, "and wear something that shows off those runway model legs if you want to keep Carlos' attention."

As soon as I hung up with Andre, I tried Mark's number. It went to voicemail. Instead of leaving him a message I sent him a text.

Me: 
Hope everything is ok. Pls call asap. Going to Carlos Rodriguez's house. Xoxoxo

Well, if that didn't get a reply from him, then nothing would.

I hustled upstairs and pulled out a light jersey knit dress. It was black and clingy and showed plenty of leg. I paired it with jeweled, high heel sandals, making me well over six feet. I figured it wouldn't hurt to have a height advantage over this jerk. I fluffed my hair and swiped on some lipstick, wishing I had time for some strategic flat-ironing.

The limo was waiting for me when I walked into the lobby. Andre stepped out from the passenger side and opened the back door. He gave me an appreciative grin and ushered me in, climbing in behind me.

"You do know how to make an entrance."

"Thanks," I replied with smile. I had forgotten how charming and handsome he was. "You haven't changed a bit," I added.

He grinned, his white teeth pleasantly contrasting his swarthy skin. "So quick rundown," he said getting to the point. "I left Billy's employ last fall. I did a short stint for an actress with a bad drug problem, who shall remain nameless. Not a lot of fun. So when Roger called me two months ago and asked me to work for Carlos, his new Boy Wonder, I signed on without a second thought."

I nodded.

He shrugged. "Imagine my surprise when I walked into Carlos' studio and heard him singing 'The Rum Song.' I asked questions. Roger and Phil were very open. According to them, you knew all about this arrangement. They said you were fine with letting someone else sing your song if it meant air time. I figured you'd get paid either way, so who was I to question the arrangement?"

I was steaming. "You could've called me!"

"I believe your parting words to me were, 'Drop dead you arrogant asshole.' Or was it, 'I wish I had a gun?'"

"I was angry," I sputtered. "With good reason, I might add!"

He nodded. "I fucked up. I should've told you about Melissa."

"You mean you should've told me you had a wife!" I spat.

"Yep, I was married. Still am. But I haven't seen her in four years. I told you all this. She's old-school Catholic. We were married in the Catholic Church. The least that I can do for her after ruining her actual life is not ruin her after-life," he explained.

"That sounded stupid then, and it sounds stupid now."

"Yeah, but it works for us."

"Not for me it didn't!" I tried to reel my anger in. I needed Andre's help right now. "Well, I wish you the best of luck in your weirdo marriage. I've put all that behind me," I added primly.

"All behind you, huh?" He raised his brows and leaned closer. "Seemed to me you were having a nice ride down memory lane at the airport."

"I have fond memories of you." I was starting to lose myself in his warm, dark eyes.

"How fond?" he asked with a wolfish grin.

I felt a tingle when his eyes held mine in a challenge. "Very fond."

That seemed to disturb him more than the argument. He sat back and looked out the window.

"Now can we please talk about my song?" I asked, trying to put an end to the conversation about our ill-fated love affair. Talk about your Lifetime channel movie of the week!

"There's not much else to tell," he said, glancing back at me. "They released the song last month, and it went crazy on the island. They're planning to release it in the U.S. after the concert Saturday."

"Did you tell Carlos I was coming?" I asked.

Andre nodded. "He can't wait to meet you. He called you his
muse.
"

I made a face. "I wrote the song. I'm nobody's muse."

"That's not how he sees it," Andre replied. "And while we're on the topic of Carlos, a few words of warning. He's a complete nut job."

"'Nut job' is a pretty broad term. I mean you could pretty much classify everyone in my family as a nut job. Myself included. I need specifics."

"You got any pirates in your family?" he asked.

"Like music bootleggers?" I asked.

He shook his head. "No. The eye-patch, cutlass wearing kind."

"He's a pirate?" I asked.

"Yep. Seventh generation of Blackbeard the Pirate."

"Wow. So what does being a pirate involve?" I asked curiously.

"You'll see."

"So I shouldn't be alone with him because he might make me walk the plank?" I joked.

Andre raised an eyebrow. "No. But he likes to claim women as his plunder and ravish them. I'm in charge of making sure the ravishing is voluntary."

"How's it going so far?"

Andre shrugged. "There's usually a queue of women at the front door waiting to get in to be ravished."

"I just don't understand how having a pirate sing my song is better than having me sing it," I cried. "It just stinks! Am I so hard to work with?"

Andre laughed. "No. Girl singers don't make as much money as guy singers. That's all."

"Did you tell Roger and Phil I was coming?" I asked suddenly.

"Nope, thought I'd let you handle that. Give the boys a nice surprise. They'll be here tomorrow afternoon."

I was lost in thought for a second. "Why are you doing this?"

He paused a moment. "Because I owe you one. And because I'm sick of working for assholes. Sooner you become a rock star, the sooner I start my new job as your bodyguard, right?"

*  *  *

During the time it took to reach the villa, I jotted off another quick text to Mark letting him know Carlos Rodriguez was playing pirate when he wasn't singing The Rum Song. I was hoping that venting via text to Mark would help me blow off enough steam so I wouldn't punch Carlos in the face when I met him. Moments later, the limo pulled up to a secluded villa. It was something you might see in a re-run episode of
Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous
. Fountains, tropical plants, and even a big parrot, who cat-called me as I walked up the marble steps, graced the wide veranda.

"Not too shabby," I observed as we walked into the large, open-air living room.

"It gets better," Andre said, as he led me out to the pool area. "Until two months ago, Carlos had been rooming with two of his friends in a boarding house in San Juan and role-playing pirate games on the weekends. Roger and Phil rented this for him to give him a taste of the good life."

"Motivation."

"Yep." He nodded.

I wouldn't have minded some motivation that looked like this. The pool had a large waterfall at one end, and at the other was a diving board. A giant hot tub was off to one side with another small waterfall cascading into it.

"Ahoy, there," a voice called from across the pool.

The sun blurred my vision, but I had the distinct impression of a lean, muscular man with long, dark hair. There was a splash. A second later a dark head appeared from the water. An attractive young man hoisted himself up out of the pool effortlessly. Water sluiced off his tan, hairless body.

"Nice abs," I said, because I just couldn't help myself. They were nice the way abs are only on a twenty-something. Think Brad Pitt from the
Thelma and Louise
days.

"Nice legs, m'lady," he returned.

Andre groaned.

"Thanks." I held his gaze.

"So you're the siren who wrote 'The Rum Song,'" he said reverently, a Spanish accent mixing with the pirate dialect.

I'd had about enough of the pleasantries. "Yeah, and you're the asshole who stole it," I replied.

"You wound me, m'lady," he replied in his best Captain Jack Sparrow voice. "I but took advantage of an opportunity. It's the spoils of war."

I rolled my eyes and turned to Andre. "Does he always talk like this?"

"Pretty much," he replied with a sigh.

Carlos pulled on a silky black robe, sat down on a chaise lounge, and motioned for me to join him. "Would you like a drink?" he asked politely.

"I would," I replied, sinking into a chair with a view of the pool.

"I have some excellent rum." His tone was challenging.

"Not funny." I crossed my legs casually, watching with satisfaction as his eyes followed their movement.

"I'll make you a martini," Andre said, walking over to a tiki bar in the corner.

"A double, please," I called. "Sorry about your new guitar. That was quite a mess. Is your sister here?"

He pulled his eyes from my legs long enough to make eye contact. "Margarite is out to dinner with a friend. She said you made the trip quite exciting," he added.

While Andre was making my drink, Carlos was sizing me up. "Did you bring your guitar?" he asked, lighting a thin cigar.

"No, I didn't think this would be a social visit."

"We must jam together," he replied excitedly. "Life is too short to hold a grudge. Perhaps we could have a parley to put an end to this unpleasantness."

Andre returned with my drink.

"Parley away," I replied as I took a gulp.

The Pirate seemed a little annoyed with my flippancy.

"No," he said. "You don't understand. A parley is when opposing sides come together to resolve their differences."

"Oh," I replied, "I do understand. And the only parley I'm interested in is the one where I'm named as the writer of 'The Rum Song,' and I receive my cut of the booty."

"You haven't received your cut?" His eyes searched my face. If I didn't know any better, I'd think he was actually surprised.

"Nope. Not a dime."

"Well," he replied. "That hardly seems sporting." He leaned back in his chair pensively and took a draw on his cigar.

"Agreed! Say, this parley thing just might work." Sarcasm dripped from every word as my patience started to run thin.

"I'll speak to Roger and Phil. Those rapscallions have some explaining to do."

"Yeah, they haven't been real interested in parleying with me. Maybe they'll parley with you," I added.

He nodded. "But as far as credit for 'The Rum Song,' I don't think that would be possible right now. We've developed my career around that song."

I made a face. "What career? You've been singing the song for a couple of months. I've been doing it for years."

"And yet—with all due respect m'lady—I've made it into a hit in only a couple of months, and you didn't."