Rum Runner

by Tricia Leedom

  “They’ll probably torture him before they kill him. I can’t just let that happen. He’s my father. And I have to know the truth. I have to speak to him.”

  “You’ll get the chance to meet your daddy,” Jimmy vowed, and for once, making a declaration like that didn’t turn his stomach into fiery knots.

  He just didn’t promise what would happen after the family reunion was over.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Sophie stood in the center of the seedy-looking motel room taking it all in. The single queen-size bed, the dilapidated dresser, the ancient tube television, and ratty armchair in the corner. The window unit air conditioner emitted a squealing hum as it struggled to crank out cool air. The green carpeting was so thin it was almost non-existent, and the faded artwork on the walls was, well, the art world’s equivalent to elevator music.

  The Savoy it was not.

  “I have to go out for a little while,” Jimmy said, plunking down his duffel bag on the dresser. “You can use one of my T-shirts to sleep in, if you want.”

  “Where are you going?”

  He turned to face her. The cut above his left eye had dried and was just an angry red slash now. “To make a few inquiries about Mitch.”

  “I should go with you.”

  “No.” Jimmy shook his head. “I’ll get farther on my own.”

  “Why would you say that?”

  The corner of his mouth listed in a half-smile. “Let’s just say where I’m going, the clientele don’t have much use for uppity Englishwomen…well, except maybe one.”

  Sophie’s stomached lurched.

  “Catch my drift?”

  “I wish I didn’t.” She raised her chin a notch. “But I’m not afraid.”

  Jimmy snorted and headed toward the bathroom. “Admirable, Duchess, but it ain’t gonna change my mind. Take a shower and get some rest.” He flicked the light switch on and checked the shower stall. “Looks useable. No roaches.”

  “Wonderful. How long will you be?”

  He came out of the bathroom. “An hour. Maybe two. Keep the door locked and don’t open it for anyone.”

  “What if Romario comes?”

  “He won’t. Not while there’s still money to be made tonight.”

  When he had gone out, she locked the door and turned to stare at the empty room. “No roaches. Well, cheers to that.”

  She used the laundry soap she found in the duffel bag to wash the mud off her clothes and shoes the best she could. When the bloodstains wouldn’t come out of her “Save the Ta-Ta’s” T-shirt, she tossed it in the rubbish bin with no regrets. Then she took a long hot shower and slipped into a soft, blue cotton tee that belonged to Jimmy. It felt like heaven against her clean skin.

  She turned the dial on the antiquated television set to the least fuzzy channel. A Jamaican weatherman was delivering the forecast in standard English—not the mixed, creolized version she’d heard so much since they’d arrived on the island. Sunny and hot tomorrow with a tropical storm watch in effect for Saturday. The camera switched back to the lead anchor, whose tone of voice grew serious for his next report.

  “In International news, the tech world was shocked to learn the Mamba X-4 was stolen from its hangar at the Miami fairgrounds sometime overnight last night. The Mamba X-4 is a technologically advanced aircraft virtually invisible in the sky because of its mirrored hull and the craft is undetectable on radar. Experts speculate the very technology that made the invention highly sought after by the US Government aided the thieves in their escape as they fled with the aircraft. The FBI are following all possible leads…”

  “Invisible planes? What’s next? Time machines?” Sophie said to the newscaster. “I’d like to go back in time twenty-five years, so I could give my mum and dad a piece of my mind.” She switched off the tube and stared at the blank screen.

  If only she could turn off her racing thoughts as easily. A hodgepodge of harrowing images skittered through her mind like a movie projector gone awry. She went to the duffel and searched for the hairbrush Molly had given her, pointedly ignoring the implications of the various guns, knives, and military-grade accoutrements and instead counted her blessings that she was on the run with a regular Boy Scout. If the contents of the bag were anything to go by, Jimmy appeared to be ready for anything. She also found the bottle of ibuprofen she’d spotted earlier and took two pills for the throbbing cut on her arm.

  It was a good thing she’d put her meager belongings inside his bag, because her suitcase would have been at the bottom of the sea right now. She shuddered as random images from the plane crash popped back into her head.

  “Stop it! Don’t think about it. I’m alive and that’s the only thing that matters.”

  Gathering her jeans, shoes, and undergarments, she spread them out on the chair next to the rattling air conditioner to dry. She had found a plain white cami top in the bag and laid it beside the clothes to wear in the morning.

  What would the morning bring? More danger? She shivered as the jagged teeth of fear nibbled at her skin, threatening to consume her.

  “Don’t go there,” she warned herself as she turned down the worn autumn-leaf-patterned bedspread before deciding to remove it all together. It was a relief to discover the pristine white bed linens beneath smelling freshly laundered in industrial detergent. She bounded onto the mattress where she sat cross-legged in the middle and began brushing her damp hair.

  The motel room door flew opened a few moments later. Startled, Sophie jumped but remained seated on the bed as giddy relief washed over her. “Took you long enough,” she said to Jimmy when he strolled into the room, though he’d only been gone an hour.

  He hadn’t bothered to change before going out and his clothes were filthy and horribly wrinkled. His bleach-blond hair looked the same as always, perpetually mussed, but his eyes were tired and he was in dire need of a shave. “Miss me?”

  “Not for a tick,” she lied.

  “Ha,” he grunted as he put his gun in the nightstand drawer before tossing his wallet and mobile on the dresser.

  “So? Did you discover anything useful?”

  “Your daddy was definitely here about a week ago.” Sorting through the duffel, Jimmy retrieved his shaving kit. “Folks saw him around town.”

  “And?”

  Jimmy shrugged. “And that’s it.”

  “The trail ends here then?”

  “No, this is where it starts.”

  “But where do we go next?”

  “Wherever the tide takes us.” Seeing the scowl on her face, he chuckled and relented. “If anyone can give us a lead, it’s Sabato Banton. He’s the person who most likely helped your father leave the island under the radar. Try to get some rest. I’m gonna take a shower.”

  Jimmy disappeared into the bathroom, and she resumed brushing her hair.

  “Miss me?” he’d said. If he knew just how much she’d missed his exasperating presence, he’d never let her live it down.

  But why had she missed him so much? She supposed it was because he made her feel safe. And calm. He made her laugh too and was constantly challenging her in positive ways. And what red-blooded woman would not be attracted to the man after what he’d done today? He’d been bloody amazing. Okay, perhaps she was crushing on him a little. God help her.

  The water came on and steam seeped through the two-inch crack beneath the bathroom door. The more she tried not to picture him naked, of course, the more she did. Forcing the provocative images from her mind, she set her hairbrush down and went to the sink, which was separate from the little room that held the shower stall and toilet. Jimmy’s shaving cream and toiletry bag were sitting on the counter. She picked up the can and sprayed a dab of white foam onto her finger. She sniffed and smiled. It smelled like Jimmy, clean and masculine and slightly spicy.

  The bathroom door opened suddenly. Sophie jerked back and fumbled with the shaving cream can. It slipped from her grasp and landed with a clunk in the sink.

  Jimmy
stood in the doorway, damp and naked, save for the loosely wrapped towel riding low on his hips. His gaze narrowed on her face. “What are you doing?”

  She blushed. “Nothing. I was—Nothing.” She rinsed her finger in the sink. “That was quick.”

  “Don’t worry, darlin’, all the important parts got washed.”

  Try as she might, she couldn’t keep her gaze from dipping to the bulge in the towel. He wasn’t turned on or anything. He was just a large man with large, um, appendages.

  Her face flamed hotter.

  She pointedly raised her gaze to his abdomen. Huge mistake. The hard ridges of muscle glistened beneath the post-shower sheen that clung to his tanned skin. Her gaze traveled farther north, taking a slow pleasure cruise up the broad, strapping expanse of chest. It stopped when they reached his slanted blue eyes.

  “You feeling okay? You look a little flushed.”

  She straightened and raised her chin a notch, about to deliver a snappy set-down when a draft from the air conditioner reached under the hem of her T-shirt and kissed her bare bottom. It was a jolting reminder that she was naked as Godiva beneath her borrowed sleepshirt.

  Jimmy turned away from her to face the mirror and sink where he removed the can without comment and went about brushing his teeth. When he was finished, he lathered up his face with shaving cream.

  Sophie watched as he ran a razor across his cheek, along the edge of his squared jaw, and under his chin. Funny, she couldn’t recall ever watching Andrew shave in their two and a half years together. He always appeared fresh and polished. Even on the rare occasions he slept at her flat, his face hadn’t needed shaving in the morning.

  “How come you’re not asleep yet, Duchess?” Jimmy was looking at her reflection in the mirror.

  “I’m too wired, I suppose.”

  “It’s the adrenaline. You had a near death experience. You’ll crash soon.”

  “I’ve never felt like this before. There’s a strange hum traveling through my veins. A nervous energy I don’t know what to do with. Don’t you feel it, too?”

  Jimmy’s broad shoulders shrugged. “I guess I’ve been through stuff like that so many times I’ve sorta become immune to it.” He reached down to turn on the faucet and rinse the razor blade.

  “Adrenaline doesn’t affect you?”

  “Sometimes, just before a risky job or a fight, a little jolt gets my blood pumping, but I’ve learned how to calm my nerves and focus the energy.”

  “And when it’s over, and you’ve survived, the rush doesn’t linger?”

  “Maybe a little, but it’s been diluted by experience.”

  He bent over the sink to wash off the remnants of the shaving cream. Sophie admired the play of muscles in his strong back and the way the thin towel pulled across his high round bottom.

  Heat flashed through her body like a lightning strike and her skin went up in flames. She fanned her face. Folding and then unfolding her fidgety arms, she said, “Why did you do it?”

  “Do what?” He stood up to his full height, towering over her narrow, five-foot-seven frame.

  She followed the length of his muscular arm as it reached across and pulled another towel off the rack. “Why did you put your life at risk like that? Why did you choose to become a soldier?”

  “A sailor, you mean?” He patted his face dry. “‘Cause I was good at it. Good with a gun. A strong swimmer. Not afraid to die.” He tossed the towel on the sink. “Enlisting in the Navy got me out of a sucky home situation when I was seventeen. My momma died when I was a kid and my old man wasn’t father of the year.”

  “I’m sorry about your mum. That had to be difficult.”

  “It was the pits.” Jimmy leaned back against the edge of the sink and crossed his arms. His biceps bulged. “She was a good woman. Classy and beautiful. A real Duchess like you. She came from a wealthy family in New Orleans. Somehow, she got wrapped up with Kyle Ostergaard and married him against her family’s wishes. They settled down in Gulf Shores, Alabama. Turns out, she should have listened to her folks. Kyle was a drunk and an abusive bastard and only got worse with age. He’s the reason she’s dead. He…” Jimmy’s voice trailed off and his jaw set grimly as if he was angry with himself for saying more than he meant to. He nodded toward Sophie’s arm. “You want me to put something on that cut?”

  She had so many questions. Like how exactly had his father been responsible for his mother’s death? Was it cold-blooded murder or something else? Was he in jail? And how old was Jimmy when it happened? Her heart ached imagining a small frightened boy with a mop of blond hair mourning his beloved mother. But going by Jimmy’s suddenly guarded expression, she knew now wasn’t the time to press for more information.

  “It stopped bleeding,” she said in answer to his question. “Your cut could use some attention though.” The hot shower had cleaned the gash on his forehead, but it was starting to bleed again.

  “It’ll be all right. Let me see your arm.”

  Sophie turned her injured limb toward him. His fingertips gently grazed her skin, giving her goose bumps as he lifted her sleeve. Her breath quickened.

  “Damn, Duchess, that looks like a stinger. Hold still, I’ve got some ointment that’ll soothe that sucker.”

  He certainly had a way with words. She smiled and watched him root through his shaving kit, pulling out a tube of ointment and a bandage.

  As he doctored her arm, he said, “Not bad. Not many people can say they survived a plane crash with just a scratch.”

  “Thank you.”

  His brow furrowed with concentration as if he was performing major surgery instead of bandaging a scratch. “For what?”

  “For saving my life.”

  He muttered a curse and turned away from her to look in the mirror as he dabbed some ointment on the cut above his eye. “You wouldn’t have needed saving if—” He bit off the words and shook his head.

  “If what?”

  “Never mind.” He tossed the bandage wrappings in the trash bin and dropped the tube of ointment into his kit. “You’re good as new.”

  She reached out to touch his arm, but hesitated. When he started to move away, she made contact. Cupping his thick wrist, she held him in place with just a light touch.

  If you don’t know the answer, then the answer is no.

  What are you talking about?

  Slowly, she closed the distance between them. His body tensed and he stood very still, his head turned away from her.

  I don’t even like sex very much.

  You don’t like orgasms? Who doesn’t like orgasms?

  Her heart pounded as she leaned forward and pressed a tentative kiss to his bicep.

  If you don’t know if you ever had one, then you haven’t.

  She rested her forehead against the warm skin of his upper arm and looked down toward the floor. His hand was fisting and un-fisting at his side, but otherwise, he remained as still as a statue.

  Darlin’, if I didn’t need both my hands to hold on to this wheel, I’d reach over there and show you what you’ve been missing.

  She moistened her desert-parched lips.

  His breath quickened.

  So he wasn’t unaffected by her after all.

  As she gazed at his profile, his head turned and she saw the truth in his eyes. He wanted her too.

  Galvanized by the knowledge, she moved around him, skimming her fingertips across his magnificent torso, exploring the dips and contours. When she was face to face with him, she melted against his chest reveling in the sensation of her soft curves yielding to his rock-hard body.

  He still hadn’t moved, but he finally spoke and the low rusty timbre of his voice was incredibly sexy. “Duchess, it’s the adrenaline talking. You don’t really want this.”

  “Maybe I do.”

  “I’d be taking advantage of you.”

  “I’d be disappointed if you don’t.” She smiled. “It’s okay. I trust you.”

  He grabbed her upper arms roughly,
snapping her out of her sensual fog. “Don’t. Don’t trust me. I ain’t a Boy Scout.”

  Funny he should mention Boy Scouts when she’d compared him to one a short while ago. She giggled softly at the coincidence. “I know you’re not. Perhaps that’s why I want this.”

  He snorted derisively. “You want to take a walk on the wild side? See what all the fuss is about? Careful, Duchess. You might wrinkle that strict moral code of yours.”

  He tried to turn away, but she followed him. “You’re scared to be with a woman like me because of what happened to your mother. You’re afraid you’ll hurt me like your father hurt her.”

  “You’re taking a huge leap with that assumption, Duchess, and you’re way off the mark.”

  “Am I? You’re a shameless flirt and a bounder who operates outside the law, yet you’re refusing my advances. Why is that?” She placed her palm flat against his chest just above his heart. The scent of musk and spices filled her nose as she stepped closer to him. “Only an inherently noble man would think twice about it.”

  Jimmy’s jaw clenched and a muscle worked in his cheek. Heat radiated off his tense body. “Then I ain’t noble, because I’m about to betray my friend’s trust in the worst possible way.”

  “Why would you think that?”

  His hand slipped around her back and he tugged her closer. His voice was a low, ominous growl, “Because I’m about to fuck his precious daughter until she’s limp as a ragdoll.”

  Jimmy’s mouth smothered her gasp with a hot kiss. Her lower belly quivered as his tongue pushed inside her mouth. He tasted slightly minty from the toothpaste. He tilted his head, seeking a better angle before he lifted her and carried her backward until her bottom bumped against the edge of the sink.

  His hands slipped down to palm her naked bottom. She would have been shocked, if the velvet strokes of his tongue hadn’t been a distraction. He hoisted her up, spreading her thighs wide, and stepped between her legs. His towel hit the floor and his erection pressed against her belly through the thin cotton of her T-shirt.

  She plunged her fingers into his hair and toyed with the silken locks as he kissed her senseless. His hands dipped under her shirt and skimmed up her back. One hand slipped around to cup her breast. When his thumb skimmed the tight nipple, she sucked in a harsh breath. Then his palm covered her breast and massaged it almost roughly. She groaned and arched into his hand as heat suffused her lower belly.