Bougainvillea (5 page)

“Absolutely,” he said. “Let's head out, huh? Make our way through the gauntlet.”

He started on ahead of them. Jen looped her arm through Kit's. “Oh, Kit, he is a keeper!”

“He's still a stranger!” Kit whispered back.

“All strangers are just friends waiting to happen,” Jen said primly. Then she grinned.

Outside the convention hall, David led them away from the bus and taxi lines to a side thruway where a number of limos were waiting. Jen gave her another little approving glance when she saw that they were being led toward one that was a white stretch.

Jen crawled in first, unabashed.

“Champagne!” she said delightedly, noting the ice bucket and glasses arranged in a nook on the limo's inner right side. Then she did look abashed. “Oh, sorry—”

David laughed. “Obviously, it's there to be enjoyed. Please, let me.”

As the limo took off, he leaned forward, smoothly popping the cork, and pouring three glasses.

“Is this how they do it in Miami all the time?” Jen asked, leaning back.

“Actually, in Miami, I drive a rather beat-up van most of the time. The Bougainvillea estate is big, and we all find ourselves driving around with new plants or even canvas for the sail shops, or something else that's big and needs transport,” he told her. His eyes were on Jen. He smiled slowly. “Is something wrong?” he inquired.

“Wrong?” Jen said. “No, this is great!”

“You keep staring at me,” David said, smiling.

“Oh, sorry.” She winced. “I just think it's such a great story…that Kit has an extended family she doesn't even know, or doesn't remember. And the place sounds incredible.”

“Bougainvillea?” he said. Kit thought there was a tone of real affection in his voice when he said the word, almost as if the property actually had a personality. “It is great. Hang on, you can see it.”

Jennifer was sitting on the long seat that ran vertically along the car's length while Kit had found herself next to their host on his left. He leaned past her and
Jennifer, pulling a large, coffee-table book from the seat next to Jen.

Kit was startled at the rush of memory that swept over her at the sight of the front cover. There it was, in full-color glory. Bougainvillea. The massive main house, in coral rock, concrete block, and stucco, covered with twisting bougainvillea vines. The photograph on the cover of the book was a shot of the front of the house from the street, with little more than the sweeping lawn before it to show the extent of the estate. But just seeing it, Kit was suddenly reminded of the rear of the house, the cottages and outbuildings that seemed haphazardly and yet somehow aesthetically strewn out behind it, bordering the lagoon and the water. She could see the winding paths, the exotic plants and flowers, the incredible wealth of birds that were forever flying in. As if something were sparked, she could almost hear a dog barking, and if she closed her eyes, she knew that she would see a beach scene, her mother holding her hand, hurrying her along the path that curled so beautifully around the lagoon. She was startled by the sudden urgency to be there again.

And equally, she was disturbed by a strange feeling that swept over her, of suspicion, unease…something not quite right, that filled her heart with a sudden aversion to the place.

Such a strange mixture of emotions, she thought, and all from one photograph.

“How gorgeous!” Jennifer exclaimed, bringing her back to earth.

“Are you all right?” David asked.

Kit realized that although Jennifer had swept up the book, David was looking at her.

She nodded. “Of course. It's just…well, the photograph. I'm suddenly remembering so much. About the place. But it's very strange—I seem to have such a blank about the people there.”

“Ah!” Jen said, looking up from the book. “Maybe there's someone mean and nasty that you want to forget! Any ogres at the family estate?” she teased David.

“Just people—with their good points and bad.” He changed the subject suddenly. “Where are we going, Jennifer? Which hotel?”

“Oh!” She looked out of the window, unaware that the limo had managed to arrive at the hotel so quickly. “I'm right here.”

“So am I,” David said. “So is a large part of the convention, I imagine.”

“I'm supposed to be,” Kit said. She looked at David. “Would you mind if I went ahead and checked in?”

“Not at all. I'll just run up to my own room,” he said.

“David, I'm in love,” Jen said, gripping the book. “Mind if I keep it a while?”

“I'm at the convention giving away copies. You're more than welcome to keep it forever.”

“Great, thanks. And thanks so much for the ride!” Jen leaped out first, rolled her eyes at Kit in a way that warned her she must be charming rather than skeptical, and ran into the hotel.

David spoke to the driver, asking him to wait, then said to Kit, “We'll meet back at reception?”

“Terrific,” she said, thinking she might have time for a quick shower.

Except that it didn't turn out to be so. She waited in a long line, then gave her name, and then her publisher's name. It took them forever to find her reservation, and she was in the midst of being told that the hotel had overbooked, she was actually past check-in time and something had gone wrong with the guarantee. She didn't know whether to be indignant or furious, or give way to frustration. However, the clerk behind the desk was obviously even more distressed than she was, and she checked her anger, thanking him as he said he'd need a few minutes to find her accommodations—somewhere—and that the hotel would be happy to make it up to her—complimentary, of course—at a later date.

As she stood fuming by the counter, her feet hurting, feeling that she could really, truly use a quick shower, David returned.

“Problem?” he asked.

“They overbooked.”

“But you've had reservations?”

“Of course. At first, I was ready to strangle someone at my publisher's house, but they found the reservation. They simply overbooked, and everyone else had the sense to check in early.”

The harried desk clerk rushed over to her side. His hair was very short, but it was evident he'd been tearing through it with his fingers. “Thanks so much for your patience. I'm still working on it.”

She started to say something but he rushed off to the office to the far left of the desk.

“Looks like I'm staying somewhere else. Hey, you
know, we can scratch this dinner thing. I don't mean to keep you waiting.”

He hesitated a moment, studying her, and she thought he was planning on backing out.

“I don't have a thing to do this evening, I assure you. And I was really looking forward to spending some time with you.”

“Really? You've such a strange look on your face.”

“Well, I was thinking I can solve your problem—if you don't think it too…forward, I guess, is the word I'm looking for. I have a huge suite. Two bedrooms.”

She wasn't sure what her expression might have been because he gave her that wry amused smile of his and added, “Two bedrooms with locking doors. Living room, kitchen. And a great balcony.”

She opened her mouth. “I can't accept, really.”

“We shared a house years ago, you know.”

She had to laugh.

The clerk came rushing by, his cheeks red as he hesitated briefly, looking at her mournfully. “Still on it!”

Kit stood there, trying to offer no expression at all as she looked at David. She knew she wanted an invitation to Bougainvillea. She was dying to go there, and yet…she still felt that same strange sense of aversion. She didn't understand it, or her father's dying word.
Bougainvillea.
Something that seemed important in life was eluding her, and it was at Bougainvillea.

However…

David really was striking, self-assured and certainly accustomed to the ways of the world. His world. In a stratosphere above her own. She wondered if he considered her woefully naive. She wasn't.

“If you'd rather, I could try pulling some weight with the management here,” he said.

Kit glanced at the harried clerk. “Poor fellow. It seems as if he's really having a bad time.”

“Well, you did have a guaranteed reservation. I can make him even more miserable.”

“I don't want you to do that. He looks as if he might cry already.”

“There's my suite,” he reminded her. And he was laughing somewhere inside she knew, well aware that he was playing with a very good hand.

She gazed at the clerk. He was sweating bullets.

She looked back at David and shrugged. “I don't want to put you out.”

“You won't be putting me out. My accommodations are ridiculous for a single traveler.”

“Why so large?”

“I had some meetings up there,” he explained briefly.

“Ah.” She kept looking at him. He was definitely pursuing her. Why? Was he using her in some way?

She certainly intended to use him. But then again, maybe none of it was so sinister. All she wanted to do was see Bougainvillea, and it didn't seem that was going to be a problem.

“All right, sorry, bad idea. Give me a minute. I'll have them call the manager.”

She laughed. “No, please. I was just hoping that your suite had two great rooms and two great showers. If you're sure, I'll accept your offer.”

He nodded simply. “Ralph!”

The harried clerk came running over. “It's all right.
Ms. Delaney has graciously accepted a part of the suite.”

Poor Ralph, she thought. His relief was evident. In fact, he looked as if he were about to leap over the counter and hug David.

“Oh, Mr. Moore! Ms. Delaney, thank you so much. We'll see to it that you're given an all-expenses-paid voucher for a stay in the future,” Ralph said. He was still sweating.

“Great. Thank you,” Kit said.

“That your bag?” David asked.

“Yes, thanks.”

“Come on. I'll show you the way.”

“Thanks,” she told him.

Strangely, she felt as if she had just taken the first step back to something she had left long ago.

No…

The step had already been taken. At the time he had come to the hospital.

Or, perhaps, on the day her father had died. And he had whispered the word.

Bougainvillea.

Again, though, she felt the strange hesitance. And an intuition.

Something had gone very wrong at Bougainvillea. What, exactly? She would never know unless…

Unless she let him…show her the way.

T
he suite had to be the hotel's best, Kit thought as she looked around. It was two levels, with a winding staircase rising from the living/dining area to the bedrooms above.

The “guest” bedroom in the suite was larger than any room she'd stayed in before. It opened to a balcony with an incredible view of the city.

“I'll leave you alone,” David told her. “Whenever you're ready, I'll be in the parlor.”

Kit waited until he was out of the room, then made a beeline for the telephone and dialed the operator, asking for Jen's room. When her friend came on the line, she said, “You're not going to believe this,” and proceeded to tell her about the suite.

“The plot thickens!” Jen said delightedly.

“What does that mean?” Kit asked.

“The guy is truly after you.”

“Maybe he's just being really nice.”

“He may be really nice, but guys are guys. Anyway, I want the details,
all
the details, tomorrow,” Jen said.

“There aren't going to be any details,” Kit assured her.

“Are you an idiot? He's gorgeous, and, apparently, rich. If you don't come up with some details, you're a fool. I guarantee you, I'd have details in your position! Anyway, I want to see the suite, too.”

“That I can arrange. I think,” Kit told her.

“Go work on your details,” Jen told her.

Kit hung up. Starting the shower, she mused over her friend's words. Jen was right. Everything about this guy seemed to be picture perfect.

There was just
something… .

It all had to do with Bougainvillea.

* * *

Seamus Delaney rose from the table, looking at those around him. “Lovely dinner. Nice to see us all together. Martin, Shelley, Eli, great to have you. Thank you, all.”

He walked away from the table in the expansive dining room of the main house. At seventy-eight, he was still ramrod straight, tall and an imposing figure. He had a full head of silver-white hair and piercing blue eyes. He'd been the driving force behind Sea Life since his teens, taking a raw wilderness and molding it into a business, and an estate. The power he had wielded through the years still wrapped around him like a cloak of invincibility.

Michael Delaney watched his father leave the dining room. He noticed with some humor that everyone at the table was doing the same, different expressions in their eyes.

“Lovely dinner,” Josh, Michael's son, said, a light of amusement in his eyes. At thirty-six, Josh had
come to have a deep appreciation for his family's business and position. Michael could honestly say that he was proud of his son. He'd gone through many of the usual adjustments when going from his teen years into adulthood—dropping out of college, bumming around Europe, taking a job with a sail maker just to stay away from the family—then diving back into hard work at Sea Life. Thanks to the way Bougainvillea had been planned—almost like a little compound for the Mafia—Josh was independent, living on the property but in one of the cottages that surrounded the lagoon. “But! I've got a date. Anyone mind if I take off?”

“We do have company,” Lenore, Josh's mother, reminded him.

“We're not really company,” Martin Callahan said. “We're just the next door neighbors.”