But he had stepped away.
She didn’t understand him. Sometimes he acted as though he couldn’t keep his hands off her. But there were other times, like last night, when it was as if it made him mad that he’d kissed her.
Was there something wrong with him? Some physical ailment, or, God forbid, a disease that made him draw back? Whatever it was, from now on she’d keep her distance. She had another week here in Jamaica and she intended to enjoy it. By herself. She’d have dinner with Howard tonight because she’d said she would, but that was it. When he left tomorrow she’d be glad to see the last of him.
She’d sun and swim, maybe do some sketching, take long walks on the beach, and do everything she could to avoid Sam, even if it meant having dinner alone in her room. That wasn’t an especially pleasant prospect, but anything was better than being rejected again.
She tried to tell herself it didn’t matter that Sam had rebuffed her. She told herself that, after all, he was just someone she’d met on vacation, a man she’d kissed a couple of times because she’d been a little vulnerable after her divorce. Though not movie-star handsome, he was attractive in a rough, virile sort of way. She knew he was attracted to her, but it was pretty obvious that he didn’t want to get involved. So that was it. From now on she’d stay out of his way.
She didn’t hear from Howard all day, but a little before eight that night he called to remind her of their dinner date.
“I’ve rented a car,” he said. “Slappy...oops, I mean snappy red convertible.”
“That’s nice,” she said, and frowned because his speech was slurred.
“We’re going to drive up to a restaurant in the mountains,” he went on. “Great place. You’ll like it.”
Lisa didn’t think so, especially if he’d been drinking. She was about to tell him she had a headache, but before she could speak, Howard said, “See you in the lobby in a few minutes,” and hung up.
She’d assumed they’d be having dinner here at the hotel; that way she could have escaped to her room whenever she’d had enough of Howard. She didn’t like the idea of driving up into the mountains with him, but she wasn’t sure how to get out of it.
She frowned at herself in the mirror, and once again firmed her resolution that after tonight she’d be on her own. No more dates, not with anyone.
She checked herself over—new, white silk pantsuit, green silk shirt and white sandals. She picked up her white bag, put a small makeup case and her key into it. With a sigh, because she really didn’t want to go out tonight, she turned off the bedside light and started toward the door. She hesitated when she heard a sound.
“Excuse me.” Sam stood in the shadows of her still-open balcony door. “I didn’t mean to startle you,” he said. “Are you going out?”
“Yes.”
“With Reitman?”
She nodded.
“Where?”
“Is that any of your business?”
“I’m making it my business.” He took a step into the room, then, because he knew he was going about this all wrong, he said, “Sorry. I don’t mean to interfere, I just want to make sure you’re going to be okay.”
“I can assure you I’m going to be quite okay.” And relenting, she said, “He’s taking me to a place somewhere up in the mountains.”
“Don’t go.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“You don’t really know the guy.”
“Of course I know him. I told you last night, he’s a friend of Philip’s.”
“And that makes him okay in your book?”
“For heaven’s sake, I’m only going to have dinner with him. He’s leaving tomorrow and I doubt I’ll ever see him again.”
“Tomorrow? Where’s he going?”
“I think he said to Kingston.” She switched the light back on. “Why are you asking me all these questions?”
Why indeed? If she was mixed up with Reitman, and through him with Montoya, he ought to let her have free rein. Let her go with Reitman, follow them, see what they were up to. Dammit, why did he have this overwhelming urge to protect her?
He thought then that what he’d like to do would be turn her over to Hargreaves and tell him to stash her somewhere until all of this was over, so that when it all came down, she wouldn’t get too badly hurt.
But he couldn’t do that, because if she was involved, she’d take the rap just like the rest of them.
She stood there, waiting for an answer. And because he couldn’t tell her, he said, “Don’t go out tonight, Lisa.”
She looked up at him and there was an expression of determination on her face he’d never seen before. “Good night, Sam,” she said.
He chewed the inside of his cheek, feeling tempted to keep her here, slap a pair of handcuffs on her, tie a handkerchief over her mouth and fasten her to the bathroom sink. But even as the thought came, he knew he couldn’t do that. Not to Lisa.
Without another word he walked out of her bedroom and vaulted over the wall to his own balcony.
She stood for a moment, then quickly crossed the room to close and lock the balcony doors. Sam wasn’t any different from the other men she’d known. He, too, wanted to tell her what to do—just like her father, just like Philip. For while Philip hadn’t been physically cruel, he’d been verbally cruel. He’d ordered her about, as her father had. Now Sam was doing the same thing.
She’d decided when her divorce was final that nobody was ever going to do that to her again. If she made mistakes they’d be her own. But she would not be told what she could or could not do. Not ever again.
With a determined look, Lisa picked up the white purse and left her room.
* * *
Reitman drove erratically. He sped up on the curves, slowed down on the staightaways and veered to the right or left on the narrow mountain road every time he turned to say something to Lisa.
She’d been right about his having been drinking, and she knew now that she should have refused to go with him. She would have if Sam hadn’t told her not to go out tonight.
They came to another, sharper curve. There were no guardrails on this mountain road, only football-size rocks to mark the drop-off. Suddenly Reitman veered to the left, hit one of the rocks, then swung back onto the road and came within a foot of hitting the side of the mountain. When Lisa gasped, he patted her knee.
“Not to worry,” he said with a laugh, and inching over, gave her leg a squeeze. “I know the road like the back of my hand.”
She moved away from him. “I wish you’d slow down.”
“Sure. All you have to do is ask.” He slowed to thirty. “I’m used to driving fast. Sorry.” He eased his right arm over the back of the seat and rested it on her shoulder. “I’ve always liked you, Lisa. Right from the first time we met. I’m going to be busy for the rest of my stay here in Jamaica, but I’m thinking that maybe we could see each other when we’re back in Miami. I never would have said anything while you were married to Philip, but you’re free now, so I can. There’s no reason why we shouldn’t get together.”
She murmured, “Well, perhaps,” and thought, not on your life, fella. Once tonight was over she never wanted to see Howard Reitman again.
She had absolutely no idea where they were. With every turn of the road they seemed to be getting farther and farther from civilization. If he let her out of the car now, and she almost wished he would, she’d have no idea how to get back to the main road or to the hotel. She didn’t like being this vulnerable. It frightened her.
“Are we almost there?” she finally asked.
“Almost.” He squeezed her shoulder. “Another couple of miles. I know it’s a little far from the hotel, Lisa, farther than I remembered. Place isn’t too ritzy, but the food is good and I know everybody. It used to be a popular hangout for people from both Ocho Rios and Kingston and some of the resorts in between, but not too many people come here now.” He slowed the car. “See the lights up there? That’s it. Mountain drops down to the
sea on the other side.”
They wound up another corkscrew curve, came to a driveway and stopped at last in front of the restaurant. There was only one other car, a black sedan.
Reitman parked, then hurried around to open her door. “Great steaks,” he said. “I know you’re going to like the place.”
She nodded and forced a smile. All she wanted to do was eat dinner as quickly as possible and get back to the safety of the Poinciana.
In the foyer they were greeted by a Jamaican in jeans and a food-splattered sport shirt. He had a blunt, brutish face, narrow eyes and a jagged scar that ran from his left eyebrow to his chin.
“Hey,” he said to Reitman. “Glad to see you, mon. Been waiting for you.” He looked at Lisa and frowned.
“This is Miss Collier.” Reitman took her arm. “Lisa, this is Benjamin.”
Benjamin said, “Yeah.” Lisa didn’t say anything.
“We’ll sit out on the terrace,” Reitman said. “Bring us a couple of rum punches, will you?”
“Sure you need another one?”
Howard let go of Lisa’s arm. In a voice that sent a chill down her back, he said, “Rum punches, Benj. Right now.”
The black man’s face went still. A muscle jumped in his cheek. “Yeah, mon. Sure.” He gestured toward the terrace. “Sit wherever you want.”
There were six tables out on the terrace. A flight of rickety-looking stairs went down to the jungle below. None of the tables was occupied. Reitman held a chair for Lisa. “Guess it’s not the season,” he said. And laughed.
She didn’t say anything.
A different waiter brought the drinks. He was tall, slat-thin, with sharp cheekbones and a nose that looked as though the end of it had been whacked off. A moustache and a stringy goatee completed the unsavory picture.
“How you be?” he asked Howard Reitman.
“Great. You?”
“Be fine. How things in Miami?”
“Hot.” Reitman laughed. “You know.” He took the glass from the man’s hand and drank half of it in one gulp. “Long as you’re here you might as well bring us a couple more.”
“No more for me,” Lisa said.
“You haven’t even tasted your drink. Believe me, sweetie, one taste and you’ll want more.” He winked at her. “That goes for a lot of things, doesn’t it?”
She looked down at her drink without answering.
By the time the waiter returned with two more drinks, Reitman had finished his first. Lisa had only sampled hers.
“Tell me when you’re ready to eat,” Tall-and-skinny said.
“Sure, sure. But we’re in no hurry, are we?” Howard reached across the table and patted Lisa’s hand. And when the waiter left, he said, “You need to loosen up, sweetheart.” He grinned. “You ever smoke ganja?”
“What?”
“Jamaican marijuana. Great stuff. Stronger than you get in the States. A couple of drags and you haven’t got a care in the world.” He leaned forward. “This place is like, you know, like a private club. They’ve got a room in the back where you can get any kind of a fix you want. Nobody around to hassle you. You get too high, there’s a couple of cabins out back where you can spend the night.”
“I don’t do drugs,” Lisa said.
“Everybody does drugs, babe.” He finished his second drink and reached for the one she hadn’t yet touched. “You have a couple of smokes, maybe take a hit or two of coke. Doesn’t mean you’re an addict.”
This time she didn’t even bother answering him. She knew now that she was out of her element. All she wanted to do was get away from this place and Howard Reitman.
“There’s something new everybody’s been talking about,” he went on. “Something sorta between coke and heroin. They call it splat.” He chuckled. “Hell of a name, isn’t it? Maybe because after you use it you go splat. Going to turn the world upside down, Lisa. Hell of a lot of money in it. Millions to be made. And not just for the top brass or the dealers. Even the mules, the carriers, will be making big bucks.”
He drained the third rum punch. “For instance, Lisa, somebody like you—you know, somebody here on vacation—could carry a bag back to the States in their makeup case. Make maybe ten grand for one trip.”
She was too appalled to do more than stare at him. And yes, she was scared out of her wits. My God, the man was into drugs! Not only that, though he hadn’t come right out and said it, he was suggesting she carry drugs back into the United States!
She wished she knew how to hot-wire a car. She didn’t even know what hot-wiring entailed, but she’d seen movies on television when somebody would reach under the dashboard, fiddle around and start the car. It looked easy. If you knew how. She didn’t.
Tall and Skinny came to the table. “You be ordering now?” he asked.
Reitman waved him away. “Couple more drinks first.”
“Somebody wants to see you.”
“Yeah? Like who?”
“You know.”
“Oh.” Reitman sat up a little straighter. He started to pick up his glass, hesitated, then put it down. His hands were shaking, but he forced a smile and said to Lisa, “I’ll be right back, dear. Why don’t you order for both of us? The steaks are good. Make mine medium, will you?”
He left. Lisa didn’t move, but sat there, staring out into the dense, junglelike growth of trees and tropical shrubs. Dumb, she told herself. This was really a dumb thing to do. You’ve gotten yourself into a mess and now you’ve got to figure a way out of it.
She wouldn’t let him drive while he was drunk. She would insist he give her the keys and let her drive them back to the hotel. If he objected, she’d damn well walk.
She wished Sam were here. Then wished she hadn’t wished for him. But she couldn’t help it. Sam was a take-charge man, somebody you could depend on. He’d know what to do in a situation like this. She could almost hear him whispering, “Get the hell out of there, Lisa. Walk if you have to.”
With a sigh, she picked up her purse and went to stand near the railing. Everything was so quiet. She could hear the call of jungle birds, the rustling of a night animal through the bushes. The low murmur of voices. Then not so low. Someone shouted, sounding loud and angry. And Reitman’s voice, apologetic, scared.
Curious, she moved farther along the railing and looked in the direction of the voices. Three men were standing in the doorway of what looked like the kitchen. She couldn’t quite see them, but knew that one of them was Reitman. The angry one waved his arms and shook his fist. He moved under the overhead light and she could see his face. He looked familiar. But where had she seen him? Was he someone she’d met in Miami? Another friend of Philip’s?
A name came to her. Montgomery? Montana? Mon— Montoya? Yes! Montoya! But he—he was wanted for murder. She’d seen his picture on the front page of the Miami Herald. Juan Montoya. Drug king. Escaped murderer. The Miami police had tried to arrest him, but he’d gotten away before they could. A few months later he’d been arrested in New York and indicted for murder. There’d been a trial. He’d killed a guard and escaped.
He was here, standing less than thirty feet away from her.
“¡Estúpido!” he shouted. “Why the hell you bring a woman here? You know how important this deal is. What the hell you thinking of?”
“I—I’m sorry,” she heard Reitman murmur. “I wasn’t thinking. I had a couple of drinks—”
“A couple! ¡Borracho, pendejo! I ought to kill you....”
“We got to get rid of her,” another man said.
“Sí, sí. You are right. We cannot take a chance....”
Lisa didn’t wait to hear any more. She ran for the stairs. Behind her the man named Benjamin called out, “Hey, where you goin’?”
She didn’t answer, didn’t stop.
“The woman!” he cried out. “The woman be running away!”
Montoya shouted an obscenity. Someone else cried, “Stop her! Stop her!”
She ran down the stairs, grabb
ing onto the wooden railing to propel herself along. She had to get to the shelter of the trees and bushes. They wouldn’t be able to find her there. Heart hammering hard against her ribs, gasping with fear, she struggled for breath. God, oh God, oh God. Help me. Help me.
Footsteps sounded behind her. She reached the bottom step and headed for the trees. Into the trees.
The man chasing her grabbed her shoulder. She pulled away. He grabbed the back of her jacket, yanked hard and whirled her around. She struck out at him. He ducked the blows and seized her shoulders. She brought her knee up hard, got him between his legs. He woofed in pain and doubled over.
She ran as hard as she could through the trees. Had to get away. Had to hide. Had to—
Somebody grabbed her from behind. When she cried out, a hand was clamped over her mouth. She struggled, but it was like trying to fight a bulldozer. He pulled her back into the dense bushes. And there wasn’t a damn thing she could do about it.
Chapter 7
“Stop it!” It was Sam’s voice. “Be quiet.”
He pulled her farther into the bushes, his hand still over her mouth. Terrified, Lisa struggled, but he wouldn’t let her go.
“Have you found her yet?” someone shouted from above.
“Not yet.” The voice was alarmingly close. Underbrush crunched a few feet away.
“Don’t move,” Sam whispered close to her ear.
Move? She was paralyzed with fear.
The steps moved off.
“I’m going to take my hand away. Okay?”
She nodded and he let her go. “He’s over there.” Sam jerked his head to the right, and through the darkness and the overhang of trees, she saw the Jamaican, Benjamin, six feet away. Then the beam of a flashlight broke through the underbrush, and she saw the other one, the tall, skinny one.
“Where the hell she be?” the man whispered.
“She has to be here, mon. We gotta find her.”
“We don’t, it be bad for us.” Tall-and-skinny sounded scared. “That Cuban be one mean dude. We don’t find her, he liable to kill us. I’ll look over there. You keep looking here.”
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