Always Love a Villain on San Juan Island (39 page)

Wait a minute. Hadn't Peter said he'd pushed his red Mazda to 180? And that'd be miles per hour, not kilometers! A velocity way more than decent and pleasant.

Okay, Noel, back to Leger. What was going on there? What—

First of all, get to know Peter better. Not that simple—geographic divisions don't ease relationships. But suppose there came a point when they did agree they'd give it a try. Would he drive two hours down from Nanaimo to Sidney, one ferry a day leaving for Friday Harbor? Do this, say, every other week? Could Peter come up to Nanaimo regularly? No. Peter was bound by schedules and responsibilities. Noel was freelance, no regular ties. He'd end up in Friday Harbor more often than Peter would in Nanaimo. Of course they'd have summers together. He'd loved the trips he and Brendan had taken. Could Peter be as loving a companion as Brendan? Would he, Noel, forever be comparing Peter to Brendan, measuring him against a dead lover? Hard, all hard.

Onward to Susanna and Leger.

As she walked along the shoreline, Kyra too had been thinking about Peter. A perfectly gentle man, smart, fine of feature. Generous? She figured she'd find out. In a curious way, she needed to think about him as she would a man she might take as a lover. Most likely any number of guys would do, but at this moment in her life she knew virtually none. Of course she didn't have to know the man; all she needed from him was his semen. But she realized she'd prefer to have met the father of her child—fewer surprises nine months, six years, two decades later.

Was she giving up on Noel? She should let him know she wouldn't harass him any longer; he didn't need that from her. She turned and headed back. Okay, to the case.

Fredric hadn't moved since taking Raoul's call. Partly he still felt the shock of the conversation; partly he knew that if he moved, he wouldn't be able to think with any clarity. Partly he knew the cost of not doing as Raoul requested. Demanded.

He would wait till he found self-control again. It was returning slowly. He might have to wait till dark. He looked at his watch. Barely 12:30. Hours until evening. Meanwhile he had to bring Susanna her lunch. He wasn't sure he could face her. Their lives were about to be changed dramatically.

Still, she had to eat. He hard-boiled an egg, peeled and crushed it, added mayo and chive, toasted the bread lightly, set the egg salad sandwich on a plate. Boiled water for tea, cup and saucer, all on the tray. A peach. He put the cell phone into his pants pocket. He noted the Arlechino mask on the side table. No.

He braced himself and carried the tray downstairs. Set it on the cart. Knocked, checked out the peephole, saw her in baggy jeans and overlarge shirt amble to the bed and sit on it. He unlocked and unbolted, entered and relocked. “Hi.”

She stared at him. “What's wrong?”

He forced a grin. “Why should anything be wrong?”

“I only know you a little, but I can tell when something's gone wrong.”

“No, nothing.” But he couldn't meet her eye. He rolled the cart to the table, busied himself shifting sandwich, tea and utensils over. He felt her standing, walking over to him. He felt her arms around his waist, her fingers light against his shirt, her head against the back of his shoulder.

“Tell me,” she said, turning him, forcing him to look into her eyes. “You've never been so—so distant. Not even with those masks on. As if you're, I don't know—scared?”

He thought about scared and brought his arms over her shoulders. Instantly he felt better, her here with him. Scared? Yes, past tense. Mostly. An immense sense of things gone by came over him. He knew, clear as daylight, that something else had ended with Raoul's phone call: twenty years of friendship. So-called friendship. Gone, with that one request. Which meant the friendship had been gone for a while. Couldn't disappear with just one call. But that it had disappeared, no question. Upstairs he'd decided not to tell her about the call till evening. Now it didn't matter—he could tell her and they'd wait till evening. “Susanna? I was scared. Until you touched me. Then the fear sort of flew out of me.”

“Tell me what's happened.”

He took her hand and led her to the bed. He sat on the edge and drew her down to sit beside him. He looked at her. “I have, as you've guessed, a partner. He answers to the one who set up your kidnapping. He learned from his boss that your father didn't do as he was told after we snatched you.”

“What? Something to do with the three weeks, right?” She squeezed his hand hard. “What didn't he do?”

He stared at their hands together. “Your ransom was the process Professor Rossini was working on, the program and the algorithms. He had to turn it over to us. To my partner, really, and his boss. I'm just the lowly guard; I don't know anything more.”

“And he didn't give them—you—that?”

He looked her full in the face. “My partner says he gave them—us—the wrong algorithms.”

A smile took the whole of her face, from brow to chin. Her eyes sparkled. She licked her up-curled lips. “Good for him.”

“Maybe good for him. Not good for us. Nor my partner nor his boss. Not good for me. Not for you.” He watched her eyes. The joy they held shimmered. “Not good for you and me.”

She heard his final
you and me
with great clarity. He and I. A new entity. Spoken aloud. “Go on.”

“They're not going to let you go now, Susanna. At best it'll take another three weeks. But they need to present your father with a major threat so that this time he'll give them all the correct information. They have to make it clear to him that he's got to stop playing with them.”

She grinned. “I don't think he'll give them anything.”

His shoulders drooped. “Susanna, they want me to do something to you. So that your father will follow orders.”

She set her left hand under his chin and raised his head. “What?”

He took her right hand and held it, his thumb and index finger touching the gold ring. “This ring.”

“They can have it!”

“They want more. They want me to put midazolam in your drink and—”

“What's that? Mid-what?”

“It's a date-rape drug, Susanna. It would knock you out.”

“Like the ether when you brought me here.”

“Same effect.”

“But why knock me out?”

He brought both his hands around hers and held them very tight. “Because they want me to—to cut off the finger with the ring on it.”

“Oh god . . .”

“Then lay it in a box, set the box in a bag, and in the middle of the night bring it to your father's house and pin the bag to his front door.”

“Oh Frank—!”

“Which I am not going to do, you'll be pleased to know.”

She had gone limp. “Thank you,” she whispered.

“Instead, when it's dark, I'll take you back to your father.”

“And you? What'll happen to you?”

“I'll disappear. Into the void.”

“But—if they track you down?”

“They won't.”

“And—what about us?”

“I'll find you again.”

“But won't they come back to grab me again?”

He considered that. “You and your father and whatever help you can find will have to figure that one out. Maybe he can do something about his programs and algorithms that'll make them less important to Ra—my partner and his boss. I don't know.” He stood up. She still looked frightened. He raised her to standing as well.

“You're really going to let me go?”

“Really. Soon as it's dark.”

“Can't we go now?”

“I don't know who's out there. And I don't want people to see you with me. Someday I'll explain what my role in this has been. But it's got to be the right moment.”

She glanced at her watch. “It's a long time till dark.”

“A few hours. I'll wait with you.”

She kissed him. “We might go to bed to pass the time.” She gave him a seductive smile and kissed him again.

“Susanna, I—I don't think I could.”

“Could?”

“Get hard.”

Another smile, tongue wetting lips. “I could help.”

“Susanna.” He took both her hands and held her away from him. He let out a long exhale. “Susanna. I—I think I'm in love with you. And now I'm scared again.”

She resisted his straight arms and set her head against his chest. “Let's go now.”

He shook his head. “It could be a mistake.” He held her to him. “We can be together, privately, just us, till then.”

She closed her eyes and nodded. “Okay.” Together, for the last time?

“Susanna?”

“Yes.”

“It's Fredric. St.-Ange.”

“What is?”

“My name.”

She smiled against him so he couldn't see her. “Good.” She almost laughed. “Fredric.”

Kyra kicked Noel's toe gently. He started, glanced at his watch. “Get rid of your headache?”

Noel realized he had. “It was good, sitting in place.”

They walked to the car. Kyra leaned against the front bumper. “Too much wrong.”

“Go on.”

“Give me a minute.” She stared ahead. “First of all, the cousin. Or lack of a cousin.”

“Story he made up.”

“But why? And the painting stuff. What's Leger doing here?”

“Says he's on vacation. He came here to do that. Paint.”

Kyra said, “You have painter friends?”

“Not anymore.”

“I do. People who paint, especially if they're working at a project, they like going off to an unknown place to have the time to paint. They pin or tape their work on the walls, they study it. They need to see what they've done yesterday, last week. To compare it with what they've done today. You see anything like that in the house?”

Noel thought back. “Pristine walls.”

“See any painting equipment? Easel? Paints? Sketchbook even?”

“Nothing. But he could have that stuff upstairs.”

“You're alone in the house. You come in from a day of painting. You've done some good work. You're tired. You dump your stuff as close to the door as you can—somewhere you won't trip over it but ready for next time.”

“Yeah.” He considered this. “You're right.”

“So I say we go back there.”

There she goes, jumping in again. “Let's think about this,” he said.

“My thinking is we hit Leger again.”

“You asking me?”

“He's a liar on two counts. He's not a friend of a friend of Susanna's non-cousin Trent. He's not here on a painting vacation.”

“Then what's he doing by himself in that house?”

No answer for a full half minute. Then Kyra said, “I think he's the kidnapper himself and he's got her locked away in the house.”

“Because of the non-cousin, the non-painting.”

“Right. He comes here and starts asking questions about Susanna. Why?” She considered her own question for a few seconds. “He's some kind of macho nut who's saying, ‘Catch me if you can.'”