side of his staunch Greek tradition. Maybe I never really have. But I’m glad I finally came home in time to patch things up with him. I’d beaten myself—and him—up for long enough on that wayward journey to a family-less nowhere. Before the end, we more or less saw eye to eye, Papa and me, and I’ll always be grateful for that.
Tonight I almost got even for you, Papa. Tonight I almost killed...for you.
As we get nearer the lighthouse, the whiny drone of rotor blades drills through the sky overhead. A single helicopter flies by, its spotlight slithering across the choppy water on its way to Valdez’s side of the bay. Whether it’s looking for a boat or not, it glides past us as though we’re invisible—but I feel more exposed than ever in this dress that’s barely holding together in the face of a wicked headwind.
The stranger lets go of my hips, and I hear the click of a weapon. For one brief horrible moment I anticipate a point of cold steel pressing against the back of my head; but it doesn’t come. He grips my waist with one hand instead, and in the rear-view mirror I can see his gun arm outstretched, pointing behind us. Thank God the bullet isn’t for me. Well, at least not yet.
“What is it?” I call back. “Is someone following us?”
“I think so. Head in at the next cove, but slow it right down,” he replies, “and keep to the middle of the channel. There are sharp rocks on either side.”
My approach to the jetty and the timing of my stop is a neat bit of piloting, synchronized with the heavy swell so that the stranger is perfectly in line with the ladder when we reach it. He fastens the Jet Ski’s mooring line to the cleat, hops off, and then helps me climb up the ladder.
There’s another vessel moored here, a sleek-looking cruiser, big, expensive, macho as hell. The cove is secluded, with a sheer, craggy cliff on either side. A forest of acacias rings a house partway up the hillside. There’s no beach, but stone steps lead to plenty of smooth rock ledges at various points up the hill and the cliffs. This place has been well thought-out, by someone who celebrates his privacy.
“You go wait in the boathouse, Athena,” he says. “And stay out of sight.”
“We were definitely being followed?”
“Maybe... I can’t be sure. Just lie low till I get back.”
“Where are you going?”
“To get you a change of clothes—didn’t count on having to smuggle two out.”
“Oh. Sorry.”
He sighs, nurses his ribs. “What the hell were you doing there anywhere?”
“It's same as you. Only you got to him first.”
He towers over me, cocks his head to one side, glowering down. “You were going to ice Valdez?”
When I don’t answer, he shakes his head, points me to the boathouse.
I folded my arms instead; stand as tall and straight as I can on one leg. “Not until you tell me who you are.”
“It’s best that you don’t know. Trust me.”
“I do trust you, but it’s your fault I’m here. You owe me—”
“And it's my fault? Owe you? Lady, I just saved your idiot life.”
“You killed him right in front of me! My way would’ve at least given me time to get out safe. No one would’ve suspected a thing; he’d have died hours later. But your way—he just dropped. What did you think was gonna happen?”
He blurts a cruel, mocking laugh. “You’re instructing me on how to assassinate someone? You mean, in that dress? Damn, you are a peach and a half, sweetheart.”
“And you’re a dumb, knuckleheaded...bogeyman.” Not my finest insult, I admit; it just popped in there.
“You really want to know who I am.”
“Yes.”
“Then come to the boathouse.”
“It's a deal.”
He helps me across the jetty and unfastens the padlock. There isn’t much inside, just a couple of outboard motors, a few scuba tanks, and a brace of folded-up sun loungers. He rigs one up for me, fetches a beach towel from somewhere in the back, then makes sure I’m comfortable before he leaves.
“Hey, you promised—”
He shrugs. “Got you out of sight, didn’t it?”
“You, sneaky shit...”
“Just stay put, Athena. For Christ's sakes, do that one thing for me.”
“Then you’ll tell me who you are.”
“You have my word.”
“Good. And bring me a bite to eat as well. I’m starved. Make it something with low calorie—” He’s out the door before I can finish. But even though I’m on my own in a killer’s private boathouse, in a cove hidden from the world, maybe with more vengeful killers on the way, I feel strangely relieved. Untouchable... Like the night after the worst exam of your life: even though you know there are more harsh exams waiting, you’re gotten over the biggest hurdle, and you’re lit from within by that cool afterglow, that secret feeling that everything’s going to be okay.
It might only be the eye of the storm, but at least I’ve survived this far. And more than that, much more, I haven’t had to kill a man after all.
BWWM: SECRET (A Billionaire African American Romance) (BWWM Interracial Romance Book 1) Page 3
