If Looks Could Kill (27 page)

“Shut up,” he warned her.

She didn't say a word.

“Let's go.”

She raced after him to a gate that was so far out she began to think they would be walking all the way to the island, then found herself on a tiny plane, facing the back of the pilot's head.

Kyle read a magazine.

“I can't believe you're doing this to me!” she protested.

“
We're
doing this. I didn't do anything to you.”

“But this isn't my idea—”

“You forgot to scream in the airport.”

“Damn you, Kyle.”

“Hey!” he snapped. “Let's try to have one night without fear, without nightmares, huh? Harry Nore is locked up again.”

“You don't believe Harry Nore committed any of the murders.”

“This attack on you does make it appear more likely, doesn't it? He's back under lock and key, one step taken on the road. And you're safe—he could have killed you.”

She fell silent, all too aware that she might have been killed. She couldn't forget Harry's eyes as he'd screamed at her, couldn't forget the flash of his switchblade as he'd pointed it at her.

“We can't stay away too long. Carrie Anne…” she murmured.

“We can't stay away too long or I'll get fired. Then again,” he mused, “maybe I'd like to get fired.”

“What do you mean? You love what you do.”

“For a long time, I did. I'm tired now, burned-out. I'd like to open a dive shop. Maybe do some private investigating on the side.”

“You want to follow roaming husbands, after the years you've spent on incredibly important cases?”

“Well, not exactly. I don't know, be a private consultant or something. ‘Diving and Delving'—who knows. I don't feel definite about anything. Except a rum swizzler. Ever had one?”

“No.”

“You will.”

And she did.

The small plane brought them to Martinique, and from there they took another small plane to a private resort. She met Kyle's friend Gene Grant, proprietor of the place, a grizzled old fellow who looked like Hemingway. “Old CIA guy,” Kyle whispered to Madison.

She didn't know whether to believe him or not, but Gene walked them around the reception area, showing them sweeping murals of dolphins at play and warning them about their excursions into the tank the next day. “Remember how strong they are. I don't let the guests swim with the males, because they can be very aggressive, and as gentle and wonderful as Flipper always looks, a knock from a dolphin's head can smash a person's ribs. They're wonderful creatures, though, intelligent, playful. They like to be stroked, but no poking. The trainer will tell you more in the morning. For now…I understand this rush trip had something to do with an eventful day. Have you eaten?”

“Not a bite in hours,” Kyle told him.

“There's still a buffet out on the lanai. There's music, dancing. And your room is ready anytime after you've eaten.”

Kyle thanked him and escorted Madison out to the lanai. The resort was beautiful, a huge white wooden structure with vast porches, wicker tables and chairs, and lanterns burning everywhere. A band played soft, laid-back island tunes, and waitresses in sarongs moved lazily among the scattered guests. Food was set up on a buffet table to one side.

Kyle caught the attention of their waitress and ordered two rum swizzlers. He spoke in French, which made Madison realize that French was the official language of the island. Then he led Madison to the buffet table. She suddenly realized she was starving. The atmosphere was so different, so far from home. She piled on ribs, pineapple casserole, something labeled Garden Delight and corn bread. When they returned to the table, their drinks were there, tall, icy strawberry-colored concoctions with oranges and cherries on top.

“Looks like a slushie,” Madison said.

“Tastes like one, too,” he assured her.

It did. It was sweet without being too sweet. She couldn't even taste the rum in it.

It went down like a slushie, too. Kyle ordered them both another.

“So is Gene really an ex-CIA man?”

“He is. He worked for the government for twenty-five years, then decided he'd had enough. He loved the water, so he opened this place. Now he bathes in tropical breezes and tries to enjoy the rest of his life.”

“Tries?”

“In my business, you can never forget some of the things you've seen.”

She nodded.

He reached out his hand, covering hers. “But you live with it. You learn that life is precious, worth fighting for as long as you're breathing.”

“I know.”

He sat back, sipping his drink. “I didn't. Not for a long time after Fallon died.”

“It's hard,” Madison said softly.

“And you never forget. You just go on.”

She nodded, sipping the last of her second drink. A third magically appeared.

“You know I have no tolerance for alcohol,” she reminded him.

“I know.”

“I could pass out on you.”

“I'll take my chances.”

“You're not going to have to get me drunk to sleep with you, you know.”

He smiled. “Yeah, I know that, too.”

She tapped her cheek. The drinks were really deceptive. She couldn't feel her face anymore.

“Finish your drink, then we'll take a walk. There's a really pretty little church built by pirates about three hundred years ago down that path.”

“I'm not sure I can walk.”

“I'll help you.”

The world was spinning. But it was spinning beautifully. Lanterns seemed to be ablaze everywhere. The island colors were vibrant. The breeze was like a balm. It seemed impossible that she had nearly been killed that afternoon. It seemed so far away.

She was totally tipsy, she realized. And tipsy was good. She didn't have a worry in the world. Tonight she was going to sleep without nightmares.

She wasn't tipsy, she realized. She was absolutely inebriated.

Sloshed.

She tried hard not to act it. “This is gorgeous,” she told Kyle.

“Glad you like it. There's the church.”

There were other people in the church. A priest, a couple of the waitresses in their sarongs. Candles were lit, and there were flowers on the altar. The floor was lined with memorials; stained-glass windows arched high over ancient tombs.

“It's great. This place is great.”

“Glad you like it. We're going to get married here.”

“No we're not!”

“It's the right thing to do.”

“The right thing to do? I'm a little out of it, but people don't get married just because it's the right thing to do.”

“Okay, I'll get down on one knee,” he said, then did. “Marry me, Madison.”

“Because I'm great in bed and you're trying to keep me alive? No!”

“There are worse reasons.”

“Kyle, is this for real?”

“Yes.”

“It can't be.”

“It is.”

“When did you arrange this?”

“When you were in X ray.”

“I don't believe you.”

“Look, I'm down on one knee, Madison. Just say yes.”

“Yes to what?”

“To me.”

“No.”

“Think of Carrie Anne.”

“I do think of her. Always.”

“You
want
to marry me.”

“I don't.”

“You do. Say yes.”

“I can say whatever the hell you want, Kyle. That doesn't—”

“Come here. Come with me.”

He led her down the aisle. Everyone was staring at her, the priest smiling as he opened a book and started to speak.

She started to laugh. “Oh, God, Kyle! What kind of a setup is this?”

“Just answer the man.”

She tapped her cheek again. She still couldn't feel her face. She was going to collapse any minute, she realized. Damn those rum swizzlers. Damn Kyle.

The priest was droning away in French. She had no idea what he was saying.

Kyle prodded her. “Say yes.”

She stared at him. He put his arm around her, and he nodded her head for her.

“Say yes.”

“Yes.”

The priest smiled benignly. He had two faces. No, three. He started talking again, and Kyle murmured something in return. Kyle had her hand. She felt something cold.

“I'm going to pass out,” she told him.

“Sure. Just another few minutes.”

“I'm going to throw up all over you,” she warned.

“Don't you dare!” he whispered.

She heard cheering all around her. The world was spinning, spinning insanely.

She started to fall.

Kyle swept her up, carrying her from the church and out into the night. The fresh air helped.

“You know better than to let me drink so much!” she told him.

“You'll survive.”

They reached their room, a little bungalow on the grounds. It was air-conditioned, the temperature deliciously cool. He laid her down on the bed, where she stayed, watching the ceiling fan swirling above her. Suddenly she leaped up, racing to the bathroom.

Kyle was right behind her. “Breathe through your nose. I've made some coffee for you, but try the shower for a few minutes.” He helped her shed her ridiculous tourist clothing, then helped her into the shower, heedless of the fact that his flowered shirt was getting soaked. The water felt good. She began to feel like living. She managed to get out of the shower and into one of the terry robes. Back in the bedroom area, she sank down to sit on the bed. He put a cup of coffee into her hands.

“What a wedding night,” he said smiling.

“We aren't really married,” she told him.

“We are.”

“It's impossible. How could you have set up such a thing? You never asked me. This—Everything just happened today.”

“I have friends in high places.”

“I didn't marry you. Fear and good sex are not good reasons for marriage.” She shoved the coffee cup back at him and threw herself down on the pillows. Her eyes closed. “Why do this? Why marry me? Just to keep me safe? You called me a witch. You thought I was somehow responsible for Fallon's death.”

“I didn't.”

“You did.”

“Madison, I've seen you suffer. I know that you hurt for Fallon, nothing more. I'm sorry for what I said.”

“You're sorry? Oh, Kyle, you can't marry someone just because…” Her voice trailed away.

Kyle sat down by her side, lifting her damp hair from her face, smiling.

She was out cold.

“I married you, you little fool, because I've loved you half my life, and I was too stupid to realize it most of the time. And I
am
going to keep you alive,” he said.

She hadn't heard a word he'd said, of course, but that didn't matter. He lay down beside her and drew her close.

She sighed in her sleep.

Maybe it was him.

Most likely it was the rum.

But for once she slept soundly, without nightmares.

M
adison awoke with a pounding headache, afraid to lift her eyelids. Her mouth was dry, her throat was aching, and she couldn't even croak to find out if anyone would listen if she begged for water.

She finally opened her eyes. The room was still spinning. As long as she lived, she didn't want to taste another rum swizzler. She tried to sit up. The spinning sensation was worse.

She crashed back down, groaning.

“You
are
going to live.”

Kyle was there. If she'd had a prayer of actually managing the feat, she would have hit him. “No thanks to you,” she groaned.

Then, despite her spinning head and the agony she suffered, she rose to a sitting position, staring first at her hand, then at Kyle.

There was a narrow, plain gold band on her finger.

Kyle was seated at a table in a little breakfast nook that overlooked the palm-covered lawn sloping down to the beach. He had a newspaper and coffee, was showered and shaved, and had even been shopping. He was wearing a surf-logo T-shirt and cutoffs and new Teva sandals. He looked comfortable and relaxed.

“What do you think you're doing?” she demanded in what felt like a shout. The sound of her own voice crashed mercilessly against her skull. She was going to have to whisper.

“Reading about yesterday's events,” Kyle said. She realized then that he wasn't exactly happy. Something in the paper was disturbing him.

She wasn't worried about the paper at the moment, though. Her own situation was taking precedence. “You tricked me. You got me drunk on purpose. Tell me that everything that happened last night was some kind of sham.”

“No. No, it wasn't.”

“I'm an American citizen.”

“And you think our marriage is illegal because it took place in a different country?”

“I don't know exactly what is and isn't legal, but I can find out. I have a brother-in-law who is an attorney.”

“So?” he inquired politely.

“Kyle, what did you think you were doing? You can't protect me every minute, all of my life!”

He poured her a mug of black coffee and brought it to her—along with two aspirin.

She looked from the pills he had dropped in her hand to his eyes. “You even planned it down to the aspirin,” she said resentfully.

“Madison,” he said, sitting by her side, “you weren't unconscious—you did know what was going on. And the point here is that you're going to put yourself and Carrie Anne at risk if you don't let me protect you.”

“But marriage? Kyle…”

“It
is
legal. But you can always change that,” he told her quietly.

She sipped the coffee he had brought her, feeling strangely defeated. She stared into her cup. “I've been compared to Lainie all my life,” she said softly. “I loved her, but I never wanted to be like her.”

“Madison, you're not—”

“She was married four times. I think Dad's been married six times. Of course, he's been living longer.”

“Madison, I'm sorry.”

“About marrying me?”

“That you're so upset.”

She drank the rest of the coffee and headed into the bathroom. “I'm going to take a shower.”

“I'll order you some food.”

“No!” she cried.

“It will help. Trust me.”

“Trust you? Trust
you?
You must be insane.”

“I'll order some toast. It will help.”

She showered, then came back out in one of the hotel's big bathrobes. By the time she emerged, room service had come, and the toast did smell appetizing. There was also orange juice and more coffee. To her amazement, she discovered that she
could
eat, and afterward, she did feel better.

Kyle glanced at his watch. “Why don't you try to go back to sleep for a couple of hours? Then we can go on the afternoon dolphin swim before we head back home.”

“We're really going swimming with dolphins?”

“Yeah, we're really going swimming with dolphins,” he said, rising.

“Where are you going?” she asked him.

“Just for a walk. Try to get some more sleep. I'll see you in a couple of hours.”

He left her, and she wondered where he was really going. But where the hell could he be going on a small private island where the traitorous natives spoke French?

She lifted her left hand—it only shook slightly. She stared incredulously at the ring on it. If someone had asked her when she was young what she wanted more than anything else in the world, she would have said—if she'd allowed herself to be honest—that she wanted to grow up to marry Kyle. And now it had happened. He had tricked her, but she had let him.

She closed her eyes. To her amazement, she began to drift. And she didn't dream.

She woke up to Kyle prodding her gently. “Hey, we have to be down at the pool in thirty minutes. You going to make it?”

She stared at him and nodded. She felt a lot better. “Yes, I'm going to make it.” She bounded out of bed and into the bathroom, where she dressed quickly in her airport-purchase bathing suit.

Kyle was waiting for her on the bungalow porch, and as they walked down the lawn toward the shore, he pointed out the inlet where the pool was located. “Gene's lagoon is natural, but he's fenced off an area. He thinks that some of the people who get so nuts about releasing dolphins and killer whales are crazy—they can't make it in the wild any better than a French poodle. He's raised all his ladies, as he calls them, and they're affectionate, and accustomed to being fed. There's Judy, the trainer we'll be working with.”

“Where are the rest of the people?”

“This is a private dive. Just us.”

She arched a brow at him and realized that part of the reason he had left her that morning was probably to arrange for this private session. For a tough FBI guy not above pulling a few fast moves, he could be amazingly considerate.

“Mrs. Montgomery!” Judy called to her. The name was startling. She felt that she was playacting when she responded to it, but Judy just went on. “Welcome. I understand this is a long-time dream of yours. Come on over, meet the girls.”

Judy was about thirty, an attractive, slender woman with a master's degree in marine biology from the University of Miami. She obviously adored the four dolphins in the pool—Heidi, Rachel, Debbi and Hannah. She introduced them one by one to Kyle and Madison, and warned them again that dolphins could be aggressive, even though the “girls” were naturally very affectionate. Madison and Kyle fed the dolphins fish, then led them in a few leaps and twirls under Judy's supervision before donning snorkels, masks and fins to jump in with them.

Madison had the time of her life.

The dolphins were wonderful. She quickly discovered that they were very strong and could shove roughly while playing, but they were also as affectionate as Judy had said. They loved to be rubbed and touched, brushing against her and Kyle. She glanced at Kyle as they surfaced together, laughing delightedly, and she saw in his eyes that he was every bit as fascinated as she was, and having just as good a time. For a moment, as she stared at him, she was able to forget the rest of the world. She had loved him almost all her life, and now they were together, sharing an experience she had dreamed of for what felt like forever. If only…

Heidi nudged her, trying to get her attention. Madison stroked the animal, marveling at her sleek feel, and ducked again to swim with her. It was incredible.

Madison was aware that they spent much more than their allotted time in the water, and she was grateful. Her skin was completely pruned when Judy swam over to Kyle and warned him, “I'm afraid you're going to miss your flight if you don't get moving. And you said it was important that you get back tonight,” she added apologetically.

“Yeah, thanks,” Kyle told her. He gestured to Madison, and she nodded. She patted each of the dolphins goodbye, then emerged from the lagoon, stripping off her fins.

Judy was at her side. “You know, Mrs. Montgomery, you can come back to the island when you have more time.”

“That would be lovely,” Madison assured her. She glanced at Kyle. “I'll have to brush up on my French first, though.”

As she and Kyle walked back toward their bungalow, he asked, “Would that have changed anything?”

“What?”

“If you'd understood French? I mean, there was a church, a priest….”

“I thought maybe it was a game, a charade….”

“I made the whole thing easy for you, then.”

“How?”

“Whatever happens, it's my fault.”

“I…I don't want to think about that. But I do want to thank you for this afternoon,” she told him.

“Oh. Then I shouldn't be jumping on you.”

“It was thoughtful.”

“So you forgive me?”

She shook her head. “You know I can't drink.”

“I was counting on it. Anyway, we've got to hurry. We do have to get back. There's only one plane,” he reminded her.

She walked ahead of him, straight into the shower.

She thought he might follow her.

He didn't, and she chided herself for her sense of disappointment. They did need to catch a plane, after all. Still, he was curt when she emerged, showering and changing very quickly himself, then pensive on the plane.

This time, she pretended to read a magazine while he stared restlessly out the window, but she couldn't keep herself from wondering what was going on, what had happened to change his mood.

It was late when they headed to the airport lot and got the Jeep. Kyle drove.

“I take it Carrie Anne is spending another night at my sister's?” Madison asked dryly.

He nodded. “I told Dan that one of us would get her after kindergarten tomorrow.”

“Did you tell him we were married?”

Kyle nodded. “But I asked him not to say anything to Carrie Anne.”

“What about Darryl?”

“He knows.”

“How about my father? And yours?”

Kyle nodded, then glanced her way. “I made a lot of phone calls while you were sleeping.”

“Did you happen to talk with anyone in the Storm Fronts? We're supposed to go into the studio Thursday and Friday.”

She wondered why she wasn't surprised when he nodded. “Your dad told me, and he gave me some phone numbers. I got hold of Joey. There's no reason why you can't keep your date with them.”

“Great,” she murmured. “I'll just leave everything in your capable hands.”

He didn't answer, choosing to ignore her sarcasm.

By the time they pulled into her drive, she was tired. She opened the door and keyed the alarm, choosing to ignore Kyle. It was nearly midnight. She should have been starving, but she wasn't. She could have fixed something for Kyle, but she wasn't in the mood. Let him fend for himself.

She went into her bedroom, showered quickly and donned a nightgown. She could hear him moving around in the kitchen. She went to bed, wondering if she should talk to him; but she didn't know what to say. She didn't turn on the television; instead, she pretended to sleep.

But he didn't come into her room, and in time, the pretense became real.

 

Killer watched her.

Enraged.

There she was, smiling at another man. Laughing. She had leaned on him, needed him, made him want her, love her, but she'd only been teasing.

Like the other one. The one who had claimed to care about him, yet meant to tell the truth about him. So that he would be an outcast. Thrown out. Taken away. The other one. Lainie. With her red hair and brilliant smile, all that beauty hiding a heart of ice. A rose, God, she had the beauty of a rose! But her thorns were vicious. Deadly. She could stab beneath the skin, cut to the heart, draw blood….

And now…

This one.

They could have made it. She could have eased all the pain and fury in his heart. He would have taken good care of her kids. Kids liked him. They always had. She could have loved him, but she was just a redheaded bitch in heat like the other one. She'd chosen not to love him. Maybe he would give her one more chance. Force her to see him, to be with him, to realize all that he had to give. Maybe…

He clenched his hands into fists at his sides and turned away.

He walked to his car and started to drive. Aimlessly.

He found himself on Seventy-ninth Street. Harlot Hangout, as he liked to call it. He saw one girl in particular. The bitch had dyed her hair a funky pinkish-red. It wasn't the red hair he liked, but it didn't matter. Not tonight.