I'll Find You (8 page)

Stephen Tucker Laughlin. West Laughlin’s nephew. Was he really
her
Tucker?

He gave you the bracelet,
she reminded herself
.

The ferry horn blasted twice and Callie hurried down the pier. Once more she glanced nervously behind herself, but she was still alone. The sun hit the amethyst gems and made them sparkle. She slipped off the bracelet and put it deep inside her carryall. If it was an heirloom, she sure as hell didn’t want it to be seen any longer. She didn’t even want it in her possession, but what should she do? Give it to West? Or give it back to Aimee, since Tucker wouldn’t take it?

She ground her teeth together. She didn’t want to give it to Aimee, after what West had said.

It seemed to take forever for the people to empty the ferry. Callie stood in the crush of tourists eager to visit Fort-de-France. Stepping onto the boat, she hazarded one more glance at the pier. Nothing. The ghosts were all in her own mind.

When the engines changed and the ferry began to pull back into the bay, Callie was on the aft deck, one hand gripped tightly around the wide white railing. She held her breath until they were underway. She wouldn’t fool him for long. She knew that without being told.

She just needed a little time to get back to Fort-de-France and find Tucker before West Laughlin did.

Teresa could hear Andre talking on his cell to Jerrilyn about Robert Lumpkin and thanked her lucky stars that he hadn’t put her on that job. It was a bit of a worry, actually, that he’d chosen Jerrilyn over her in that she was the natural choice. Was he onto her? Aware that she had other plans? Did he have some other job for her?

She was lying on the couch, pretending to be asleep, when she heard him walk over toward her.

“You gonna sleep all day?” he demanded, irked.

Carefully, Teresa opened her eyes and drew herself into a sitting position. Andre was dressed in light pants and a white shirt. His hair was pulled back in a low ponytail, held by a thong of leather. He looked handsome and serious, and briefly she remembered why she’d been so enamored of him, why she’d done all the things she’d done on his behalf.

“I need you to take care of a problem for me.”

“I thought I heard you talking to Jerrilyn.”

“She’s busy,” he clipped out.

“What is it?” she asked carefully. She wanted to leave tonight. She was pretending to be napping while her brain was churning, her stomach clenched with anxiety.

“I need you to neutralize Robert Lumpkin.”

Her heart sank. Ever since she’d caused the death of Jonathan’s son, she’d been unable to follow through with all of Andre’s orders. She’d explained why and he’d pretended to understand, had given her jobs that didn’t require her to kill anyone else, but now she knew that time of reprieve was over.

His face flashed with annoyance. “Daniella took the rent to him and is watching Irene’s house. When Lumpkin leaves, she’ll let me know where he’s gone and I want you on him. Do you understand?”

She nodded.

“Say it.”

“Yes, I understand.”

“
Say it!
”

“Yes, Messiah. I understand,” Teresa said woodenly, the words ashes in her mouth.

He eyed her with suspicion but Teresa pretended not to notice.

“Make it happen tonight.”

On leaden feet, Teresa went to the closet she shared with Jerrilyn, passing by Naomi, who gave her a sympathetic look that Teresa knew to be a fake. None of them cared a whit about any of the others.

She took a shower, dried her hair, and applied a thick coating of foundation, then overplayed her eyeliner, lashes, and lipstick. She added a liberal coating of blush as well. She knew enough about Robert Lumpkin from what Daniella had described over the last several years to suspect he wanted pizzazz over elegance. “His eyes are all over my tits every time I hand him the rent,” she’d said, “and he always waits to close the door when I’m leaving. I looked back once. His eyes were glued to my ass. He’s round and losing his hair, which he’s got in a comb-over. He’s pathetic and he knows it.”

Subtlety would not be the way to go to catch his attention.

When Teresa was ready, she sat down at the table where they took all their meals. It could be a long wait, depending on when Lumpkin decided to leave his mother’s house. Maybe it wouldn’t even happen today, but in any case she had to be ready at a moment’s notice.

As she sat there, she felt a slow, heavy beat begin inside her chest. It was a familiar friend. Oh, she could posture all she wanted, she could feel the throb of anticipation. Adrenaline junkie. That’s what she was, and though she never, ever wanted to hurt an innocent, the thought of taking care of an asshole like Robert Lumpkin got her juices flowing.

Raising her eyes, she saw that Andre was watching her across the table, his arms crossed over his chest. As if he knew what she was feeling, he smiled with approval.

I’m leaving you,
she thought.
For good this time. It’s not the same anymore.

You’re
not the same.

But she smiled back in understanding, letting him believe she was back in the fold. And just because she resented having to do his bidding one last time didn’t mean she couldn’t enjoy it. She would just do it her way.

Callie stepped off the ferry into long afternoon shadows. Her apartment wasn’t near the pier so she gazed around for a taxi, lifting her arm and shading her eyes against the sun. West Laughlin was going to have a cow when he realized she was gone.

“He’s going to think you’re Teresa again,” she said aloud, dropping her arm.

Though she was desperate to find Tucker, she had to hold herself back, think it through. It was best if she stayed away from him with West Laughlin circling around, unless she got there right now, before West had time to get back to Fort-de-France.

But maybe he already has.

She hesitated in indecision. A cab ride would be quicker than the ferry, which trundled along on its own schedule. It would be better if she didn’t go anywhere near her apartment. The chance of running into West or Tucker was too great. Maybe she could walk around for a while, go to a different hotel somewhere nearby.

She thought longingly of her cell phone, tossed into the back of one of her drawers. But who would she call anyway? William? He wouldn’t be interested in anything but getting her back to LA to deal with the ever-clamoring Cantrells. Jonathan had made out a will and left everything to Sean, but it had bounced back to Callie when Sean had died at the same time. There hadn’t been any peace from Derek or Diane ever since, but too damn bad. She hadn’t much cared at the time; she didn’t care much now.

She realized how much she’d been cut off from people she knew. Friends whom she’d let drift away when she’d followed blindly after Bryan to Los Angeles. People she’d met from work whom she’d lost contact with after she married Jonathan. She was alone to fight her own battles . . . and possibly Tucker’s.

Should she go to his house? She wanted to confront Aimee, but she could unknowingly lead West Laughlin right to Tucker.

She was walking through the crowded pier, getting jostled by elbows. She felt a particularly hard shove and suddenly her bag wasn’t on her arm. She grabbed at it instinctively, catching a handle, and realized a young man was holding onto the other side and trying to yank it from her grasp. “Hey!” she yelled, shocked, jerking back with all her might. “Stop!
Thief!
”

The boy let go and ran as people turned and stared. Shaken, Callie clutched the bag close to her chest. She’d always known to be careful in the crowds. She’d heard tales of wharf rats stealing purses, cell phones, and passports. It was a hazard in most crowded tourist areas.

She was lucky she still had her carryall, ID, credit cards, and the
bracelet.
Quickly, frantically, she searched through the carryall, her hands clasping over the hard-edged gems. Thank you, God. Her pounding heart threatened to overtake her. Feeling weak, she walked to a bench on the edge of the pier. Maybe the bracelet was safer on her arm. It had a hidden clasp that had to be undone to release it. It seemed counterintuitive, but her carryall was like a beacon to would-be thieves. Carefully, watching the people strolling by, she slipped the bracelet back on her arm, clasped it, and then kept touching it to make sure it was there, clutching the carryall to her chest. She needed to go home. Needed to pull herself together. No more walking aimlessly around.

She needed a ride home and for that she had to get to the main street and access to a taxi. At this time of day, rush hour, it was difficult to walk to her apartment. Weaving her way through the sauntering crowd, she held tight to her carryall, her arm imprisoning it close to her body. There was no reason to feel so paranoid about Tucker, she reminded herself. He was safe, well, and very possibly loitering impatiently around her apartment. She’d promised him a treat from the bakery and he was unlikely to forget even though the pastry was crushed and left on the pavement.

It took a while to work her way from the pier and pedestrians, reach the street, and lift an arm for a taxi. It was a hopeless gesture. The traffic whizzing down the four-lane street wouldn’t slow down for anything short of a ten-car pile-up. Callie gritted her teeth and waited for the traffic light to change. She wasn’t near a crosswalk, but if she could make her way to the median in the center, then hurry across the other lanes, she could get to the taxi stand.

The light changed from green to yellow, then to red. She gripped her carryall tighter, waiting for the traffic to slow. It seemed to take an eternity. Finally she dared to step off the curb, only to be blasted by a dozen horns, the driver nearest shaking his fist outside the window and yelling at her in rapid-fire French.

Ignoring him, Callie darted between the cars, reached the median, glanced toward the traffic light, and saw it change to green again.

“Hey! You!”

The hairs on the back of her neck rose. She whipped around, certain it was West.

But no, another driver was jabbing his finger in the direction of the light, his face a dark scowl. Not heeding his warning, she quickly zigzagged her way through the other cars before they got into gear.

She cut across the park on the edge of the outdoor tourist market to the small, in-cut road used as a taxi station. The station was empty.

Forced to wait or walk up the hill alone, Callie wrapped her arms around herself and tried not to pace. A chill had settled between her shoulder blades though the temperature was still warm. She shot a glance back toward the ferry dock and got a jolt when she saw a man looking up at her through binoculars.

West. No. Just a tourist.

“
Bonsoir
, Madame.”

She nearly jumped from her skin at the friendly greeting. A tall, silver-haired gentleman in a suit stood beside her, and she smiled faintly as she realized he, too, was waiting for a taxi.

“Bonsoir,”
she answered.

“You’re American,” he said in a French accent, and Callie only nodded. The last thing she wanted was to get embroiled in a conversation with a stranger.

All she could think about was Tucker.

“You are alone,” he said with obvious concern, and for once Callie grew impatient with the gallantry of the French.

“Not really alone. Just on my way home. I’ve been . . . shopping.”

He glanced at her plastic bag, and Callie remembered what she looked like: torn, dirty, and scraped. Though she’d brushed the dust off her arms and legs, the grime on her white dress was distinguishable even beneath the shadows of the tall buildings.

And her hair. It would be a miracle if she ever got the tangles out. With sinking realization she wondered if he could see the bruise developing on her jaw.

She opened her mouth to come up with some explanation just as a taxi slipped into the narrow roadway.

“Please.” The gentleman gestured her forward, opening the taxi door for her.

Callie gave him a slight nod and slid into the seat of the taxi. “I live up the hill,” she said to the driver, bending forward so he could hear her over the noise. She pointed in the direction she meant.

The driver nodded his understanding. The silver-haired gentleman lifted a hand and said,
“Au revoir, jolie femme.”

Callie smiled.
“Merci, au revoir,”
she said out the window, then the taxi was speeding away from the curb and the city of Fort-de-France.

Good-bye, pretty woman.
She doubted she looked all that pretty right now.

Safe inside the vehicle, she felt close to exhaustion. Away from West Laughlin’s powerful influence she realized what a bully he’d been, forcing himself on her like that. She was glad to be away from him. Hoped to hell he couldn’t find her again.

“Go back to LA,” Callie muttered aloud.

“Eh?” The taxi driver cocked his head.

“Nothing. Turn right . . . there.”

The taxi swung into the narrow cobblestone street that fronted her building. Callie paid the fare with a surreptitious glance in both directions. No one there, thank God.

Quickly, she crossed the street and let herself inside. No small boy greeted her as she mounted the stairs, and though she knew she should be relieved that Tucker wasn’t waiting outside her apartment, her heart was curiously heavy as she unlocked her apartment door and closed it gently behind her.

The silence of the pastel-green rooms enveloped her. A silence she’d grown familiar with. She headed straight for the shower, stripping off her clothes and turning on the spray as hot as she could get it, which wasn’t saying a lot. She stood under the showering water until it was too cold to stand any longer.

Drying off, she wrapped her hair in the towel, then walked to the mirror above the chipped, white bureau. Naked, she could see every bruise and cut. Had that just happened this morning? It already felt like a lifetime ago.

Opening the bureau drawer she dug through her shorts and tops to find the cell phone and checked to see if it was charged. Barely, but enough for what she needed. She placed a call and when it was picked up, said, “Hello, Angie. It’s Callie Cantrell. Is William in?”