Memories: A Husband to Remember\New Year's Daddy (Hqn) (13 page)

“We have no idea who it was,” Trent said as the security guards were finishing their interrogation. “At least, I don’t. Nikki?”

She shook her head. Who would spy on her? “I can’t imagine.”

The guards talked between themselves and with Trent, even sharing a joke that Nikki couldn’t begin to understand. They eventually left, apologizing to Nikki for her fright and promising to look for any suspicious characters.

“They assume it was just another burglary attempt,” he said after he’d closed the door behind them. “There have been quite a few in the major hotels around here. A ring of thieves after rich tourists’ money or jewelry.”

“They wouldn’t have found much here,” she said, unconvinced. Her eyebrows drew down over her eyes. “Besides, I’m not sure that it had anything to do with a robbery.”

“Why not?” He threw both dead bolts before sitting on the foot of the bed and nudging off his boots.

“Because I’ve had this feeling that I’ve been followed.”

He cast an interested glance over his shoulder, but didn’t say anything.

“Earlier. When I was riding the horse, I felt it, and then you showed up, so I just assumed
you
were the reason I felt as if I’d been watched. But now...I’m not so sure.” She tucked her feet up close to her bottom and hugged her knees.

“So you think the man on the veranda might have been following you?”

“Yes. But I don’t know why!” Sighing in frustration, she decided to gamble a little. “I think it might have something to do with Senator Crowley.”

Was it her imagination or did the cords in the back of his neck tighten a little?

“Crowley? What’s he got to do with anything?”

“I don’t know,” she admitted, “but I talked to Connie at the paper and later my dad called. They both brought up our illustrious senator. Connie seems to think I was hoping to do a story on him, uncover some sort of political dirt, I suppose, and Dad...Dad was even stranger. He acted as if he and I had fought before I left for Salvaje, and that the argument had something to do with Crowley.” Stretching, she fluffed her still-damp hair with fingers that shook a little. “The thing of it is, I don’t even know what the man looks like. I could barely remember his name.”

“James,” Trent supplied as he kicked his boots into the closet. “Diamond Jim Crowley. Attorney-at-law, private businessman and senator. A Republican who hails from Tacoma.” He pulled off his jacket and hung it over the back of the vanity chair before stretching out on the bed beside her. “Connie’s right. You were interested in him. You thought he might be involved in something shady.”

“What’s that got to do with Salvaje?”

“Nothing.”

“Then why did my father and I fight about him?”

“Because your dad is a die-hard Republican who owns his own business. You obviously don’t remember, but you and your dad have always been about as far apart politically as any two people can get.” He was moving closer to her, his head on the pillow next to her rump. Nikki tried to ignore the feel of his breath, warm even through her robe. She wanted to move away from him, told herself it only made sense, but there was an irresistible pull that kept her seated on the bed, her robe tucked around her legs, her breathing jumping irregularly.

“How shady?”

“Huh?”

“The senator. What was my theory?”

“I don’t know. You wouldn’t discuss it. Very hush-hush. I’m surprised your father and Connie knew about it.”

Connie, too, had insisted that it was something they had to keep quiet. But what? Nikki racked her brain and felt Trent’s wet hair rub against her thigh. Her stomach rolled over slowly as desire began to warm her blood.

“What did you find out at the airport?” she asked to keep her head clear, but his hand encircled her bare ankle. Her heart dropped into her stomach and she could barely concentrate on anything but the warm grip around her leg.

“The storm’s supposed to die down and we’re booked on a flight that takes off at three. Barring any more catastrophes, we’ll be home by midnight tomorrow.”

She should have felt overwhelming relief. Instead the nagging feeling that she was leaving something in Salvaje, something undone, kept teasing at her.

He moved his hand. His fingers gently glided up the inside of her calf. Her throat grew tight and she could barely breathe. Biting her lip, she glanced down at him, his head angled on the pillow so that his gaze met hers.

“I don’t know if this is such a good idea,” she said in a voice she didn’t recognize as her own.

His palm brushed her knee and moved upward. “I know it isn’t.”

“Maybe we should stop— Oh!” Her protests were cut off when he moved suddenly, shifting on the bed so that his body was stretched over hers, his lips finding her yielding mouth just as his fingers touched her panties.

“I can’t,” he admitted, his lips claiming hers with the same wild passion that had touched her soul only hours before. “Don’t you know that by now? When I’m with you, I just can’t stop.”

* * *

Trent spied
el Perro
seated at the bar. The Dog was sipping from a tall glass and trying to make time with a long-legged redhead. The Luna Plata, or Silver Moon tavern, was busy for early afternoon, the air thick with cigarette smoke and laughter, glasses clinking, ice rattling, bawdy jokes thrown about in Spanish. The barkeep, a portly man with a handlebar mustache, was busy making drinks. Waitresses in short ruffled skirts and low-cut tight bodices wiggled quickly between the booths and round tables.

Trent slid into the empty stool next to the Dog. Their eyes met in the mirror behind the bar. As Trent ordered a beer,
el Perro
whispered something into the redhead’s ear, grinned at her response and patted her on her rear as she slid from her stool. Only when Trent had paid for his beer did the two men move into one of the back booths near a loud poker game that protected their conversation.

“Your woman, she is sly like the fox, eh?”
el Perro
asked, his dark eyes burning with malicious mirth in the dark tavern.

Trent’s blood boiled a little, but he managed a thin smile. “She’s smart enough.”

“Too smart for you, eh?”

“Maybe,” Trent allowed, taking a long pull from his bottle.

El Perro
snorted a laugh and lit a cigarette. “She leaves you to wipe the table and does her business alone.”

“What business?” Trent asked, though he suspected he already knew. “You mean the camera shop?”

The smaller man exhaled a plume of smoke and seemed mildly disappointed.
“Sí.”

“I expected that.”

“Did you know she met the silver-haired one?”
el Perro
asked, sliding a glance in Trent’s direction. “The man with the cane.”

Trent’s composure slipped. His muscles tightened and he held his bottle of beer in a death grip. “Crowley?” he whispered, his throat raw. “She met Crowley?”

“Sí.” El Perro
was obviously enjoying himself, but Trent wanted to rip his throat out.

“And?”

“And nothing. She did not recognize him.”

That didn’t solve the problem. “What about him?”

“He looked long at her, but said nothing.” The Dog leaned across the table. “The silver-haired one, I do not trust him,
amigo.
His eyes, they are dead.”

Amen. Trent’s fists clenched. “Anything else?”

“Nothing.”

Trent pulled out a thin envelope and threw it across the table. “You were sloppy,” he said. “She saw you on the veranda.”

The swarthy man’s brows drew together. He shifted his cigarette to one side of his mouth and counted the bills. “Sloppy. Not
el Perro.
” Satisfied that the money was all there, he squinted through the trailing smoke of his cigarette. “I was never on your veranda,
amigo.
”

* * *

Nikki checked her watch. Trent had been gone nearly forty-five minutes. He’d told her he was going down to the lobby to talk to the manager about tighter security, and she’d expected him by now.

The storm had blown itself out during the night, and the day was bright and clear, the afternoon sun once again streaming through the windows.

She glanced at the bed and felt her neck burn scarlet. How many times last night had they made love? Three times? Four? She couldn’t remember. Not that it mattered, she supposed, but their lovemaking had been so wild...so...desperate, as if they both knew it would suddenly end.
Stupid woman with silly-girl dreams.

Trent had promised her they could stop in the town to do some last-minute shopping before they left, and she was anxious to pick up the film. She would have to find a way to ditch him again, for only a few minutes, but that shouldn’t be difficult.

She heard his key in the lock and smiled when he entered. “I thought I’d lost you,” she said, but noticed the air of urgency in his step, the grim line of his mouth.

“Not so lucky,” he said, but never smiled. “Are you packed?” He noticed the bags near the door and nodded. “Good. There’s a chance we can catch an earlier flight, but we’ve got to get to the airport in twenty minutes.”

Her heart dropped to the floor. “Wait a minute,” she argued as he picked up her suitcase and garment bag. “I thought we were going into town—”

“No time.”

“But you promised,” she said, desperation gripping her heart in a stranglehold. “I told you I wanted to go shopping and—”

“Sorry.”

“I’m not leaving until—”

“You’re leaving and you’re leaving now. With me,” he said, his voice brooking no argument.

“In case you haven’t heard, this isn’t the Dark Ages, McKenzie! You can’t just order me around like you’re some lord and I’m your sorry little servant girl— Oh!”

He grabbed with hands tight as manacles circling her forearms. “It’s not safe here anymore.”

“What do you mean?”

“The man on the deck. I think you were right. He wasn’t a burglar.”

“Who was he?” she asked, trying to keep the fear from her voice.

“I don’t know, but we’re not sticking around to find out.” He dropped her arms at a knock on the door and allowed the bellboy in to help with their bags.

Nikki was beginning to feel desperate. “It would only take a minute.”

The phone rang loudly and Trent reached for the receiver. “Hello?”

The conversation was one-sided as he listened, and his eyes narrowed upon Nikki, his lips compressing.

“
Gracias,
I’ll tell her,” Trent said before slowly replacing the receiver.

Nikki’s insides froze.

“That was Nurse Sánchez from the hospital. She says Mrs. Martínez’s friend was a girl named Rosa Picano. She works at a hotel on the south end of the bay. Want to tell me about her?”

Leveling her gaze straight at him, she said, “I’ve wanted to tell you about her for a long time. She saw me in the hospital. She knew me. Called me Señorita Carrothers. Not Señora McKenzie.”

One of Trent’s eyebrows lifted. “And that surprises you?”

“Yes. Why would she call me—”

“Because there was a mix-up when we got here. At the first hotel. You signed us in while I took care of the baggage, and all of your credit cards, all of your identification, even your passport, is in your maiden name. It was easier to go by Carrothers.”

“The girl didn’t remember a husband.”

“That’s because I dealt with the manager directly because the plumbing in our first room didn’t work.”

She wanted to trust him, to believe in him and yet she couldn’t. There were too many things left unexplained. “You’re telling me the truth?”

“Yes, but I don’t know what I can do to convince you,” he said in irritation. “Come on. We’ve got a plane to catch.” He propelled her to the elevator and through the lobby to the front of the hotel where a taxi was waiting in the circular drive. A copper-skinned cabbie shoved their bags into the trunk. “You can’t do this,” she hissed as Trent forced her into the back of the cab, climbed in beside her and ordered the driver in Spanish to get them to the airport.

“Watch me.”

“I’ll scream,” she warned.

“Go right ahead. We’re married, and as I told you before—on this island a husband’s rights are rarely questioned. If I say something is good for you, whether you like it or not, that’s the way it is.”

“That’s barbaric!”

His eyes glittered in anger. “Absolutely. That’s why it works.”

“But—” She wanted to argue, to scream, to pummel him with her fists as the cabdriver turned onto the concrete slab of a road that drove them straight to the airport, avoiding the city of Santa María altogether. Her spirits sank as low as they had been since she’d woken up in the hospital all those days ago. At that moment she hated Trent!

“I want a divorce,” she blurted out angrily.

His answer was a slow, sexy smile. “That’s not what you were begging for last night.”

Without thinking, she drew her hand back and started to slap him, but he caught her wrist in mid-arc and clucked his tongue. “I wouldn’t, if I were you.”

“If you were me, you’d probably shoot me with that damned gun you’ve got a permit for!”

“Probably,” he allowed, his smile returning as the palm trees gave way to the airport, which was hardly more than a few low-slung buildings and a couple of cracked runways. Nikki had no choice but to follow him into the terminal. She couldn’t scream that she was being kidnapped, because he was only taking her home, and truth to tell, she did believe that there was some sort of danger on the island. Why else his case of nerves?

But there was something else here on Salvaje, something that had drawn her to this little speck in the Caribbean, some reason she had wanted to come here in the first place, and whatever that reason was, she knew in her gut that she hadn’t found it.

She was still fuming as they boarded the small plane. She sat near the window, strapped her seat belt over her lap and listened to the flight attendant go over the safety procedures. She knew that Trent was watching her, but as they took off, she stared out the window, to the wild island where she’d lost her memory, the paradise she’d come to visit for her honeymoon, the place where she’d lost her heart to a man she alternately hated and loved. Oh, what a horrid mess!