He walked over to the window and stared at the seashore and the iridescent shells sticking out of the pearly-pink sand, a heady reminder of how it had been when he saw Andrea standing on the beach wearing a swim suit that touched every place he wanted to touch yet knew he shouldn't, and he didn't care because he wanted her beyond reason, so he simply walked up behind her and dragged the suit off, and when she stepped out of it and turned around to face him, and she was naked, and sleek, and all female curves, he took her on the beach.
And that's exactly what it was. A taking. No giving. No trying to pleasure her. No rough and tumble. He never heard her laughing, that low throaty laugh she got when they were horsing around and things were starting to get hot and heavy before settling into making love. Man, that husky laugh turned him on. It was the most powerful aphrodisiac he could have.
Barbara placed her hand on his shoulder, and he flinched and turned around. She removed her hand, and said, "Carter's not a bad man but you have to understand that after Andrea dropped out of college and ran off with you like she did, it was a terrible blow to him. Imagine your only child, who'd been the focus of your life for eighteen years, going against everything she'd been taught, and running off with a man who had nothing to offer her but determination and big dreams. But after Carter got over the shock of what Andrea had done, he did something almost unprecedented for him. He tucked his tail between his legs and came to you and offered to buy the two of you a house. For Carter it was a peace offering. For you it was a line drawn in the sand, and when you turned him down flat, it established a course of action for the next twenty-five years. Two dominant males, neither willing to give an inch of territory. Andrea is the territory, the line in the sand, and she's been the pawn between the two of you ever since."
"She's not a pawn," Jerry said. "She stands up to him."
"That's because she's married to a man as strong as her father and she's stubborn enough to make sure her father doesn't forget it. Nor will Carter back down, even though he knows you're not the man he makes you out to be. If he wasn't so stubborn, he'd be bragging about you to his friends and associates, his son-in-law who came from nothing and made a success. He knows it, but he can't say it because it would make him a lesser man in his own eyes because he came from old money, and that's bothered him all his life. Deep down, he envies and admires you.
"He's your husband," Jerry said. "You have to stand by him, but I don't have to give him the time of day, and the less we see of each other, the better our lives will be."
"You're probably right," Barbara agreed, giving a little wistful sigh. "For the record though, I don't blame you for Scott's death. If he hadn't been killed in the car you got him it could have happened in any other car, or racing someone's motorcycle, or rock climbing, or taking up a dare. Scott always did live on the edge."
"Yeah, well, Scott's not an issue with Andrea and me anymore because we don't talk about him. We don't talk about much of anything." Jerry looked out the window at the water lapping against the beach, sweeping up the sandy incline and falling back, leaving a watery slope behind and said, broodingly, "Andrea and I are just two ships passing in the night."
More accurately, two ships that collided in a storm.
"I've been aware that you and Andrea have been having marital problems for the past two years," Barbara's voice came from behind, "and I know lifestyles are different than when Carter and I married, but I never dreamed you and Andrea had an open marriage. Do the girls know?"
"The girls know nothing," Jerry said, "but it's not an open marriage. At least it wasn't until the cruise. Andrea and I are getting a divorce and we planned to tell the girls before we took off for the lake house. Before I took off for the lake house with the girls, that is. Andrea would have stayed home. But when the girls gave us the cruise we were stuck, so we decided to get a second stateroom and go as singles. We probably would've scratched each other's eyes out if we'd shared the same room."
"Then you just plan to end twenty-five years, like that." Barbara snapped her fingers.
"Hell, Barbara. It's definitely not like that. We haven't had a good word to say to each other since Scott died. Yesterday on the beach..." his voice trailed off momentarily. "Well, yesterday wasn't so bad," he said, trying to block from his mind what might have been, hearing that throaty laugh and experiencing the culmination of months of abstinence. But what happened had nothing to do with love, only lust, and years of knowing what turned each other on, even when things were wrong. And things were definitely wrong on the beach. But that's the way it was, a touch of reality, a love lost and buried in the sand.
"This will devastate the girls," Barbara said. "Have you considered that?"
"That's all I've thought about for months," Jerry mused, while continuing to stare out the window. "But there's no other way. We plan to start proceedings when we get back. I'll make sure Andrea gets a sizeable settlement so she can stay in that big house and be completely independent of her father or else he'll run her life."
"You do still care," Barbara said, matter-of-factly.
"She's been my wife for twenty-five years. She's the mother of my children. Yeah, I still care, but the marriage is over." He walked out, leaving Barbara standing in the bungalow.
CHAPTER 12
The beach stretched out in both directions, deserted, pristine, like wide sandy arms trying to embrace the turquoise waters. Andrea knew she shouldn't be walking alone, but after her mother slipped away from the bungalow, leaving her and her father alone to throw verbal darts at each other, she also took off and never looked back. Presumably, her father had taken the hint and returned to the lodge.
Unfortunately, her parents were also staying at Finnegan's Hideaway, and she didn't expect them to leave the island until the investigators learned about Alessandro's whereabouts. The knowledge that she'd spent the night in the stateroom of a man who was a kingpin in a drug cartel was very sobering. He was still out there somewhere, and she was walking alone on a deserted beach.
A few hundred feet from where the path leading from the bungalow met the beach, she glanced around to see if anyone had followed, and to her alarm, saw someone emerge from the palms and mangroves that skirted the beach. A man. Tall and lean, his face and body in shadow with the sun low behind him. Had he been watching her? Maybe saw her leave her bungalow and was following her? She knew it wasn't Jerry. He had a distinct walk, a loose kind of amble, but the man following her was tall, erect, walking a straight determined line toward her.
She quickened her pace, feeling the first grip of panic. Not far ahead, the beach narrowed and the mangroves came close to shore. If she hurried she could dart into the brush and find her way back. Other bungalows sat facing the water, each with its own trail to the main path. Jerry's bungalow was among them, though she didn't know which was his.
She looked back again, and the man was gone. She was about to rush into the brush and stay until dark, when she heard rustling inside the mangroves just ahead and a figure came bursting out. She started to scream, then saw it was Jerry.
He took her by the arm. "Are you crazy!? What are you doing walking on the beach alone? You know what Schribe said."
"I had to get away. My father was driving me crazy." Andrea looked back to where the man had been. "Did you see a man on the beach back there? Tall. Lean?"
"Cavallaro."
"Then you saw him?"
Jerry shook his head. "I took a path that brought me here, but he's out there somewhere, and you're not dealing with an Italian gigolo now. You're dealing with a man who wouldn't think twice about wrapping his hands around your neck and snapping it. I'm walking you back to your bungalow and staying with you."
Andrea didn't argue. They were trapped in a hell they'd created themselves. And all she wanted was to get off the island and go back to Myrtle Beach and lock herself in her tower and pretend the world beyond didn't exist.
"I'll sleep on the sofa," Jerry said. "I don't want a repeat of what happened on th
e beach."
"Why? Was I lacking in some way?" Andrea clipped. "I thought I performed rather well. You certainly can't accuse me of not moving."
"Don't push my hot buttons," Jerry warned.
Andrea clamped her jaws shut. She didn't know why she was taunting Jerry, except that it had become a pattern since Scott's death, a way to keep a physical and emotional barrier between them. She glanced at Jerry's hard profile. "I'm sorry," she found herself saying. "I just want to get this whole anniversary cruise nightmare over."
"You've got that right. I'll try to stay out of your way in the bungalow, but if you pull a stunt like you did in the shower before we left I'll nail you to the bed." There was no humor in his words. In the past, those exact words had been sweetly seductive because the look on Jerry's face had been teasing and loving.
"Don't worry. You won't have a repeat of the shower. I can't speak for the beach though. You're the one who stripped me and nailed me to the sand. It won’t happen again."
Jerry heaved a disgruntled sigh then said in a slightly appeasing tone, "I didn’t plan for that to happen. It just did. You looked good in the swimsuit."
Andrea couldn't help the warmth curling inside with Jerry's words. She hadn't intended to look good for him, but for some reason, after she put on the suit and saw herself in the mirror, it mattered what he thought. The suit covered everything she didn't want him to see, like the stretch marks on her belly, but when he stripped the suit off and she turned around, he didn't seem to care that she was a woman past her prime. The glint in his eyes told her he liked what he saw, and that was all the spark she needed because when she looked at him, sleek, and muscular and wanting her, she wanted him too.
"It's a nice suit," she said, lamely. "It's comfortable, and the batik pattern is pretty."
"Yeah, pretty." Jerry walked ahead a few feet, then turned and said, while walking backwards, "Look, I'm having trouble. You're looking good. Trim. Your legs... It's like an addiction. You give. I take. I want more. So it has to stop. He turned, and walked in long strides ahead of her, not glancing back until they came to the alcove with the drift log where they'd rolled around in the sand.
He stopped and looked down where the surf had washed away every trace of two bodies in a frenzy of passion. His fists curved into knots as he stood staring at the empty sand. Standing barely an arm's distance from him, Andrea also looked at the spot where they'd been. It was strange and awkward, both of them imagining what happened there, like watching a porno film together, except the actors in the film were themselves. Then she looked at Jerry, and said, "If I thought I could stay in my parent's suite without killing my father, figuratively speaking, I would, but it would be impossible, especially now that he knows about our stupidity on the ship."
"I'll think of something." Jerry raised his gaze, but only high enough to focus on her bare midriff where she'd knotted the shirt, but after a few moments he grabbed the tail ends of the knot and tugged her to him. She thought he intended to kiss her. Instead he looked to where she'd unbuttoned the top few buttons of her shirt, and said, "You'd better button up before I do something stupid again." Turning abruptly, he continued toward the bungalow.
Andrea followed behind while buttoning her shirt, feeling a sense of disappointment. When Jerry tugged on the knot she was certain he was about to kiss her, and she was prepared to kiss him back, but now she felt bereft. Nothing made sense. She resented him, and she wanted him, and she hated him for making her feel that way.
Kicking aside a swollen mass of kelp laying on the beach, she plodded along behind Jerry and was relieved when they turned into the path leading to the bungalow. Once on the front deck, however, Jerry was the first to notice that something was wrong. "The door's ajar," he said.
"I'm not surprised," Andrea replied. "Everyone rushed out in a huff."
"Yeah, but your father was last to leave. He wouldn't have left the door ajar. Stay back and I'll take a look inside."
"Wait!"
Jerry turned.
Andrea shrugged. "Be careful."
Jerry got an odd little half smile, which made her feel even more apprehensive because she realized she still cared. And Jerry was about to enter a place where Alessandro Cavallaro or one of his paid assassins might be waiting. A sobering thought that brought a tightening to her chest and a queasy feeling in her belly. But when Jerry pushed open the door and she was able to see past him, she saw that the place was in shambles.
"They've been here," Jerry said, "obviously looking for your handbag or the stamp. They must have been waiting somewhere around here until everyone left, but they didn't find what they were looking for so they'll be back, probably the reason someone was following you on the beach. They think you still have the stamp, or that you know where it is."
Andrea moved to stand beside Jerry and stared in disbelief. The place was a wreck. Seat cushions were slashed with stuffing pulled out, the contents of dresser drawers were strewn about, chairs were turned over and table was askew. "We can't stay here," she said.
"I know, and we can't stay at my place either. Whoever did this is after you. He could be watching us now, which leads me to believe he doesn't have a gun, at least not with him at the moment. If he did, he'd be here pointing it at your head." He walked to the telephone which, to his surprise, was still connected to the wall, and picked up the receiver.
"Who are you calling?" Andrea asked.
"Inspector Schribe. After he sees this place and makes his report, I'm taking you to stay with your parents while I track down Cavallaro. When I'm through with him his face won't be quite so pretty."
Andrea started to remind Jerry that he was no match for Alessandro Cavallaro, but knew it wouldn't make a difference. Jerry was protecting what was his, and she knew from twenty-five years of living with the man that he'd never back down if someone he loved was being threatened. A sobering thought. Jerry caring enough to lay his life on the line for her.
Then she remembered that Jerry was also an alpha male, and she suspected it was more about claiming his territory than defending a loved one. And like it or not, what happened on the beach was nothing more than Jerry claiming what was his, and she needed that reminder periodically.
CHAPTER 13
Andrea and Jerry arrived at Andrea's parents’ suite at Finnegan's Hideaway about the same time Inspector Schribe did. They'd just come from Andrea's bungalow, where both Inspector Schribe and the island police inspected the place and made reports. Andrea's parents knew nothing yet, but Andrea could predict her father's reaction. More aptly, his action.
Hire a bodyguard for her and fly the man to the island at once.
When her father answered Jerry's rapping, he looked startled to find Jerry standing in the doorway, with Andrea and Inspector Schribe standing behind him. Jerry got right to the point. "I'm putting Andrea in your care, Ellison," he said, in a voice that was not open for discussion. "Her bungalow was trashed, no doubt by one of Cavallaro's men. Until Cavallaro's arrested, Andrea's not safe. You keep her here with you and I'm going after the man."
"That's a whole lot of bravado," Carter said. "What makes you think you can catch a man who's been eluding authorities for years?"
Silence hung as the men stood eyeing each other. Then Jerry replied, "Because that gutter I grew up in taught me how to deal with scum like Cavallaro. Finding my way around this island isn't much different than finding my way around abandoned buildings or inner-city alleyways with only a knife for protection, and I still know how to use it if needed."
The inspector patted Jerry on the shoulder. "Unfortunately, this isn't the inner city. Andros Island is unexplored jungle, and Cavallaro's hiding out at a base camp buried deep in the interior of the island and the place is fortified by booby traps. So far, it's been a one-way trip in for anyone Cavallaro doesn't want there."
"What kind of booby traps?" Carter asked, eyes sharp with interest.
"The kind the Viet Cong used to kill and maim," Schribe replied. "We've kn
own for some time that there's someone skilled at setting and monitoring those kinds of traps. On occasion, islanders have wandered in and found themselves with spikes in their legs. On two occasions we sent men in to search for Cavallaro's headquarters and neither man came out. We suspect they were killed and their bodies dumped into a blue hole. The island's riddled with them. When the tide's rising, ocean water is pushed into the holes, and when the tide changes, the water is sucked back into the ocean along with anyone, dead or alive, who’s been dumped in."
Carter, who'd been listening intently, threw his shoulders back, and said, "I'll go in." All heads turned his way, faces displaying total disbelief.
Barbara, who'd been standing in the background observing, hurried over to her husband and placed her hand on his arm. "You can't possibly be serious," she said. "You're not a young man anymore, and it's been over fifty years since you were in a jungle."
Carter eyed his wife while patting her hand clutching his arm. "Some things stay with you a lifetime," he said. "I'm in good enough shape to hack my way through brush if I have to. There are trails leading in there. We just have to find them."
"No, Carter. You can't—"
"You're right, Mr. Ellison," Schribe said, cutting Barbara off. "There are trails through the brush into the interior but they're riddled with booby traps."
"Which is why I should go in," Carter said. "I know how to locate traps. If the person setting them was trained in Nam, I know the same tricks he does. I was in Special Forces over there while serving in the Mekong Delta next to the Cambodian border. The place was riddled with mines and booby traps and it was our job to go in and clear them out before the troops went in."
"Wait!" Andrea interjected. "What are you talking about, Daddy? You never said anything about being in Special Forces."
"It's not something I talk about," Carter said, in a tone that told Andrea he was closed to further questions. She stared at her father, trying to absorb what she'd learned. All the years she was growing up he never talked about Vietnam. She knew he'd served in the military there, but he never once talked about it. But for Carter Ellison III to have been in Special Forces, clearing away mines and booby traps, this was a side of her father she'd never known.
Coming To Terms Page 11
