“No. Thanks.” She looked away. “So you’ve had experience with cold weather?”
“Some. I’m guessing you haven’t.”
“Not really.”
“From this area?”
She nodded. “Born and raised.”
“So who are you hiding from, Claudia?”
She stiffened. Hiding? He knows I’m—
She leaped to her feet. He’d called her Claudia. Jackson Richards knew her name.
She backed away from him. Where was her gun?
“Calm down.” He didn’t move. His gaze remained glued on her face.
He was watching her like a hawk eyeing a tasty piece of prey. Did he work for Carlos? No, that was impossible. Or was it?
“Take a breath,” Jack said in an even tone.
She sucked air deep into her lungs. “How do you know my name?” she demanded.
“It wasn’t that hard to find out.”
“My ID was good,” she insisted. “Why did you doubt it?”
“It wasn’t the ID.”
“Then what?”
“A combination of a lot of clues. Not recognizing your own name, for one. I’m a trained investigator. It’s what I do.”
“But why would you investigate me?”
“It’s my job.” His smile told her there was more motivation than his employment. What else? What was it?
She nodded, chilled again, and hugged herself for warmth. What now? Where could she go? There was no one she could trust.
“What are you going to do?” she whispered. Her heart beat so fast and so hard its frantic pumping had to be visible through all her layers of clothing.
“That depends on this conversation,” he said.
“I don’t have any money.”
“That much is obvious.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Obvious?”
“Your car?” he said, raising his eyebrows.
“Oh.” The demon car strikes again.
“I need you to tell me what happened inside your apartment at the Brasilia.”
The impact of that statement, the extent of his knowledge of her, sucked away the last of her strength. She collapsed into a plush chair beside the sofa. “You went to my apartment?”
He nodded. “This morning.”
“Oh, my God. Why?”
“To learn more about you.”
She closed her eyes. This couldn’t be happening. All of her plans had been so carefully laid out. Why did she ever think she could outsmart Carlos?
“Because it’s your job,” she said. “Yeah, right.”
“Right. Tell me about the blood in the toilet.”
* * *
JACK WATCHED EMOTION play out across Louise’s face—no, Claudia’s face—looking for any tells of deception, any signs of a practiced liar. Con artists perfected the skill of twisting the truth and making it sound real.
His mention of blood caused her eyes to well up with tears. Her mouth trembled as she fought against crying. Could be a ploy to win his sympathy, but this reaction appeared honest.
“Moochie,” she said, her voice breaking. “Poor sweet little Moochie.”
“Moochie?”
“My cat,” she said on a sob. “The bastards killed my cat.”
Jack knew he was getting somewhere. He just had to be patient. Fortunately, he had nothing else to do tonight but unravel the mysteries of Claudia Goodwin. Holding her close had felt good, too good. She’d clung to him, soft and sweet, like honey melting into his flesh. He’d like nothing better than to hold her in his arms for a few more hours and generate some truly meaningful body heat.
But what bastards? And what did a cat have to do with anything?
“Why would anyone kill your cat?” he asked.
“To shut me up.”
Shut her up? What the—
At his waist, Jack’s phone sounded the alert for an emergency text. He checked the message. Stowaway on the six o’clock. You’re needed on the dock NOW.
He stood. “I’ve got to go.”
“What? You’re leaving?”
“I’m needed at the ferry landing. But we’re not done here.”
“Wait. Please. Does anyone else know who I am?”
Already moving toward the door, wondering how anyone had snuck aboard a ferry, Jack turned back. Claudia was on her feet. “Just my colleagues.”
She looked like she’d be sick. “The Collins Island guards?”
“No, associates at the company I work for.”
“Oh, God. It’s too late then.”
“What’s too late?”
“Please,” she said, her voice ragged. “Please don’t tell anyone else my real name.”
Jack stared at her pale face, her expression desperate, pleading. Claudia was hiding from some serious shit. But what? He wanted to remain right here and find out what was going on, but couldn’t. Protecting this island was his job, and right now a stowaway was the larger threat.
“Don’t go anywhere,” he instructed. “I’ll be back as soon as I’m done at the dock.”
“Don’t worry.” She looked down at her hands. “I don’t have anywhere to go.”
Jack dismissed Claudia Goodwin from his thoughts, believing she’d wait for him at Villa Alma. She couldn’t get off the island without him knowing. Yeah, she was a huge question mark, but he’d learned to compartmentalize. He wouldn’t prejudge the ferry attendants, either, until he received a report on the stowaway.
As he approached the landing, he noted the six-thirty ferry chugging its way to Miami, a puff of smoke visible in the cool air. Good. Normal operations hadn’t been disrupted.
He exited his cart and hurried inside the security shack where Ike Gamble and Rafael Garcia loomed over a shaggy-haired dude of maybe thirty sitting behind the guards’ desk. Weathered skin around his eyes and forehead told Jack this man had lived outside most of his life. His cheeks and chin were pale, though, indicating he’d recently shaved a longtime beard. The stowaway wore faded jeans and a plaid shirt, and looked seriously irritated. He continuously shifted his gaze to a dark backpack resting on a file cabinet out of his reach. Another backpack. Well, well.
“If you attempt to leave again, I’ll tase you,” Rafael said in a hard voice.
The man cursed, narrowing his eyes at Rafael.
“What’s going on?” Jack asked, wondering about the pack. Had Ike been through it? There was obviously something important to this guy inside.
“This is Jackson Richards, our security director,” Ike said in a relieved tone.
“I don’t fricking care who you are,” the man said, meeting Jack’s gaze. “You got no right to hold me.”
Jack returned the stowaway’s hostile stare. So that’s the way it was going to be.
“He attempted to board the five o’clock, but didn’t have clearance,” Ike said. “Somehow he slipped on the six o’clock with walk-ons. I don’t know what happened, except there were quite a few extras, domestics and servers hired by caterers to work tonight’s parties.”
Jack nodded. Made sense. Saturday night in season, and the winter residents hosted glittering catered affairs. The ferry would run full all night with guests. But this man was no guest, nor a domestic.
“No excuse,” Jack said.
“Agreed,” Ike agreed. “But the count was off, and we detained him on this side.”
“What’s your name?” Jack asked, knowing he’d have to make some changes, kick some butt.
“I don’t have to tell you that,” the stowaway said.
“We can pull up his ID from the log of the five o’clock,” Ike offered.
“Do it,” Jack ordered, and Ike moved to the computer.
“Shit,�
�� the stowaway muttered, glancing at the pack again.
“Why did you sneak aboard the ferry?” Jack asked.
The man narrowed his eyes. “I had business on the island.”
“Business? With who?”
“I don’t have to tell you that, either, and it won’t be on your damn log.”
“We’ve already been through this,” Rafael told Jack.
“This is a private island,” Jack said. “No one is permitted without clearance from a resident. Can you give me the name of a resident you’re visiting?”
“Yeah,” the man said. “I’m here to see Claudia Goodwin.”
Claudia Goodwin? Jack’s pulse tripped up a notch, but he kept his face impassive. He needed to know what was inside that backpack.
“And we already told you there’s no resident here by that name,” Rafael said.
“So maybe I made a mistake,” the stowaway said.
“A big one,” Jack agreed. “You got his name, Ike?”
“I’m looking at the scanned driver’s license of a James Robert Picard,” Ike said, his face reflecting the glow of the monitor. “See if you think this is him.”
Jack moved to check the image. Fuzzy, but definitely the stowaway. “That’s him. Is he on our list of known troublemakers?”
Ike checked a clipboard. “No.”
“You’re going back to Miami,” Jack said, and remembered an old funky old pop song. Unwanted, the tune filtered through his brain.
“Oh, you’re funny,” Picard said. “Hilarious.”
“Glad to give you a laugh. The Miami Beach Police Department will meet you on the other side. You’ll be charged with trespass. Make the call, Ike.”
Ike grabbed the phone. Picard cursed, and again glanced toward his pack.
Jack knew Picard was considering a lunge for his property, which most likely contained a weapon. Jack tensed, half hoping the little jerk would try. He would have let him go with a warning since this was his first attempt to breach security, but he had to act the big, bad macho fool.
Jack opened his jacket and unsnapped his shoulder holster. Picard’s eyes widened, and he settled back in the chair.
Legally, Collins Island had no right to go through the man’s personal possessions. Jack wasn’t a sworn officer anymore, and wasn’t going to break any laws today. At least not until he finished interrogating Claudia Goodwin. What did she have to do with Picard?
Jack picked up the man’s pack. It was heavy enough to contain some sort of explosive device. What kind of disaster had they just averted?
“That’s mine,” Picard said in a deadly tone.
“And you’ll get it back when you’re on the other side,” Jack said, wishing he could cuff Picard. “Ike, you’re in charge while Rafael and I accompany Mr. Picard on the next ferry. We’ll hand him and his possessions over to the City of Miami Beach PD.”
“We’re providing them with a lot of business lately,” Ike said.
Jack silently agreed. A lot of strange happenings since Claudia Goodwin had moved onto the island.
* * *
CLAUDIA EXPECTED JACK to return within thirty minutes, but time dragged on and he didn’t buzz at the front gate. She waited for him on the couch, too worried to even turn on the television for distraction. Where was he? Alerting Carlos to her presence on Collins Island?
What the hell was she going to do now? Jackson Richards knew her real name.
The sun set, and the room grew dark. She didn’t move to turn on a light.
Should I run? Where would I go? Will the car even start?
All she could think about was Jackson Richards and whether he worked for Carlos. As she grew warmer, her brain started working again and she realized the odds of the security director of this island working for Carlos were just too astronomical.
Jack couldn’t be on Carlos’s payroll. She remembered how he’d cocooned her hands between his. She’d sensed the strength of his powerful muscles as he’d rubbed her hands to bring back feeling. Would a man that considerate turn her over to a monster?
Sitting close to him was enough to warm any woman, even without central heat rushing in through the vents. And those piercing green eyes. When he looked at her, it was as if he could see right through her. No. As if he knew what she looked like naked. And, man, would she ever like to see him naked.
She stood and yanked off her sweatshirt and long pants. Now that the heat worked, shorts and T-shirt were more than enough clothing. Or her thoughts had made her hot.
But, oh, God, he knew her name. And he’d told other people that worked for his company. That disaster pressed on her chest like a million-pound weight. How had that happened when she’d been so careful? She’d only ventured out one time. She thought carefully about her encounter on the beach with Marsali, and knew she hadn’t revealed her real name.
Maybe she could stay. She needed to finish her conversation with Jack, impress on him the importance of keeping her identity secret. Should she tell him the truth? She shrunk back from that thought. No. Too dangerous. He wouldn’t understand her life was truly at risk. No one knew Carlos the way she did, how focused he and his friends were on what they perceived as their mission in the world.
Jack would think she was overreacting and could easily tell the wrong person. How could she trust him? She’d have to make up some story, something believable.
So why not just say she was trying to get away from an abusive boyfriend? That wouldn’t seem unreasonable. She read a version of that sad story in the Herald almost every day.
Claudia jumped to her feet, going through the scenario in her head. Flipping on a light, she decided to stick to the truth as much as possible. She’d tell Jack her lover constantly tracked her down and she thought she could avoid him with the tight security on Collins Island. She’d be honest about Mr. Santaluce, how he was the father of a critically ill patient grateful for her nursing skills. She’d be convincing. She could do it.
She wished Jack would hurry. What was he doing at the dock? Obviously something with the ferry. Maybe one of the residents dinged their Mercedes. Or a fingernail. Yeah, that was it. One of Marsali’s rich trophy-wife friends had broken a three-hundred-dollar fingernail. What a tragedy. But she could always drown her sorrows in a ten-thousand-dollar bottle of wine.
Ashamed of her spiteful thoughts, Claudia collapsed back onto the sofa. She grabbed a pillow and hugged it to her chest, her thoughts drifting to her oldest sister and her perfectly manicured fingernails.
Missing her sister, she pressed her face into the pillow. She knew her family was worried about her, ditto the US Attorney she worked with. She needed to let him know she was okay, but they’d rehearsed her testimony and she’d given him her journal for safekeeping until the trial.
No doubt the journal was what Carlos’s people had been looking for in her apartment.
KEEP YOUR MOUTH SHUT.
Claudia groaned as she pictured the hateful words on her bathroom mirror, the bedraggled, limp body of sweet Moochie in the toilet.
Damn you, Carlos Romero. I’ll make you pay if it’s the last thing I do.
A buzz roused Claudia from her cascade of ever-worsening memories. She checked the security monitor and exhaled. Jack had returned. Finally. She released the gate, watched him push through and hurried to meet him at the front door.
His jaw set in a hard line, Jack stepped inside holding a sheet of paper. He opened his mouth to speak, but hesitated. “Are you warm yet?”
“Yes,” she said. “Thanks for your help. Much appreciated. Really.”
“You’re welcome. But we need to have a discussion, Claudia.”
“Please don’t call me that. I need to be Louise.”
“And why is that, Louise? Why did you come to Collins Island under a false name?”
By Jack’s hesitation, Claudia could tell she’d surprised him.
“He’s abusive?”
“You have no idea,” she said.
“What’s his name?” he demanded.
She shook her head. Carlos’s name was all over television and print media because of his crimes. What if Jack was sympathetic to his crazy cause? More people were than she ever imagined. “What does it matter?”
“Is his name James Robert Picard?”
“No,” she said, startled. “I don’t know that name.”
Jack thrust the paper toward her. “Do you know this man?”
Claudia looked down at a fuzzy image of a driver’s license. She didn’t recognize the photograph. “Who is this?”
“This man is not your boyfriend?”
“No.”
“You’re sure?”
She glanced up to Jack’s face. He didn’t believe her. “You don’t think I’d recognize the man I’m on the run from?”
“How do you know Rodolfo Santaluce?” Jack demanded.
“I’m a critical care nurse at a pediatric hospital. His daughter was one of my patients for an extended time, and I told him about my problems. He believed I saved his daughter’s life and offered his winter home as a refuge out of gratitude.”
“For how long?”
She blinked. “What?”
“You haven’t been to work in a week. You haven’t even left the confines of this villa and you brought enough food to last the entire season.”
She should have known Jack would see through her story. She hadn’t had enough time to think through every detail. No choice but to bluff her way through.
Straightening her shoulders, she said, “So?”
“So I don’t believe you.”
She handed him back the copy of the driver’s license. “I’m telling you the truth.”
“Maybe,” he said. “But not the whole truth.”
“I was told the availability of groceries on the island was limited,” she said, knowing that sounded weak.
Accidental Bodyguard Page 7
