by Jo Leigh
He must be stopped.
She went to the sink and splashed cold water on her face. Immediately, she felt better, saner. She dug out some powder and her lipstick from her purse and applied them carefully. The world had not ended. No one had been hurt. It was simply a problem, and she’d handle it. Mitch was not going to spoil her life. Not now, not ever. The day Mitch Slater could outsmart her was the day she’d hang up her computer and get married for real.
She put her makeup away, brushed her hair, then straightened her blouse. Once again, she was her old self, and that made her pulse ease and her thoughts grow logical.
First, she had to deal with Mitch. Get him off this island and away from her family. The longer he stayed, the greater the risk that he’d say something or do something that would expose the truth.
Second, she’d have to figure out what to do with him while he was here, even if that was just for an hour. He wanted to go up to the room? Great. At least there he wouldn’t talk to anyone. Could she lock him in? There was that nice bellboy, Kimo. Maybe he could help her. Or maybe she could knock Mitch out cold with a really big, heavy, thick lead pipe and send him to the airport in the back of a taxi. She’d seen that done plenty of times on television. Only thing wrong with that plan was that she’d never met anyone with a harder head. He’d probably just get a concussion and sue her. But it might be worth it, just to hear the clunk.
She’d left him with Babs too long already. She’d figure out what to do once she was in the room with him.
Taking one last look at herself, she squared her shoulders and lifted her head. One step at a time. No need to panic. And no more kissing.
Despite her resolve, she found her step falter as she rounded the corner of the ladies’ room. It was his laughter. Her mother’s, too. It lifted into the air and caromed off the walls. Had she ever laughed that way with Babs? She must have. Her childhood hadn’t been awful. She’d never been abused either physically or mentally. She’d had everything she ever wanted, and more. Dance classes, horseback riding lessons, piano tutors, perfect dresses. But for the life of her, she couldn’t remember that sound. Just bright, carefree laughter. In school, yes. With Steph. But with Babs? Laughter had been suspect then, cautioned against. It was prideful somehow, arrogant. Or common. Yes, common, not the other. Lesser people laughed like that. Not the Brewsters..
Yet there was her mother, standing in front of Mitch, holding her head back and letting go. It wasn’t a guffaw or anything half as gauche, but for Babs it was a milestone.
What had Mitch said? What had tickled her mother so much that she would react in such an abandoned fashion? Was it something about her? Had Mitch told her some revealing secret?
Bentley hurried now, even more anxious about Mitch’s ploy. He could do so much damage.
“Darling, your young man is a scamp! He’s had me laughing like I don’t know what Isn’t that right, Dan?”
Her father smiled, but it seemed to her he didn’t quite get the joke. He looked to Bentley, and for the first time since she’d joined her family, she felt a sense of connection. He gave her his look, his “Are you all right, sweetie?” look. Just an eyebrow arch and a slight dip of the chin. But she knew the meaning, and more important, she understood the concern behind it. She nodded. Not enough for anyone else to notice. Just her dad.
“Ready to go up?”
Bentley turned to Mitch, and his broad smile took all the gentle sweetness she’d felt with her father and dashed it with cold water. The smug bastard. He had his hands folded across his chest as he leaned against one of the bar columns. His shirt, one of those awful retro things he always seemed to find, had a few wet spots on the front. Good. Maybe he’d throw it away. It was like something out of a fifties movie, something Dean Martin would have worn as he scored with some chicks. His slacks, somewhat more conservative, were more badly stained, particularly where she’d gotten him with that first glass of champagne. A normal man would have been embarrassed. He just looked terrifically pleased with himself, his plan, his whole miserable self. She’d see to it that didn’t last long.
She looked into his brown eyes, certain she could awaken his shame with her glare. “All right, Carter,” she said, keeping her voice low and tight. “Let’s go up to the room.”
It didn’t work. Not her glare, not her tone, nothing. He just pushed himself off the bar and strolled toward her as if pretending to be someone’s husband was as ordinary as using the telephone. As if he didn’t know that he’d turned her life upside down.
“I’ve got my luggage by the front desk,” he said, that cocky grin of his making her wish she knew kickboxing.
“Swell.”
“We’ll see you at seven, Mom,” Mitch said, stressing the term for Bentley’s benefit. “I sure hope you hear from Stephanie. I’d hate for her to miss any of this.”
Babs looked as though she wanted to talk about Stephanie for a while, but Bentley couldn’t tolerate that. She grabbed Mitch by the arm and pulled him after her.
“She just can’t get enough of me,” Mitch said over his shoulder.
The grasp turned to a pinch.
“Ouch. You have to stop doing that.”
“Then go home.”
“No. I like it here.”
When they were in the lobby and out of eye and earshot of her family, she swung on him, all the fury she’d been holding back right on the tip of her tongue. “You like it here? You like destroying my life? Can’t you think of anything better to do with your twisted little mind? Like topple a government? Or—or reverse gravity?”
“I tried that last week. I couldn’t figure out how to keep the change in my pockets.”
“Oh man, you’re asking for it.”
“Yeah? This could get good.”
Bentley looked around for a weapon. She spotted a heavy ashtray and lunged for it, but Mitch was too quick. He grabbed her around the waist and held her tight.
“Lemme go,” she said, struggling against him. “I just want five minutes. That’s all.”
“Now, now. I’m pretty sure murder is illegal here, too.”
“Not if I’m judged by a jury of my peers.”
“Sexually repressed women?”
She turned, pushed at his chest, dug her heels into the carpet and pushed again. “Anyone with an IQ over ten!”
“Not bad. But you can do better.”
She shoved at his arms, her hair flying into her face, but his grip kept her right up against him. Every time she moved, her breasts rubbed his chest, and that made her madder than anything. “Let… me…go.”
He did. So fast she wheeled backward, her balance lost on the carpet. Back, back, until finally, the couch caught her legs and she sat. Hard.
She sprang up as fast as she could and pointed toward the door. “I want you off this island. Now.”
“But it’s a big island. Are you sure we can’t share?”
“No. Go on. Get out.”
“Uh…”
She turned toward the front desk. “Hello? Can someone help me, please? This man is very bad. He needs to be taken away.”
“Very bad?” Mitch echoed.
She ignored him and concentrated on the hotel registration clerk. “You have to believe me. I’m telling the truth. I can show you letters. Give you phone numbers.”
The woman behind the desk stared at her with growing alarm. “Are you all right, Miss?”
“No. I’m not. It’s his fault.” She pointed behind her at Mitch.
The clerk’s gaze moved and her eyes widened. Bentley spun around and caught Mitch circling his ear with his index finger, the universal signal for nutcase. “Stop it,” she told him, then looked back to the front desk. “It’s not me. I swear.”
“Darling, let’s go on up, shall we? Dr. Redmond told us this might happen, remember?”
Bentley stopped. It was clear the poor clerk was confused. She actually believed him. It wasn’t her fault, she supposed. Most women did believe him, at least in t
he beginning. It was his looks. Women wanted to believe in someone that pretty. Mitch knew it, too. He got away with murder for the same reason a dog licks his privates: because he could.
“Fine,” she said with a sigh. “I give up.”
Mitch took her hand in his and she, didn’t even bother to struggle. He led her through the lobby to the elevator. He pushed the Up button. “That was fun,” he said.
“Shut up, Slater.”
“No, really. I enjoyed it. You were really convincing.”
The elevator opened, and he led her inside. Once the doors closed with their electronic whisper, he let her hand go. Bentley stared straight ahead, deciding right then that the best way to handle Mitch was to ignore him. Completely. Mitch who?
“So you want to start talking about Colker, sweeturns?”
She read the menu posted on the side wall. Fresh mahimahi was the specialty of the house.
“You remember Colker? The reason you’re here?”
But the sand dabs sounded good, too. With a nice salad on the side.
“I know you have information on him. Things will go a lot better if you just fess up.”
Pineapple for dessert, of course. If she was feeling really sinful, she’d try the macadamia pie. But with the wedding cake, the dinners, the drinks, she’d probably have to forgo that pleasure.
The ding of her floor coincided with the slow stop of the elevator, and she entered the hallway looking neither right nor left. She felt something next to her, a gnat, a mosquito, but she ignored it.
“The silent treatment won’t work, cookie. I’ve got you over a barrel.”
She only slowed her pace a drop.
“One word to Mama and Carter’s history, remember?”
Her shoulders sagged. She reached into her purse and pulled out the electronic card key and shoved it home. It had been a good few minutes, but he was right. He had her just where he wanted her. He could blow the whistle any second. And she didn’t even have the information he was after. As far as she knew, Darren Colker was in Paraguay. But she doubted Mitch would believe her.
She entered the room. Mitch closed the door and locked it behind them. When she’d first checked in, the room had seemed wonderful. Large, bright, sunny. Luxurious, too. Now it felt like a prison.
“Look, Slater,” she said, turning to him with as much earnestness as she could muster. “You’re barking up the wrong tree. I’m here for my sister’s wedding. Period. I’m not on a story, I don’t know anything about Colker, and I’m not trying to get a scoop. I’m the matron of honor. That’s all.”
His smile was hesitant at first and her hope swelled. Then it became his patented, cocky grin and she knew he didn’t believe her.
“You’re good, Bentley,” he said. “You almost had me there.”
“I don’t have the energy for this.”
“For what? Trying to keep the story to yourself?”
She shook her head. “You. I don’t have the energy for you. You’re too much. You don’t listen. You don’t stop and think.”
“Sure I do.”
“No. You have it all figured out in your head and go blundering around, not really caring if you have it right or not.”
His gaze shifted and intensified. He leaned a bit forward, and Bentley thought she’d finally caught his attention.
“I’m telling the truth,” she said. “Can’t you see that?”
“Well, let’s take a look,” he said. “We’ve known each other for over three years. Worked together, gone after the same stories, played a few games of poker on a late night. And all that time, you told me, you told everyone—including your own parents— that you were happily married to a CNN newscaster named Carter DeHaven. And now you say you’re not here to investigate Darren Colker?”
“Right.”
“I’m gonna be on you like white on rice, got it? I’m gonna tail you so close, you’ll itch and I’ll scratch. Because, honey, I don’t believe one word you’re saying.”
Bentley heard him. She heard him good. He wouldn’t listen to reason. He didn’t believe the truth. There was only one thing left to do: outsmart Mitchell Slater and send him back to Los Angeles with his tail between his legs, so he’d never, under any circumstances, divulge her secret to a living soul.
Let the games begin.
Chapter Four
Bentley bit the inside of her cheek as hard as she could. She didn’t let go until she felt tears well in both eyes. It was a technique she’d mastered in grammar school, one she had always been able to count on. She batted her lashes a few times, sniffed twice and made sure that she was close enough to Mitch that he could get the full effect of the crying whammy.
She sniffed once more, louder, and then she hit pay dirt. Mitch’s smug grin faded. She turned just a bit to her left, so that the clouds outside would frame her face.
“What’s this?” Mitch asked, the suspicion in his voice a little too clear.
“What?” she said, innocence itself.
“The crying game.”
“I don’t know what you mean.” She moved to the window and stared at the ocean, her back as straight as she could make it. She fought the urge to giggle.
“Cut it out, Bentley. It won’t work.”
“Okay,” she whispered. Meryl Streep had nothing on her.
“No. I mean it.”
“I…” She let the word float alongside the dust motes. If she knew Mitch, which unfortunately she did, he’d go crazy with that one word. He was the kind of guy who couldn’t leave if someone knocked “shave and a haircut” and didn’t finish with “two bits.” He liked closure, wrapping things up, seeing The End written out, not implied. So this, this lone pronoun, was doing its job. Making him wacko.
He walked behind her. She didn’t turn. She could feel his frustration coming to a boil. Twenty more seconds. Ten.
“What already?” He grabbed her by the arm and spun her around. “I what?”
This was top easy. Like shooting fish in a barrel. “It’s just that the consequences…”
He nodded, leaned toward her, tried to will her to finish her sentence. “The consequences…?”
“Carter wasn’t just a convenience. He was…He was…” She looked away and made her lower lip tremble.
“What?” he said, loudly, impatiently.
“He was a gift. To my mother.”
“A what?”
She sniffed. “A gift. A last request, you might say.” She chanced a look at him, and she wasn’t pleased with what she saw.
“So who’s dying? You or Babs?”
“I don’t know how you can be so cavalier.”
“Easy. I don’t believe you.”
She turned to him sharply. “You don’t think I would lie about something like this, do you?”
He nodded. “Sure.”
“I…”
“You what? I know you’re healthy. I go to the same doctor, remember?”
“You asked about me?”
“Well, sort of. Your file was just lying there.”
“You read my medical file?”
He nodded.
“Why?”
“I’m a reporter.”
“No, you’re a snoop. That’s got to be against the law. I could have you arrested.”
He shook his head. “Sorry, babe. Try again.”
She walked away from Mitch, furious beyond words. “I don’t believe you.”
“That’s my line.”
She whirled, facing him again. “I want you out of here. Now.”
“But, snookems. Mom and Dad are expecting us for dinner.”
“They are not your parents.”
“They think they are.”
“I’ll tell them you had a story in Aruba. In Guatemala. In outer space.”
“I’m not budging. Not until you tell me about Colker.”
“I don’t know anything about Colker. Dammit, what’s it going to take to convince you?”
“The truth.”
<
br /> “I’m telling you the truth.”
“Just like you told me about Carter?”
Bentley went to the couch and sat down. Suddenly she was tired. Tired of Mitch, of Carter. Of her whole family. “She wouldn’t leave me alone,” she said.
“Who?”
“Babs.”
“Ah.”
She stared at her shoes, not willing to watch his reaction. “She wants me married. Preferably pregnant. She never let up. Men were constantly showing up at my door. Unbelievable men. Horrible men. All with money, lots of it. And breeding. Can’t forget that.”
“So why didn’t you tell her to stop?”
Now she looked at Mitch. The stain on his pants had dried, but she could still see the outline of the wet spot. That had been nice, hadn’t it? One perfect moment in a day that would live in infamy. “Telling Babs to stop is like waving a red flag at a bull. It just makes her more determined.”
“So Carter was your way of getting her to back off.”
“Yes.”
Mitch went to the honor bar and pulled out a beer. He held it up for her, but she shook her head no. He closed the fridge and popped the top. “The odds of pulling off a scam like that are maybe one in a hundred. You should have stuck with something simple. Something that couldn’t be proven.”
“Like what?”
“Like, say, telling her you don’t like boys.”
“You think that would stop her from marrying me off?”
He took a long drink, then moved over to where she sat. He perched on the edge of the couch. “Okay, then how about telling her you couldn’t have kids.”
“Why would that have worked?”
“Because your mother wants a grandchild. More than anything.”
“You’ve known her for fifteen minutes.”
“And the subject of kids came up three times that I can remember.”
“So?”
“So if you can’t have them, she wouldn’t care so much if you were married or not.”
“Why is that better than Carter?”
“Because a person can be tracked down.”
She shook her head. “If you hadn’t stuck your nose into my business, it would have worked fine.”
“It would have worked longer, but it would have blown up in the end.”
