by Lyn Stone
Ryan cursed. Deliberately, he picked up one of the files and reread it, trying with everything in him to get his full attention back where it was supposed to be.
Later in the day, he decided to go back to the apartment and grab a couple of hours' sleep. He'd spent two nights now frequenting the places where Topoli used to hang out, talking to people who had known him, especially the women. So far, none of them had any apparent connection to Desmond Caruso. Ryan was exhausted, sleep deprived and worried sick.
On the way home, he passed Pete's place and pulled over. Maybe one of Pete's many relatives could get some information for him about where Nina had gone. Suddenly he felt hungry. And hopeful.
Pete stood behind the bar, wiping it down with a towel. He looked up and grinned. "Hey, man, whazzup?"
Ryan slid onto one of the stools and made himself comfortable. "I need some info, Pete." He quickly explained about Nina's fall and her sudden disappearance from the hospital while the police were questioning him.
"Dirty pool, taking you downtown like that. You oughta sue or somethin'," Pete said. "Meantime, you want something to eat?"
Ryan nodded. "Fix me one of those grease grenades." He hesitated a second, then added, "And pour me a Guinness."
Pete's eyes rounded comically. Then he frowned. "I dunno, Mac. You been on the wagon a long time now. Just 'cause she's gone ain't no reason to—"
"Oh, for God's sake, Pete. Just give me a Guinness. I promise not to get drunk and bust up your place. Okay?"
Casting him a speculative look, Pete complied. He found one in the cooler, popped off the cap, grabbed a clean mug, tilted it and poured. Then he set it down, and the partially empty bottle beside it. "There you go. Knock yerself out."
Ryan fingered the glass handle and stared into the foaming dark liquid as he listened to Pete shout into the kitchen for the burger and fries. Years now since he'd had a drink of any kind. Was this to dull the edge of his worry? Was it to calm that jumpiness he'd felt since the moment he realized Nina was gone?
"No," he said decisively, "I just like the taste."
He was well aware of Pete watching him, pretending not to as he halfheartedly continued wiping down the bar.
Ryan took a sip, savoring the dark smoky flavor, then wiped the foam off his lips. "You think any of your folks can find out where they took her?"
Pete's eyes widened slightly. "You don't know?'
"Nope. Deep dark secret, apparently."
"I'll ask around," Pete told him, still keeping an eye on the beer Ryan held. "We got two cousins at the airport. You check for flight plans? Royals got to file 'em just like anybody else."
"No access except through the duke's office and he's the one keeping the lid on this. Trouble is, I can't figure out why he won't just say where she is." He took another swig of his beer.
"Maybe he wants to find out how bad you want to know," Pete suggested. "You're hung up on this chick, ain't you?"
Ryan laughed without any humor at all. "Yeah. Looks like it."
"Then you better go find her instead of sittin' around here guzzling stout, doncha think?"
Pete turned when Maria came out of the kitchen carrying a plate. He took it from her and plunked it down in front of Ryan. "You eat before you go, though. That," he said, inclining his head toward the beer, "sits pretty heavy on a empty stomach. You ain't been eatin', have you?"
"Not much," Ryan admitted. He didn't want to now, but knew Pete would worry if he didn't. So he ate. To his surprise, he enjoyed every bite and cleaned his plate. But he purposely left a third of the Guinness in the mug and also what remained in the bottle after Pete had poured it.
Haifa beer. He could leave it. Ryan felt better, stronger. At least he now knew he wasn't physically addicted to alcohol, though he admitted he had needed it like his next breath at one time. A time when reality had been too painful to face.
"Once in a while we all get throwed, boy," Pete said. "Don't mean we got to stay down."
Ryan looked up, startled out of his thoughts.
"Yeah, I know 'bout your wife and kid. This whole damn island's like a friggin' beauty parlor, way the gossip flies."
Ryan didn't mind Pete's knowing. There was more empathy there than pity. Pete had been throwed himself by events in 'Nam. Ryan didn't care who knew about his tragedy as long as he didn't have to discuss what had happened. He wasn't up to that yet and might never be. But it was good to realize the horror had faded enough that he could hear it mentioned in passing without sliding into dark depression for days.
At last, it had taken a place in the past where it belonged.
"Gossip may fly, but there are still a few secrets not making the rounds," Ryan said, more or less to himself. Like where Nina was. Like who had killed Desmond and why they wanted Nina out of the way.
Pete pursed his lips and shrugged. "What you got to ask yourself is which secret you need to uncover the most."
"You mean first," Ryan said, pushing off the bar stool.
"No, I mean most,' cause I don't think you got time to do both. Think about it. Longer she's gone, the more it looks like you don't give a rat's ass." Pete removed Ryan's plate and utensils, dumping them noisily into a plastic bin behind the bar. He looked pointedly at the beer bottle and the mug. "You done?"
Ryan nodded, reached for his wallet and slapped down a handful of lira. "Thanks, Pete."
"Any ol' time."
* * *
The decision turned out to be a lot more difficult than Ryan had imagined. When talking to Pete, it had seemed so obvious. Nina's whereabouts, her safety, Ryan's being with her, were paramount. No question. Nothing else came close. But on the drive home, things muddied up a little.
On the one hand, he felt relatively certain Nina was in no danger now. He could proceed with the investigation into Desmond's murder unhampered, finish it, then go looking for her. But on the other hand, Ryan instinctively knew if he didn't pursue her right away, he didn't stand a chance in hell of convincing her, after he'd finished his business here, that she meant more to him than anything else in his life.
She'd made it very clear that she wanted a man who wasn't obsessed with his job. One who put her first. Which he did. Didn't he?
God, he hated to leave things undone. Habits of a lifetime were damned hard to break. And yet, if he didn't prove to Nina that what they had found together was more pre cious to him than any stupid case he was working on, he would be undone.
"Come with me," she had said when she'd thought she was headed for Savannah.
That invitation had been a plea, Ryan realized. But it had been a plea for more than his joining her on the trip, more than their staying together as a couple. She had wanted him to confront what he had been unable to face when he'd broken with his family, his friends and his home.
In her estimation, family was everything, the core of a person's existence. He had given her the impression that it meant nothing to him.
If only he'd been able to tell her how the loss of his immediate family had disabled every feeling inside him except for grief. How he had not been able to share that with a father who didn't seem to understand the meaning of the word grief.
His dad had understood, of course, but had somehow found the secret of rebuilding what he had lost after Ryan's mother had died. And he'd done that pretty damned quickly.
The old man must have an inner strength he'd neglected to pass on. Ryan thought just maybe it was catching up to him now. Maybe too late.
Nina didn't even know what it was he had run from, but she had made the attempt to help him put his life back together. And he had refused.
Ryan pulled into his parking space, cut the engine and sat there staring into space. He knew what he had to do. And where he had to start, making things right. Not a good thing to be up against when the taste of that Guinness was still on his tongue.
Chapter 14
Hello, Dad?"
"Ryan! Funny you should call me. I was just thinking about you." Silence fell, not even broke
n by the usual static.
"Good things, I hope," Ryan said, trying to put a smile in his voice. "Sorry I didn't call last weekend. I know I said I would when we talked last time, but things were busy around here. I'm on a case."
"Ah. Well, that's okay. We've been sort of busy here, too."
Ryan waited for more, for the usual effusive greeting and almost desperate attempt to engage him in conversation that always came when he called home, but there was another long pause.
"Dad? Did I catch you at a bad time? Is something wrong?"
"No, no, nothing's the matter." Ryan heard a sigh. Then an almost palpable attempt to make his words sound normal. "You want to tell me about this case you're working on, son? Might help to talk it out. You used to do that when... when you were on the force."
Ryan sensed something lyingjust beneath the surface of what his father was saying. He had rarely, if ever, gone into detail about anything he worked on as a detective. His father built boats. Ryan had tried to shield him from the gruesome and sometimes dangerous things a cop went through on the job. Instead of pointing that out now, he simply said, "Okay."
Then, step by step, he began to relate all that had happened beginning with Desmond Caruso's death and the king assigning him to the investigation. He ended with Nina's disappearance, though he carefully said nothing about his feelings for Nina or the fact that they'd once wound up in bed together.
His account was punctuated by his father's wordless sounds of interest and understanding, the kind of replies people made over the phone so you'd know they were listening and interested. But Ryan noted there were no questions, an unusual response for any of their conversations.
"So that's it," Ryan said as he finished. "I've got it to the point where I know the killer was a woman, maybe an American, and that she's most likely still here somewhere."
"So you're close to wrapping it up then," his dad said. "Well, I'm not surprised. You got stick-to-itiveness, that's for sure."
Ryan realized he wasn't accomplishing what he had intended with the call. He was latching on to impersonal topics, putting off what he knew had to be said, hiding behind the job again. He took a breath and dived right in.
"Dad, I didn't call to talk about work. I wanted to say that I thought we should try to be a family. All of us. Put the past where it belongs. That's what I called to tell you. I know we touched on this last time we talked, but I want you to know it wasn't just an impulse and I haven't forgotten about it. I want... I want things to be the way they were with us before..." He couldn't seem to finish. He pressed his thumb and forefinger to his eyelids and bit his lip.
"Before your mom died?" his dad supplied.
"Yes. No. Before you met Trish. If she can see her way past the way I cut you—and her—out of my life. Out of our lives. Kath and... and Chrissy. They missed you those last couple of months." There, he'd said it. He had confessed one of his worst regrets, one he had never consciously put into words.
"It's okay, Ryan," his father said, his voice thick, as if he had a cold. Ryan knew he was either crying or about to. "You didn't have time to get used to my new situation before your whole life turned upside down. I understood. So did Trish. I just wish we could have helped. Done something. We were all in a bad way, if you want the truth."
Ryan cleared his throat and shifted the receiver to his other ear. "So, you think we could go on from here? Start over, maybe?"
"Oh, yeah." Ryan heard him sniff. "Oh, God, yeah! You bet! I know we can. No doubt about it."
For a long time, neither said anything. Ryan was about to say goodbye and hang up, call again in a day or so after they'd both had time to think about what they'd said to one another, when his father spoke again. "Are you doing all right, son? Sounds like this case is doing a number on you."
"I'm okay, I guess." For somebody who had just realized how he'd been throwing love away with both hands for years now. And that he had made the worst error of all within the past week. He should have told Nina how he felt. Maybe she would have come back one day.
God, he could hardly stand to think about never seeing her again, never holding her or making love to her. In his mind he could still feel her softness, breathe in her scent, hear her voice whispering his name. The emptiness without her almost made him sick.
His dad was speaking, dragging him back to the present. "You know what would be great? I mean, what could do you a world of good and fix you right up?"
"What's that?" Ryan asked.
"Fishing!"
The relief of a less emotional topic made Ryan chuckle, but he couldn't imagine what his father was talking about. "You want me to go fishing."
"Sure! Be a great idea, wouldn't it? I've still got the cabin out at Point Tipsy. Trish helped me fix it up a coupla years ago. We put in plumbing, electricity. It's a great little hideaway now. And if you wanted to do some surf fishing, no telling what you're liable catch out there."
Had he just imagined the way his father stressed the word hideaway? "What kind of fish are we talking about, Dad?"
"A finer haul than anything you'd ever find on the West Coast. You know, I hear nothing's biting out there now but the sharks."
Ryan's heart rate accelerated. He was afraid to hope. "Dad, if you know something I don't, just spit it out."
"Me? I know just about everything," his father said, his voice smug. "Told you that when you were around ten or eleven. If a boy don't wise up by then, I guess he never will. Problem is, you never listen. Nowadays I might as well be sworn to secrecy when it comes to giving you any wisdom."
Sworn to secrecy? Ryan was sitting on the edge of his chair now, gripping the phone so hard his hand hurt. "She's there, Dad? At the cabin?"
"She? The place is vacant right now, as far as anyone knows. The island's not deserted, of course. Got some new tenants in the old Smith cottage. Friends of mine, as a matter of fact. You remember Jip and Mackeral?"
Ryan was grinning from ear to ear. "Oh, yeah, I remember." Former cops. Ten or eleven were obviously dates she might be planning to leave, so Ryan figured he had at least a week. His grin faded, //he could bring himself to go at all, he had at least a week. Could he?
"Trish makes a great pot roast. If you get over this way one of these days, drop by, will you?"
"I'll keep that in mind, Dad."
"Those fish will be running pretty soon off Point Tipsy. I got just the boat for you."
Ryan didn't know what to say, so he simply said, "I love you, Dad. Thanks."
"You, too, son. Be seeing you."
Ryan cut the connection and sat there with tears in his eyes, even as he laughed. Nina was there! At Point Tipsy of all places. The relief of knowing she was all right nearly overwhelmed him.
He shook his head. The old man would never make a spy. Talk about transparent code!
Either Nina had sworn his dad not to tell him where she was, or someone in authority had. Most likely Nina herself, since Jip and Mackeral were there keeping her company. Dad had probably promised under duress not to call and had been warned not to tell if Ryan phoned him. But why? Didn't Nina want him to come?
Ryan knew he had some tall thinking to do, and the decision of a lifetime to make.
It took less than an hour to make up his mind. He called and left a message for Lorenzo, who called him back almost immediately. "You have something urgent to report?"
"I'd just as soon not discuss it over the phone," Ryan told him. "Could we meet somewhere?"
"Where are you?"
"My apartment."
"I'm on my way downtown. I'll stop by."
Ryan was glad. He didn't want to waste any time.
He had finished packing by the time Lorenzo arrived. "You have learned something important?" the duke asked without so much as a greeting.
"I was thinking maybe you had something important to tell me," Ryan replied, gesturing the duke inside. "Otherwise, you'd have ignored my call."
Lorenzo entered. When they faced one another again, t
he duke's jaw was working as if he was upset. "There is something you should know, but I hate like hell to tell you."
"What's that?" Ryan played dumb.
The man looked miserable. Guilty. Frustrated. He stuffed his hands into his pockets and shook his head. "We have no idea where Nina might be, Ryan. That is why I've been evasive with you. Well, the past few days, anyway. At first, before your embassy guards lost her in Savannah, I kept her destination from you to see whether your interest in her would prompt you to go after her."
"Why would you want me to?" Ryan asked. "You're the one who sent her away."
"Because you need someone, you fool!" Lorenzo exclaimed. "You worry me, that's why. We've been friends for two years now and it's time someone did something to... Well, I know what happened to you and I wanted to help."
"You called her, didn't you? Bringing me in on the case was your idea. Getting her over here was your idea. All of it was a setup, wasn't it?"
"Not entirely. Desmond had shown me photos of Nina and talked of her occasionally over the years. When he was killed, I wondered how she would be with no family left in the world."
"So you made sure she would come over here so you could arrange her life for her, right? And in the process, you decided to arrange mine?"
Lorenzo drew himself up to his full height, bracing defensively. "The two of you did seem to suit. She needed someone and so did you. There was interest there, don't deny it. I'd like to see you with an honest-to-God life and someone to care about, that's all. So would Pietro."
"Pete?" Ryan asked, dumbfounded to think a pub owner and a duke had gotten together and discussed his love life. "I can't believe you two—"
Lorenzo interrupted. "My uncle first suggested it, so you can't blame me entirely."
"The king?" Ryan wasn't quite as astounded as he pretended.
"Yes. Nina seemed so perfect. And I could see the sparks fly between you that first day in your office. Then when you and she... in the hotel... well, I thought it was a done thing." He threw up his arms in surrender. "But no! You refused to agree to go with her when Uncle Marcus offered you the chance. How can you expect a woman to love you if you let her go that way? I almost made the same mistake with Eliza. At least /came to my senses before it was too late!"
