Volcano (5 page)

The last thin nerve holding her together snapped.

Screaming, Penelope jerked back the curtain, dashed for her toiletry bag, and whipped out a tiny can of hair spray. Hysterically, she aimed at the unseen creature behind the curtain, then screamed again as eight heavy legs inched over the tile ridge from shower to floor. It hung there delicately until she squirted it again. Waving all eight legs in concerted motion, it ambled along the ridge in her direction, undeterred by the spray.

Penelope bolted for the exit.

Before she reached the door, it crashed open, and blindly, she bounced off Charlie's massive chest. He grabbed her shoulders to prevent her falling, then dropped his hands as if he'd burned them. “What is it?” he demanded, glancing over her shoulder in obvious expectation of a boa constrictor, at least.

“T-tarantula!” Stuttering, Penelope pointed at the shower while easing toward the other room. She didn't care that she wore next to nothing. Without a tub, only the minuscule tile wall separated her from that hairy, fuzzy, long-legged creature. She figured it could devour her foot in one bite.

Charlie pushed past her, crossed the room, and jerked back the shower curtain without any concern for their safety. Maybe he thought those giant boots he called shoes could stomp a spider, but Penelope knew better. Inching farther away, she prepared to bolt.

“That's not a tarantula,” he said in disgust, turning on a blast of water and sweeping the doomed creature into the downpour of the shower. “It's just a big spider. They eat bugs, not people.”

Charlie turned and caught a full view of Miss Penelope standing there, gasping in terror, a bath towel barely concealing the skimpy underthings she wore beneath. She'd removed the awful glasses but hadn't taken her hair down yet. It escaped in wispy tendrils over skin so flawlessly smooth it could have been airbrushed like a
Playboy
centerfold. Despite her height, she had slender, delicate bones that made her look all legs and arms, probably because he couldn't see anything in between. Charlie wanted to see
everything
in between. A powerful wave of lust ripped through him, urging him to do something utterly idiotic like cuddling her in his arms and reassuring her that she would be safe with him.

She wouldn't be safe with him. The first thing he would do was lay her on the bed and pump into her so fast she wouldn't know what had hit her until it was all over. And then he'd use her for his own purposes. Finding Raul was more important than romancing a skittish blue blood like Miss Penelope Albright. She would scream bloody murder and have him arrested.

Obviously,
he
wasn't safe with
her
. But he'd better get used to it. He needed her as his cover. Steadying his rising impulses, Charlie clenched his teeth and tried to imagine her as a shrieking shrew from a TV sitcom instead of a flesh and blood woman.

“The spider's gone. I'm going down to the lobby to make a few phone calls.” He waited for her to ease away from the door before heading out. He didn't dare risk touching her again. His heart still thumped erratically from the effect of her scream and the feel of all that lush female flesh in his arms.

“The lobby?” she asked, darting a look toward the shower enclosure.

“There're no phones in the rooms,” he explained patiently.

Her head jerked up. “No phones?”

He almost grinned at that. “No phones, no TV, no room service without prior notice. This is a getaway vacation kind of place. Relax, soak up the sunshine, enjoy the scenery. Who needs all the rest?”

“I do,” she answered sharply. “How am I supposed to call Miami?”

“Cable phone in the lobby.” He liked making her eyes light with anger like that. It was safer for both of them.

“I see.”

She apparently didn't like what she saw, but that was no concern of his. Having nothing else to say, Charlie departed, whistling.

Out of sight of her royal highness, he applied his brain to the problem at hand. Assuming Raul hadn't absconded with his money, he had to decide who would want to harm Raul as well as empty the bank account. They'd already purchased the land for the development, so the account currently had only start-up funds in it.

Charlie figured the money was only an added attraction. The thief had some other goal in mind. Charlie had deliberately set up the corporation so few people knew of his involvement. Raul had flown down here and acted in his place. He couldn't imagine anyone using the corporation to get at him unless his identity had leaked somewhere along the line.

If he made the further assumption that his identity remained unknown, then the target could only be Raul or the development. The latter seemed most likely. There were conservationists here who had protested any further encroachment on the rain forest. He sympathized with their cause and hadn't intended harming the environment, but fanatics didn't always listen. Still, Charlie couldn't believe they would be crazy enough to kidnap Raul and steal the money.

He knew there were other developers who coveted that land. Charlie had pulled a lot of strings and called in a lot of favors to win that particular site, one that would have highway access and utilities. Now that all the dirty work had been done, it would be just like someone of Jacobsen's ilk to decide to move in. Raul would have been in the way.

Charlie almost preferred to think Raul had absconded with the money. At least then he could believe his friend was alive.

Taking a seat at the phone table in the tiled, outdoor lobby, he punched in a few numbers and waited for the connection. He wished he could figure Jacobsen into the equation for certain. The man had lain low since Charlie had agreed to act as star witness against him for construction fraud, but it was mighty suspicious seeing him at the airport. The last he'd heard, Jacobsen's construction company was facing bankruptcy. The last project Jacobsen worked on had collapsed, injuring half a dozen good workers. Raul's brother had been one of them.

The call connected and his secretary answered, practically jumping on him through the telephone. “Mr. Smith! We've been waiting for you to call,” she whispered in a tone that froze icicles in Charlie's veins. “There's a man outside waiting to serve papers on you. It has something to do with the St. Lucia project.” She took a deep breath and added in muffled tones indicating she cupped the receiver with her hand, “They've put a lien on your bank accounts. We can't write any checks.”

A trickle of perspiration crawled down Charlie's neck. This couldn't be happening, not now, not when he finally had it made. He had too many balls in the air. They'd all smash to the ground at once without those bank accounts. He'd just deposited the advance money for the Orlando project and bought supplies. The payroll was due. All those checks would bounce.

The only consolation Charlie could summon as he hung up the phone was that he'd found the connection. Jacobsen had planned his revenge well.

“Trouble, Mr. Albright?”

Lost in thought, Charlie didn't immediately recognize the name, but sensing he was no longer alone, he looked up and decided he must be exuding high-energy vibrations for the busy manager of a resort to notice. Wondering if a cable call could be picked up by radio waves or tapped electronically, he forced a smile to his face and greeted Roger Henwood.

“Just business. Can a water taxi into Soufriere be arranged at this time of day?”

The Englishman nodded affably. “Of course. They'll run until dusk. Does your wife like the cottage?”

His wife. Right. He had to remember he was “married.”

“She loves the cottage, but the airlines didn't feed her and she's about to expire of hunger. I thought I'd take her into town.”

Henwood beamed approval. “Of course. You can catch the water taxi down by the beach bar. Do you know how to find it?”

Getting directions he didn't need, Charlie took the steps back to the cottage. He didn't know why Henwood was hovering around him. He didn't know the man. Unless he'd somehow overheard the phone conversation, Henwood shouldn't know his real identity. The resort manager was just going out of his way for Penelope's benefit. Circumstances had made him suspicious of everyone.

Charlie created a racket as he entered the cottage so he wouldn't catch his reluctant hostess in another precarious state of undress. He needed her cooperation. He had a rat's chance in hell of gaining it without blackmail, but he would do what he had to do.

He groaned inwardly as he caught Penelope brushing out her long black hair. He couldn't believe this woman allowed her hair to grow out like that. She struck him as one of those efficient businesswomen who had her hair clipped and styled at some fancy salon every week until she looked more like a man than a woman. But right now, she looked like some exotic tropical fantasy his sick mind had dreamed up to nail him to the floor.

She looked up, startled at his appearance but apparently unembarrassed by the spill of silken tresses over her blazer. Idly gathering her hair in her hand, she pinned it to the back of her head with a silver clip. The severe hairstyle emphasized the dramatic jut of her elegant cheekbones and nose. “I didn't expect you back. Don't you have business to tend to?”

“I do, but I need you for cover. I want to look like a typical bored tourist roaming the streets of Soufriere. Come with me and I'll feed you.” Trying to ignore her, Charlie walked past her heavenly scents and into the bathroom to wash.

“I'm not about to make that trip into town again anytime soon,” Penelope informed him coldly, over the sound of rushing water. If Mr. Charlie Smith thought she was the kind of tractable female who bent to every man's will, he might as well learn his lesson now. She'd seen what submissiveness had done to Beth and her mother.

He emerged from the bathroom dripping water and rubbing his face with a towel. Obviously, some demented part of her mind still had a fascination with muscular football player types because her heart skipped a beat at just the sight of that broad chest beneath the skimpy tank top. A dark curl of hair at the shirt's neckline stirred a kind of lust she hadn't known in years. How the hell did he think he could disguise himself as a typical tourist? He'd be lucky if people didn't ask for his autograph.

“We'll take a water taxi. It'll be fun. And you'll get fed a lot sooner. You can poke around in the craft shops while I talk to a few people.”

Penelope gifted him with her best scornful look. “If you think anyone will believe you're a typical tourist, you have beans for brains. You look like the Caribbean equivalent of Mafia. If I judged by appearances alone, I'd say you planted that white stuff in my bags. Although I suppose any self-respecting drug dealer would wear something a little more decent than what you have on.”

She would have bitten her tongue in dismay at her temerity, but his surprised glance at his clothes was too typically male and not the least like a dangerous drug dealer.

“What's wrong with what I'm wearing? It's cool and comfortable. Jeans go anywhere.”

With just a tiny bit of delight in her sarcasm, Penelope pointed out the obvious. “You're staying at an expensive resort. Didn't you look around you at all? The men wear khakis or long shorts with Tommy Hilfigers or oxford shirts. They don't wear cowboy mustaches and mirrored glasses and look like football players.”

She'd hoped a good shot at his ego would drive him off, but the damned man looked up with a grin and a bold gaze that swept over her own rather conservative attire.

“This is how a man dresses,” he informed her, “and I'm a man and you're not, so I ought to know. While we're at it, it wouldn't hurt you to look more like a woman. Do you always wear jackets in tropical jungles, Miss Albright?”

“What I wear is of little concern to you.
I'm
not hiding my identity. I'm going down for tea. Have fun in town.”

He stepped in front of her, blocking her path to the door. “Hold it just a minute, Miss Albright. We're in this together. I'll keep you out of the hands of the authorities if you'll help me keep a low profile. Give me a minute to change. I'll play the part of tourist according to your specifications if you'll lose that gawd-awful jacket. You'll cook out there on the water with that thing on.” When she hesitated, he added, “Food, Miss Albright. Lots and lots of spicy seafood. I'll show you the best places. You want the real stuff, not the tourist stuff, don't you?”

Her stomach rumbled. Tiny little snacky things didn't sound quite as tempting as lots and lots of spicy seafood. She loved spicy seafood. “How long?” she asked suspiciously.

“Minutes. Mere minutes. Soufriere is just around the bend and the water taxi is fast. Make yourself comfortable for an outing, and I'll be right with you.”

Make herself comfortable. Right. As he disappeared into the bathroom with his backpack, Penelope glared at the full- length mirror on the closet door. The unstructured white linen blazer and matching trousers were comfortable, but she suspected they wouldn't hold up long in a motorboat or roaming dirty streets. She knew the macho jerk hoped for tight shorts and halters, but she didn't own such things. She gave all that up when she gave up modeling after graduation. The only way she could make men look at her with any degree of respect was by hiding behind the same business suits they wore.