When they had all been hustled into the bedroom that he had shared with Mandy—Mrs. Blayne, he had to start thinking of her that way again—he stood in the doorway and formally placed them all under arrest, reciting their rights. Although, if this was the Bahamas, they would have to go through it all over again, since he didn’t have any jurisdiction here. Still, he wanted to play it safe.
Just as he was locking and bolting the door, Amanda started speaking excitedly. “Sean! The boat—Julio’s boat—it’s returning!”
Sean raced back to her and stared out the window. He turned to look at her. “I thought I told you to stay in the bedroom and not make a sound?”
Her huge tawny eyes met his. “You needed me!”
“I had the situation under control.”
“Hmph!” Amanda sniffed indelicately. “She wanted to shoot…a certain part of your anatomy off! I rather thought you might miss it.”
“I thought you didn’t understand Spanish?”
“I’ve picked up a few words here and there.”
“All the good ones, huh?”
“Sean, the boat!”
“Ah, yes.”
“Well?”
He shrugged. “It could be Juan. Or it could be Juan and the Bahamian authorities and the FBI.” He stared at her thoughtfully for a minute. “One way or the other, Mrs. Blayne, you’ll be able to go home. Aren’t you glad?”
“Of course. Aren’t you?”
“Absolutely. I’ve got tons of paperwork waiting for me.” He watched her speculatively a second longer, then stared back out the window. “As I said, it could be Juan. Or it could be Juan and the authorities. We have to find out. I’m going out. He won’t be surprised to see me on the beach. You stay here. If anyone puts their face out that door—though the bolt should hold—shoot. Don’t ask questions—shoot. Got it?”
“Sean—”
“Got it?”
“Oh, yes, sir! Yes, sir, Lieutenant Ramiro!”
“Damn WASP!” he muttered, pulling open the kitchen door.
“Excuse me, lieutenant!”
“What?” he asked, pausing. He felt empty. Already a gulf was opening up between them.
“I’m Catholic.”
He frowned, shaking his head in confusion. “Good for you, Mrs. Blayne. What in hell does that have to do with anything?”
She smiled bitterly. “You just called me a WASP. It stands for white Anglo-Saxon Protestant. You’ll have to think of something else to call me.”
“Oh, Lord!” he groaned softly and slipped through the door.
He sat on the beach and watched as the boat moved closer. He sat stiffly, the gun concealed in his lap, feeling a niggling apprehension. Actually, it had gone easily. Far better than he had ever expected. No one was dead. And among the ones who were not dead were himself and the victim, Mrs. Amanda Blayne. They hadn’t even been scratched.
But he was worried now that this might just be Juan, or Juan with a few reinforcements. He felt excitement and anxiety—and, strangely, that same overwhelming emptiness.
He’d wanted it to be over, right? Sure, right. It had been a kidnapping; a woman had been in danger. The fantasy had never been real. Never. It had all occurred in the midst of a nightmare.
But now it was over, and he felt empty.
He kept his eyes trained on the boat. It was about to anchor, and he saw Juan on the deck.
And then—moving so quickly he almost missed him—he saw another man. A tall black man in a uniform.
He stood up without thinking, hailing the boat, rushing down to the shoreline. “Hey! It’s all right! Come on in!”
The figure stopped trying to disappear and stood, then brought a megaphone to his mouth. “Lieutenant Ramiro?”
“Yeah, yeah! Come on in!”
“Where is Mrs. Blayne?”
“Inside! She’s—she’s fine!”
The old boat was suddenly teeming with people. Juan was cuffed and disappeared with someone. The dinghy was lowered, and five men boarded it. Two Bahamian officials, a man in a three-piece suit—and an older, dignified looking man with a sad gaunt face and salt-and-pepper hair. Sean recognized him from his pictures. Senator Peter Blayne.
Sean just stood there as the dinghy came in. He was barely aware that Amanda came out of the house, that she stood slightly behind him. He wasn’t aware of anything but the breeze and the sand beneath his bare feet.
“Mandy! Mandy!” The older man didn’t wait for the dinghy to reach the shore. He stepped out while it was still in shallow water, soaking his shoes and his pant legs. “Mandy!”
In seconds she was racing down to meet him, and then she was in his arms. It was almost painfully apparent that they meant the world to each other.
Sean suddenly found it difficult to breathe. The older man was speaking, barely coherently, saying how frightened he had been, and what a fool, and how he’d never, never risk her again.
Sean had been as irritated as hell when Blayne had turned up his nose at police protection, but as he watched the scene and the man’s agony he felt as if he should insist that this mess wasn’t Blayne’s fault at all. And, as it happened, if he’d accepted protection, the Miami PD wouldn’t have been at the dock when Amanda Blayne was taken by the kidnappers.
Blayne wouldn’t want any assurances from him, though; Sean knew that. The older man was staring at his daughter-in-law as if he could devour her, and Mandy was lightly trying to tell him that it hadn’t been so bad, that she was fine, that he certainly wasn’t at fault, that she was so glad to see him.
Then Sean couldn’t give the tender scene his undivided attention anymore; one of the men in the three-piece suits was approaching him.
“Ramiro? Farkel, FBI. What’s the situation here?”
What was it about cops and the FBI? Farkel had only introduced himself, but Sean disliked him already. He was a thin reedy sort of man, with a narrow nose, brown eyes, brown hair and a colorless complexion. When he smiled it looked more like a grimace.
Sean indicated the shack. “Two men, two women. They’re in the back left bedroom. One has a gunshot wound to his shoulder, he probably needs medical attention as soon as possible.”
The FBI man frowned. “You had a gun battle here? You were probably out of line, Lieutenant. You should have waited for us to come in. You could have caused injury to a civilian.”
Sean curled his lip stiffly. “Sorry, Farkel. You see, they were going to start hacking off her fingers this morning, and it just didn’t sound real nice to me.”
“A finger would have been better than her life,” Farkel said stiffly.
“They’re in the back, Mr. Farkel. And I believe they’re your responsibility now. Hey, go gentle on the old lady. She wasn’t too happy about having anything to do with this.”
The FBI agent walked past him; his associate—a younger blond man—glanced apologetically at Sean, who grinned in return. Some of the federal guys were okay. In fact, he was willing to bet that this one shared his opinion of Farkel.
“Damn yokel cops,” Farkel was muttering. “They all think they’re TV heroes.”
“What’s his first name?” Sean asked the young guy curiously. The man chuckled. “Fred. His name is Fred Farkel.”
“He looks like a Fred Farkel,” Sean muttered.
The blonde extended a hand. “Bill Duffy, Lieutenant. Sorry, he’s my superior, but I’ll try to be the liaison on the case in the future.”
Sean nodded. Then the two Bahamian policemen walked up and introduced themselves, questioning him about the situation, too. They didn’t seem to be any fonder of Fred Farkel than anyone else, and Sean had a feeling the man had made a few attempts to usurp their authority as well.
It didn’t matter; it was all over for him now. All over but the paperwork.
The taller Bahamian, a guy named Matt Haines, told Sean quietly that a cutter would be coming in to take them back to Miami. Sean thanked him, then he and Bill Duffy went inside to deal with the fugitives
in the house.
He was able to glance back at Mandy at last. For a moment her eyes met his. And for just a moment he thought that he saw something in them. Something warm. Something caring. Something that went beyond circumstances.
Then it disappeared. Her father-in-law’s arm was around her shoulder, and he was suddenly pulling her enthusiastically forward, determined to reach Sean.
The senator’s hand was extended, his smile deep and warm and real, and Sean thought in that moment that he knew why the man was elected over and over again.
“Lieutenant Ramiro! If I had a hundred lifetimes, I could never thank you enough!”
Sean returned his handshake, trying to keep his eyes off Mandy. “Senator, my pleasure. I mean, I didn’t do anything out of the ordinary. I mean—”
She was turning bright, bright red. He didn’t seem to be able to say anything that came out right.
“Didn’t do anything out of the ordinary!” Peter Blayne exclaimed. “Why, son, you were seen! Jumping off that dock, trying to board a moving motorboat. Sir, I call that above and beyond the call of duty. You’re too modest.”
“Oh, yes, he’s modest! Terribly modest!” Mandy said—and she felt the same confusion she knew he was feeling, because they both knew, even if Peter didn’t, that neither of them had been modest at all.
And this was her father-in-law! Paul’s father! Oh, God, if he found out, what would he think?
She stiffened miserably. There were so many things that she wanted to say to Sean; but none of them could be said. Not here. Not now.
She stared into his eyes and felt as if her insides congealed as he stared back.
His eyes were bright, as green as emeralds, as hard as diamonds. She must have been insane to think that there had ever been anything gentle about him. Or tender. He wasn’t the man she had known, not the man with whom she had made love. With whom she had lain, afraid, in the night. With whom she had triumphed in the end.
His stare reduced the warmth of the Caribbean day to winter’s chill. He was once again the stranger who had ordered her away from him on the beach, the man who had loved her—then hated her.
She lifted her chin, feeling her eyes well with tears, willing herself not to shed them. She didn’t know what went on inside this man, and she decided then that she didn’t want to know, that she didn’t give a damn.
Circumstances…were over. Peter was standing beside her. She must consider the past few days a dream, a fantasy, a nightmare.
She extended her hand to Sean then, as cool as the waves that washed the beach. “Lieutenant, I want to thank you, too.”
With a wry smile he took her hand. He remembered how it had felt on his body. It seemed so slim and soft and elegant—and now so remote. “No problem, Mrs. Blayne,” he drawled. “Anytime.”
“Oh, you’ll be seeing more of us!” Peter Blayne assured him. “I’ll see to it!”
Sean smiled. That was life as a cop. People you arrested wanted to kill you. People you got out of a jam wanted to be your friend for life. Peter Blayne would forget his promise. People always did.
“Sure,” he said agreeably.
“Sean—Lieutenant, what will happen now?” Mandy asked him stiffly.
Sean shrugged. “The feds will press a number of charges. I assume they’ll want you to testify in court.” He gave her a slightly malicious grin, then laughed. “Fred Farkel will answer all your questions now. It’s his ball game, as they say.”
Mandy nodded. A silence fell over the three of them that seemed to puzzle Peter Blayne. It didn’t matter. Two cutters had appeared on the horizon.
Matt Haines came out of the house and walked toward them. “Lieutenant, Mrs. Blayne, we’ll have to invite you for a brief stay in Nassau. I hope you won’t mind. We just have to clear up a few things and arrange our extradition procedures. It will just be for tonight. I’m sorry. I know you’re anxious to get home.”
Then everyone was on the beach—Julio, in handcuffs, Roberto, Maria, Señora Garcia, the FBI men and the Bahamians. Julio stopped in front of Mandy and Peter.
“Señor Blayne, I never wished to hurt her. But now perhaps you will understand. I wish for my father’s freedom, just as you wished for hers.”
Peter Blayne smiled sadly. “Julio, I told you I was doing my best. Your father will be out in a matter of weeks. But now you will go to prison.”
“That does not matter, if my father is free.”
“C’mon, Garcia,” Farkel said roughly.
They passed by. Mandy was glad to see that they would not be on the same boat. She felt sorry for Señora Garcia; she even felt sorry for Julio. But she didn’t ever want to see Roberto again, not as long as she lived.
She had to sit next to Sean in the dinghy that took them out to the cutter. She had to feel his bare leg, feathered with the short dark hairs, next to her own. To feel his breath, inhale his scent.
She didn’t look at him; she stared straight ahead.
The cutter provided some relief; she was given a small cabin where she could bathe, and a soft terry robe that was totally decent and comfortable.
Mandy showered forever, loathe to leave the clean water. And loathe to reappear on deck, although she knew that Peter was waiting anxiously for her. Naturally Peter would quiz her. And naturally Sean would be there. And…oh, God!
Eventually she went out on deck. To her vast surprise and relief Sean was nowhere in sight.
She was given a delicious rum drink and an equally good meal, and Peter sat next to her, as if he never wanted to leave her side. He told her that her parents had been wired about her safety, that he’d had a student feed her cat. He chattered like a magpie, totally out of character. Then he asked her at last, “Oh, Amanda! Are you really all right? My dear, you’re all I have left!”
Guilt churned in her stomach. “I’m fine, Peter, honest.”
“But how—”
She took a deep breath. “Sean—Lieutenant Ramiro—pretended to be your gardener.”
“My gardener?”
She grimaced and lowered her lashes, staring at her drink. “His Spanish is perfect. He’s, uh, half Cuban. He convinced them that he was your downtrodden gardener, and my…my lover, and that he could convince me to be a well-behaved hostage. Julio really isn’t a murderer, although I think his associate—Roberto—might have been. Thanks to the lieutenant I, well, I was as safe as possible the entire time. And Señora Garcia really shouldn’t be punished, Peter, if there’s a way around it. She was against what happened, and she was good to me.”
He patted her hand. “We’ll see, dear. We’ll see what can be done. I’m sure you’ll be able to speak in her defense at the trial.”
She nodded, and then she wondered where Sean was.
Peter’s thoughts must have been running along the same lines. “Where is that young man?” he wondered aloud. “What an interesting fellow. I’d quite enjoy getting to know him. He seems fascinating, don’t you think?”
“Uh…fascinating,” Mandy agreed, swallowing.
She didn’t see him again, though, not on the boat. They docked in Nassau harbor and were given rooms in a hotel at the end of Market Street. Mandy had barely entered her own before Peter returned to her with a suitcase of her clothing, packed for her as soon as he’d received permission to come with the authorities to take her home.
She barely had time to dress before she was taken to the Bahamian police station. The authorities were charming, though. They asked her a million questions, which she answered to the best of her abilities.
Then she was free—or she thought she was. The FBI man, Farkel, was there, warning her that once she returned to the States she would be called upon once again.
She had a pounding headache by then, and Farkel felt like the last straw. She thought she was about to explode and then he was interrupted by Sean.
He, too, had changed. He was wearing a lightweight three-piece gray suit, austere, but very handsome on him. He stepped out from one of the li
ttle cubicles and spoke not to her, but to Farkel. “Fred, lighten up, will you? You’d think that Mrs. Blayne was the criminal. She’s had enough for today, don’t you think?”
Farkel stiffened. “I was just—”
“Every dog has his day, Farkel. You’ll get yours. She’s free for tonight. Our plane leaves in the morning, and once she’s on U.S. soil you get to give her the whole third degree.”
“And tonight?” Mandy heard herself whisper.
Peter answered for her. “Tonight we’re going out on the town! That nice young Bahamian officer suggested Paradise Island for dinner, a show, even gambling.” He chuckled, encircling Mandy’s shoulder, pulling her close to him. “Mandy, I think we owe Lieutenant Ramiro the best dinner we can find. You, me, the lieutenant—and Paradise Island.”
No, paradise is lost! Mandy thought a little frantically. But what could she do? Her father-in-law was on one side of her; the man with whom she had betrayed his deceased son was on the other.
Sean bowed whimsically, watching her in a strange way. He didn’t want to go, she thought. No, he wanted to, and he didn’t want to. Again she wondered if he hated her…or cared about her?
“A night on the town sounds good, senator,” he told Peter. “Mrs. Blayne?” He offered her his arm.
Farkel snorted derisively and turned away. “Damned if they don’t all think they’re Sonny Crockett these days.”
“Damn!” Sean snapped his fingers. “I just wish I could afford his wardrobe, Farkel.”
“Your suit’s not so bad.”
“Thanks—your partner lent it to me.”
“Gentlemen…” Peter began, distressed.
But he needn’t have bothered. Sean didn’t wait for Mandy to take his arm; he took hers. And the cool Bahamian breeze touched her heated face as they moved out into the night….
CHAPTER 11
Mandy didn’t know why Sean had decided to come to dinner with them. The place was lovely, the food was wonderful, but he seemed stiff and uncomfortable. She wondered if she looked as rigid as he did.
Only Peter seemed to be having a good time. He delighted in the story that the kidnappers had assumed that Mandy was his wife, telling Sean, “Good Lord! What flattery, that I should have such a child bride!”
A Matter of Circumstance Page 15
