Runaway Mistress

by Robyn Carr

  “Look, Barbara, I don’t want to be here.”

  “Oh? And you think I do?”

  She was a little surprised. “That’s what I assumed.”

  “Shouldn’t make assumptions, little girl.”

  “Then what are you doing here?”

  “The same as you. Enjoying the pleasure of his company. Or that of one of his boys. Twenty-four-seven.”

  Jennifer sat back, frowning as she tried to comprehend this. “Since when?”

  “Since March.”

  “So you have been out of the country. At spas, in Costa Rica, on a cruise…”

  “How would you know that?” she asked.

  “I was trying to find you. I thought he killed you and hid your body!”

  A look of shock passed over Barbara’s features just before melting into laughter. She laughed a little at first and then laughed harder until it verged on hysteria. “No kidding? You were trying to find out if I was dead?”

  “Shh,” she warned. “We don’t need him back here.”

  “What made you think I was dead?”

  “That day. That fight. I snuck back into the suite. Nick was in the shower and you were facedown on the bed. You looked dead to me.”

  “Oh, that,” she said. “Let me give you some advice. Never take a drink Lou has fixed for you.”

  “I saw blood. I thought—”

  “Bloody nose,” she said.

  “You hit him in the face?”

  “No, I didn’t hit him in the face,” she replied, sarcasm dripping. “He just started gushing. It was disgusting. I think his blood pressure got so high, he sprang a leak.”

  “Oh. Pushed some buttons, did you?”

  She laughed a little. “I’d say so.”

  “That tax record stuff?”

  Now Barbara looked confused. “What are you talking about?”

  “He said you threatened to turn his records over to the IRS to get him into trouble for tax evasion.”

  Her smile was slow and mocking. “God, he is such a liar.”

  “You didn’t do that?”

  “I threatened to turn him into the FBI for fraud and money laundering.”

  “You can prove that?”

  Her eyes lifted to look over Jennifer’s head. Nick stood behind her. “Isn’t it nice,” he said, “that my girls are getting along so good?”

  When the plane landed, Jennifer recognized the airport. She’d been here with him before—the island of St. Martin. One of the most beautiful places on the planet. Under any other circumstances, she might have really enjoyed this. Nick had a big place on the beach, fully staffed and luxurious, and every bit as gorgeous as a resort. But it looked very much as if he was planning to keep her prisoner, along with Barbara. He handed her her passport and told her to behave herself. “Don’t make any trouble for me.” And after they cleared Customs, he took it back.

  She didn’t say anything. Barbara might have the goods on him, but she didn’t. She had absolutely no idea what kind of illegal activities he’d been involved in, as she had already told the FBI.

  They were taken to the house, a ten thousand square foot beach house surrounded on three sides by a ten-foot wall and on the remaining side by the sea. The sky was bright blue, the weather warm and balmy, and the house a big glittering gem with an enormous pool. It appeared as though a person could just walk away from this rich and lavish prison.

  She went to her room, the same room she’d had on previous visits. The door remained unlocked and she sat on her balcony, staring at the sea. There was a knock at the door; a maid brought her a glass of lemonade and some fresh towels. It was surreal—that he should bring her here against her will and yet do nothing to try to keep her from leaving. She toyed with the idea of walking down the beach until she came to the road. But she had no shoes for walking.

  She wandered around the house for a while, found the staff at work. There was meal preparation going on in the kitchen, the dining table was being laid, and to all appearances Mr. Noble was visiting for a little vacation.

  She decided to walk right into the lion’s den. She found him at a poolside table, wearing his terry robe, chewing on a cigar, his phone handy and briefcase open. She sat down. “Nick, you can keep me here against my will by threatening my friends, but things are not going to be the way they were between us.”

  He smiled. “What? No jewelry? No money for shopping? What?”

  “I’m not your girlfriend anymore.”

  “Aw, baby, you’ll come around.”

  “I don’t know what you want from me.”

  His fist hit the glass tabletop. “I want you under wraps until my people get my business straightened out! Then you can do whatever the hell you want.”

  She never flinched. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Maybe you do, maybe you don’t.”

  “Nick! What do you mean?”

  “Don’t be cute. One of the things I like about you is that you’re smart. Maybe too smart. So, we’ll have a nice little vacation until the coast is clear.”

  She leaned forward. “Is that why you’ve kept Barbara with you for three months? Till you can tidy up your tax records? So if she talks, she’ll be too late?”

  He looked into his briefcase, shuffled some papers, stuck the cigar back in his mouth. “Something like that…”

  She laughed. “Nick. Three months?”

  He made eye contact with her again. Not happy eye contact. “Yeah. It’s been a real picnic.”

  “I’ll bet,” she laughed. “So—how long you think this will take?”

  “Not so long. And is this place so bad? You think you can stand this?” he asked, waving a hand.

  “Let me call my friend Rose so I can tell her I’m all right and make sure she’s all right.”

  The hand holding the cigar dropped to the tabletop and he looked at her curiously. “You’re really into these people.”

  “They were awful good to me. I landed in that town with nothing but the clothes on my back.”

  He pointed the cigar at her. “What’d you do with the hair?”

  “Left it in a crappy motel behind a railroad track.”

  He sucked on the cigar again. “I can’t believe you were that scared of me. What ever made you think I could kill someone?” He reached across the table and gently stroked her arm. “You really think that of me? I know I’m a little rough around the edges, but baby…”

  “I don’t know. All of a sudden I was terrified. I really thought you’d done it.”

  He puffed some smoke. “Yeah? Well I shoulda. She’s a giant pain in the ass.”

  “Three months?” she repeated. “Oh, Nick.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  She glanced over her shoulder and saw Barbara standing in the doorway. She was dressed in a lovely silver caftan, scowling blackly. She had seen her husband toying with his mistress, or so she thought. She whirled around and went back into the house.

  “When this is behind you, what are you going to do about her?”

  He didn’t even have to think about it. “Shit-can her. Big D. Cut her off without a cent. She’ll wish she was dead.”

  For a minute, Jennifer almost felt sorry for her.

  It took Alex and Paula two days to get to St. Martin; flights were oversold all the way to Miami, and since they weren’t on official business they couldn’t pull rank of any kind. Neither could they take weapons. But the unavailability of flights did give Paula a chance to pack decently—and gave Alex a chance to speak with Rose before he left.

  Rose was clearly disgruntled. He’d never seen her less than cool, less than totally poised. She was suddenly unsure of Doris, who she now knew was Jennifer, even if she didn’t know the whole story yet. She obviously wanted to believe, as Alex did, that Jennifer did not leave because she wanted to. At the same time that implied she was being forced, and that terrified her.

  “I know you think of me as a kinky yet hip little old lady, but I
used to date rich men in limousines and I know, from experience, they’re not the kind of guys you play around with. They’re serious—and sometimes dangerous.”

  “That’s why I’m going to get her,” he said.

  After they arrived at their hotel in the French section of town, Paula was overwhelmed by the quaint beauty of the place. She’d started oohing and aahing on the plane as they made their final descent over waters of clear blue bordered with white sand beaches. “Look at this place! This place is awesome! I’m going to make John bring me here,” she was saying.

  Alex was busy opening his suitcase. He pulled out his binoculars, camera and film. He dug around in it and finally produced a Taser, a nonlethal weapon that produced a five-second-long electric shock. It could render a person helpless for that long, and the shock could be reengaged for another five seconds, if necessary. He had hidden it in his checked baggage where, if it had been discovered, would only have been confiscated once he produced a badge. He could argue that it was part of his work gear and he forgot he even had it. It would go harder on a civilian, of course.

  Having it and using it on this island would be a whole other story—one that a Nevada police officer’s badge wouldn’t easily solve.

  “Oh, Alex, you are going to get us into such trouble.”

  “Only if I have to use it—and I won’t use it unless I’m about to die.”

  “You know we’re not supposed to—”

  “The less you say out loud, the better.”

  So she pointed. You. Me. The Finger.

  Then they went, posing as a couple on their honeymoon, to rent a boat. Finding the location of one of the richest estates on the island was no trouble at all. Nick Noble was anything but incognito. He was flamboyant and relished in being well known. He employed an entire staff of islanders.

  Jennifer was bored senseless. How she had managed to lie around and soak up luxury with nothing to distract her but the occasional novel was now beyond her. No wonder she had spent so many hours primping and managing a near-perfect appearance—there had been little else to do! And she might have told herself that she always kept a job for the sake of her self-esteem and maybe medical benefits, but now she realized that without work to do, she would go crazy.

  She napped, she swam, she walked the beach. She read, she had a manicure and pedicure and a facial—all provided in the residence—and it soon became impossible for her to be still another second. Relaxing when one has earned a break, a rest, is one thing. Enforced relaxation, even in lavish comfort such as this, proved maddening.

  Nick, she noticed, was not resting on his laurels. He was either at work in his study or on the phone—and when he was on the phone he was usually pacing. Now, with her mind turned toward self-preservation, she tried to pay attention to what he was saying, what he was doing—but he either closed the door or left the vicinity.

  Barbara must certainly be equally bored because she seemed intent on playing lady of the manor and haranguing the staff. Nothing, it seemed, was folded quite right, prepared or served well enough, cleaned to her satisfaction, and no one was quick enough to carry out her demands. Jennifer stayed as far away as possible. If Barbara was at the pool, Jennifer went to the kitchen; if Barbara went to the kitchen, Jennifer went for a walk on the beach or to her room. They separated like oil and water.

  If someone had suggested to her that she would suffer this feeling of listlessness and tedium a year ago or even two, Jennifer wouldn’t have understood. She was always so busy just trying to hang on to some semblance of security, of order, that she hadn’t realized it felt so much better to be useful. It had been such a wonderful accident, stumbling into that desert town, into the diner, where work was hard and steady. And then there were the acts of caring—taking a meal to a destitute elderly person, being a support to a young girl in need of a friend, walking an old dog. Doing something not for herself but for another somehow became more personally important than all the selfish indulgences of a lifetime.

  She even began to envy the fishermen in the simple boats that she could see from the beach. She envied their industry, the fact that they had to work for the very food they fed their families.

  As she looked back at the house from the water’s edge, she saw that there was a man on the third-story veranda. Was someone always posted there? She had never noticed before. But the thing that really got her excited was a telescope, mounted on a tripod on the highest veranda. She went back to the house. At least there was something new to do.

  It was Frank, one of Nick’s employees from Florida, on the veranda. He was comfortable in his flowered shirt and silk shorts, enjoying the afternoon on his rattan chair, playing his Game Boy, his rifle and telescope nearby. Having an armed guard at the house was something completely new. Despite the fact that Nick always had at least two big guys at hand, there had always been an obvious absence of weapons. The Game Boy beeped as he played his game and he looked out from the veranda occasionally. “I certainly hope you’re not planning to shoot anyone,” she said.

  He smiled and said, “Very doubtful.”

  “No one’s going anyplace, you know,” she said. “He has the passports.”

  “He’s just being cautious.” He went back to beeping on the Game Boy.

  If Nick were hiding out, there were much better locations around the islands to do so. St. Martin was an island shared by the French and Dutch, known as the Friendly Island, a mere thirty-six square miles. This shared government was very American-friendly—American authorities would be treated with grave deference. This was not some shady little Caribbean Island where police or officials could be bought. Aside from the fact that he’d had this house here for ten years or more, Nick must be very confident that his affairs would soon be in order.

  “Most people try to escape to places like this.”

  “I hear ya,” he said.

  “I saw the telescope from the beach. Can I look?”

  “Help yourself.”

  She needed a little help to learn how to focus and sharpen the images, but she quickly found it easy to maneuver. It was amazing. She could not only see the little fishing boat offshore, she could almost count the bristles on the little old fisherman’s chin. Over the wall of a neighboring house was a nude sunbather; a yacht slowly passed by and she zeroed in on the people on the deck, having a party. There were frequent speedboats roaring past. She could see the road over the wall on the far west side of the house, the continuation of that same road on the far east side. The old fisherman gathered up his net and started his motor to leave, while another fisherman was just coming around the bend.

  “You have the best job in the house,” she said.

  “I do,” he said. “Want to let me have a look for a minute?”

  “Sure,” she said, stepping back.

  He took possession of the telescope, swerved left, then right, examined the water and various watercrafts, the neighbors, the side yards, the roads. “Looks good,” he said, letting her look again.

  “I’m assuming you have infrared lenses so this can be used at night.”

  “’Course.”

  “Have you looked at the stars?”

  “Yep. And satellites.”

  She saw several different spots around the side of the property that were mostly out of sight. This place was not so secure, even with Frank up here. But then Jennifer was here because her friends had been threatened, and Barbara? Maybe Barbara was exactly where she wanted to be.

  Then she saw them. A colorful speedboat out in the water with a couple lying on the front deck, making out. But not making out—pretending to make out while they also used cameras and binoculars to study the property. The woman lifted her head and the man turned his face toward the house. It was them! Alex and Paula! But what did they think they were going to do? A counter kidnapping? What good would that do? She couldn’t take the chance that Nick would retaliate.

  Then it came to her that if Nick were arrested, taken into custody, and it
had nothing whatever to do with Jennifer, there would be nothing to fear.

  She straightened slowly, arching her back as though bending to the telescope had given her a backache. “If I come back up here tonight, will you let me try looking at some stars?”

  “Sure. But I think tonight it might be Lou up here.”

  “He’s a good guy,” she said, taking her leave.

  She tried to keep from scrambling down the stairs in excitement. She went looking for Barbara, but the house was big and madam was obviously busy with something. “Have you seen Mrs. Noble?” she asked a maid. Head-shaking answered her. “Have you seen Mrs. Noble?” she asked a houseboy, and again, head-shaking. From the looks on their faces, they didn’t want to see her.

  She knocked on Barbara’s door.

  “What is it?” she demanded sharply.

  Jennifer slowly pushed open the door and found the woman reclining on the bed with a fashion magazine in her lap. “Barbara? Put on your sandals and come for a little walk on the beach with me.”

  “Hah. In your dreams. The beach is full of sand and bugs and sun!”

  Jennifer would be disappointed in Nick if he didn’t have at least a couple of listening devices in the house, if he was serious about keeping these women under watch twenty-four seven. So she made the expression on her face urgent and tilted her head several times toward the beach. But her voice she kept cajoling. “Come on, Barbara. You’ve been cooped up too long. You’re going to get cabin fever!”

  “Too bad,” she said.

  Jennifer pointed urgently at the beach. “Look, if we’re going to be kept in this place for an unknown length of time, let’s at least try to get along.”

  She made a face, looking back at her magazine.

  Jennifer jumped up and down, waved her arms, pointed to the beach and then said, as calmly as possible, “Come on. You’ll love it. Five minutes, and if you don’t love it, you can have me punished.”

  Finally, Barbara had a look on her face that she might be catching on. “Oh, that is too tempting to pass up. I love a good punishment.”