Going Overboard (10 page)

More than tiresome
, Carly thought. Any man who couldn't clear his appointment book for his own wedding probably didn't want to get married.

“And in the middle of all this chaos,” Daphne stormed on, “here I am, determined to be careful and practical. To be
solid
, for once, and I'm terrified I'll fall flat on my face. I'm warning you, if something happens to you, I'm going to fly to Madagascar, check into a hotel, and have a mental breakdown.” She turned, her face streaked with tears. “Go on, laugh.”

Carly fought a wave of self-recrimination. “You should have told me what was happening. I'd have come immediately.”

“I don't want you worrying. I just can't bear to see you driving yourself, always restless, always pushing to be perfect. Just like—”

Daphne stopped looking shaken.

“Just like my mother.” Carly finished the sentence quietly.
Nothing could take the sting from the words or the dark memories that followed. “She was always chasing the next sunset in Crete or tiger hunt in India. She wasn't ever satisfied and she couldn't ever stay.” She laughed bitterly. “No matter how much I needed her to.”

Daphne's face was pale. “I didn't mean to hurt you.”

“Why should it hurt? It's the simple truth: blood always runs true.”

“You're not like her. You
care.
It shows in every piece of film you take. It's not an abstraction or a game for you, not the way it was for her.”

Carly shook her head. “I wish I could be certain of that. I'm hungry for the pictures, too. When I'm riding that flow of colors, I forget everything else. That makes me just as bad as she was because I hurt the ones I love, too.”

Daphne sat beside her, on the arm of the chair. “We all hurt the people we love. Sometime it's for good reason, sometimes for bad. I think it's called the human condition.” She gave a laugh that wasn't quite steady. “The very fact that this is worrying you, eating at you, means you can't be like her.”

The phone rang, startling them both.

“And this conversation is nowhere near being over. Understood?”

As Carly nodded, Daphne swept up the receiver. Instantly all her calm and polish were there again, firmly in place, her hurts and anxieties pushed deep.

Carly watched in amused admiration as she charmed and cajoled her father's old friend. No one could say no to Daphne for long.

“I'm so happy. I'm only sorry you won't be able to drop by while we're there. It's been too long, Marcel.”

Daphne was nodding, giving a dramatic thumbs-up, as she hung up. “All set. Marcel's always a dear. They're just clearing a fallen tree from a recent storm, but they'll be done in an hour.” She frowned at Carly's half-eaten lunch. “Finish that or I'm going to get nasty.”

Carly wolfed down a sandwich, then jammed a banana in her pocket. “Now can we go?”

Daphne sighed in exasperation. “Aren't you forgetting something?”

“No, my camera's right here. I've got extra batteries in the Jeep.”

“You've also got sand all over your shirt and dirt crusted on your legs.”

“Oh, that.” Carly looked down and shrugged. “It can wait.”

“You're selling dreams and capturing beauty, yet you can't take five minutes to pull your own image together?”

Carly frowned, scrubbing at her leg. “See, it's gone already. Almost. Partly.” She caught her breath as a clean shirt flew at her, disgorged from Daphne's huge leather bag, a mainstay of her modeling days. Even now it was always full of scarves, makeup, and jewelry.

“Go change. The blue linen will set off your eyes. You've got three minutes, then I'm sending the cavalry in after you.” Daphne's lips curved. “Or maybe I'll just send McKay. Something tells me he's better than any cavalry.”

M
cKay scowled at his watch. How much time could two women spend making calls, brushing their hair, and changing clothes—or whatever they were doing?

He glanced over at the inn's small bar. Noisy and full of tourists, he noted sourly. Despite his careful scrutiny, he had seen no one move toward the rear corridor that led to the stairs. Carly was safe, along with her friend. But there was no room for error, and that meant not taking chances, especially when his instinct warned of trouble.

When the third passing tourist bumped him in the elbow, McKay carried his untouched drink out to the veranda, choosing a seat that allowed him an unobstructed view of the rear stairway.

He hadn't seen Izzy, but he knew he was nearby. He was also certain that Brandon had a handpicked crew watching Daphne. He wished he knew their faces.

“Busy place today.”

McKay frowned at a stocky man leaning against the porch rail. “Appears that way.”

“You new on the island?”

“I heard this was the best place for a quiet drink.” Four more tourists in floral shirts moved past him, jostling his arm as they headed for the bar.

“Your information was wrong. The Grey Parrot is always crowded.”

McKay sat back, measuring the speaker. Mid- to late forties, all solid muscle. There was a holstered weapon beneath the right arm of his loose print shirt. “What about you?”

“I come here whenever I can. No one makes a royal punch better than this.” He raised his drink, which looked untouched.

McKay's gaze snapped to the garden as a second man appeared. He too wore a loose shirt, probably to conceal a weapon.

McKay slid his glass onto a nearby table, prepared for action.

The stranger's smile was casual, but his eyes were cold. “Are you McKay?”

“I could be.”

The man moved closer. “I think you're the officer we were told to expect, the one sent to protect Miss Sullivan.”

McKay kept his face expressionless. “Who is ‘we’?”

“Santa Marina police.” The man held out a hand. “Malcolm St. John, acting director, at your service.”

McKay didn't shake. “You have a badge to match that gun you're carrying?”

He handed over a stamped photo ID, and McKay examined it carefully, then tossed it back. “Everything appears in order.” He sat back and steepled his fingers. “How's the fishing off Paradise Cove this time of year?”

“Not many tuna left. You'd be better off farther east.”

McKay nodded. The code words had been passed and answered. Both men relaxed, but only fractionally.

“I'm McKay. If anyone asks, I'm here strictly as an actor.”

“Of course. An actor.” The officer ran his tongue over his teeth. “Any problems so far?”

“All quiet. What about your end?”

“The governor has received several more threats directed at his family, and we're still narrowing the possibilities. Any thoughts on that?”

McKay scanned the quiet staircase. “Until this thing is over, you and the governor would be wise to be suspicious of everyone—all his business partners, all his political colleagues, and all his enemies.”

“That covers a lot of territory.” St. John tapped his fingers softly on the wooden rail. “The governor of Santa Marina is an important man, and big men make big enemies. Mr. Brandon accepts that. But when they threaten his daughter and others close to him, he draws the line. He's worried that Miss Daphne makes too easy a target with the public life she leads, even though an assassin would have to get past me first,” he said grimly.

“Has he ever received threats like this before?”

“Never.” The officer checked the backyard and then the side. “We're watching the local gangs as well as some new crime groups from Jamaica. We're also looking into an influx of Russian expatriates. Until we have answers, Mr. Brandon wants his family protected around the clock.”

McKay's eyes narrowed. “You've got someone watching Daphne aboard the cruise ship, I take it.”

“Already arranged.”

McKay nodded, his gaze returning to the back stairway. “Have the two women known each other long?” He had read the official file, but he wanted to hear St. John's spin on things.

The inspector chuckled. “Seems like forever. In and out of trouble, the two of them, every summer. Especially after Carly lost her parents off Tortola.”

“When was that?” McKay hadn't seen details in the official report, which had focused on Brandon and his family.

“She was fourteen or fifteen, as I recall. She came back white-faced and quiet, with no more laughter and no more smiles. But Miss Daphne soon put the fire back into her. Those two got into every kind of trouble, jumping out of trees and hiking up to the cliffs alone. It was a different world then.” He shrugged. “No one would have harmed a hair on their heads.”

“And now?”

“Now there's no such thing as an island paradise, McKay. I figure that's why we're here.” He crossed his arms. “How do I know you're any good?”

“It's my job to be good.”

St. John seemed unimpressed. “You'd better be. Otherwise, you'll answer to me. Any special plans?”

“Stay close and stay alert.”
And count everyone as an enemy. Even you.

A door opened upstairs. The steps creaked.

Malcolm St. John moved swiftly, vaulting the rail and jumping down into the garden. “You didn't see me here. Miss Daphne will be full of fire if she finds her father has anyone following her, and that will make my job harder.”

“No problem. I've been sitting here alone enjoying my drink.”

St. John nodded then trotted around to the side of the garden, disappearing before Carly and Daphne reached the bottom step.

McKay pushed to his feet, about to ask what had taken the two so long, when he caught sight of Carly's blue linen shirt, the red sarong draped snugly around her hips, and the crimson hibiscus tucked behind her ear.

He could have sworn the veranda dipped sharply. She had gone inside with sand streaking her shirt and mud on her legs. Now she emerged casually elegant, sporting some kind of distracting floral perfume.

Clearly, Daphne had been at work.

“Everything's set. We need to be at the site in an hour.” Carly started to walk past, but McKay snagged her wrist and spun her in a slow circle.

“What happened to the mud?”

Carly's lips twitched as he finished his slow, thorough appraisal. “Image repair, courtesy of the fashion police over here.”

“That's me,” Daphne said sweetly. “She looks wonderful, doesn't she?”

McKay flicked the tiny diamonds at Carly's ears. “Maybe you should try out the other side of the camera.”

“Yeah, right.” Carly looked down at her watch to hide her blush. “We're running behind schedule. Are Hank and the crew ready to roll?”

“Awaiting your command.” McKay saluted a lazy two-fingered gesture that left Daphne chuckling and Carly red faced as she headed to the parking lot.

“You handled her just right. Cool and calm to her nerves and energy.” Daphne's voice fell. “But if you hurt her, I might have to do something unpleasant. Clawing out both your eyes comes to mind.”

McKay's gaze stayed on Carly. “Remind me to be sure you're on my team.”

“It's always a good idea. I may look like a lightweight, but I'm not. For an intelligent woman, Carly can be incredibly blind. I won't see her hurt.”

There was nothing to add.

Since McKay had the same goal, he was smart enough not to try.

Orchids and ferns trailed down granite cliffs. The air was perfumed by exotic flowers, just as Daphne had promised.

A waterfall spilled from the mountaintop, then vanished in the trees, only to reappear far below in a smooth curtain plunging to a quiet glade.

“You really picked it this time,” Carly said to Daphne. “This is a real slice of paradise. I apologize for doubting you.”

“Apology accepted. Now go work your magic.”

Carly brushed the flower behind her ear and it dropped to the mossy ground. “I guess I'm just not a flower person.”

Daphne shook her head then turned back to study McKay. “Something black and tight would be lovely on him.”

“Blue,” Carly countered. “And his suit's not going to be suggestive.”

“Darling, on that man, full body armor would be suggestive. Don't forget to oil his chest while you're at it,” Daphne called sweetly. “The sunlight needs to catch every muscle.”

“I'll do the directing here,” Carly muttered. “And I was already planning on the oil.”

“Good. In that case you'll need this.” She tossed Carly a pink bottle, then gave a silent whistle as McKay appeared looking long and lean in a blue swimsuit. “He doesn't look happy.”

Gripping the bottle of oil, Carly hurried toward the waterfall, ready to counter any and all of McKay's protests about his suit, which fit him admirably. Even the white towel around his neck looked sexy.

“I believe the crew is all set to shoot,” she said pleased that her voice was crisp and professional. “Did Hank go over the scene with you?”

“A dozen times. I walk out of the pool, cross those rocks, then move to the waterfall. It's not exactly astrophysics.”

“One more thing.” Carly dropped the pink bottle into his palm. “Oil up.”

McKay slid off the towel and slapped a line of oil over his chest. “How's that?”

“Oh, Ford let me know if you need any help,” Daphne called.

“Same here,” a prop woman echoed.

Grinning, he stroked oil slowly down one arm, aware that Carly was watching every movement. “I've got a technical question here, chief. How much of this am I supposed to use?”