Fires of Paradise (30 page)

"Use your head and think," Lloyd said. "America has interests to protect in Cuba. Shoz is in with the rebels. Who better to spy for us and protect our interests? Protect your interests? Protect Maravilla—and you and your family's other investments? Who—"

"I don't believe this!"

Derek grabbed Rathe. "Unfortunately, son, this is out of our hands."

Rathe threw him off. "You're siding with him!"

"I'm not siding with him. We're not being given a choice here, Rathe, and I've given it some serious thought. Lucy is all right. We'll fix this marriage and take care of her so that no one will ever know anything. I will never permit the scandal that would come from a trial for Lucy's abduc¬tion, never. If the government wants to send him to Cuba, it doesn't change how we're going to take care of Lucy so that she isn't hurt any more than she is already."

Rathe was silent.

"Would you permit the scandal of a trial, Rathe? Would you? Dammit, son, use your head!"

Rathe cried out in frustration. He turned on Lloyd. "All along you knew about this, didn't you? You lied to me, used me and my family and our resources—to capture your ready-made spy!" "That's right," Lloyd said easily. "I'm sorry." In the cell, Shoz relaxed. The Braggs were not going to go up against the government and use their considerable power to thwart the deal of his lifetime. He was going to Cuba.

Rathe whirled. "You may think you're getting off, but you're not. You are going to pay for what you've done, and I'll make sure of it. I'll make sure they keep you in Cuba so long, you'll forget what America looks like. Cuba will be your prison, you son of a bitch—you wait and see."

"After doing real time in New York, Mr. Bragg, Cuba will be paradise."

Suddenly Rathe smirked. "Is that so? I was just there. Once upon a time it was paradise—now it's sheer hell!"

"Enough!" Derek said. "This isn't getting anybody anywhere. Do you have the papers?"

Rathe nodded, unrolling documents. "I don't care if I have to put a loaded gun to your head, but you're signing."

Lloyd unlocked the cell door, and Derek and Rathe entered. Shoz sat up straighter. Derek pulled a pen out of his vest. Rathe smiled coldly and held the papers down on the cot. "Sign on the X."

"What is this?" Shoz asked.

"You'd better sign," Derek warned.

"I've promised them you'd sign, Cooper," Lloyd said. "Or no deal."

"They're divorce papers," Rathe gritted. "
Sign
. Sign or I blow the whistle on this goddam deal."

Shoz froze. Even his heart had stilled. He said, "I'm not signing." He didn't think it through, he refused to think it through, refused to consider the consequences—prison. He knew himself well enough to know he meant what he said with every fiber of his being.

Rathe Bragg went crazy, lunging for him, with murder his obvious intention. He was dragged away by both Lloyd and Derek, the two men reassuring him that Shoz would come around. Shoz smiled, a hard sneer. But he was sweating.

    Later Lloyd returned to convince him that his freedom was more important than his marriage, and that if he did not sign, he was going to prison for the rest of his life. Shoz knew he was right, he should sign—but he never lifted thai pen. Derek Bragg also returned, grimly reiterating what Lloyd had stated, then adding even more arguments, but Shoz did not budge. He had made up his mind.

Very late that night, Lloyd entered the jail, carrying the papers. Shoz had been unable to sleep, his mind wrestling futilely with some means of escape from this impossible predicament. He hadn't found one, but now, at the sight o Lloyd, he sat up and began to sweat.

"I thought I made it clear," he said, never taking eyes from Lloyd, "I'm not signing."

Lloyd unlocked the door to his cell as if he hadn't heard him. "I think you're going to change your mind, Cooper."

Shoz smiled. "Think again."

Lloyd unrolled the papers, holding them in front of him, area "She doesn't want you, Cooper."

Shoz blinked, the typed words of the document coming into focus, a signature at the bottom of the page, near where he was supposed to sign, becoming distinct. Ugly, black comprehension started to set in.

"She didn't need any convincing; it was just a lark aftet all."

Lucy Bragg.
Her dainty signature danced across the page, blurring. He whitened, shocked. Full understanding hit him, hard.
She had signed
.

She doesn't want you anymore.
Lloyd's word's echoed . or was he repeating them? His heart began to pound, his ™ blood surged. She had signed.
She had signed away her half of their marriage
.

Damn her.
Damn her!

"I'll leave this with you," Lloyd said, throwing the doe uments on the cot with a pen. "No point in holding out he' now." He left.

Shoz didn't move. Not for a long time. But when he did, it was to sign his name with a flourish.

Chapter 37

New York City, December 1897

Tomorrow she was going to be married. Lucy did not know whether to laugh or cry. She sat at her dressing table and stared grimly at her reflection. She did not look like a happy bride. She looked more like a widow.

Abruptly Lucy got up to pace around the room that had been hers since she was a child. It was very large, with one dominated by the canopied bed, the other given over to a plush sofa and several armchairs. The room was decorated in shades of ivory and white. The four double windows on the far wall looked out on Central Park. Lucy pushed one open. It was a cold winter day, and the park, carpeted thickly with snow, sparkled in the sun. The chilling air seemed to invigorate her. At least, it eased some of the awful apathy that possessed her.

Today was her birthday, her twenty-first birthday. She should be happy, considering how lucky she was. Already over the hill, she was about to wed one of the finest catches New York. She should be thanking her father. She should grateful.

The problem was, she wasn't any of those things. His image loomed, dark, mocking. Aghast, Lucy tried to shove it away. He no longer invaded r thoughts so frequently; indeed, there were times when did not think of him at all for an entire day—and then she would remember, and in the remembering, know she d not forgotten him at all. And probably never would.

The hurt was long since gone. There was only anger it its stead.

Her parents had been right. He was not the man for her. He was a bum and a bastard. There was only one person he cared about, and that was his mercenary self. She was better off without him, and she knew it.
If he had cared at all for her, he would have never signed those papers.

It had been a shock.

Lucy barely remembered the ride back to Brownsville. She had been in a state of hysteria, thinking Shoz was dying from the gunshot wound. There was so much blood. Once in town, she was hustled to a hotel room with her aunt Storm. Lucy had begged her aunt to let her find Shoz. Storm had grabbed her roughly. "What is going on, Lucy? What is it?"

Lucy didn't give a thought to the consequences of revealing the truth. "I don't want him to die!" she sobbed. "Please let me go to him!"

"I don't understand." But Storm was pale with comprehension.

"I love him! He's my husband!"

Storm held her and rocked her while she wept, assuring her that he would not die, and that she would bring word of his condition—but under no circumstances could Lucy see him. She left after Lucy promised to wait for her return. Lucy had done no such thing. The instant her aunt had disappeared, Lucy had fled to find Shoz.

Now she knew part of the truth. While she had been at the jail, her aunt had gone to her father with the news of their marriage. Setting off her father's determination to keep them apart and see them divorced. And as always, Rathe Bragg succeeded in whatever he decided to do.

Lucy had been weak with relief to find Shoz bandaged and awake, if pale, but so clearly alive and recovering. She had been so afraid he would die!

Her father's sudden furious entrance ruined her chance to speak with him and comfort him, which she so badly wanted to do. Rathe dragged her from the jail, across the street, and back to her hotel room.

She watched Derek sit by her feet and hand her the mug. "How is he?"

Derek grimaced. "He's sleeping. No fever, strong as ever.''

Lucy could at least relax on that score. "Please help me, Grandpa. Please don't let him go to prison."

Derek could not lie. "He's not going to prison, Lucy.

Lucy gasped. "What has happened!" For one inane moment, she thought that Derek had somehow managed to save the man she loved.

"The government is sending him to Cuba, Lucy."

"Cuba!"

"We support the rebels—and Shoz has been supplying them with guns."

Lucy turned her face away. So that was what he had been doing, smuggling guns to revolutionaries. When she looked up, she was smiling. "So he's actually a hero?"

"How dare you!" Lucy was furious. "I'm going back there, damm it; I have every right—"

"You have no rights!" her father shouted, raising his hand.

Lucy shrank against the wall. Never had she seen her father so enraged—and so close to violence. She did not move, understanding that he was fighting for control—and that the violence he so barely restrained was directed at her.

He recovered. There was no sound in the small room except for their harsh, uneven breathing. "Daddy?"

Rathe turned away, covering his face with his hands. "My God! I almost hit you!"

to him and touched his broad back. "It's all understand. You're afraid for me. You love me." Rathe turned to her and embraced her hard. Lucy closed her eyes and clung. This was the father she knew and loved—her god since she had been a tiny girl, someone who could make anything right.

But this time, her illusions were rudely shattered. He didn't fix her world. He destroyed it.

Rathe insisted she never see Shoz again. He insisted they divorce. Lucy refused. She demanded to see Shoz; Rathe forbade it. Beneath their battle of wills existed intense, anguished emotions, and soon they were embroiled in a frightening screaming match. Neither her aunt Storm nor her grandfather could reconcile the two. And to make matters worse, everyone was on her father's side, everyone was trying to convince her that she must divorce Shoz and begin her life anew. Lucy stopped telling them that she loved him. Apparently no one was listening to her, apparently no one cared.

That evening her grandfather brought her the papers. Despite the trauma of the day, Lucy was exhausted and dozing. At her grandfather's knock, she sat up. He came in carrying cocoa, but she saw only the documents in his hand. "Did I wake you?" "No."

"Brought you some hot chocolate." He smiled. Lucy couldn't smile back. She was still too close to tears.

"Lucy," her grandfather said tightly, "he's no hero. He's an escaped felon and a gunrunner—and those guns were stolen army carbines. He is not the man for you under any circumstances."

Her spirits crashed. "You liked him in Paradise."

"I did—and I do. Man to man. But not for my granddaughter."

"It doesn't matter." Her eyes clouded. "It's too late. Everyone seems to be forgetting that I'm his wife, Grandpa, and nothing can change that. What will happen after Cuba?"

Derek hesitated. "It's not my place to say." He reached out to stroke her hair. "I'm afraid you're wrong, Lucy."

She stared.

"He's already signed divorce papers. It didn't take very long to convince him."

"I don't believe you."
But somehow she did
.

"It's your turn now," her grandfather said softly.

Lucy looked at the paper he was holding out through blurry eyes. But she saw his scrawled name. "You forced him." Inside herself, she was starting to die, just a little.

"No, honey. We didn't have to force him and we didn't have to pay him off, although Rathe would have done both."

Lucy was in shock. This couldn't be happening. She didn't want to believe what she was seeing. And the worst part of it was that she could not deny that deep inside, she did believe it. Had he ever said he loved her? Miserably Lucy had to admit that all along, she hadn't really understood why he'd married her. Their marriage had been an impulsive act. She had never even tried to fool herself and ink that he loved her. Apparently their marriage had meant little or nothing to him.

"I'm sorry, Lucy," Derek said, standing. "I'll leave the papers here. You sign them when you feel up to it. Tomorrow we'll go back to Paradise."

Lucy wished she were at Paradise right now. How she needed her mother.

"Honey," her grandfather said gently, "you're young, smart, and strong—not to mention beautiful. In no time at all, this will be behind you. You'll forget it. Time does that. There'll be another man for you, Lucy, trust me." Lucy didn't answer. She couldn't. "And you don't have to worry about scandal. We'll keep this hushed up—no one will know. No one will know anything. Trust me."

Her grandfather had been wrong about the scandal. They arrived back in New York City the first week in August, Lucy, her parents and brothers, and Joanna. The coincidence was bizarre. In Texas there had been no word of her abduction in the papers, but Texas was Derek Bragg's domain. And Paradise protected its own. The kidnapping was no secret there, although all the details were, yet as always in Paradise, Lucy was treated with friendliness and respect, as if the sore episode had never occurred.

The day after they returned to New York, the headlines were screaming with the news that had been so successfully contained in Texas. "Heiress Returns to Society After Abduction!" "Bragg Heiress Survives Kidnapping!" The sensational Hearst paper, the
New York Journal
, led the attack with the headline. "Bragg Heiress Spends Month with Kidnapper in Mexico!"

Lucy was still too numb over Shoz's rejection to care, but her parents were furious and upset. She was instantly hustled off to Newport for the last few weeks of the summer, j Lucy could have been in Hong Kong for all that it mattered. She never left the Bragg estate—some days she never even left her room. She slept most of the time and had lost her appetite. Her parents fretted and tried to get her to go visit her friends and accept those callers who came. Lucy paid them no attention. She even turned away Leon Claxton without seeing him, despite his message that he would be leaving the States soon and he must speak with her. She just did not care.

And then one day toward the end of the summer, the fog lifted. The depression disappeared. And suddenly Lucy was angry.

Shoz wasn't suffering over her, she was sure of that. He was in Cuba somewhere, but knowing him, he was a survivor—and he had already forgotten her. So why should she mourn him? She was Lucy Bragg, he was a nobody. She was the best thing that could have happened to him, he was the worst that could have happened to her. She wouldn't deny that she had loved him, and maybe she still did, but she would return to the living with a vengeance. She would show anyone who cared to notice that she did : not give a damn about the miserable bastard, not at all!

Before Lucy sailed forth to find her friends, she had to see Leon. Technically he was her beau, and she had been terribly rude to turn him away when he had called. She was even sorry now that she had not paid him more attention when he had visited her in Paradise. But there was no point in dwelling on that! She sent him a brief note, and the next day, he arrived to see her.

Lucy decided to receive him in the music room, which was bright and cheerful, especially in the sunny afternoons. She was nervous; Leon was the first person other than family whom she was seeing since her return from Texas. What would his reaction to the scandal be?

"I'm glad to see you, Leon," she said, entering the room, her smile hesitant.

He stood, looking dashing in white trousers and a navy linen jacket. His gaze swept her. "That wasn't the impression I got last week."

Lucy felt uncomfortable under his scrutiny. "I wasn't feeling well last week. Surely you can understand that." "Oh, I think I can understand."

There was a bite in his tone. He wasn't at all the doting admirer he'd been last spring. Lucy sat beside him, concentrating on pouring them both lemonade. "Your message said you're leaving. Where are you going?"

Leon watched her every move. “My father and Roosevelt have encouraged me to go back into the Foreign Service. I've been posted to San Juan; I leave tomorrow."

"San Juan?"

"Puerto Rico," he said shortly.

This wasn't going at all well; he seemed grim, if not angry. "Are you upset?"

"Why would I be upset, Lucy? Because the woman I intended to marry was abducted by some hoodlum cowboy and kept prisoner for weeks on end?"

Shoz's name had been in the papers, so of course Leon knew, but she had not expected such a blatant attack. "It wasn't my fault. Believe me, if I could change what happened this summer, I would."

"Would you?" he asked sarcastically, his regard piercing. "Would you really?"

Lucy jumped to her feet. "What does that mean!"

"It means that maybe the abduction never happened." Leon was standing, too. "Maybe you ran off willingly with Cooper!"

Lucy gasped.

"I saw the two of you the night of your grandfather's party," Leon shouted. "In each other's arms, kissing! You were willing then, Lucy, weren't you?"

"You came here to accuse me, to attack me?"

He grabbed her. "You wanted him that night—I saw! Did you want him enough to run off with him? Or did he kidnap you? Did you sleep with him, Lucy? All those nights, just the two of you, alone, in the mountains . . . Did he rape you?"

"Let go!" Lucy wrenched free, furious and shaken. "He abducted me, I was his prisoner! I'm a victim—not a criminal to be accused in this disgusting manner!"

"When I first met you, I thought that at last I had found a woman who would be a perfect wife. My perfect wife. But I was wrong!"

Before Lucy could respond, he had taken her in his arms, pressing her completely against his hard body. "Did you like it, Lucy?" he demanded.

Lucy was stiff, stunned, and horrified at the feel of his arousal. "You had better leave, Leon, please."

For a moment he did not respond, his eyes glittering, his body throbbing against hers. Then he tore himself free, and without another word, he strode angrily from the room.

Lucy sank onto the couch. It took her some time to recover from all that had passed between them. She was no fool, and she understood that Leon's anger came from jealousy and bitter disappointment—he had probably loved her once, before all this had happened. She could even feel somewhat sorry for him—especially as he was correct in his worst suspicions. But there was no excuse for his behavior. He was a gentleman; he certainly knew better.

The next morning, Lucy called upon Joanna, whose parents also had a cottage in Newport. Joanna greeted Lucy with a smile, and the two friends hugged.