As Pierre recounted his version of last night’s events again, Caitlin studied Lilly’s body language. Arms, initially tightly crossed, slowly loosened as the tale unfolded. Her lips quivered several times with what Caitlin interpreted as deep empathy. Lilly seemed to be putting herself in her sister’s place. In fact at one point, she lifted her hand as if sipping scotch from a cup. If the sisters had that queer empathy that so many twins do, she might be able to accept the truth of Pierre’s story based on intuition alone.
Assuming he was telling the truth.
But Caitlin would bet her mother’s secret pound cake recipe he was.
“Three-card Monte?” Lilly’s hands lifted as though flinging imaginary cards. “That’s how she got away?”
Pierre nodded. “I had to drink every time I lost a round.”
Lilly exhaled a long breath and then blinked away a fresh round of moisture from her eyes. “I believe you,” she said.
“Very good.” Inspector Brousseau folded his hands. “Now, as I said, we will notify you tout de suite—”
“No. My sister may have broken out of your jail, but I’m not letting you off the hook. She was in your custody. It was your responsibility to keep her safe. And now, she’s out there, probably scared to death, afraid that if she turns herself in something terrible will happen. And what if she’s in danger?”
“From whom? Her husband?” Caitlin asked.
“I—I don’t know. I told you Rose wouldn’t hurt anyone. I still don’t believe she shot Tommy.”
“But Agent Spenser saw her shoot him, and Rose fled the scene,” Caitlin said.
“Maybe it was Tommy’s gun. Maybe Rose and Tommy struggled and, and, she shot him in self-defense.” Lilly gripped Caitlin’s arm. “Please, will you help us? Rose and me? I don’t know who to turn to. I don’t have money for a lawyer.”
“We can’t act as your advocate. Or Rose’s,” Caitlin said. “I need to be clear on that.”
Lilly ducked her head and drew a shuddering breath. “But you will help?”
“We’ll look into things,” Spense said.
“You’ll make sure the police don’t try to plant evidence or—”
Brousseau slammed his hand on the table. “Enough. I don’t know where all this mistrust begins. But in Papeete we do not operate outside the law. Indeed, your own father was a friend to Pierre. He trusted him, as you have heard.”
“My papa may have played cards and listened to jazz with your brother. He may have even liked him. But I promise you, he trusted no policeman. And neither will I.”
It wasn’t lost on Caitlin that by extension Lilly couldn’t trust her or Spense either.
And if Lilly didn’t trust them, how could they trust Lilly?
Chapter 12
Wednesday
Plage Des Dauphins
Tahiti Nui
Keeping her head tucked, Rose lingered in front of the aluminum paneled concession truck parked midway down Dolphin Beach. She’d been to this particular truck twice before with Tommy, and she’d chosen it today for two reasons. First, the burgers were delicious, and second she’d seen the vendor trying to cheat the tourists out of extra francs and cuffing the ears of his assistant for no good reason. He was the antithesis of most of the island inhabitants who were among the friendliest folks she’d ever known.
Now, she pretended to study the menu posted below the vendor’s serving window, but in reality, she was far more interested in the kicked-back guy she’d spotted on her six. Reflected in the shiny panels of the food truck, she could see, approximately fifteen yards behind her, a young man, late teens to early twenties. Obviously American and surrounded by beach bags, bottles of sunscreen, and an assortment of feminine clothing. Shorts, cover-ups, and tank tops sprawled over three empty beach chairs like they owned the place.
Big brother turned designated stuff watcher.
Could’ve been the Top Gun shades pushing up his clipped brown hair, or his devil-made-me-do-it mouth, but whatever the reason, this kid looked the type. Rose could easily picture him buzzing the tower on a flyby—and getting away with it.
Unfortunately for him, he was perfect.
As for her, hiding in plain sight on a crowded beach had been a risky but necessary call. Dolphin Beach was familiar and close to the jail, and she was on foot—bare foot. Luckily plenty of folks were dressed with even less panache than Rose, who’d ditched the long pants that came with her jail uniform right out of the gate and tied the gray prisoner’s top in a sailor’s knot beneath her breasts. The top was plain enough to pass for an incredibly tacky bikini cover-up—à la your husband’s old shirt—and her purple thong undies made barely acceptable faux swim bottoms.
She swept her gaze one last time over the kid guarding his sisters’ gear.
If only there were another way.
But there wasn’t.
She hadn’t eaten since yesterday. She had no money. No shoes.
And she was on the run from the law.
She was going to need the beach attire to slip through the crowd unseen—eventually someone was bound to notice her odd getup, put two and two together, and call the cops.
It was time to put Anna back to work.
She’d hopped on one bare foot and then another across scorching sand to get to the food truck, and now she made a one-eighty and stared at Top Gun until he looked up and caught her. Instantly, she averted her gaze, turned around, and got in line. Counted to twenty. Peeked back over her shoulder and smiled shyly at the young man, who looked behind him, and then when recognition dawned, cocked his mouth into a bad-boy grin. Averting her gaze again, she stood on alternating legs until she reached the front of the line, then ordered a loaded cheeseburger. By the time it was cooked, so were her feet, and the other patrons had taken their taffy and sodas and moved on.
She accepted her burger, shoved a delicious bite into her mouth and began hopping away.
“Stop!” The vendor, a bulked-up gentleman with tattoo sleeves and thatches of greased black hair plastered over his bald spot shook his fist at her.
She froze.
Top Gun glanced up with just the you-okay? expression she’d been hoping for. Of course she’d never trade Lilly, but she’d sometimes fantasized about what it would be like to have someone looking out for her—like a big brother.
She smiled at him, feeling genuinely grateful for his concern, then turned back to the vendor. “Who me?”
“Oui. You no pay.”
She scarfed two more bites, ingesting all the calories she could manage, and then wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.
“I gave you a five. I put it right there on the counter. Maybe now I want my tip back.”
“Your tip back? You no pay. The cost is three hundred francs.”
“I left you five dollars. That’s more than five hundred francs. I know what a dollar is worth.”
Big brother was on his feet, just as she’d known he would be.
Her hands clenched at her sides.
You don’t have to live like this forever. Just make believe. Play the game.
“Your burger tastes like goat meat. Did you serve me a goat?” Anna leaned in and whispered the words to the vendor, then made a gagging motion with her index finger.
His hand flashed by as he grabbed her collar.
“Help!” she yelled. “Somebody help!”
He released her so fast she stumbled back and the burger went sailing. She took the opportunity to pratfall, taking care to find a shady spot. She closed her eyes and counted to ten. Opened them.
Top Gun stood over her with his hand extended. “Are you hurt?”
She let him help her to her feet. “I don’t know. And I don’t know you.”
“I’m Jonah. Don’t worry. I’m American, too.”
And there they were. Bonded. Strangers in a strange land.
“He grabbed me and he . . .” She started to cry. Just a little. Sputtering only here and there as though trying like mad not to
.
Jonah took her by the elbows and steadied her. “Wait right here. I’ll take care of this.” He stalked over to the food truck and stuck his face in the window.
Before Jonah could make an accusation the vendor went on the defensive. “I did nothing! I didn’t touch her!”
“I saw you.” Jonah’s feet came off the ground as he hefted himself halfway through the window.
“Rester dos!” The vendor’s fists went up, and he ran out the side door of his truck. “Je faire non vouloir a lutte! I no want fight!”
Jonah darted around and now the vendor had the truck at his back and Jonah blocking his escape from the front. “You owe this lady an apology.”
Anna backed away slowly until she reached Top Gun’s beach chairs.
“She no pay!” The fists stayed up.
She slipped into a pair of shorts and stuck her feet in the flip-flops, then pulled one of the women’s tops over her head.
Jonah widened his stance and crossed his arms. “Apologize to the lady before I call the cops. Or maybe I’ll take care of this myself. You want the cops? Or me?”
She confiscated a wallet and a makeup bag from a beach tote, then mingled with the crowd gathering around the men. Quickly and quietly she backed to the edge of the group, turned and made her escape as fast as her flip-flops and enough decorum to blend in allowed.
When she cast one last glance over her shoulder to be sure Top Gun wasn’t following her, a familiar face smiled back.
As a seagull dive-bombed into the waves after its prey, her heart plunged to her stomach.
Tommy.
She picked up her knees and ran, never looking back to see if Tommy was in pursuit. Though the soft sand and the distant hum of the crowd hid any sound but that of her panting breaths, she knew he was right behind her.
Because Tommy would never let her go.
She reached a grass-covered hilltop and veered left. Picked up speed. Without the deep vats of sand trapping every step, her legs felt suddenly lighter. But with each stroke of her foot against the grass, her heart grew heavier.
Because all she’d ever dreamed of was living the kind of life where she didn’t have to run or hide or live in fear of being caught in a lie.
An ordinary life.
But her chance at ordinary vanished the instant she’d fired her gun at Tommy Preston.
She was wanted for attempted murder.
And all the evidence was on his side.
She froze, listening. Above her own heartbeat, she heard the whoosh of wind splitting through the trees. Grunting breaths not far behind her.
Run!
Her ears pricked at the sound of silence.
Had she lost Tommy?
He’d been so close on her heels.
A pain in her side struck like lightning but she didn’t stop.
Ahead, a paved road came into view.
Her heart was beating too fast. Her legs threatened to give way.
She’d been running too long and too hard.
Air seeped from her lungs as though they were leaky balloons.
Hide.
If she didn’t rest, she’d fall over.
But there was nowhere.
When she reached the road, her shoes made slapping noises on the pavement.
One slipped off, forcing her to stop and retrieve it.
As she slid the flip-flop on, she eyed the hilly landscape and noticed the smell of manure wafting toward her.
A farm.
There must be one nearby. Behind that slope?
She scrambled up it, and when she reached the crest, her heart lifted. At the bottom of the hill was a big red building—a barn. And a cornfield. And sheds.
She dropped and rolled.
Fastest way to get down the hill.
Tommy put his hands on his knees, breathing heavily, and watched Rose tumble down the hill. He’d crested the slope moments after her, and he’d be damned if he’d risk life and limb to play Jack and Jill with her. He ducked and waited until she’d had plenty of time to reach the bottom and find a hiding place. Most likely she’d head for the barn. And while she was tucked in a hayloft, he’d catch his breath, get his strength back, and take his time getting safely down to the meadow.
His fingers stroked his Glock.
Rose was a beautiful, sexy woman with more spunk than most. It was a damn shame he was going to have to shoot her . . . in self-defense.
Chapter 13
Wednesday
La Pâtisserie de Juliette
Tahiti Nui
As Spense and Caity shoved through the door of Juliette’s bakery, Special Agent Gretchen Herrera whispered something into Special Agent Alex “Dutch” Langhorne’s ear. Knowing Dutch, Spense figured they’d made a bet on exactly how late he and Caity would be. One hour and twenty minutes would’ve been the correct answer. Dutch passed a dollar to Gretchen—the apparent winner.
After interviewing Lilly Parker, Spense and Caity had stayed at the station another half hour in order to let Brousseau bring them up to speed on the results of his officers’ findings to date and their meeting with Tommy, who’d been released from the hospital earlier this morning. And though Spense didn’t mind keeping Gretch and Dutch waiting—they’d do the same thing if the situation was reversed—he felt a sharp guilt pang when he saw the moms.
The two women stuck their hands up and motioned excitedly, notifying him of their presence—as if somehow he and Caity wouldn’t spot their own mothers hanging out at a table with Caity’s best friend and Spense’s half brother in an otherwise empty bakery.
All smiles though they were, Agatha Spenser and Arlene Cassidy looked done in. The wedding party, which consisted of the moms, Gretchen, and Dutch, had arrived in Tahiti last night, and no doubt jet lag was responsible for the older women’s droopy eyes. Gretch and Dutch seemed none the worse for it. No surprise since those two thrived on lack of sleep. Back in the day, when Spense had served in the field with his half brother, he’d accused Dutch of grinding down his fangs to conceal his true identity as Lestat. It would’ve been a plausible theory if only the vampire had thick red hair cropped Bureau short.
“Sorry we’re late.” Spense approached the ensemble with upturned palms.
His mom jumped to her feet to embrace Caity, while Arlene got up and roped him in for a big squeeze. Gretchen and Dutch waited their turns and then offered hugs to Caity and a clap on the back to Spense. On impulse, Spense pulled his brother back in for a last-minute bear hug. Afterward, Dutch looked away quickly, but not before Spense caught a hint of moisture in his eyes.
Real men do cry.
If you count a split-second sheen as tears.
Spense’s throat welled, too. When he first learned his late father had sired an illegitimate brother, it had seemed like the universe had thrown him a curve ball. But now, with Caity in his life and a brother who could be counted on when the going got tough, it felt like he’d whacked the thing out of the park. Sometimes the balls with the most spin on them turn out to be the ones that fly the farthest. His relationship with Dutch had gone—with no small amount of effort on both of their parts—from outright dislike to grudging respect to true friendship.
“There are worse fates than being trapped in a sweets shop with Gretchen and Dutch,” his mom said, as they all took a seat around a big round table. A dozen plates of cakes and multicolored marzipan confections encircled a table tent that read “Cassidy and Spenser Wedding party.”
Arlene dabbed a clump of pink frosting from the corner of her mouth. “Hope it’s okay we started without you.”
“Sure, but, what is all this? I wasn’t expecting . . . there are more cakes to taste than guests. We’re only six people.”
“And you only get married once. Agatha and I don’t want you to miss out on anything, just because it’s an intimate affair.”
“I expected this from you, Spense. But I thought Caitlin would arrive on time for her own tasting.” Dutch winked at Caity.
“Maybe they don’t like cake.” Gretchen stuffed a spoonful of something yellow into her mouth and sent him a look that told Spense she was on to them. The only question was how much did they know, and were the moms looped in?
Standing nearly six feet tall, and with more muscle than a lightweight boxer, Agent Gretchen Herrera wasn’t the type to be intimidated by any man, but to Spense, the striking bronze-skinned blonde always seemed a bit off her game around Dutch. Like now for instance, she was patting one of those lacy things—a doily—between her palms. Soaking up the evidence of the effect his brother had on her?
Dutch was still mourning the recent death of his wife and likely didn’t even register Gretchen’s infatuation. It was simply too soon for him to notice other women. Still, Gretchen was good people, and Spense wasn’t unhappy the wedding had thrown her together with his brother.
“So here’s the thing,” Gretchen said. “In all seriousness, if you two are late, I’m sure you have a good reason.”
The moms nodded their accord.
“But if you want the cake to be ready in time, you’ve got to make a decision today.”
“Does anyone despise coconut? Because Caity loves it but it doesn’t agree with her,” Arlene said.
“Mom, please don’t start.” Caity wrinkled her brow. “One stomachache at the age of five does not a food allergy make.”
“I love coconut.” Spense grinned.
Dutch coughed into his hand. “We have three coconut icings and a dozen cake flavors to choose from so you’re not done yet. And you were supposed to pick the beach location yesterday.”
Spense shot a questioning look at Caity. Yesterday, she’d said that spot they’d picked on Dolphin Beach was perfect, but did she still feel that way after everything that had happened?
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