Fixing her stare on the linoleum floor, Ali considered the notion. She needed him. Here with her now. It didn’t matter how much she tried to fight it, to pretend otherwise, she needed him with her. To hold her and tell her everything was going to be okay. He was the only one who could make her feel safe. It had always been him. Even the final day of her senior school exams, when she’d been panicking so badly about her biology exam she’d feared she would pass out, the sight of Jack when he’d turned up at the Graham house to wish her luck had calmed her. In almost every moment of anxiety in her life, Jack had been there to take the pain away. Exactly where she wanted him to be.
Ali dragged her fingers through her hair, a long sigh slipping past her lips. The last time she’d needed Jack so desperately was the day of her father’s funeral. It seemed she’d come full circle. In her darkest hour, Jack was her light once again. And this time she wouldn’t let that light go. Whatever news the doctors gave her about her mother, she wanted Jack to be with her. And never leave.
She shot the old man at the public phone another harried look. Please hang up.
A hand touched her shoulder and Ali started.
“Ms. Graham?” A young nurse stood beside her, pretty face serious. Sorrowful.
Ali’s chest clamped tight. “Yes?”
“Can you come with me, please?”
The nurse turned away and Ali saw a doctor waiting by the ER doors, face worried and tired. A chill raced through her veins. Why was everyone looking so serious?
“Ms. Graham?” The nurse had turned back, a frown knotting her eyebrows.
“Is my mom okay?” Ali felt numb. She didn’t want to follow the nurse. If she didn’t follow the nurse, she wouldn’t have to see the doctor and he couldn’t tell her the news. And it was bad news. She could tell. Because everyone was looking so goddamn serious. “Please tell me my mom is okay.”
The nurse smiled gently. “The doctor will explain everything.”
Doctor Welch’s hand was warm as it enveloped Ali’s, contrasting sharply with the numb cold eating into her bones. “Ms. Graham,” he said with a smile bordering on exhaustion. “The good news is your mother is conscious and waiting to see you.” For a moment Ali felt giddy with relief and she couldn’t stop the smile spreading her lips. Until Dr Welch said, “But unfortunately her MS has moved into its advance stages.” His eyebrows dipped into a slight frown and he gave her hands a small squeeze. “I’m afraid as of this moment she will require permanent medical hospitalization.”
It was dark outside, the car park crowded with cars. Ferraris, BMWs and Audis sat side-by-side as their owners socialized in the yacht club or enjoyed the balmy summer night on the harbor.
Ali sat in her beat-up old Mini, gripping the steering wheel and staring blankly out the window.
Her mom had smiled weakly from the steel-framed hospital bed when Ali had entered the small emergency-ward room. She looked incredibly frail, voice a mere husky whisper, breath shallow and hitching, but she’d hugged Ali with surprisingly strong arms, wetting her shoulder with hot tears. “I’m sorry, sweetie,” she’d whispered over and over. “I’m so sorry.”
Ali had left an hour later, telling her not to worry, everything would be fine.
She hadn’t told her mom there was no money to pay for permanent hospital care. Nor that she had little hope of finding any. What purpose would the news serve?
Ali checked her watch, barely seeing it in the darkness of her car. 10:17pm.
When she’d tried Jack’s home number before leaving the hospital, he hadn’t answered. Never before had she wanted to hear his voice so badly, but there had been no answer. Not even a machine for her to leave a message on.
That had been forty-five minutes ago.
If he’d had enough of waiting for her, perhaps he’d come to the marina for a beer with Mike Turpin. The old salt was always here, and Ali hoped Jack was going to be with him.
If not, she had no idea how to find him. He had a cell phone, but she didn’t know the number.
Climbing out of her car, Ali headed to the clubhouse. All she could do now was look for him and hope to God she found him before she broke down and cried.
Twenty minutes later however, Ali dropped into a chair at a rare empty table on the boardwalk. Hot frustration twisted through her. Not a sign of Jack, or Mike Turpin for that matter. She should be happy. Her mom was alive, conscious and cognitive. Instead, Ali was a confused mess. The knowledge that unless a miracle happened, there was no way she could afford the hospital and treatment bills wouldn’t leave her alone. It ate at her, taking chunks from her sanity. And now, just for laughs, she couldn’t find Jack. The one person she wanted—needed—to see.
Chewing on her lip, she peered out at the dark yachts bobbing in their pens. Perhaps he was aboard
Suspicious Ways
.
“Ali?” The yacht club’s secretary appeared at the table, holding two pieces of paper in her hand. “I’ve got a couple of messages for you. Apparently, your answering machine is on the fritz and these people didn’t know how else to get a hold of you.”
“Thanks, Chris.” Ali frowned as she took the messages. “You haven’t seen Jack McKenzie around tonight, have you?”
Chris shook her head. “Not tonight. Sorry.”
“That’s okay.” Ali smiled, even as her stomach churned. “Thanks anyway. If you do see him can you let him know I was looking for him?”
“Can do.” Chris nodded before threading her way back into the crowd and disappearing.
Gnawing on her lip again, Ali looked down at the messages in her hands. “Great”, she muttered, unfolding one, “now I have to buy a new answering machine. As if I can afford that.”
She opened the first note and read Chris’s neat print, each word causing her stomach to sink further and further into a churning, sickening mess. Turning to the next, she bit back a sob. “I can’t believe this,” she whispered.
Message one was from Nicholas Phillips, the male half of her honeymooning-couple charter. The bride had come down with chickenpox so they were postponing their honeymoon for a month or two. Could she ring to reschedule?
Message two was from a receivership firm explaining that Waynewrite Computer Supplies was now in their control and, as a consequence all unnecessary expenditure would cease.
Ali dropped her head into her hands, the crumpled notes scratching against her forehead. Her two large charters—gone. “This is ridiculous,” she muttered to the tabletop. “What the hell am I—”
“Hello, sugar pie.”
Ali jerked up her head, finding the seat before her no longer empty.
Zane Peterson lounged in the bistro chair, lips pulled into a smirk. A navy-blue linen suite that did little to hide his bulk covered his body, and his watery, blood-shot eyes were already sliding over her in a way she always detested. Undressing her. Mauling her.
“Hello, Mr. Peterson.” Her reply was short. The man may pay her to race, but she didn’t have to like him.
“It’s rare to find you here so late on a Saturday night.” He fingered the large gold ring on his pinkie. “May I get you a drink?”
“I’m fine, thank you.”
Peterson’s slimy smile stretched wider. “I hear Jenny’s not well. MS is such an expensive disease.”
Ali’s breath caught in her throat. How did he know? No one at the marina knew about her mom’s illness. No one.
“Permanent hospitalization in a facility that cares for advanced MS sufferers will be very expensive,” he continued, sliding the ostentatious ring up and down his finger. “An expense not covered by the Australian government’s healthcare system, especially for an American citizen. How will you pay for it? Particularly now that Jackson McKenzie owns your yacht and your business?”
Ali stared at him, stunned. Oh God, what else did the man know about her?
Peterson leaned forward, his smile more snake-like than ever. “McKenzie has no shame, you know. Only this afternoon he was boasting to that old git Turpin, ‘I’ve got the yacht and the business. After tonight, I’ve got her too.’”
Ali’s chest squeezed tight. “What did you say?”
The billionaire raised his eyebrows, spinning his ring on his finger. “I’m actually quite surprised,” he went on, ignoring her question. “I never would have said you were gullible. Or a sucker for a pretty boy in designer jeans.”
The world was spinning. Ali gripped the table, staring at the man opposite her. A beat pounded against her temple. Could she believe it?
“Now, I don’t know what…” Peterson waved his hand in the air, seemingly searching for the right word, “…arrangement you have with the man, but let me assure you, Ali, he only sees it as an opportunity to get everything he wants. He doesn’t want to help you.”
Ali cocked an eyebrow. “But I suppose you do.”
“Absolutely.” Peterson smiled. “In fact, I’m offering a solution to all your problems.”
A chill rippled through Ali at the greedy light in the man’s eyes. She had a fair idea what Zane Peterson’s solution was, and she wanted no part of it. “No thanks,” she replied bluntly.
Peterson frowned dramatically, doing a great job of appearing unjustly offended. “But you haven’t heard what I’m offering yet.”
“Mr. Peterson—”
He slid his hands across the table and captured hers before she could snatch them away. He traced his thumbs in circles on her palms while he looked her in the eyes. “Ali, I want to help you. I can make your life so much easier.”
Ali’s heart thumped harder. Faster. Oh Lord, what she would do for an easier life?
Peterson’s thumbs drew little patterns in the sensitive hollow of her palms, making her flesh crawl. “Let me help you, Ali. You won’t regret it.”
Ali’s stomach twisted. “I—”
“Now I see why you didn’t show up for dinner.”
A man’s voice, low and deadly, cut Ali short. She started, jerking her stare away from Peterson to find Jack standing to the right of her table. Watching her. Watching them both.
His face was expressionless, devoid of any emotion whatsoever, but his eyes… Ali had never seen such fury. Hate boiled in their green depths, hate and scalding contempt.
“Jack.” she gasped, trying to pull her fingers free of Peterson’s grasp. “Jack, I—”
Jack’s nostrils flared. “This explains why you keep sending me away. Obviously your tastes have…changed.”
Ali stared at him, her heart smashing into her throat. “Jack, this isn’t—”
“Spare me,” he cut her off with a snarl. “If Zane Peterson is what you want, hey, who am I to stop you?”
“Glad to see you’ve finally accepted the inevitable, McKenzie,” Peterson purred, looking up at Jack with a smug smile.
Jack turned to the man, icy menace radiating from him in waves, and Ali was amazed to see Peterson shrink away. “We’re not done yet, you and I. We still have unfinished business.”
Ali shot to her feet. Oh Lord, what was going on here? “Jack, please, let me explain. I tried to—”
Jack swung back to her, cold rage blazing in his eyes. “Goodbye, Ali. My lawyer will be in contact later regarding your debt.”
“Don’t worry, McKenzie,” Peterson piped up. “I’ll see you get your money. You have no hold over Ali now.”
Jack’s eyes flicked to the man and Peterson shriveled back into his chair.
Stunned, Ali looked from Jack to Peterson and back to Jack. What the hell was going on here? Just who the hell did they think they were? “Wait just a goddamn minute—” she began.
Jack returned her glare and, for the briefest second, uncertainty flickered across his face, softening its harsh angles. Then it was gone. Just like that. His expression harder than ever, he turned and strode through the busy marina and into the night.
“Good riddance,” Peterson snorted, reaching for Ali’s hand again. “Now back to my offer.”
But Ali didn’t want to hear it.
She followed Jack onto the dark jetty along which he stormed, almost jogging to catch up with him, black anger propelling her along. “Do you want to explain that whole little scene to me?” she demanded, coming up behind him.
He didn’t slow down or look at her. “There’s nothing to explain, Alissa.”
“You’re a jerk, Jackson McKenzie,” Ali snapped at his back. “Dad was so wrong about you.”
With frightening speed, Jack spun to glare at her. “Andrew was wrong about you. He always said you were intelligent. Thank God, he’s not here to see how you’re running his business. And who you choose to do business with.” He curled his lip. “He’d be sick to the stomach to know his little girl’s become the property of scum like Zane Peterson.”
Ali rammed her fists on her hips. “What do you mean by that?”
Jack’s eyes narrowed. “You’ve made your bed, Ali. And now I know who will be lying in it with you. And it isn’t me.”
Ali’s mouth fell open. “You bastard. How could I have been such an idiot about you?” She went to turn away but Jack grabbed her arms, holding her still.
“I’m the idiot here, Ali,” he snarled. “I’m the one that’s been played the fool.”
Ali squirmed in his grip, but Jack held her tight, strong fingers digging into her flesh. His stare bored into her soul. “You’re not going anywhere.”