Volcano (8 page)

She didn't have time to puzzle over the discovery. Charlie led the way down a narrow alley to someone's backyard and knocked softly on the back door of a two-story concrete block structure. No one answered.

***

Cursing, Charlie tried the door. A dead bolt held it firm. He rattled it louder, hoping to stir the inhabitants, but the lack of lights in the rooms above told their story. Jacques and Antoinette had left. Why?

Stumped, he crashed his shoulder against the door, hoping to shatter the old bolt, but Jacques knew how to protect his home. The bolt didn't give an inch, but Charlie's shoulder acquired an ache to match the one in his throbbing head.

“You can't break in!” his companion uttered in tones of horror.

“He promised me a place to sleep.” Charlie knew he was being obstinate, but he couldn't believe his old friend had left him out in the cold like this. Something was wrong, but his aching head couldn't muddle it out. He could only manage one thought at a time, and the one uppermost at the moment was getting rid of this female before she got hurt. After that, he could take care of himself.

“You were going to sleep here?” she asked in disbelief.

“Yeah, I didn't figure that would disappoint you any.” He wandered along the back of the house looking for a way in.

“Could your friend have left because he's expecting trouble?”

He hadn't realized she'd followed him. Damn, but the blow must have scrambled his brains more than he'd realized. She was right, of course. Jacques would have assumed Charlie would get the message when he came back and found the place empty.

Word must still travel like lightning through the village. Someone must have recognized him.

Grimacing, Charlie considered his alternatives. To find Raul, he needed to head into the interior, but that required transportation. If he produced his license and credit card, whoever sought him would know just what to look for and where.

Would they know about Penelope yet?

Damn, but she wasn't going to like what he was thinking one bit. Maybe he could soften her up a little, turn on the old Southern charm. Glancing down at the top of that lovely head of black hair, Charlie recognized the problem with that. He didn't want to just charm her. He wanted to tumble her into bed and not get up for a week.

Well, hell, he'd do that later. Right now, they had to get back to the resort and safety.

“Come on. I can still hot-wire a boat. With luck, I'll remember which one belongs to Jacques.”

Noting the lights on in the corner grocery and deciding a six-pack of beer would make a better sedative than aspirin, Charlie dragged his lagging companion after him. He could almost hear her haughty condemnation as he lifted the beer and strode out. He really didn't need the scold bubbling on her lips. With luck, he could outdistance it.

Luck had deserted him, pitched him off the boat, and left him to drown. Penelope's long-legged stride brought her right up beside him, and to Charlie's amazement, she grabbed his unoccupied hand. He almost shook her off before he reconsidered. He wasn't the type to go around holding women's hands. He didn't possess an ounce of sentimentality. But her hand was slender and somehow erotic wrapped in his big fist. He kept it there.

“You're not really going to hot-wire a boat?” she asked anxiously, tripping along beside him in the darkness of the alley.

“Got any better suggestions?”

Since she remained silent, he assumed she didn't.

He left her standing lookout on the dock while he scoured the beach for a familiar fishing boat. No fancy rigs here, just skiffs with motors. He could steal any one of them without much trouble. He just knew he could pay Jacques back for any lost wages once he got out of here.

He settled for one that looked familiar, threw in the beer, pulled out the wires, got the motor running, and signaled for his lookout. She was already running down the sand toward him. Silhouetted in the moonlight, her figure was all long arms and legs. Good thing for him he was a breast man.

Unfortunately, his John Henry didn't recognize that fact. He ached in several places now, and picturing that bed waiting for them at the cottage intensified the one below his belt. He'd have to sleep on the porch with the mosquitoes to keep from having at her. The warmth of her trusting hand still burned against his palm. If she was as smart as he thought she was, she'd push him overboard halfway there. Men like him had no place anywhere near her.

“You know, you're the first man I've ever met who knows how to handle a situation without being told,” she said thoughtfully as they roared around the curve of the shore.

After that praise, Charlie figured he'd better swim home.

Penelope remained silent as they chugged the boat to shore at the resort, climbed out, and hauled it far enough up the beach to stop the tide from taking it. She was exhausted, physically, mentally, and emotionally. She wanted to curl up somewhere and sleep for a week. Preferably not with Macho Charlie. But that wasn't the entire reason for her silence.

Warm salt water lapped at her bare toes. A slice of silver moon cut a swath across the black sand, breaking it into dancing diamonds. Palm trees dipped and swayed to the ocean breeze. And from somewhere amid the lights on the hill, calypso music drifted with a lilting tune she recognized but couldn't name.

She was standing in the midst of every woman's fantasy. Alone.

She discounted the football player slogging through the sand beside her, beer in hand. She'd had her fill of football players and their egos long ago. If she'd envisioned any man at all in this fantasy, it would be a tall, sophisticated gentleman, one who would whisper romantic words and offer a lover's toast with his champagne glass. Not an ox who bellowed orders, cursed under his breath, and preferred beer.

But she wasn't angry with Charlie. She was just—soppy sentimental, she supposed. She'd avoided dreams of marriage and kids in favor of a career. All her life she'd craved respect for her brains and education, instead of her looks. She'd achieved that respect, sort of. She was well aware that men with half her abilities had been promoted to positions ahead of her. But she'd taken up golf—she hated golf—networked with the partners, and finally garnered this chance to earn the position she deserved. And she stood here now, in this exotic setting, wondering if it wouldn't be better dancing in the moonlight than worrying about corporate tax structures.

Stupid of her. The ocean and the trees would be here tomorrow, and next year, and the years after that. Beth's operation couldn't wait that long. Beth would never see an island beach beneath the moonlight. Even the operation wouldn't guarantee that much. It offered only hope that her eyes wouldn't deteriorate and the pain wouldn't worsen. Conceivably, someday, she might be healthy enough to dance to the island music.

“We need to rent a car.”

The masculine voice startled Penelope as abruptly as if he'd awakened her. She glanced up at Charlie's broad silhouette, backlit by the moon as they reached the steps. Primitive of her to enjoy the view. His words jerked her fantasy back to reality.

Charlie caught her elbow and steered her up the stairs. She yanked her arm from his grasp.

“I need a car to get into the interior,” he explained carefully, as if to a two-year-old. “I don't want to show my license or use my credit card. They rent jeeps here. We can stop at the lobby and you can—”

“Put a jeep in my name so you can disappear with it? Don't tempt me. If I could afford it, I'd almost be willing to pay the price. But I can't, so forget it.”

“Look, I have money. I'll leave you all my credit cards, if that will make you happy. If I don't return, you can use them to cruise the Mediterranean. Or get a cash advance to pay for the jeep. Just don't use them in St. Lucia. Someone might recognize the name, and you may find yourself in more trouble than you can handle. I'm not certain what I've gotten myself into here.”

“How very reassuring.” Although tired, Penelope increased her pace up the hill. She wondered if weariness accounted for her lack of terror toward a man who hot-wired boats, needed someone like her for cover, and had murdering muggers after him.

He grabbed her arm and pulled her into the shadows of a bougainvillea spilling over a retaining wall. “Look, a man's life is at stake. Do you think I enjoy begging?”

“If you're trying to instill guilt here,” she said conversationally, “you might as well know I'm impervious to it.”

Another couple descended the stone stairs carrying drinks and laughing. Penelope envied them their carefree gaiety. Why did she have to be the one tormented with other people's problems? Surely Charlie was exaggerating. Men were like that. She didn't want anyone's life depending on her. Beth's life was more than enough responsibility.

Charlie crowded closer, backing her against the wall and placing his hands on either side of her head as if he meant to kiss her. Penelope didn't consider calling for help. She wasn't afraid of him. Maybe she should have been, but perhaps because of her height, men had never physically molested her, and she'd never learned that kind of fear.

“Back off,” she warned. “I won't be intimidated.”

To his credit, Charlie immediately removed his hands. “You could go with me,” he suggested.

“No, I can't,” she said wearily. “I have a job to do. If I don't do it, I'll be unemployed.”

“If I don't get a jeep, a man will be dead. I have connections. I'll get you a new job.”

“Is the Mafia paying well these days?” she asked in exasperation. “You practically kidnap me, blackmail me, maybe even set me up for drug charges, and I'm supposed to fall all over myself giving you anything you want? Why don't you just take your motorboat back to town and hot-wire a car?”

“Stealing from the poor is too easy.” Sarcasm laced his voice as he turned away and started up the stairs. “I'd much rather scare women.”

“I'm sure they have women in town.”

Despite his anger and frustration, Charlie almost smiled at that. She was determined to be rid of him. For some insane reason, he was determined to stick to her like a burr. In this resort world, people traveled in pairs. Besides, if he drove a stolen car, the police would be on the lookout for him.

They trudged past the outside bar and restaurant. Laughter and the gentle clinking of glasses and silverware mixed with the lively calypso beat of a kettle band. He wondered if Miss Penelope could rumba. She'd look damned good on a dance floor.

One of these days he'd have time to find a lady who could do more than drink beer and talk sports. Admittedly, he wasn't likely to find one in the kinds of places he'd been hanging out, but he hadn't really been looking either. All he needed was a little fun now and then. Commitment was for women.

So, he wasn't considering commitment, just a good rumba or two. When he got back home, he'd forget all about it. The islands made a man a little crazy, bubbled the blood or something.

Charlie scanned the shadows around the cottage as they approached. He didn't think anyone could have traced him here yet, but he wasn't taking chances. A palmetto leaf danced lazily across the path. A bird called from the poinciana, then settled into silence. He should have left a light on. He wasn't used to this cloak-and-dagger stuff.

“Wait here,” he ordered as they reached the porch. Miss Penny didn't seem in too much of a hurry to join him. She leaned over the railing and watched the moonlight on the ocean. He rattled at the door lock, distracted by a glimpse of long pale legs. Like a damned ostrich, he thought in frustration as the lock gave, she'd ignored every damned bait he'd offered. She might as well have her head in the sand.

He switched on the overhead, checked the closet and bathroom. Everything looked just as they'd left it. Good. If all went well, he could get some sleep and head out in the morning, with or without Miss P's permission. By tomorrow night, he'd be out of here.

Charlie returned to the porch. Penny wasn't looking at him. She would be even more furious in the morning when she discovered how desperate he was for that jeep. Someday he hoped he could make it up to her. To prove his point, he offered what he could.

“I'll go down to the bar. You go catch up on your beauty sleep.”

She glared at him in disbelief, but turning on her heel, she stalked into the cottage. Before Charlie could drag his weary feet back down the path, she screamed.

Not again. Amusing himself with thoughts of “tarantulas” or other creepy crawlies, Charlie shoved open the louvered door and glanced across the dimly lit cottage.

Without turning to acknowledge his presence, Penelope pointed at the floor on the far side of the bed.

Okay, snake, maybe. At least she hadn't gone after it with hair spray this time. Snickering at that memory, Charlie sidled up beside her and looked over the bed.

“Oh, shit. Bat.” He hated bats.

“Bat?” Apparently having the animal identified calmed her. She visibly relaxed and strained to watch the creature with curiosity. “It's tiny.”