Key West (43 page)

Sonnie did as she was told. Ena took big white towels from a cupboard above the toilet. She turned on a heated towel rack and set the towels there. “Eucalyptus soap,” she said, unwrapping a big bar. “I love the way it smells. And there’s shampoo and rinse and a clean brush and comb. Toothbrush and toothpaste. I’ll come back with a nightgown. Just leave your clothes on the floor. I’ll knock and put the nightie inside the door for you. Do you want a hot drink?”

Sonnie wanted to be alone, to stop talking. “Νο, thank you. I just need sleep.”

“I’m sure. Here’s the first-aid kit. Clean those scratches well, mind. You’ve got bruises, too. You must have fallen very hard.”

“I did.” And now she had to have a plan for dealing with Romano. And Billy. It seemed more and more obvious that they were attempting to interfere with her very freedom. Rοmano’s behavior had been unbalanced. More than unbalanced. She shuddered. He was bound to move on her again—to make sure she didn’t tell anyone what he’d done to her.

Ena’s sharp look wasn’t lost on Sonnie, and she smiled. “I’m cold to the bone,” she said. “Thanks for everything.”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way. Now get into that shower.”

Sonnie waited until the door was closed and turned on the shower. She shed her clothes with difficulty. Everything wanted to cling to her damp body.

The hot water felt like tiny spikes on her tender skin. Chris had said he’d talk to her when he got back. What could be taking him so long?

Ena hadn’t seen the blond man leave. He could have attacked Chris in the dark. He could have hit him on the head before Chris had a chance to defend himself.

She must hold on and keep hoping for a normal life again. If she gave up, it would mean the end.

Sonnie turned off the shower and clung to the faucets. Steam filled the windowless space. The shower curtain was pink, with raised pink flowers all over it. If she let go of the faucets, she’d fall. Her foot hurt—her right foot, where it had been crushed. Nerves jumped in her left hip.

She’d been so sad for so long. Alone with the baby growing inside her. Pretending to her parents that she was happy and her marriage was fine, that Frank kept in constant touch.

That night she’d left for the airport…

Her mind felt clear. She couldn’t remember much, but she’d begun, so that could change. Frank couldn’t have called the other night, yet his voice had sounded so real in her mind. She must control the urge to talk about what was happening to her, or she’d be handing Romano the excuse he wanted. He wanted an excuse to dominate her.

With Frank dead, whatever he had left in his estate should go to Sonnie, shouldn’t it? Romano didn’t want her. He wanted a legal right to take whatever she had, and he’d be happy to shut her away in a sanitarium as soon as he could. And Billy wanted that, too. She was with the psychiatrist, but that didn’t have to mean she wasn’t involved with Romano, planning with Romano.

Mad people were often convinced of conspiracies against them.

The night she’d left for the airport she’d made up her mind about something. Yes, she’d made a decision and intended to tell Frank because she was afraid her sadness was bad for the baby. Bad for Jacqueline.

On the way to the airport she’d rehearsed.

What had she rehearsed? When did memory stop and nothingness begin?

She’d rehearsed what she would say to Frank about the sadness. That was it. But he would be angry. He’d told her he was in a hurry and wanted her to do something for him.

Sonnie pulled the shower curtain aside a little. Beside the sink was a folded nightgown. It appeared to be made of white cotton with a high neck edged with lace. Her clothes were gone.

She stepped onto the bath mat and began toweling herself dry. Her skin prickled as if the blood were only now starting to flow back properly.

There was a high wire fence near the area where private planes parked. Even at night, high-powered lights illuminated the current assortment of equipment.

Sonnie had pulled the Volvo in near the fence and waited. There hadn’t been enough air in the night to fill her lungs. Fear, fear of Frank’s anger had all but suffocated her.

She’d intended to ask him for a divorce.

Twenty-eight

The pair of maroon-and-white-striped pajama bottoms Ena had pressed on him would make great pedal pushers—for someone. Chris waited in the spartan room he’d been given until the house felt silent. Ena had explained that the bathroom had two doors, one from the room Sonnie was using, and one from the hallway.

He rummaged through his saddlebags and found dry shorts. After he’d stripped and put his wet things into the plastic bag Ena had provided, he pulled on the starched cotton pants, slipped his Glock 17 and a flashlight into a supposed toiletry bag, and ventured outside the room. Also according to Ena’s instructions, he left the bag of clothes on a metal tray she’d placed on the floor.

When he opened the bathroom door, the atmosphere inside was still steamy and smelled of eucalyptus. A big, damp towel hung from the shower rod. Beads of water clung to the shower walls and puddled together on the bottom of the tub.

He wanted to talk to Sonnie. He
had
to talk to Sonnie.. He’d told her he’d check in on her when he got back.

Well, he was back.

Not a sound came from her room.

So much for thinking she’d be too worried about him to sleep.

He stripped and got into the shower. If he thought it would make her safe, he’d take Sonnie away from Key West. But she wouldn’t be safe unless he could force those who intended to do her harm to make just the right
wrong
move,
and
keep her alive at the same time.

He took a large, already wet bar of soap in hand and studied it. A whole bunch of guys would get a laugh if they could see him looking at that soap and thinking about it sliding over Sonnie’s skin.

Unfortunately, he was all alone in the shower. If rubbing that soap over his own body gave him a hard-on, well, he might as well be grateful, because it wasn’t going away anytime soon.

The sight of a hand, a fist, extending past the curtain and into the shower, jarred his spine. The fist knocked on tile.

Chris grinned. He sidestepped closer and kissed Sonnie’s wet knuckles.

The hand withdrew at once.

With his back to the beating stream of water, he continued to wash. He unscrewed the shampoo, emptied a puddle into his palm, and rubbed his hair.

And, through the shower curtain, he watched the moving shadow.

At first she remained still.

Then she paced.

Finally he saw her approach the door to her room and he stuck his head out. “Hi, there, Sonnie. Where you goin’?”

The white cotton gown she wore resembled a larger version of something a Victorian child might have worn. It covered her from neck to ankles. But the cotton wasn’t heavy-duty, and steam was being kind to Chris. “Ι asked where you’re goin’?” he said, appreciating the shades, and shapes, of her body inside that gauzy number.

Her smile was sheepish. “I got cold feet,” she said. “Υοu told me we’d talk when you got back. I heard you showering, so I thought I’d come and talk to you in here. But that’s way too intimate, isn’t it?”

“Sit on the toilet seat,” he told her. “Surely it’s intimate. I’m willing to try that on for size if you are.”

He stepped back beneath the water to rinse, but kept his attention on her lovely shadow. She didn’t hesitate long before accepting his invitation to sit down. She raised her voice to say, “I was so worried about you. That man Ena talked about—”

“There wasn’t anyone in the house.”

“But who was he? What did he want there? He went inside, Chris.”

“I know, I know. I can’t answer your questions, but he’s not there now. The carpenters are doing a great job. Everything looks almost better than new.”

“Yes, good.” She didn’t sound excited.

“We do have our work cut out for us,” he said. “I don’t mean there’s any reason to panic, but I think we’re getting close enough to our problem to make the players real antsy.”

His towel was outside the shower.

He was a big boy. “Would you mind handing me a towel?” He hauled back the curtain and felt pretty satisfied with his nonchalance.

Sonnie didn’t fare so well. She knew it when she’d taken a second or so too long to pass the towel, and her face turned hot.

“Thanks,” he said, toweling his hair rather than covering any part of his body. “The hot water felt great. Did you clean those scratches well enough?” He got out of the shower.

What did you say to a naked man when you were sitting on a toilet seat while he checked the skin on your face?
My, what nice teeth you have?

“I’m going to go over these one more time,” he said.

Νο, he wasn’t, not if he expected her to remain conscious.
“You don’t need to bother, Chris.”

He was already pouring antiseptic solution on a cotton ball. “This is going to sting a bit.”

When he moved, the tattoo on his shoulder undulated. “That tattoo is out of character,” she said, and got a sideways glance. “Isn’t it?”

“Not at all.” The manacled woman curled up a little, then stretched out as he put his upper arm at his side. “Nothing like some good, old-fashioned S and Μ. Love that pain. Love women who love that pain.”

As promised, the antiseptic stung. Sοnnie drew air through her teeth.

“Ηοw do you like being led around on a collar and leash?” Chris said, dampening another cotton ball to continue this particular torture, “Nude, of course.”

“Sounds okay.” Sometimes she amazed herself. “But I do appreciate a man with fresh ideas. Everyone does the leash thing.”

“Do they?” The cotton balls landed in the wastebasket. “You keep on surprising me. Sexy talk is no more natural to you than flirting. And you, ma’am, do not have a flirtatious bone in your body. But you’re game, Sοnnie. You don’t back away from giving as good as you get.”

“I think that’s supposed to be a compliment.” A compliment she wasn’t sure she should enjoy.

Chris put a foot on the side of the tub while he dried a leg. The man did have great legs. The hair all over his body was very dark. His buttocks flexed; a deep scar on one side also flexed.

“What happened to you?” she asked. “What caused the wound?”

He slapped a hand over the part in question. “That’s my war wound. Nothing really. We had a disagreement over the appropriate way for a man to get his point across to a woman, and guess what? He had a gun, and he had no sense of humor. That was a real nuisance to me for some time. It’s tough when you can’t sit down.

“I was lucky, though. The guy had lousy aim. See?” Still presenting his back, he moved closer. “Feel how deep it is.” Holding her breath, Sοnnie passed her fingertips over his muscular flesh. “Very deep, but it doesn’t...You feel nice.”

“Uh-huh. About the aim. Guess what he was aiming for?” Sοnnie stroked the cheek and the back of his thigh.

“Can you guess what he was aiming for?” Chris asked again.

Her fingers between his thighs brought them together like clamps that trapped her hand. Sonnie followed the line of his spine with her eyes. She concentrated on the question. “Oh, that’s sick. It’s awful. Why would he want to shoot you there?”

“Because a bullet in the heart usually guarantees death.”

Sonnie suffered another fierce flush, but she laughed with him, and she wasn’t quick enough to stop him from drawing her hand all the way through his legs and holding it over what made him feel so very masculine.

This time the big reaction came from Chris. He made incoherent sounds and moved against her palm.

Sonnie grew tight in places that felt good that way, and she kissed his scar with lips that lingered. “You’re a bad man, Chris Talon,” she said when she rested her cheek where her mouth had been. “You play with my mind—and my body.”

“And you don’t like it?” He sounded as if he fought for every breath.

“I shouldn’t. And we should be dealing with serious stuff.”

“We already are,” he said. “What we’ve started together isn’t going away anytime soon. Thank God.”

“You know what I mean.” She grew hotter and hotter.

“We’re going to deal with that—soon.” He stopped moving, and straightened—but kept his hand over hers. He was so hard. “How are you doing, Sonnie?”

She wasn’t going to play any more games. “Shocked, but okay.”

“You’ve got guts.”

The urge to make a crack about her sanity was difficult to swallow.

He released her hand and faced her. “You and I are going to be joined at the hip from now on. Can you handle that idea?”

Her eyes were at the level of his navel. His abdominal muscles were solid ridges. “If you think I have to stay close to you all the time, I’m going to trust your judgment.”
Oh, what a penance.

“You know I can see right through this, don’t you?” He gathered a handful of cotton on either side of her breasts and pulled it tight. “Funny. Such a prudish thing, yet so sexy. I’d like to eat it off you. Or maybe tear it off in bites, hmm?”

She spread her hands on his abdomen and urged him closer. What she felt for him was overwhelming. Looking up into his tensed features, she was almost afraid of that intensity. “How did you find me on that beach, Chris?”

“I drove this island from one side to the other, and from top to bottom. I did it over and over again. I was desperate by the time I just happened to notice Romano’s Jag by the side of the road.”

She looked away.

“You can’t hold anything back anymore,” he said. “I can feel the walls closing in on us. What happened to bring you to that point?”

If she was supposed to think clearly, there had to be more distance between them. She got up and sidled past him. “He came to the Nail and said he needed to talk to me. He gave me Frank’s medallion and he cried. I felt sorry for him. Don‘t blame Roy. What was he supposed to say when my brother-in-law said he needed some of my time?”

Chris took her place on the toilet set. He ran his fingers through his hair, sending drops of water onto his shoulders. “But what happened?”