Dino held up his hands, palms outward. “Hey. I don't think otherwise. I was just trying to get a feel for how you ended up in this situation."
"I thought that would be my last ride on the merry-go-round. That I'd finally caught the brass ring.” Her mouth twisted in a sardonic grin. “Shows you how much I know."
He opened his mouth to ask her something else, but at that moment his phone rang. He picked up the instrument, his gaze still fixed on Jen.
"Yeah?” He looked at Jen and mouthed “Ethan,” then sat up abruptly at Ethan's message. “Damn. You're kidding.” He listened again. “Okay. I'm on it. Take care, you hear?"
He studied Jen as he clicked off the phone.
She shifted under his scrutiny and panic flared briefly in her heart. “Something wrong?"
"Yeah. You might say that."
Her breath caught. “Is it Deanne? Has something happened to her?"
"No, she's fine. I'm sorry. I should have realized that would be the first thing you'd think of. No. It's something else.” He drummed his fingers on the table, eyes hooded as if sorting thoughts in his mind and finally stood up. “Come on. It's dinner time. I'll give you a wild ride through Key West. After that we're going to have dinner and more conversation."
He set the security alarm, locked the door and led her around to the side of the house. When he pulled a scooter out of the shed in the back, Jen frowned at him and took two steps back. “Listen, Dino. I don't think—"
"Right. Don't think. Just hop on. This is the quickest way to travel here."
She looked at the bulge that his flowered shirt barely concealed. “Do you always wear that gun?"
"Better to be safe than sorry. Come on. Let's go."
She climbed on behind him and wrapped her arms around him for security, noticing a slight wince when she jostled his arms and the way his right one jerked involuntarily.
"Am I holding too tight?"
"No. It's nothing."
But she lifted the elbow-length sleeve of the arm in question and sucked in her breath when she saw the thick bandage taped in place.
"You're hurt,” she cried. “What happened? Why didn't you tell someone? God, Dino. Let's go back in the house so you can lie down."
He chuckled. “It's just a nick, Jen. It's already healing."
She climbed off the bike and stood beside him, staring. “I've seen scars like that before. You were shot."
"I told you, it's nothing. Now climb on so we can get going.” When she didn't move, he added, “I mean it, Jen. If it were serious, I promise I'd let you know. Now come on. We're wasting time."
Biting her lip, she climbed back on behind him, taking a little more care in the way she held him this time. He cranked the engine and roared off. She was glad she had fixed her ponytail or the wind whipping against her would have plastered her hair all over her face. She was only peripherally aware of the kaleidoscope of people they zipped past, for the most part keeping her eyes closed.
But overriding everything, including the feel of the gun at the small of his back, was the feel of Dino Brancuzzi's hard, muscular body pressed against her. Her breasts were crushed against the warmth of his back and she was shocked at the sensation the contact brought. She and John had had what she called a chaste sex life. His needs and demands were few and over the years she'd sublimated most of her own desires in the absence of satisfaction. Now they all came roaring back to life, waking up every nerve and pulse in her body.
Well, hell.
She was still trying to wipe both the ride and her reaction to this man from her mind when Dino turned a sharp left, slowed down, and finally stopped.
"We're here,” he chuckled. “You can breathe now."
Jen opened her eyes and peered over Dino's shoulder. He'd pulled into the small parking lot of a restaurant, although that might have been too grand a name for it. Built on a pier of weathered barn wood, it looked as if it might fall down any minute.
"Are you sure this is safe?” She didn't know if she should get off the motor bike or not.
Dino laughed. “The look is all for show. Mostly locals come here. The tourists want places with more color. But this place will be here long after you and me, and the seafood's great. Come on. You can let go your death grip now."
Jen felt heat creep up her cheeks as she realized she was still plastered to Dino's body, her hands locked together against his chest. She was suddenly aware of how good this felt, her breasts pressed into the hard muscle of his back. For a moment, she didn't want to let go.
"Sorry."
She released her grip on him and peeled herself off the bike. When Dino turned to look at her, heat shimmered in his eyes, a hungry need that she hadn't seen or noticed before. Then, as if a switch had been thrown, it was gone.
"Let's get some dinner."
As if it was the most natural thing in the world, Dino took her hand and led her toward the restaurant.
He teased and joked while they ordered their food at a counter, then carried it outside to the far end of the pier, where no one was likely to interrupt them. But the smile didn't reach his eyes and Jen wondered what trouble Ethan had called him about.
She fidgeted with her plate and her glass, watching him from beneath lowered eyelids, while Dino arranged his own things on the table. Finally he took a sip of his iced tea, put the glass down, and looked at her.
"So would you like to tell me exactly who the hell John Sutherland is and why he has absolutely no personal history at all? And why the two of you apparently lived in a vacuum?"
[Back to Table of Contents]
Chapter Six
The party at Roger Wellborn's McMansion, a fundraiser for the museum, was at full peak. Fifty elegantly attired and heavily jeweled guests sipped hundred-year-old champagne and nibbled on canapés while a string quartet played on the patio. The guest list included Mayor Henry Sobol of Detroit, Senator Wayne Mackall and his wife, Police Commissioner Louis McWilliams and his wife, high-powered criminal attorney Daniel Hayes, three bank presidents, plus Congressman Nathan Kressler—whose family owned half of Detroit and the outlying suburbs—and his wife, the only woman to head a private client department at a major financial institution. There were also two state representatives and three other state senators, some of whose wives ran thriving high-dollar businesses themselves. Many of these people sat on the museum board with him. The net worth of the gathering at the party could be counted in the billions.
Roger stood at the open French doors holding a crystal champagne flute, feeling marginally satisfied with himself. In the space of fifteen minutes he had put together a deal that would make his bank, his brother's land development company, and an old friend many more millions than they already had. Handshake deals always did it, he mused. Boardroom meetings were for mapping out details. Parties, country clubs and small lunches were for making the money itself.
If only he could solve all the other problems dancing around the edges of his life as easily. The visitor to his office had set him on edge. This was all supposed to be so easy. Even cleaning up the loose ends hadn't looked to be a problem. So who the hell was looking into a nobody like John Sutherland? Did they have a clue as to what was going on? Jesus, he hoped not. They were already in dangerous waters.
As far as he knew, neither Sutherland nor his wife had any connections with people who would dig into the situation like this. And arranging to find out more had only made another mess to clean up.
Damn. Life was getting far too complicated.
He tossed back the champagne and plucked another glass from the tray of a passing waiter.
His gaze roamed the room constantly, checking to see who was talking to whom, who was moving through the crowds and who was stationary for too long a time. His eyes constantly returned to Mac, in deep conversation across the room with two women. The man always looked as if he'd achieved his situation in life with little more than charm or wit, but Wellborn knew that beneath the civility of the tuxedo, a lethal
predator stalked every prey in its vicinity. He certainly had the power to destroy. He'd sucked Roger right into his trap before he even realized what was happening. The latest fiasco was only one more nail in his coffin.
Amazing what greed will do, he mused.
As if aware that eyes were on him, Mac looked up, shifted his gaze to Roger, and made a slight toasting gesture with his champagne flute.
"Pretty full of yourself right now, aren't you?” a musical voice said at his elbow.
He turned his head to see Senator Wayne Mackall's wife, the powerful CEO of Advantage Techtronics, smiling up at him. The woman with the money and power behind her husband's political aspirations. The word was out that she was already designing her dress for the presidential inauguration. Roger knew that it was her finely honed business mind as well as her degrees from Stanford University and Wharton School of Business that made the business so successful. The same shrewd mind had crafted her husband's political career. Although most people said those hopes were really hers.
Roger wondered if anyone besides himself was aware that she and Mac had been conducting a quiet affair for more years than anyone would suspect. The two of them invented discretion. What would happen to squeaky clean Wayne Mackall if the news of this affair became public? Something for Roger to tuck away in case there came a time he needed it.
He'd had many dealings with her, every time he upgraded his company's electronics. But along with her business acumen, Mrs. Mackall had a streak of greed a mile wide. She was a shark, wringing every nickel out of a deal. Roger wondered if anything would ever satisfy it. In all his business dealings with her he made sure his mental armor was firmly in place.
"I'd say the museum did very well tonight,” he said in a smooth voice.
Her tinkling laugh sounded like crystal shattering. “I'd say so. The art of the deal, you know.” She raised her glass to him. “And you're the master at it. Never let a chance go by, do you? I've watched you tonight. The museum was only the second thing on your mind."
"No more than you,” he countered. “It's all about knowing how to pick everyone's pocket, philanthropically and for business, as you well know. What do they want that you can provide in exchange? What will it take to close the deal? The rules of the game, my dear."
"Just be sure you don't get too big for your britches, Roger. You never know who's watching you."
She took a healthy swallow of the champagne and Wellborn realized she was well on her way to being drunk. An oddity for the woman, whose control was legendary. She could give lessons on it to many men. Something was rattling her cage.
"Is there something you'd like to say to me? Something I'm missing here?"
She laughed again, the sound grating on his nerves. “I think you know perfectly well. Just don't overstep your bounds."
Her innuendos were hard to miss and Wellborn felt a bitter taste wash through his mouth. Another devil dancing on his head.
She moved away on legs only slightly unsteady. Moments later he saw her in deep conversation with Patricia Morgan, owner of Morgan's Gallery. Many people assumed Patricia's business had grown to its enormous size because of her husband's money and influence. A man who owned all the sports venues in the area as well as one of the country's largest amphitheatres carried quite a bit of weight in the business world.
But her mind was just as finely honed as the Mackall woman's. She'd clawed her way to the top of the art world ladder and wasn't about to be dethroned.
Now there were two people who could cook up trouble in a hurry. Beauty on the outside, complete rot on the inside.
"Interesting specimens we play with, wouldn't you say?"
Wellborn turned to the grey-haired man who had moved up next to him so silently.
"I think it might be time to shut down the playpen,” he muttered to him. “Both of them, in fact."
"Don't be too hasty, Roger."
"We never should have taken this last risk. It was beyond anything we'd done before. We were greedy."
The man chuckled. “A little greed is a good thing."
"We were doing fine with things the way they were, Henry. A steady supply. Nobody looking over our shoulders. A smooth operation."
"This is just a little bump in the road. It will be behind us soon enough."
"And how many more bodies will we litter that road with before then?” Roger wanted to know, trying to keep himself under control.
"Collateral damage,” Henry said. “You can't afford exposure on this and God knows I certainly can't. Neither can the rest of us. So, we do what we have to do.” He clapped Wellborn on the shoulder in what would appear to anyone watching a simple friendly gesture. But his hand squeezed hard. “Avarice and gluttony, Roger. Two of the seven deadly sins. They've got us firmly in their clutches."
He squeezed once more, then smiled and walked away.
Roger let his gaze travel over the room to the others, his playmates in the devil's playpen. Everyone one of them motivated by the same hunger and a need for possession. For one brief moment, he wished he could trade places with John Sutherland. At least dead men could rest.
* * * *
The table Dino chose was out on the deck, next to the railing. Not all of them were filled, but those that were had smiling and laughing occupants relaxing over good food and icy margaritas. The beach and the Gulf of Mexico stretched out beyond them, seagulls dipping and whirling and screeching their cry. Early evening fishermen stood on the jetty hoping for the last catch of the day. Along the waterline two boys ran, towing kites, doing their best not to tangle with each other.
Jen envied the people who had nothing more to worry about than enjoying the tropical ambience and each other. She wondered if she'd ever, ever get to that point in her life.
She pushed the cole slaw around on her plate, her appetite long gone. The questions and answers were all beginning to run together.
"For what I sincerely hope is the last time,” she said in a tired voice, “I swear that's all I know."
They'd been at it for an hour. Whatever the phone call had been about, it had cranked Dino into high gear. He had made her repeat the things she'd told Ethan the day before, the things she'd told him earlier, probing and digging for any kernel she might have forgotten.
"What's going on, Dino? You've wrung out my brain so many times it's completely inert. What was that phone call about?"
In short, brief sentences he told her about their friend, Jack Smiley, and what had happened to him. Her stomach rebelled and she was afraid the seafood dinner was on its way back up. She swallowed, hard, steadying herself.
"So you see, killing is obviously just another activity for these people here.” Dino took a healthy swallow of iced tea. “Jen, you were married to the man for seven years. He must have told you something about himself. His friends. His family."
Jen pushed her plate away, tired of fiddling with it. “I've tried to explain it to you. I don't know what else to say. He told me his parents were dead, he had no siblings and he was estranged from the rest of his family.” She gave a short laugh. “I can certainly relate to that. My family wrote me off years ago."
"Okay, tell me about friends. Who did you see? Talk to? Spend time with?"
"How many times do you plan to ask me that?” She bit the words off, then sighed. “I'm sorry. I know all this is important. And I certainly didn't want anyone else to be killed."
He reached across the table and took one of her hands in his. “None of this is your fault, so just get rid of that idea. But it is John's fault, so we have to keep trying to find all the pieces of the puzzle."
"Like I told you, if John wasn't working we stayed at home. He said he needed the quiet time to recharge.” She twisted her lips in a caricature of a smile. “I'll just bet he did."
As he picked and pushed, rephrasing questions to come at things from a new angle, she was startled and nearly embarrassed to realize just how sterile her life had been. She'd been so glad for the respite fro
m the wildness of her former life style, she hadn't questioned anything about John or their marriage or his activities.
And of course there was Deanne, the center of her universe. Everything was focused on her. Now the weird fact stared her in the face: outside of the museum events they attended and her activities with Deanne, they'd had no social circle at all.
Nervous fingers spun her spoon around and around. “Is your friend all right?"
"His name is Smiley.” Dino snorted. “It would take more than a blown tire to kill him. But he obviously yanked someone's chain. We need to find out who, and he's only been focusing on the museum board of directors so far."
"I told you.” She felt her voice rising. “I just don't know who could be involved.” She leaned forward. “Listen, these people barely looked at me or spoke to me, unless I was working on a project for one of them. I was a cipher. A nobody. John had a wife. Good for him. Next order of business, please.
"Okay, okay. Take a deep breath.” He rose from his chair and reached for her hands. “Let's go back to the house and try this from a different angle."
"Like what?"
"I'll pull up a list of everyone on the museum board, we'll Google them and you can try to fill in the blanks."
If it hadn't been for the solid feel of Dino's body against her on the ride home, Jen was sure she would have fractured into a million tiny pieces.
* * * *
The man who handled ticklish situations for Mac still wore his jeans and blazer, looking unruffled despite the anger of the man sitting opposite him in the dark bar.
"We missed.” He shrugged. “Big deal. He'll just think he ran over a nail and blew a tire. There'll be other opportunities. Relax, Mac."
Mac was far from relaxed, his body rigid with tension. “Worse than that, you don't seem to be able to find a trace of the woman and the child."
"Yeah, well.” He sipped at his ice water. He never drank alcohol when he was on a job. “That's a little more difficult."
"For what I'm paying you, nothing should be difficult.” Mac downed the rest of his drink and signaled for another. “Did you send a team out to the cabin?"
Last Ride on the Merry-go-round Page 7
