Unless he really believed Michael capable of hurting Blair.
“What did he say?” Blair asked on the drive back to the hotel.
Michael chose not to give her Drew’s exact words. They weren’t fit for her ears. “That you’d better be all right, or he’d hurt me.”
“If I go with you, he’ll know I’m fine.”
“I told him not to tell anyone, especially not James. But if he does, James will be there. I won’t risk it.”
“If Drew promised—”
“Blair, we don’t trust each other. I have to work with that.” With everything going against him, he prayed he didn’t have to make any hard choices about Drew. He didn’t want to hurt Drew, but if Drew couldn’t, or wouldn’t, take care of Blair, there would be no choice. Blair was Michael’s only consideration.
They drove back to the hotel in silence. In their room, Blair sat by the window, curtains open, staring at the Atlantic, sipping a soft drink she’d bought from a vending machine. Michael knew he had to tell her what to expect, what to do, if things went wrong.
“Blair.”
Blair jumped up, sloshing soda over her hand. She’d been day-dreaming, wondering what it would be like if things were normal. If she and Michael could just have time. Normal time. Not the insanity of the past days, not the magic of the single week six years ago. Time like other people. Those silly girlhood dreams.
“I didn’t mean to startle you.” He’d stopped pacing, something he’d done incessantly since they’d been back. She’d watched him surreptitiously at first. Loved watching him, until the wired grace of his strides told her just how worried he was. Now she feared where that worry had taken him.
“It’s okay,” she mumbled, using a tissue to wipe at the soda that had fallen to the carpet. She threw the tissue in the small trash can next to the desk.
“Why don’t you sit down?” Michael offered.
Why did this feel like an executioner’s request? Because he looked so grim? So serious?
So dangerous.
She managed to sit back down.
“If anything happens—”
“Michael—”
“If I don’t come back, if you don’t hear from me,” his words were even, “by eight o’clock tonight, call Jimmy Sanchez.”
Blair stared in dumbfounded silence as Michael handed her a slip of paper.
“This is his number. All you have to do is tell him there’s a problem. He’ll know what you mean.”
Michael’s bold handwriting stared at her. She wanted to take the scrap, ball it up, trash it.
“Trust him, Blair. Whatever he says to do, do it. No matter how insane, no matter how wrong you think he might be.”
She looked up from the paper, feeling as if she were in a dark tunnel, Michael at one end, she at the other.
“Don’t open the door for anyone. Not room service, not Drew, not anybody. Not even Jimmy unless you call him first.”
She looked up at him, unable to form words.
“If you hear me, don’t open the door unless I say—” He seemed to consider something for a second. “Estudiantes. Open only if I say Estudiantes.”
She could do nothing but stare at him.
“Understand?” he demanded.
No she didn’t understand. He was giving her a password?
He strode forward, taking the few steps necessary to stand directly in front of her. Kneeling, he held her upper arms and shook her lightly. “Understand?”
She nodded, caught in his dark-eyed gaze, pinned by his intensity.
“If it goes well with Drew, I’ll bring him to you.”
She nodded because he seemed to expect it, but inside she was numb.
***
Michael checked the Glock for what felt like the tenth time. Sore muscles and exhaustion were wearing him down. So was thinking too much.
Thinking about what might have been. About mistakes, missed opportunities.
He stared at himself in the bathroom mirror. A man with more faults than he cared to enumerate stared back. Six years ago he’d wanted blind faith from Blair. He hadn’t stopped to think about what, beyond money, she would be giving up to marry him, to come into his life.
What a damn joke. Except for his family, work was his life. He’d made it that way. What he couldn’t remember now was if it had become his reason for living after Blair, or if he’d chosen to make it so before Blair.
She’d had every right to bolt then. If he lived through this and cleared his name, if Drew miraculously turned out to be innocent, his life would be as it had been. Not particularly safe, not the kind of life that brought him home to dinner every night. Not the kind of life that would provide Blair with what she was accustomed to.
And if he quit? What would he do? Live off of her?
It was impossible. She’d been right to refuse him.
Nothing had changed since then. Here he was again, wanting her faith. Of course she believed in Drew. Michael didn’t. No matter that Drew had threatened him with an anatomically disgusting death if anything happened to Blair, though that did give him hope he could trust him with her.
Michael splashed cold water on his face. Leaning on the sink, he turned his head from side to side, stretching tense muscles. A catch in his shoulder made him rotate the joint.
“Let me rub your shoulder.” Blair stood looking into the bathroom.
“It’s okay.”
“It won’t take a second. Sit down.” She walked in and led him to the toilet, where he sat. He let her remove his dirty T-shirt.
Then he felt the soothing coolness of the lotion she’d found on the counter. With firm pressure, she rubbed his shoulders, then his neck. Her strong hands worked on the muscles of his back, rubbing away tension and remnants of pain from the shooting and the incident with the plywood at the beach. She avoided the now uncovered stitches of the knifing.
He leaned forward onto his thighs, loving the feel of her fingers, slick with lotion. He wished things were different. Wished he could turn around, pull her to himself and pour out his love for her.
But everything he was, everything that put him here, at this point in time, with pain and exhaustion pulling at him, made him the wrong man for her.
Wanting Blair Davenport wouldn’t change that.
He was who he was. She deserved someone who could give her those things she needed. Not a man who wouldn’t be there when she needed him, not a man who couldn’t give her that perfect home and those beautiful children.
He grabbed her hands to still them. She stiffened at the contact.
“I have to go.” He released her hands, afraid he’d hold on.
She stepped away, her eyes wary. “It’s early yet.”
“I need to scout out the area around the beach where I’m meeting Drew.”
“Wouldn’t it be better if you met here?”
“Trust me, Blair. I’m better off with people around. This place is about a mile away, close to a construction site. I’ll have cover if I need it and enough people to keep both Drew and me honest.”
“Drew wouldn’t hurt me. He won’t hurt you.”
With no reply coming to mind that would satisfy her, Michael stood. “Lock the door and make sure the bolt’s in place.”
He pulled his shirt back on and walked out of the bathroom. He couldn’t look at her. If he did he’d pull her in to his arms and never let go. “If I need to call you, I’ll let it ring three times, then I’ll hang up and ring again. Don’t answer unless you hear the first three rings.”
“Does anyone know we’re here?”
“No. Not even Jimmy. But he knows what to do if he hears from you. Don’t lose that paper.”
He’d reached the door, knowing Blair stood only a few feet behind him. Temptingly close.
“Michael?”
The soft inflection of her voice got to him. Knowing he shouldn’t turn around, knowing something inside would break, he did anyway.
God help him! She was the mos
t beautiful thing he’d ever seen. Exhausted, she radiated courage and trust. What was he throwing away?
A life. He was throwing away their life because of a decision he’d made years ago. A decision that had led his own brother to his death.
Reaching out with one hand, he touched her cheek, traced the line of her brow, and pushed an errant strand of hair behind her ear.
Then the tearing inside was too much. He pulled her against him and held on for the times that hadn’t been, all the times that wouldn’t be.
Blair hugged him back as hard, and as desperately. He pulled away marginally, grasping her face with both hands, looking deep into her amazing eyes, and kissed her.
***
Blair heard the door click closed. It was over. He hadn’t bothered with the words.
That’s where he’d been going all along. She felt something give, something precious to her. That tiny hope she’d held so close, that this was their second chance. That she’d be braver, stronger. But this had nothing to do with her anymore. Michael was telling her they had no future. No matter what happened.
No future with him.
She’d been a fool six years ago. She should have done what her mother did: accept the man she loved despite the very obvious problems, the differences. She should have gambled and said yes to Michael’s proposal. So life wouldn’t be perfect. She could have had him for a time.
Now she had nothing.
***
Michael could still taste her. The sweetness of her, the giving. He could also taste the bitterness of finality. He thought he’d tasted that six years ago. But that parting was nothing to this one.
Blocking out the thoughts that ravaged his mind, he concentrated on driving. It didn’t take long to get to the meeting place. He was about forty-five minutes early. He figured Drew was here, too. And possibly, James Meyer.
Michael parked the car in a lot on the beach side and made his way across the sidewalk where strollers and roller-bladers were enjoying the late afternoon breeze. Families with children played close to gently breaking waves. Off to the east, over the dark blue of the Atlantic, thunderclouds loomed huge.
He made his way around the bench where he and Drew had agreed to meet. Behind the bench, construction workers had already vacated a partially-built hotel, a perfect place for a sniper.
He made his way around to the side where the safety fence had been left open as an access point and went in. Not too much had been completed: two floors, with the third-floor wall supports in. He climbed to the second floor, knowing that would be the place he’d lay in wait if he were Drew.
He checked every possible hiding place, taking note of each with relation to the bench. It might help to know where the bullet with his name on it would come from. He stayed behind a pre-stressed support beam until he saw Drew park his car and make his way to the beach. He’d either decided it was pointless to scout the area, or had been too far away to get there early enough.
Unless he’d brought help. Eyes squinted against the sun low in the west, Michael looked for anything unusual. Long minutes later, after checking in every direction, he was as sure as he could be.
Drew had come alone.
***
Blair paced. She’d never in her life paced. This was what Michael had felt earlier, this itchiness, this need to move, to do something, anything, to get past the moment.
She tried to forget his last kiss. She’d wanted to beg him to walk away from the entire mess. They could have gone anywhere, hidden from the false accusations. The Davenport money would finally be put to good use.
But that would have proven her lack of trust. And ultimately destroyed Michael.
She moved toward the balcony and opened the sliding door. A brisk hot breeze buffeted her as she went to the railing in an effort to see if anything was being built to the north of the hotel, along the beach. But the hotel curved, so she could see nothing but more of the building, and on the beach, late afternoon sun worshipers.
A quick glance at her watch told her it was twenty minutes before the time Drew had agreed to meet Michael.
Determined to stay calm, she went to the bathroom and scrubbed her face.
The phone started ringing when she came out.
Counting, fingers poised over the receiver, her nerves jangling with each ring, Blair waited.
Too many rings.
***
With one last check of the Glock, Michael made his way back down to the beach. A group of people, a family from the looks of it, had thrown their blanket down about twenty-five yards from the bench. Drew, dressed in jeans, a dress shirt, and a wind breaker, looking less like an FBI agent than Michael had ever seen him during working hours, glanced around from behind sun glasses.
Not yet, he’d wait a few more minutes. Make sure Drew hadn’t brought someone with him.
Ten minutes until the appointed time.
***
Blair stood paralyzed by the phone. Who had called? She’d finally decided to call the front desk with an elaborate reason as to why she’d missed the call, when she heard a knock on the door.
Mind scrambling with possibilities, she stared at the door. She’d been careful to throw the latch. If only she were close enough to look through the peep hole. But if she walked across the room, whoever was out there would know.
The maid?
Not this late, she thought.
She heard the knock again, a bit louder.
“Miss Davenport?” a male voice called. “I know you’re in there.”
Blair felt a hot flush, then cold fear.
“Open the door. I have Michael.”
It had to be James Meyer. Or Eddie. Or his friend.
Desperate, she lifted the telephone receiver and dialed the number Michael had left her. The call went to Jimmy’s voicemail.
“Miss Davenport. You don’t have much time. I have Michael. Open the door,” the man at the door said.
Frantic, she dialed Drew. The call went straight to his voicemail. She wanted to scream. Fumbling the phone book, she found the number for the FBI office. She punched out the numbers.
“There’s nothing you can do but open the door,” the man said again.
It took too long to be transferred to Drew’s office. The dark menace of the man outside the door made the seconds crawl by. Without giving the female agent who answered the phone time to say more than her name, Blair blurted out what she hoped would help. “Tell Drew that Blair called. It’s an emergency. There’s a man at my door. He says he has Michael. I’m going to open the door.” She gave the woman her location and told her where she guessed Drew might be before putting the phone down, without hanging up, hoping Drew’s office would hear the man and what he had to say.
“Michael’s a dead man if you don’t open the door.”
That was enough. Blair couldn’t stand it anymore. She made her way across the room to the door and looked out through the peep hole.
James Meyer stood there.
“Where is he?”
“I have him in my car.”
It was a trick. It had to be a trick.
But what if it wasn’t? What if he had Michael?
“How do I know you’re telling the truth?”
“There’s one way to find out. Don’t open the door and watch the news. Michael’s body will be found in front of the hotel.”
Terrified, with a prayer for deliverance, Blair opened the latch and turned the knob with shaky fingers.
James grabbed her immediately, twisting her arm behind her and pulling her into the hallway.
“I have a gun, Miss Davenport. No one can see it, but believe me, I’ll use it on you and on anyone you try to talk to. So don’t do anything to make me think you want to call attention to us.”
He pushed her toward the elevator, his breath hot on her cheek.
Mercifully, no one was in the elevator. He held her arm in a vise-like grip until they reached the lobby, then he whispered, “Don’t so much as look
at anyone.”
They made their way out to a black car parked at the curved entrance to the hotel. It looked so much like an unmarked car that Blair looked around for more law enforcement.
“Where’s Michael?” Blair asked as James pushed her into the car on the driver’s side.
“Move over.”
Fighting the urge to scream, Blair asked again. “Where is he?”
Throwing his left arm over the steering wheel, James cranked the car. The gun, which Blair hadn’t seen until now, loomed huge in his right hand. She scooted over as far as she could, eyes frozen on the gun.
He pulled away from the hotel and made a fast turn north, his gaze moving from Blair, to the rear view mirror, to the road ahead.
“Where is he?”
“That’s what you’re going to tell me.”
Chapter 14
Michael pushed the Glock into the back of his jeans. The cold felt reassuring, but made him wonder if he could really shoot Drew.
One last look around told him he was relatively safe. Drew had come alone.
Approaching from a group of people, Michael made his way toward the man who could save Blair.
Drew watched him, a predatory gleam in his eyes. “Where’s my sister?” he demanded while Michael was still a good ten feet away.
“Safe.”
“I never thought you’d hurt her.”
“I wouldn’t hurt Blair. Look at James Meyer, Drew. He’s the threat.” Michael came closer, his fingers itching to grab his weapon. “Unless you already know that and don’t care.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
“Did you set me up?”
A curse burst from Drew’s mouth. “I set you up? What the hell kind of game are you playing?”
“If you didn’t, James is the one playing games.”
Drew’s expression changed from angry to assessing. “What?”
“He shot at Blair.”
“What?”
“He shot at Blair at the airport. I got her out of there.”
“Why the hell would he shoot at Blair?”
“The only reason I can think of is that he’s the one who set me up. Blair can give me an alibi for the murder of Hector Ramos. If James killed Blair, no alibi. He could get away with Hector’s murder. If he’s involved in that, then he set me up.”
Against the Wind Page 17
