He pushed to his feet. “Now that’s settled, how about some breakfast?”
She shook her head. Being near the man she loved while he pushed her away had become torture. “The sooner we head back to the marina, the better.”
His grin faded, and after a grim nod, he left her and went on deck to disconnect the lines. Carrying her coffee and fighting tears, she followed and climbed after him to the flying bridge.
He appeared nonchalant, but the tension in his jaw and the bleak look in his eyes conveyed how difficult his decision had been. She would have continued her argument to remain with him, but she doubted her staying would bring him any happiness, not until he’d exorcised the ghosts and demons that haunted him. And he obviously didn’t want a witness to his struggle to overcome them.
He turned the key at the controls, the powerful engines rumbled to life, and he steered the boat toward the channel.
“We’ll head into the Gulf,” he yelled above the noise of the motors. “It’s longer that way, but faster.”
She nodded, gripped her coffee mug and hoped the wind would dry the tears from her cheeks. In a couple of hours, she would walk out of his life for good. He had saved her from hired killers and a possible death sentence, but after today, she’d probably never see him again.
Her heart ached for him and the solitary, tortured days that stretched ahead of him. She faced loneliness and unhappiness, too, but she would have Brittany. Jordan, whose family had ostracized him when he needed them most, would have no one.
They cruised deeper into the Gulf. She watched the land dwindle and disappear over the horizon and wondered how what should have been one of the happiest days of her life had turned so miserable. Conversation was impossible above the noise, so she curled into a chair and consoled herself with thoughts of Brittany.
Despite her earlier refusal to sleep, the hum of the huge engines and the motion of the boat lulled her, her eyelids drooped and she drifted into uneasy dreams.
Sudden silence jerked her into awareness. The engines had stopped, and she wondered if they’d reached the marina. Stretching, she opened her eyes.
The boat rocked alone in an endless expanse of water, and a slender, middle-aged man with thinning hair, watery blue eyes and wrinkled clothes propped himself against the rail.
He held a gun at Jordan’s temple.
At her movement, the intruder glanced at her without lowering his weapon, and his thin face cracked in an evil smile. “So, Sleeping Beauty awakes. Allow me to introduce myself, Mrs. Swinburn. I’m Carleton James.”
Chapter Thirteen
Angel jerked upright, slicked a glance at Jordan, standing grim-faced beside the wheel, and looked back to the intruder. “How did you get onboard?”
“I’ve been here since last night, in the bedroom closet.”
James’s hideous grin made her shudder. “But Maggie had the boat searched—”
“Panowski did the looking,” Jordan interrupted with a knowing nod. “I’ll bet my pension he’s the spy you’ve had in the department all along.”
“Very astute,” James said. “Panowski located me in the closet. I gave him instructions for the captain of my yacht to meet me today, twelve miles due west of Sunset Bay.”
“And we’re supposed to provide your ride to the rendezvous?” Angel said.
“You’ll be in no condition to provide anything except food for the fishes,” James stated coldly.
“Why kill us?” Jordan asked.
She marveled at his coolness, when James’s threatening expression and the small cannon he held terrified her.
“Your cover’s blown,” Jordan continued, “you’re on your way out of the country, your money must be stashed in offshore banks. What good will our deaths do?”
“I’m a tidy man. I don’t like loose ends.”
“At least let Angel go. She’s done nothing to harm you.”
She loved Jordan more at that moment than she’d ever loved anyone. She had to live, for Brittany’s sake, but she couldn’t bear the thought of life without Jordan. Better a life lived hundreds of miles apart than one without him. “We’ll take you to your yacht,” she said. “There’s no need to kill us.”
“Ah, but there is. My name isn’t really Carleton James. I’ve had dozens of names. And as long as I can make money in this country, I won’t be exiled to some foreign hole where I can’t enjoy what money I have. In a few months, I’ll reappear somewhere else, Texas, perhaps, with a new name, new face and fresh prospects.”
“And you’ll bilk hundreds more innocent people out of their hard-earned cash,” Jordan said with a scowl.
James sighed impatiently. “It’s what I do. Just like you’re a policeman, and you, Mrs. Swinburn, are a parent.”
“How many more families will you ruin before you’re through?” Jordan demanded hotly. “How can you sleep at night?”
James laughed with a high-pitched effete giggle. “Better than you. I, at least, didn’t kill my own sister.”
Angel’s temper snapped. “You would have, if there’d been money in it.”
“I’m not a total scoundrel,” James said easily.
She ignored the warning shake of Jordan’s head. “You’ll have a hard time proving it.”
“And, please, don’t bore us with your contributions to charities,” Jordan said sarcastically. “Giving away other people’s money doesn’t qualify you for sainthood.”
As he spoke, Jordan kept his eye on James’s gun, except for a brief moment, when he lifted his gaze to Angel and flashed a silent message she couldn’t interpret.
“I’m not all bad,” James said, “or else I wouldn’t offer to tell the real story of how your sister died.”
Jordan’s face paled beneath his tan. “The real story?”
Angel froze in her seat, holding her breath and waiting for James’s explanation.
James, pointing the gun with one hand, studied the manicure of his other. “You can go to your watery grave a happy man, Trouble, knowing that you didn’t shoot your sister.”
Jordan sank into a chair beside her as if his knees had given way. “I didn’t?”
James edged away, creating a safer distance between him and Jordan. “When Frank shot you, Sidney grabbed your sister. We assumed you were already dead, so Frank handed me your gun.”
If she hadn’t been watching closely, she might have missed the rage that flitted briefly over Jordan’s face before his features settled into an expression of relief. “I didn’t kill Jenny?”
“No, although that’s what I wanted the police to think. I, Lieutenant Trouble, am your sister’s killer. It was an easy matter to shoot her, then replace the gun in your hand.”
“I didn’t kill her,” Jordan muttered in stunned disbelief.
“I shot her, and now I intend to shoot you. If there is a heaven, as the ridiculous name of this vessel implies, you will soon be having a family reunion there.”
“Wait,” Jordan begged.
Despite her terror, Jordan’s strange reaction puzzled her. He licked his lips nervously, his hands trembled, and he appeared on the verge of tears.
“If you’re not all bad, like you say,” Jordan said with an unfamiliar whine, “you’ll grant a man one last request?”
“That depends on the request,” James said.
“A drink,” Jordan pleaded, and the trembling in his hands expanded throughout his body. “I need a drink. A man shouldn’t have to die stone-cold sober.”
Angel’s emotions ricocheted between terror and confusion. This quivering beggar was a Jordan she’d never seen. No wonder he wanted her out of his life. He was ashamed for her to witness his degradation when he lost his fight against his demons. He hated her pity.
“Angel should have a drink, too,” he said. “A big one.”
James rubbed his chin. “A bon voyage toast? Why not? In this wretched heat, I wouldn’t mind a drink myself.”
“All I have is vodka,” Jordan said. “It’s in the gal
ley.”
“You first.” James waved toward the ladder with his gun. “I’ll bring Mrs. Swinburn.”
Jordan rose unsteadily to his feet and started down the ladder. Angel descended next, followed by James, who kept her covered with his huge gun the entire time. Jordan stumbled into the lounge, and Angel and James followed.
“The bottle’s over here.” Jordan crossed to the cabinet that separated the lounge from the kitchen. “It’s never been opened—I was saving it for a special occasion.”
“You only die once,” James quipped. “Now, no sudden moves or you’ll die without that drink.”
She turned her face away, unable to witness Jordan’s surrender to the tremors of alcoholism another instant, wishing he could die like a man. This quivering wreck before her wasn’t the Jordan she knew. She glanced back at him as comprehension dawned. His behavior had to be an act. But what could he hope to gain with his charade? And what chance did he have with James’s gun on him. The glint in the man’s eye told her he wouldn’t hesitate to shoot at the least suspicious movement.
She issued up a last, silent prayer, thankful Brittany was with the Erskines, who loved her and would care for her once her mother was dead.
Jordan saw Angel avert her face, but he couldn’t allow the distaste in her expression to distract him. He needed that bottle. Moving slowly as James had ordered, he swung open the cabinet door. “See, a whole bottle of Absolut, and the seal’s not even broken.”
His hands shook with fear. He was doing something he’d promised himself he’d never do again. Resigned, he knelt and reached into the cabinet. With an awkward lurch, he knocked the vodka bottle over.
“Good thing the top’s on tight,” he muttered, loud enough for James to hear.
Reaching deeper into the cabinet, he passed over the bottle and tightened his fingers around the object that had been his goal from the start, his backup gun hidden in the recess. Deftly, he slipped it from its holster and flicked the safety.
“I’ve got it,” he said. “Drinks for everybody now.”
“About damn time,” James complained.
In one smooth fluid movement, Jordan straightened, aimed and fired. In the same instant, Angel screamed, and James’s gun roared as he fell to the deck.
An ominous silence filled the lounge.
“You okay?” he asked.
James’s wild shot had obliterated the sliding glass door behind her. In shock, she stared at Jordan, wide-eyed, and nodded. He knelt beside James, removed the gun clenched in his fist and felt for a pulse.
“He’s dead.”
Angel nodded again.
He had to get her out of there before she went to pieces. He jammed his gun and James’s in his belt, grabbed Angel with one hand and the bottle of Absolut with the other, then pulled her onto the deck and up the ladder to the flying bridge.
He settled Angel into a chair and reached for his ship-to-shore radio. “Operator, patch me through to the Sunset Bay Police Department.”
After a brief explanation to Maggie Henderson, he turned to Angel. “Maggie’s having Panowski arrested, then she’s boarding the police boat to meet us here.”
Like a sleepwalker, Angel nodded numbly.
“It’s okay,” he assured her. “It’s all over now.”
She lifted her gaze to his, and her eyes held a thousand questions.
With a jolt, he realized he still gripped the bottle of vodka. He raised it to her in salute and watched a shock of dismay cross her face before he pitched the bottle high into the air. It spiraled in the sunlight in an end-over-end arc before plummeting into the shining deep water off the starboard bow.
“You never wanted a drink at all, did you?”
He shook his head. “It really is all over now. Once Maggie’s finished her investigation, we can go to Orlando and bring Brittany home.”
“We?” Her face brightened, but her tone was tentative.
“We. You, Brittany and me. No ghosts, no demons.”
With a happy cry, she leapt from her chair into his arms. “I love you, Jordan.”
He crushed his mouth to hers, then twirled her in his embrace. When he broke free to breathe, he cradled her face in his hands. “Looks like I’m going to be drunk on love the rest of my life.”
With her hands clasped behind his neck, she flung back her head and studied him. “You’re all right? You’re sure?”
“I’m sure. I love you, Angel—my Angel.”
Epilogue
The sign at the streetside entrance to Mary Tiger’s read Closed to Public for Private Party. Jordan, trim and fit in his custom-tailored tuxedo, climbed from the car and offered Angel a hand.
Stepping out of the limo into the cool breeze and October sunshine, she surveyed the packed parking lot. “Looks like an overflow crowd.”
“You know cops. Promise ’em free food and drink and they show up in droves.” His smile crinkled the tanned skin around his midnight-blue eyes, free now of guilt and pain. “Have I told you how fantastic you look?”
“Once or twice,” she teased, arranging the full-length skirt of her ivory-satin gown with one hand as she tucked the other through the crook of his arm. “Shall we run the gauntlet?”
Together they marched into the palm-thatched chickee. Her vision took a moment to adjust to the dimmer light of the room after the brilliant sunshine. When she could see clearly, her eyes filled with happy tears at so many familiar and welcoming faces.
From behind the bar, Mary Tiger greeted them with a wide grin and her usual sarcasm. “Took you long enough. Thought you were gonna skip the reception and go straight to the honeymoon.”
“Now, there’s an idea,” Jordan called back.
“Yeah,” the bartender cracked, “and if you’d arrived much later, every cop in the place would be drunk and disorderly.”
All members of the Sunset Bay Police Department not on duty filled the room. At a table near the door, Hal Walden rose to his feet and lifted his glass. “You’ve gone and done it now, Angel. Didn’t your mama warn you about marrying trouble?”
“That’s borrowing trouble,” Jordan corrected good-naturedly, “and I’m one cop that can’t be borrowed or bought.”
The others laughed at the puns and crowded around, slapping Jordan on the back, squeezing Angel’s hands and mixing good wishes with wedding-night innuendos.
The band, apparently exhausting its repertoire of Jimmy Buffet tunes, segued into a Whitney Houston ballad as Jordan and Angel worked their way through the crowd of relatives and friends toward the head table.
“Mommy!” Brittany, dressed in teal-green satin and white lace tights, wriggled from Henry and Fiona’s grasp and darted toward her.
“Hello, short stuff.” Jordan intercepted her and swung her into his arms. “You did a great job scattering rose petals at the wedding.”
Her chubby face crinkled in a smile. “Hi, Daddy.”
Jordan hugged his new daughter even tighter.
His amused gaze met Angel’s over Brittany’s blond curls. With patience, affection and good-natured teasing, he had created a strong bond with Brittany, and the child had slipped easily into calling him Daddy and thinking of him as her father. And he would always think of her as his own.
Brittany beamed with pleasure. “Pwetty, Mommy.”
Jordan set her on her feet. “You and your mother are the prettiest ladies here.”
“Maggie, too,” Brittany insisted.
Angel glanced at Maggie, dressed in the same teal satin as Brittany, who had stood as her maid of honor. She was sitting at the head table with her head bent toward Michael Winslow, laughing at something the attorney had said.
“Mind if I steal your daughter?” a deep voice behind Angel asked.
“Hello, Dad.” Jordan enveloped the older man in a bear hug. “Thanks for serving as my best man.”
Angel’s heart swelled with gratitude. After Carleton James died and the facts about Jenny’s death and Panowski’s treachery had bee
n revealed, Jordan, his father and Jenny’s husband, Ted, had reconciled. They were a family again.
Breaking from his son’s embrace, Matthew Trouble cleared his throat and swiped at his eyes with a big fist. “Don’t know about this ‘best man’ label. That should belong to the groom. Now, mind if I take Brittany with me? How about it, young lady? Ready for some lunch?”
Brittany placed her small hand eagerly in his. “Gwanpa Twouble, want cake.”
“After your mommy and daddy cut it,” Matthew promised, and clasped Angel’s hand with his free one. “Welcome to the family. It’s good to have a daughter again. And a granddaughter.” His eyes clouded with tears. “She reminds me of another little girl I used to know.”
“Who?” Brittany asked.
“A little girl named Jenny.” Matthew and Jordan exchanged glances, and Angel knew they both were missing Jenny Argeroux, that they would always miss her, but that her death would never again come between the father and son.
Angel stretched on tiptoe to kiss Matthew’s weathered cheek. “Thank you for making us part of your family, Papa Matt.”
“Police families stick together,” he said, “and now that Jordan’s a detective again—”
A brassy fanfare from the band interrupted him.
“Ladies and gentleman,” the leader said, “may I present the bride and groom.”
Jordan opened his arms, and Angel slid into them to the applause of the guests. But after a few seconds, everyone but Jordan faded into the background as, drifting with the waltz, she basked in the glow of his love and reveled in the rightness of his embrace.
“This is the most perfect day of my life,” he said.
Head back, she locked her gaze with his. “Mine, too. I only wish your Jenny could be here.”
“She is,” he said, releasing her hand long enough to tap his heart.
Angel nodded, thinking of her parents and the memories of them she carried. If she hadn’t been so vulnerable after their death in a traffic accident, she would never have married a man like David Swinburn. They would have approved of Jordan.
Other couples joined them on the dance floor, including Brittany, dancing with her stocking feet on top of Papa Matt’s black patent shoes as he held her hands to balance her.
A Woman of Mystery Page 18
