Desperate Measures (24 page)

A waitress crossed to the table and asked, “Mrs. Martel, can I get you and Linda anything to eat or drink?”

“Desiree, as often as we come here, it’s Caitlin, please. What’s the drink special of the day?” Caitlin asked.

“One of your favorites, Mrs…I mean Caitlin, the Miami Vice.”

“You mean the strawberry daiquiri mixed with pina colada? Perfect, bring us two.” Caitlin looked at Linda who nodded in approval. “Also, Linda and Isabel are my guests, anything Isabel wants, just put the charges on my room card.”

“Yes, ma’am, I’ll be right back with your drinks.”

“So, Linda, tell me where you got this grouper you’ve cooked up. Are you still buying your fish from Mel?” Caitlin thought she asked an innocent question but when Linda’s face clouded, she anticipated another serious discussion. The question she’d asked herself, moments earlier, threatened to surface once again but she forced it aside.

Linda answered, “No, Mel and I aren’t getting along so well these days. I buy my fish from a local seafood market in town.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. The two of you seemed to be moving toward a serious relationship.”

“It’s fine. The breakup was inevitable, and I’m over it. I know you think Mel is Isabel’s father but he isn’t!” Linda declared.

Taken aback with Linda’s tone, laced with accusation and anger, Caitlin defended herself. “Isabel’s father is none of my business. Forget I asked anything about Mel. I didn’t mean to pry or imply anything.” Caitlin rose and began to walk away from the table.

Linda called out, pleading for her to stay. “Caitlin, I didn’t mean to insult you. I apologize for my outburst. I would like to tell you who the father of my daughter is but I worry that you’ll be judgmental.” .

The conversation baffled Caitlin. She was curious but the conversation halted when Alexandra leaped into her arms. Chad and Isabel followed behind. They were hungry and ready for a late afternoon snack. Caitlin ordered nachos and chicken fingers and ignored Linda.

Eager to shed his dirty clothes, Barry entered his assigned suite at Lukas Bucklin’s palatial villa. Grime and dried perspiration clung to his body like a second skin. He entered the bathroom area and turned the shower lever to the cold water indicator and dropped his golf outfit on the tiled floor. The ice bath Lukas promised sounded delightful but Barry declined the offer. He spent thirty minutes under the frigid jet of the shower stream. Refreshed and revived, Barry emerged from the large walk in shower stall. He reached for a thick bath towel, wrapped it around his waist, and strode into his temporary living quarters.

He moved across the room, opened the sliding door, and stepped out onto the balcony. His breath caught. In front of him, the lowering sun sent bright shocks of light across the darkening Caribbean Sea. Small twinkling lights, belonging to the houses and restaurants on the mountainside, glowed. He heard waves crash against the rocks below.

Barry went back inside, looked at his watch, and dressed for the inevitable meeting with his host. Descending the long marble staircase, he wiped his forehead one last time before he tapped on the double doors of the library.

Within seconds, a commanding voice answered. “Barry, come in. Why so formal? I told you to make yourself at home. This isn’t all business.”

Barry braced himself, sat across from Lukas and opened his briefcase, eager to get started. Each man had his own agenda. Barry’s was to garner valuable clues and information to figure out how his host fit into the equation. “Where do you want me to start? Since we’re onto business, I have a few questions for you. Who goes first, me or you? You’re the client after all, so I’ll give you the choice,” Barry stated.

Lukas narrowed his eyes and leaned forward. “I’ll go first, where is he?”

Barry wouldn’t let himself be intimidated by a client, million-dollar contract or not. He straightened his shoulders, met Lukas’s blue eyes, and gave his report, simple as it was. “Michael Holmes hasn’t existed in ten years. There’s no trace of him.”

Barry assumed a casual pose. The buttery soft leather of the chair caressed his back and spine, his arms rested across his abdomen. He tried to gauge the old man’s reaction.

Lukas whispered, “Ten years, what happened to him?”

Barry shot forward. “You tell me. How do you know Michael Holmes? Are you aware the FBI is also tracking him down regarding the threats against Caitlin Martel?”

Barry left out his personal connection but noticed the twitch and flicker of concern in Lukas’s eyes at the mention of Caitlin. Barry said nothing, biding his time and scrutinizing Lukas. The man’s confident look disappeared and he shifted in his seat.

Lukas leaned forward and placed his hands on his knees. “No, I’m not aware of any such thing. Mr. Holmes applied for a job with my company years ago. He then threatened to go public with some crazy story of my instructing him to start a fire at some company. I like to know where my enemies are.”

“That was ten years ago. Why are you chasing him down now?”

“Dammit, I hired you to do a job, not to question me!”

Barry switched gears and turned on the charm, hoping he hadn’t alienated the only key to this whole nightmare. “Lukas, sorry I was so rough. Can I get you a drink? I didn’t mean to upset you but my goddaughter who I love like my own child, is involved in this.”

“Scotch if you don’t mind getting it for me. I let the staff leave early tonight so we could discuss these matters privately. They left dinner heating in the oven so we won’t starve. Help yourself to a drink.”

Barry rose from his chair. “I’ll get you scotch and myself a cold beer. If I drink anything stronger I’m afraid I’ll start sweating again.”

Barry returned with a glass of scotch and an ice-cold bottle of Banks, the local and most popular beer in Barbados. He took a long swallow, set the bottle on a coaster atop the gleaming marble coffee table, and prepared to give Lukas the rest of his report. This was important, well, to Barry at least, and unrelated to the hunt for Michael Holmes.

He reached into his briefcase and retrieved a thickly bound document. After another long swig of beer, Barry looked Lukas square in the eyes, ready to address the next part of business. Deception would be a more appropriate word.

“Good Lord! What’s that? Certainly it’s not the report you gathered on Michael Holmes.”

“No it’s not. This is the completed background information on Gerard Hellerman.” Barry stood and handed the cumbersome bulk of papers over. He noticed eager, suspicious eyes. “Take a look, and maybe then you’d be so kind as to clue me in on why you kept the most important fact of Gerard’s heritage from me. Do you take me for a fool? You pay me to conduct thorough and complete background investigations into your employees and their families, especially those appointed by the board. Except this one. You approved his appointment on my preliminary report. Favoritism I wonder?”

Barry re-assumed his casual pose and analyzed Lukas as he flipped through sheet after sheet then stopped at one particular page. It had to be
the
page, all there in black and white. No complicated verbiage, no hidden clauses. Easy to understand and shouldn’t warrant the amount of time Lukas took to review it. Barry could almost visualize the thought process of the old man’s brain, biding his time to compose a clear, succinct response.

As if a bell dinged, Lukas looked up at Barry with his famous intimidating glare. “You know James is Gerard’s father, so what?”

Barry shifted his posture, gripped the arms of the chair, and his body tensed.

Barry challenged Lukas in a condescending voice. “So what? That’s all you can say? He’s also your grandson!”

“Yes, and he grew up in a nurturing environment and turned out to be an exceptional man, without the influence of that loser son of mine. I’m impressed you were able to figure it out. I had a perfect paper trail in place that proved my younger sister, Helene, gave birth to Gerard.” Lukas made it is sound so logical with no hint of emotion regarding his son or grandson.

Barry hadn’t expected this reaction but decided to play along and tamped down his frustration. He tried to sound impressed and refrained from any accusations. “Oh it was tricky, I’ll give you that. Helene’s medical history raised the flag and caused me to delve deeper into your paper trail. She had multiple miscarriages, one at the age of sixteen, but managed to get pregnant at age thirty-eight. She goes full term and gives birth to a healthy baby boy with no record of any prenatal visits. So what did you do?”

“Here’s what happened. My son, at a very young age, got involved with a slut and got her pregnant. Neither of them wanted the baby and scheduled an abortion. My sister had longed for a child for years but could never carry a pregnancy to full term. I paid off my son’s bitch and my sister gained the child she hoped for.”

Barry needed to hear each and every sordid detail, he pressed on. “So why did Helene disappear when she was sixteen and pregnant?”

Lukas sipped his scotch before answering. A look of annoyance crossed his face as if to say he had more pressing matters needing his attention. “That was my father’s doing. He disowned my sister when he found out she’d been stupid enough to get herself knocked up. He sent her to Austria to live with one of my mother’s distant relatives and erased her from the Bucklin family history. She miscarried.

“Lucky for her, she met a really nice man, Wilhelm Hellerman. They fell in love, got married, and wanted children badly. I kept in touch with Helene secretly. If my father had found out, he’d have cut me off as well. After years of hearing the desperation in my estranged sister’s voice, I longed to help her. When I found out about James’s situation, I realized my opportunity to heal her pain. My son didn’t want anything to do with my grandchild but Helene embraced my offer to adopt the baby. She raised him as her own. No ties to the Bucklin’s what-so-ever. James thinks the baby was stillborn and has no idea he hired his son.”

Barry longed for a child of his own. The baby his wife lost, when she was killed unmercifully, he still grieved for. This bastard in front of him spoke so calmly and indifferently, as if a child could be passed around like bread at the dinner table.

Barry clutched his hands in tight fists. His short fingernails threatened to draw blood. He tried to calm himself. Lukas stared at him with those unblinking gray-blue eyes. At that moment realization hit Barry full force and he gulped. Caitlin had those eyes and so did Gerard. Lukas was Jack’s father and Caitlin’s grandfather. All doubts fell away.

After giving himself a few seconds to gather his thoughts, Barry shot back, hoping to catch Lukas off guard. “Like father like son, huh? What did Jane Spencer get as a payoff?”

Not even a flinch from Lukas. “Who’s Jane Spencer?”

Barry lifted his near empty beer bottle, drained it, slammed it on the table before him, and strode in the direction of his suite. Before he exited the library, he glanced over his shoulder and said in a parting response to his host, “If Caitlin is harmed due to your shenanigans I’ll kill you! Do you hear me?”

Lukas Bucklin, the ever powerful and in control business tycoon, slumped in his chair holding his head. Quiet sobs shook his body. Concerned with Lukas’s health, Barry had an impulse to rush to the man’s side, but didn’t. After a minute of observation, he realized the man was having an emotional moment, not a medical condition. Barry shook his head in disgust and left the room, leaving Lukas to sleep with his own demons.

Mackenzie walked the short distance from Robert. L Bradshaw Airport to the busy city of Basseterre. Small shops, cafes, and produce stands lined the streets. He made some purchases and then walked up a dirt road leading to the rainforest. He had his carry-on luggage and a shopping bag. Mabel Thompson’s suitcase was most likely still going round and round on the luggage carousel at the airport. Oh well. He couldn’t be distracted by such minutiae. What mattered was he blended in well. The carry-on bag passed as a large purse, the grocery bag was part of the costume. Just another, one of many, elderly women strolling home at a slow pace from the market.

He passed the last residential house without raising suspicion. He carefully observed his surroundings, counted his steps, and found the landmark. He knelt, dug up six inches of moist earth, and retrieved a small waterproof bag. There it was, safe and sound, a small revolver and extra bullets.

Mackenzie continued his journey into the mountain, the brisk refreshing air of the rainforest enfolded around him. As he climbed higher into the sanctity, the night grew darker and colder. If he hadn’t had the fortunate luck of running into Jumpstart last week, he never would’ve come up with this brilliant idea to camp out in these beautiful lush mountains. He definitely had luck on his side. Earlier he’d run into Linda Sampson outside of her café.

* * * *

Jack sat in his recliner facing the television set but found it difficult to concentrate on the evening news. He did catch the latest hurricane update and it appeared Courtney had stalled. The front coming from the north could very well push the storm further out to sea and lessen the threat to Florida. Residents were urged to make appropriate preparations and not be lulled into a false sense of security. Anything was still possible with this storm. Regardless, Constance and Dean were going to Atlanta first thing tomorrow. Dean walked out of the shower. He was having one last guys’ night out with Ray before leaving the state of Florida.

“Dad, cool the hurricane may not hit us, so Mom and I don’t have to leave in the morning.”

Jack’s head snapped in the direction of the bedroom door in which Dean stood toweling his hair. “Yes you’re still going. They don’t know what this thing will do yet. Besides, your brother’s wife will be induced on Monday and your mother insists on being there for the birth.”

“Dad, I know Amy has had some trouble the last few weeks of her pregnancy but I really don’t understand why we all haven’t rushed to Caitlin. She’s in more danger.”