Under Pressure

by Kathy Brandt

  “That’s right. We brought her down a couple of weeks ago.”

  Zora came in, wearing a tank top and tight lycra workout pants, calf length, a towel draped around her neck.

  “Detective Sampson. Any questions you have, you can ask me,” she said, nodding to Burke, who headed out to the deck.

  “This is Detective Stark,” I said.

  Zora gave Stark the once-over, her gaze drifting to his crotch. She smiled and wiped sweat from her forehead with the towel. Then she headed for the bar and proceeded to mix a bunch of stuff in a blender. As small as she was, no one would ever mistake Zora for weak. I watched her as she moved around the wet bar. Every inch of her exuded sexuality and power at the same time. I pegged her as someone who knew what she wanted and took it. Some men would find that very attractive, especially in bed.

  Right now she was giving us a lecture about nutrition. “You know that I’ve never drunk anything brown?” she said over the noise of the blender.

  I had to think about that. Was nothing brown a good thing or a bad thing? I could tell Zora considered it good. The stuff in the blender was looking a sickly green.

  “I don’t drink coffee or cola, don’t eat chocolate. Never will.”

  “Too bad,” Stark said. “I’d say you’re missing out on some of the finer things in life.”

  She scowled at Stark and asked why we were there. So much for hospitality.

  Stark took her through the questions. Had she noticed anything unusual in the airport or on the plane? She didn’t tell us anything we hadn’t already heard from the other passengers.

  “How long have you been down here?” Stark asked.

  “Almost two weeks now.”

  “This is a big boat for just one person. You own it?” Stark asked.

  “No, I don’t. It belongs to my employer. As it happens, I’m his lawyer. He’s a very generous and wealthy man. I needed a vacation. He offered the boat.”

  “Does the crew come with the boat?”

  “That’s right,” she said.

  “Why were you on that plane going to Puerto Rico?” I asked.

  “Not that it’s any of your business, but I was attending to some legal affairs for my boss.”

  “The airline records show you didn’t have a reservation,” Stark said.

  “It came up unexpectedly. My employer called to ask for the favor. It was the least I could do. A day out of my vacation didn’t bother me.”

  “How long were you staying in San Juan?”

  “Why is any of this of concern to you?”

  “You know that plane was scheduled to turn right around and return to Tortola. The passenger list has you on it,” I said, hoping to catch her in a lie.

  “That’s a mistake. Typical island screw up. I was supposed to be scheduled on the last flight back that night.”

  That explained why she’d had no luggage.

  “You didn’t check your ticket?” Stark asked, pissed. “I mean, knowing how we islanders are always screwing up?”

  Zora smirked and ignored the question.

  “You made anyone but me angry lately? Someone who might not want to see you make it to Puerto Rico?” Stark prodded.

  “Surely you don’t think someone brought that plane down on purpose,” she said, turning to me. She seemed truly shocked at the notion.

  “It’s still under investigation. We’re just covering all the bases,” I said.

  “None of it has anything to do with me. Now, if there’s nothing more, I’ve got a massage and God forbid I should keep the man waiting,” she said, grabbing her drink.

  “Just one more question,” I said. “Did you bring a weapon on that flight, maybe lose it?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. I know the consequences of bringing weapons onto airplanes. An oversight by island security, I assume?” she said, directing one last dig at Stark.

  ***

  “I don’t like that woman,” Stark mumbled as we walked back to the car. “Did you notice her eyes—stone cold, if you ask me. She looks like she’d take out her mother if she had just the slightest excuse. And man, what was that about not drinking anything brown?”

  “You’re just pissed about her remarks about island efficiency. It could have happened the way she said, with the ticket mix-up.”

  “Maybe,” Stark said, “but it seems pretty darned strange that Zora’s down here by herself on that yacht, though.”

  “Yeah, though not that strange if her boss has that kind of money and she wanted to get away,” I said. “Let’s get Snyder to check the yacht registration and find out what we can about her boss and that captain.”

  “Sounds good. I’ll talk to him when I get back to the office,” Stark said, checking his watch. “I’m late. How about we call it a day?”

  “Do you have a heavy date, Stark?” Stark was an item on the island, the strong, silent type that a lot of women saw as a challenge. He’d dated half the women over twenty-one on Tortola and was working his way through the other half. At thirty-five, he’d never been married.

  “Yeah,” he said. “I’m meeting Billy.”

  “Oh yeah? This must be a couple times just this week.”

  Billy Cooper was a BVIslander who ran her own tour business. She had a catamaran and took small groups out to snorkel or to visit the quiet bays in the islands. She was proud of the islands and loved being able to share the beauty with others. When she wasn’t working, her passion was sailing, which was a real problem for Stark, whose idea of water sports revolved around a romp in his niece’s wading pool.

  “I’m supposed to meet her for dinner at her parents’,” Stark said.

  “Hey, that’s great. Billy is one special woman,” I said.

  “Think so?”

  “Come on. She’s smart, beautiful, and one of the nicest people around. I don’t know what you’re going to do about the water thing though.”

  “Yeah, that’s a problem,” he said, then looked down the sidewalk and started laughing.

  “What, Stark?” I asked. He was practically in tears now.

  “You’d better watch out for that movie star,” he said, nodding toward a vendor hawking the Island News on the corner.

  The guy was working up sales by enticing prospective buyers with the front-page photo of Stewart with the woman police officer. A huge stack of papers lay at his feet.

  A customer bought one and glanced my way, looked at the photo, looked back at me, back at the photo, and was finally sure it was me. Then he came over and started quizzing me about my status as the girlfriend to a star and proceeded to ask me for my autograph.

  Stark was bent over now, laughing his head off. When he came up for breath, he handed me a damned pen.

  “Here you go, Hannah,” he said. “Sign the paper for this nice man.”

  “This is really not that funny, Stark,” I said.

  It was the last straw. I bought the remaining papers, tossed them in the Rambler, and headed straight to the Paradise Villas, leaving Stark standing on the sidewalk still laughing and the guy with the paper confused.

  The hotel was a five-star resort with a spa, a pool, and views to die for. By the time I got there, I’d worked myself into a decent rage.

  Stewart answered his door, looking tanned and relaxed. All he wore was a pair of shorts. His arm was still in a sling. It was obvious that he’d had no need for a double in his Avenger movies. He was perfectly sculpted, without the ugly bulk of a bodybuilder. He had the kind of body women wanted to touch. Shit.

  His wide, boyish smile crumbled when he saw the look on my face and the stack of papers I carried. I was already through the door and dropping the papers on a chair by the time he invited me in.

  “Hannah, I guess you’re upset,” he said.

  “You could say that. Everyone on the island thinks I’m sleeping with you. I’m getting looks of pure envy from every woman I pass and lecherous stares from the men. And my reputation is shot.”

  “I’d wager you were g
etting looks like that before that article hit the paper. You just never noticed,” he said.

  “This is not funny. This kind of attention on a cop is not cool,” I said.

  “I am really sorry. I told Sammy I didn’t want you exploited in his play for headlines. The thing is, Sammy doesn’t consider it exploitation. He thinks any woman would want to be tied romantically to a movie star. He’s been in Hollywood too long. Me too, I guess. What can I do to make it right?”

  “Talk to Sammy. Make sure he drops it,” I said, heading toward the door.

  “Done,” he said. “Hey, I was making a drink. Join me, please. I’d love a little company. You know, actors are really lonely people.”

  “That’s hard to believe,” I said.

  “It’s true. It’s all surface stuff. People who want something, women who are attracted to the image. All the crap in the tabloids. People think they know you. The fact is they know everything but the truth. It would be nice to talk to someone who has just spent ten minutes chewing me out.”

  “Sure, a drink would be great,” I said, realizing it was probably a big mistake.

  While he was making gin-and-tonics, I wandered out to the balcony. The sun was just about to drop behind Peter Island and the wind was picking up. I could see a sailboat out in the channel, heeling way over in the stiff breeze. I wondered if this was some warning wind, a precursor of things to come.

  I could hear the TV inside. The weather forecaster was reporting that the storm had intensified to hurricane strength and was still headed on a course to the BVI, but at least forty-eight hours out. “Anything could happen,” he said. “God willing, it will not ravage our beautiful islands.”

  “These are unbelievable islands.” Stewart handed me a drink, leaned on the railing next to me, gazing out to the ocean. “You know, I envy you, living here.”

  “That surprises me. It seems like you could live wherever you want.”

  “You’d think so, but I’m caught up in things.”

  “Like what?”

  “The career.”

  “Surely you’ve made enough to quit if you want to.”

  “It’s an addictive lifestyle. The fame, the luxury. Money in, money out. And I admit it—the women. It’s probably an ego thing. I grew up a nobody in a hick town and got the hell out when I was seventeen. I don’t ever want to end up back there.”

  “I’d say you’ve already left all that well behind.” Stewart hardly had the look of a small-town boy.

  “Maybe, but I’ve made a number of stupid choices. Someday I’ll have to pay for all my mistakes.” For a second his eyes reflected regret and something else, maybe desperation. Then it was gone.

  He went inside to make another drink. I wondered about all his talk about mistakes. What could he have done that would have such dire consequences? I found myself feeling sorry for Stewart, apparently a nice guy whose life was spiraling out of control. I could relate to that. But he had choices. We all did, didn’t we?

  “Why don’t you quit the acting?” I asked when he returned.

  “Not a chance,” he said, taking my hand. “I guess you could say I’m addicted. I love the fame.”

  We stood in silence for a moment, looking out to sea. Daniel’s arm lightly brushed mine and my heart raced. Damn, I thought. Not now.

  He took the drink out of my hand and led me inside. I knew better. Dammit, I knew better.

  “Why don’t we go ahead and make more headlines?” he said, pulling me to him with a wry grin.

  Jeez, I was tempted, but I knew I’d regret it come dawn. And what about O’Brien? I thought as Daniel slide his hand down my neck and lightly ran a finger between my breasts. I closed my eyes and let the heat sweep through me. Then I held a gentle finger up to Daniel’s lips and quietly exhaled. Quickly I turned around and headed to the door. I pulled it shut behind me as I used the last of my common sense to get the hell out of there.

  ***

  O’Brien and Simon were sitting down on A Dock with their shoes beside them, feet dangling in the water, when I got to SeaSail. Everyone else had already left for the day. The boats were ghostly silhouettes, the water still. In the west, a slash of pink still tinted the darkening sky. I could hear O’Brien talking. He was telling Simon the story of a famous clipper ship, the Flying Cloud.

  “Hey, guys,” I said and found a seat beside Simon while O’Brien finished the story. He had more seafaring stories than anyone I knew. I’d heard this one before. The Flying Cloud had been the fastest ship of her day. She’d held the record for more than a century for her run from New York around Cape Horn to San Francisco in eighty-nine days. The most compelling part of the story was that the Flying Cloud was navigated by a woman in an era when women stayed home waiting for their men to return from the sea.

  I found myself drifting with the sound of O’Brien’s voice mixing with the crickets, tree frogs, and an occasional plop as a fish jumped. I leaned back and breathed the cooling night air, felt the day’s tension loosen.

  “Hannah?” O’Brien was looking at me. It was that look. The one that turned my insides out. I could see that he wanted to say more but couldn’t find the words that would get past the turmoil we were both feeling.

  “Jeez, O’Brien, listen …”

  “Hannah. You’d better take Simon home now.”

  ***

  When we pulled into the lot at Pickering’s Landing, Enok Kiersted was down on the beach tossing a stick for Sadie. She saw the Rambler and came running, tongue hanging out the side of her mouth. She couldn’t decide who she was happier to see—Simon or me. What had happened to loyalty? I guess I couldn’t blame her. The kid had spent more time with her in the past couple days than I had all month. The two of them dashed down the beach.

  “How you doing, Enok?” I asked.

  “I’m good,” he said.

  “Did you hear about those dolphins being released over at Dolphin World? The manager is after Dunn to find out who’s responsible.”

  “Yeah, I heard,” he said.

  “You wouldn’t know anything about it, would you?”

  “Sure wouldn’t, but I’d say it was the best thing that happened here all week. Next time they bring dolphins in I hope someone tears the whole place apart.”

  “Sounds kind of extreme, Enok. Someone could get hurt.”

  “No one who didn’t deserve it,” he said.

  “You think people should die over it?” I asked.

  “Of course not,” he said, but I wondered how far Enok would go to save a dolphin.

  Chapter 21

  The sun wasn’t even up when Sadie came bounding onto my bed, Simon right behind her.

  “Simon,” I said, pulling the covers over my head, “it’s not even light yet.”

  “Come on, Hannah. Get up!” He yanked the blanket off my face.

  “Jeez, it can’t be even six,” I moaned.

  “It’s five. We need to get going so I can get back in time for school,” he said.

  “Don’t worry, Simon. I’ll have you back in plenty of time.”

  I couldn’t believe any kid could be this excited about going to school. I’d promised to take him snorkeling over at the Indians this morning and get him back in time to catch the bus with Rebecca before I met up with Stark.

  I’d been in touch with the school and arranged for him to attend for a few days. I figured the kid needed some structure until his aunt could get down here, which in the eyes of Child Services needed to be soon. Simon had been with me since Sunday. Today was only Tuesday and they’d already called Dr. Hall to find out what the plan was and when the aunt was taking custody. So far, Hall had kept them at bay by explaining that the aunt was in Europe and no one had been able to reach her. He kept reassuring them that Simon was in good hands, but I figured school was a good idea. Besides, I was concerned about the man who had been standing in the trees yesterday. Until I knew who he was and what he’d been doing, I didn’t want Simon roaming the beach alone all day.
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br />   “Come on, I’ll make some breakfast,” I said, crawling out of bed.

  We borrowed Calvin’s speedboat and were out at the Indians by six thirty. We had the place to ourselves. Every mooring ball was empty. People were getting more and more nervous about being out on an ocean that could turn deadly. But it wasn’t going to happen today. It was the perfect morning—absolutely no wind and no current. Four rocky pinnacles jutted out of the sea here, surrounded by coral heads that darkened the blue-green water. Underneath, the ocean teemed with reef fish.

  Simon had his snorkeling gear on by the time I’d picked up a mooring and cut the engine. He’d brought his camera and was clamping it into the waterproof case. I wondered if this kid went anywhere without the thing. I knew he was hooked on capturing his surroundings in digital images, but I had the feeling that right now the camera was also an important connection to his father.

  I gave Simon the standard spiel: “It’s not your world, be respectful of the creatures that inhabit it. Look, don’t touch. Watch your fins so you don’t kick against the coral and break it off. It’s a fragile place down there. And for God sakes watch out for fire coral.”

  “Will it kill me, Hannah?”

  “No, Simon, but it will sting you and it will burn for the rest of the day.”

  “What about sharks?”

  “Sharks don’t sting,” I joked.

  He didn’t find it funny. “Yeah, they just bite your leg off.” I could hear something between fear and the utter excitement of a nine-year-old boy ready for adventure. I guess fear was part of what defined the adventure.

  “Don’t worry about sharks. Maybe we’ll get lucky and see some nurse sharks. A couple of them sometimes hang out at the bottom in the rocks. They won’t bother us.”

  We jumped in and immediately our world turned blue and magical. I gave Simon a chance to acclimate and stayed beside him. He was taking pictures like crazy, afraid that something might escape the indelible record he was storing in that camera. Blue tangs, yellowtail snappers, a pair or French angels, rock beauties, blue chromis, a passel of sergeant majors, sea fans—Simon was skimming over the surface, trying to take it all in at once.