by Mindy Neff
Sophie nodded. Her cupid bow lips rimmed in chocolate were pursed solemnly, causing her pudgy cheeks to puff out.
“Well, Raquel had beautiful, flowing hair past her waist—”
“But you said it was fuzzy.”
“Yes.” He backtracked smoothly. “She had beautiful, fuzzy hair past her waist, and in her first act of freedom, she had it all cut off.”
“And it was still beautiful?”
“Even more so. And next, she went to a small village close to Nice, and became a photo artist, taking pictures of babies.”
“Like the water baby you buyed Momma?”
“That was one of them, yes. And Raquel was a happy heiress now that she didn’t have to be a princess—”
“She didn’t want to be?” Emily’s tone was full of disbelief.
“Well, no...”
“Is Joseph mean?”
Ah, hell, Antonio thought. The story was getting out of hand. He’d forgotten about these little girls and their questions. “No, he’s not mean. He’s very nice, actually. But she did not love him.”
“’Cuz he was still a frog, then,” Sophie inserted wisely.
“You are very right, little mermaid. I am certain that was the case. So, anyway, Raquel was happy photographing her babies and dressing like a siren—”
“What’s a siren?”
He glanced at Chelsa for this one. He wasn’t too sure how deeply she’d like him to delve into this particular subject with a four and six-year-old. She gave him a saucy grin that told him he was on his own. He was actually astonished that she did so. That she was letting him lead the way with the girls was saying something. Before, she’d kept a tight rein, seemed to even resent it when her daughters turned to him.
It was a small victory, one he imagined she didn’t even realize she’d conceded, but he’d take it nonetheless.
“You will pay,” he murmured for Chelsa’s ears alone. To the girls still staring up at him, he said, “A siren is like a mermaid.” He left out the temptress of men part.
“So she dressed wif a tail?”
Chelsa choked on laughter. “Need some help, Prince?”
He gave her a narrowed look and told himself it was the heat that made him sweat. “No thank you. The day I cannot converse with a female is the day they put me in the ground.”
“I offered.”
“And I expressed gratitude. Now,” he said, focusing his attention on the four-year-old who saw things entirely too literally. “Raquel did not actually wear a tail like a mermaid. However, she wore her clothing tight—like the tail on a mermaid is tight—and allowed her middle to be exposed. Is that not an accurate description of a mermaid?” Hopefully he’d deterred them from the siren part.
“Sort of. ’Cept they gots to wear a bra. And da boobies poof out.” Sophie made a cupping gesture near her own flat chest.
Antonio held his breath to keep from laughing, and glanced at Chelsa to see how she was taking her daughter’s pantomime.
The problem was, his intentions short-circuited somewhere along the way, and damn if his gaze didn’t automatically zero right in on her nicely rounded breasts. He hadn’t meant to look precisely there, but his eyes operated seemingly of their own volition.
When he finally got control of his unruly eye muscles and met her gaze, he noticed that rather than being scandalized, her blue eyes were brimming with amusement.
Unable to hold it in a second longer, they both sputtered in laughter. Like a couple of fools, they bent double, holding on to each other for support, which in turn prompted Emily and Sophie to join in—even though they weren’t sure what was so funny.
Chelsa leaned against Antonio, her sides aching. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d laughed so hard, or felt so good. He supported her with an arm around her waist, accepting her weight, as well as the weight of Emily and Sophie who were each collapsed against his thighs and hanging on like monkeys.
With her head resting against his shoulder, she allowed herself a carefree moment to just feel. The gentle breeze was warm and sweet, smelling of flowers and the ocean. She wanted to capture the tranquility of the moment and put it in a time capsule where it could never be tarnished by worldly intrusions.
His palm cupped her cheek, his fingers delving into her hair. It was a timeless gesture, one that encouraged another person to lean on them, to relax and enjoy.
And Chelsa realized she had no business taking advantage of the moment, or feeling so giddy over the easiness between the four of them.
Especially since they were standing out in the open. Easy, highly visible targets for a camera lens.
Or the scope of a rifle.
She straightened with a jerk and stepped away. He let her go, giving her a quiet look that spoke volumes, a look that said he was sad the fun was over, and that he knew where her thoughts had gone.
Then his enticing grin flashed and his dimples winked.
“Race you to the house,” he called and took off with the children squealing in glee and hot on his heels. Still not totally willing to let her kids out of her sight, Chelsa joined in the chase, though she kept a respectable distance.
She was getting entirely too close to Antonio Castillo as it was.
By the time she caught up with them, Antonio had commandeered the garden hose and was engaged in a rowdy game of duck and run with her daughters. It was so easy, so natural for him to play.
She reached in her pocket for the house key, then kicked off her sandals and pulled open the screen door. Sand gritted beneath her feet as she traversed the expanse of wood flooring on the enclosed porch. She frowned, remembering that she’d swept the floor just that morning.
Even before she had the key all the way inserted in the front door lock, she knew something was wrong.
The hairs on her arm stood on end as the knob turned without the aid of the key.
She was fanatical about locking the doors—at least she’d become that way lately.
Sweat dampened her palms and her heart raced so hard, she felt faint. The urge to run nearly overpowered her, yet indecision held her paralyzed. Dear God, what should she do? If she called out, Antonio would come in a second, racing like the cavalry. But, then, so would the girls.
Oh, Lord. She had to be brave, and she felt like the biggest coward.
Fingers trembling like mad, she pulled the key back out of the lock and palmed it, allowing the serrated edge to protrude through her fingers. As a weapon, it was a pitiful one, but better than nothing.
Leaning against the door, she carefully, with excruciating slowness, turned the knob....
And screamed when a hand clamped on her shoulder.
Chapter 7
Antonio snatched his hand back so fast, he nearly lost his balance. He wasn’t used to women screaming in holy terror when he touched them.
“Easy, querida,” he soothed. Taking her gently by the shoulders, he turned her to face him. When he got a good look at her, his fighting instincts went on full alert. Her face was pale, her freckles standing out against her milky complexion. It was eighty degrees out, yet goose bumps dotted her skin. Her eyes were wide and liquid, the pupils dilated, and even still he could see her grappling for strength. ¡Dios! It made him ache to see her torment. “What is it?”
“The door... I locked it...”
He glanced at the door standing slightly ajar, then at the key sticking out from between her fingers. His face went taut when he realized she’d felt the need to arm herself. Inadequately, to be sure, but armed nonetheless. “Go outside with the girls.”
“Momma?” Emily said, her voice wobbling. “Why did you scream?”
“I’m sorry, honey—”
“It is very possible a nasty snake slithered past the doorway,” Antonio said, saving her an explanation that would only frighten the children more. And the snake description wasn’t too far of a fabrication. If Chelsa’s ex was on the loose, he was indeed a venomous asp. “If you three bellas would kindly wait outdoors, I will en
deavor to conduct a search-and-destroy mission.”
“Tony, no. That’s my responsibility.”
He pressed a finger to her lips. “Trust me, querida .”
Chelsa didn’t have much choice. She didn’t want Emily and Sophie caught in the cross fire of confrontation if there was an intruder in the house.
She nodded and herded the kids back onto the beach, wrapping her arms around them. They clung, sensing there was more going on than the adults were telling, but they didn’t press.
It was sad that they’d been conditioned to silence their fears at such a young age. Chelsa had tried not to lie to them about Rick, but then she’d also tried to downplay the danger. After all, there was a chance that Rick wouldn’t follow through on his threat.
A slim one, but a chance nonetheless.
It seemed to take forever before Antonio appeared back on the porch. By then, Chelsa had created all kinds of horrible scenarios. Dear Lord, if she was the cause of harm to this celebrated prince, she would never forgive herself. Nor would his countrymen of Valldoria, she suspected.
But her nightmare images were put to rest by his winning grin. The light expression was for Emily and Sophie’s benefit, she suspected. And maybe for her own. But she looked past the carefree flash of dimple and perfect white teeth to his dark eyes.
They were worried.
Her heart kicked into another runaway gallop and her arms tightened around her children.
“All clear,” he announced.
“Did you find the snake?” Emily asked.
“Did it have big teeth?” Sophie’s eyes were round and inquisitive. Emily shot her sister an annoyed look.
“No uninvited animals in the house. Señor Gatito did an excellent job of guarding the fortress while we were away.”
The girls broke loose of Chelsa’s hold and raced into the house. Evidently they’d forgotten about their newly acquired pet.
Chelsa followed more slowly, needing to look for herself. She still felt disturbed, as though unseen eyes were trained on her. She shivered, then went still as a pillar of salt.
Resting on the closed lid of her laptop computer was a shiny, 2012 quarter—tails up.
2012...the year she’d married Rick Lawrence.
The buzzing in her ears was like a chorus of locusts in mating season. She couldn’t hear. She couldn’t think. Perspiration beaded on her upper lip, trickled between her breasts, slicked her fingers. She didn’t reach for the coin.
She glanced at Antonio. “You checked the whole house?” It was as though her words were a mere echo in her head, ricocheting off an invisible wall, then sucked into a vacuum. “The closets? Under the beds?”
“Yes.” He came up beside her, searched her face. “Everywhere.”
The girls were within sight, showering attention on the cat. If need be, she could reach them within seconds. “He’s been here,” she whispered.
“Chelsa—”
“Look.” She pointed to the computer. “Rick loved money, loved the feel of change. He was always tossing me a penny—for luck, he’d say. That was when he was in a good mood. When he was unhappy with me or life or the brand of the cereal, or if he just wanted to get my attention, he’d leave a single quarter, tails up, where he knew I’d find it.”
“And the significance?”
She shrugged. “It was his slimy way of saying that whatever or whoever upset him wasn’t worth two bits.”
The meaning this time was clear. Her life wasn’t worth two bits.
And Rick was cunning. He had the type of mind that could plot an “accident” and probably get away with it. Oh, she could see it now. The grieving ex—sorry for his past mistakes—convincing a system he’d gone straight and learned his lesson. He’d be able to pull off such an act. And under Mississippi law, he could gain legal guardianship of their daughters if she were dead.
Not that he wanted anything to do with the girls. He only wanted to make Chelsa pay.
With her life.
How could she have been so wrong about the man she’d married? Starry-eyed and young, she’d had such hopes. She’d never seen Rick resort to physical violence, but she’d seen his desperation there at the end, a madness that told her he’d crossed the line. And she’d heard it in his voice, too.
Anything was possible...even probable.
She turned suddenly, feeling as though the ground beneath her was unpredictable quicksand. “Promise me something, Tony.” Her voice was a low, fierce whisper. “If anything happens to me, take care of my girls.”
“Shh, nothing will—”
“Promise me,” she begged, making a conscious effort not to scream. Tears welled and no amount of fighting could call them back. “Make sure they’re cared for. You have connections.” She gripped the front of his shirt, ripping off another of his buttons. The plastic disk bounced off the hardwood floor like a shot and rolled to a stop onto the braided rug. “Promise me.”
Antonio snatched her to him and held on. “I promise.” The vow was sealed before he’d even given the ramifications a second thought.
¡Madre de Dios! What had he done? He’d never gone back on a promise, never made ones that he couldn’t keep. Yet he’d just vowed to uphold an enormous responsibility.
Nothing was going to happen to her, he thought fiercely. He’d see to it. But how? He couldn’t buy his way—or hers—out of this danger.
The only thing he could do was stick around and use his brawn and wits to protect her. Because now, especially now, the thought of leaving her alone was intolerable.
A queer sensation raced through his body. She was a beautiful woman. Her daughters were angels. But he was not a man to settle down to hearth and home. This funny feeling in his chest did not mean he was falling for her.
He was simply giving comfort, being a friend. Yet as he held her slight body, he felt his own respond. And the sensation was anything but friendship.
Since there were children in the room—although the cat captured their sole attention—he eased back, reaching deep for a measure of control.
Chelsa had obviously found her own well of strength, because her face was no longer pale. In fact, her cheeks were blushed with color. At any other time, under any other circumstances, he would have taken advantage of the obvious arousal.
But Chelsa was different. She was special. With her, his usual, easy charm didn’t seem appropriate—his the-world-is-my-oyster attitude no longer seemed appropriate.
“What about your family, querida?”
“What about them?”
“You must have parents. Sophie speaks of a grandpa who removes his teeth—they resemble snapping alligators, she says.”
Chelsa smiled. Just being held, knowing that someone else was here to lean on occasionally, was enough to restore her equilibrium. “That would be my dad.”
“You are in San Alegra. Could you not go to him?”
“Yes. But it was my choice not to. I don’t want anyone else dragged into danger—if there is any.” The tacked-on statement was a last-ditch hold on rationality, on the odds. But she wasn’t one to play the odds, and a sixth sense told her she wasn’t overreacting. She released a breath.
“However, it looks as though I’ve inadvertently dragged you into the mess. You’d be smart to pack up your new clothes and hit up Ernesto for a ride home.”
“You haven’t dragged me anywhere I do not want to go.” He traced a finger down her cheek. “It is like I said. You ask nothing of others, and instead take it all on your shoulders. But that is no longer necessary, because I’m staying.”
His words both thrilled and worried her. He did make her feel safe, though...or at least safer. And short of throwing him out bodily, she didn’t think she could change his mind, or budge him. So she nodded. “Thank you.”
“Do you have a gun?”
Her eyes widened as the implications of a new and horrible thought crowded in. “Yes. Mitch insisted. I put it up in the top of the closet—I didn’t want the k
ids to find it.” She swept past him, and raced to the bedroom. She reached for the sliding wardrobe door, then hesitated. What if it was missing? What if there was something more than clothes in the dark alcove?
“I checked the closet,” Antonio said softly, reaching past her to open the door himself. “Where do you keep it?”
“Under those blankets, up there in the far corner.”
Antonio pushed aside the woven fabric, felt his fingers butt up against steel and pulled out a nine-millimeter Beretta. Light, balanced, a sweet piece of weaponry. The clip was loaded but not pushed all the way in. This wasn’t some dinky ladies’ gun. This little honey meant business.
“Do you know how to use it?”
“Yes. Daddy’s a retired police officer. I grew up around guns.”
“Good.” He put the Beretta back where he’d found it. “In the meantime, I think you ought to place a call to your detective friend. See if there’s any news.”
“You’re right.” She moved to the nightstand beside the bed and removed a business card, then picked up the extension phone. “Though I’m a little surprised he hasn’t called me.”
Chelsa waited for the connection to go through, then asked for Mitch’s extension. Antonio’s supportive hand on her shoulder reminded her that she wasn’t alone. She relaxed her death grip on the receiver.
“D’Ambra.”
“Mitch? It’s Chelsa Lawrence.” She heard the hinges on his chair squeak and pictured the handsome detective coming to attention.
“You okay, darlin’?”
His smooth Southern drawl could be deceiving, make a person think he was laid-back. He used it to his advantage—to the misfortune of more than one wily perp. The man was smart as a tack. “I’m not sure. Have you heard anything about Rick’s release?”
“No. I’ve got a request for notification, but sometimes these things get overlooked. I can call right now, if you like.”
“I think you’d better. I think he’s been here, Mitch.” She told him about the unlocked door and the quarter, even though, in the retelling, her fears sounded paper-thin and ungrounded.
The detective swore, then apologized, then swore again, making Chelsa smile despite the graveness of the circumstances. He never questioned her suspicions; he automatically believed her. That was something she appreciated about him. He’d never once accused her of being an overwrought ex-wife. From day one, he’d taken her concerns and intuitions seriously.
