Читать книгу Lethal Affair - Jean Pichon Thomas - Страница 14

Chapter 4

“That’s exactly what you were seeing,” Zena told them. She went on to elaborate, “Of course, there are children in the village, some of them infants, but no pregnancies since last August.”

“I’m supposing it wasn’t for want of trying,” Casey said.

“You can trust me when I say the villagers have never had any problem in that department.”

“But wasn’t there any effort to consult a doctor?” Brenna asked.

“A doctor was persuaded to come up to the village. The women most eager to get pregnant, the youngest ones who have yet to have babies, were more than willing to be examined.”

“And?”

Zena shook her head. “Nothing. The doctor—and he’s a capable one—could find no reason for their infertility.”

“What about the men?” Brenna wanted to know.

Zena rolled her eyes. “You don’t know the St. Sebastian males if you think any of them would even consider himself incapable of fathering a child. Much too proud to submit to any test. I suppose it is unlikely at that that every husband, or for that matter, lover, would be sterile.”

No more unlikely than the infertility of the women, Brenna thought, but she refrained from voicing it.

Zena changed the subject. “Do you have a car nearby?”

“Over in the parking lot,” Casey said.

“Why don’t I walk you there before we say goodbye?”

Casey waited until they reached the Toyota before he verbalized a consideration that must have occurred to him on the trail from the bridge. “This infertility thing...is it possible there was some kind of epidemic in the village that could be responsible?”

“Nothing like that. In fact, the village has been healthy since it got itself a safe supply of drinking water last year. It wasn’t the case before then. I don’t know. It all seems a mystery with nothing to explain it.”

“Where does the new supply come from?” Casey asked.

“A deep well was drilled.”

“And the village was able to afford that?”

“Not the village, no. I wasn’t here then, but they tell me a wealthy benefactor who preferred to remain anonymous provided it.”

Before saying their goodbyes to Zena, they thanked her for befriending them and wished her well in her training.

They were on the road when Brenna expressed her sorrow. “What a tragedy. An entire village with its women suddenly barren. That’s got to be one for the medical records.”

Casey agreed and was silent after that. Whatever his thoughts were, he didn’t share them with her.

It wasn’t until they were descending the highlands that she realized she’d never gotten either her photographs or sketches of Braided Falls. It was too late to turn back. She’d have to wait for another day.

They had reached the cyclone fence that enclosed the old sugar plantation when Casey slowed the Toyota.

Now he slows down, she thought, when what she wanted him to do was speed on by. The place was too creepy for comfort.

He not only slowed, he stopped the car altogether in front of the closed gates to the drive.

“You see what I see, Rembrandt?”

She couldn’t help noticing it. Parked outside the main door of the mansion was the dark green sedan that had followed them earlier.

* * *

When Brenna had no response for him, Casey turned to look at her. Was it his imagination, or had she turned pale under that golden tan that so became her?

“No thought on the subject?” he asked her.

“Please, can we just forget it and go on?”

She doesn’t want to discuss the car, he realized, complying with her request. Probably doesn’t want to even think about it. Its presence, both earlier and now, seemed to scare her.

But Casey couldn’t forget what they’d referred to as the green demon as he headed them toward the shore highway. His mind, trained by the best instruction Quantico had to offer its agents, examined the puzzle.

The vehicle wouldn’t have followed them, as it had tried to do, without a reason. The obvious explanation was the driver had wanted to know just where they were going. But why? Casey’s FBI training had no answer for that. Couldn’t be expected to provide answers without the information he lacked.

No sense in denying it. He had the questions, just not the solutions. Questions like why the clerk at the general store had been frightened by his discovery of the green sedan out front. And why it was now parked in front of the great house behind the locked gates. What connection did its driver have with that sinister plantation?

Those thoughts alone were enough to keep Casey’s brain busy. Because it seemed to be a day for puzzles. He couldn’t forget the most significant of them. Zena King’s village. It just didn’t make sense that a whole village could go barren.

It had to be a coincidence that he and Brenna had been confronted by two major mysteries, one following directly after the other. Casey resisted the urge to try to relate the plantation, the driver of the green demon and the village in any way. Much too unlikely to even consider such a possibility. Or was it?

Managing to put the whole thing out of his mind, at least for now, he resumed paying attention to Brenna. She looked like she was recovered from her alarm over their second sighting of the green demon. They were on the shore highway now, and she was contentedly occupied with finding new flowers and birds outside her window.

He was occupied with her. Hell, he would have been better off still worrying about puzzles than getting all bothered now by the woman beside him. Whatever their different moods of the day, shifting with the frequent events that had triggered them, Casey had never lost his awareness of the sexual tension that existed between Brenna and him. Nor did he think he’d be wrong in swearing she had been just as conscious of it, as well.

This heat he was experiencing whenever his gaze drifted in her direction had him frustrated with need. And what could he do about it? Nothing. She had made it clear on more than one occasion that she was off-limits to him now.

But he could look, even though it did raise his temperature with no possibility of release. And so he did, stealing frequent glances.

Damn, but she was one alluring woman with that abundant, copper hair any healthy man would love to run his fingers through. Probably while longing next to get his hands on those breasts. Breasts that, without a bra, enabled him to fully appreciate their lushness. Even that smattering of freckles across her nose—

“Watch!” she cried out. “You’re drifting across the center line!”

Sweet Jesus, what was he doing? Trying to get them into an accident?

Casey immediately corrected their position on the road. After that, he made a determined effort to keep his eyes off Brenna and on his driving.

They had reached Georgetown when he managed to think of his stomach and not his libido. “I just remembered we missed lunch. It’s not too late. There’s this little seafood place on the harbor. My treat.”

“Thanks, but I’ll just grab something up at the villa. I want to make use of what’s left of the day. I’ve been neglecting my work. I don’t need to be on location to finish the seascape in the corner of the guesthouse I’m using as a studio. The light is good there.”

Back to business, huh? Disappointed or not, he couldn’t argue with her. She’d only agreed to come with him this morning because she needed the transportation he offered and not his company.

“So, I’ll deliver you to the villa.”

She shook her head emphatically. “No, please drop me at the bottom of the hill. It’s an easy walk up from there.”

He understood. She didn’t want to chance being seen with him by any of the staff and having one of them report it to Marcus Bradley. Bradley wouldn’t like it. It was a realization that soured him.

Casey concentrated on dealing with the traffic as they crossed to the other side of the city, not speaking again until he stopped to let her off where she indicated.

“What about tomorrow? The silver chariot here and I will be available to chauffeur you wherever you might want to go.”

“I appreciate that, but I plan to stick close to town here on foot. The cab driver who drove me out to the airport this morning mentioned it was market day in the center of the city tomorrow. The stalls should offer some rich subjects.”

“And you wouldn’t like an escort, either by car or on foot?”

“Afraid not. I’ll be careful. I hope you understand.”

“Oh, sure, I get it. You want to be alone.”

We’ll see about that tomorrow, he promised himself.

He watched her undo her seat belt, gather up her things and start to exit the car. But she hesitated with her hand on the door handle.

“Forget something?” he asked.

She didn’t answer him for a moment. Then, as if impulsively making up her mind, she twisted around to face him again. “I need to ask you something. It’s been bothering me ever since you landed on the island.”

“Fire away.”

Another pause from her. What was it this time? Summoning the courage for whatever it was she wanted to know? She must have found it, because she suddenly blurted out her question.

“Casey, did you ever manage to forgive me for breaking off our engagement? Completely forgive me?”

He could see in her face how important this was to her. And, unlike Brenna, he didn’t need to hesitate. He answered her, not with words, but with a swift, decisive action that allowed her no chance to resist.

It was an action that involved his arms reaching out and drawing her so tightly up against him she was unable to escape. An action that involved his mouth descending to angle across hers in a forceful kiss meant to leave her in no doubt about whether or not he’d ever forgiven her.

It was also a kiss he’d been longing to give her from the moment he had discovered her the other day on the beach. A kiss that he made certain permitted him to savor the faintly flowery scent of her he had been missing all these months. A kiss that he refused to make anything but lengthy and thorough.

Whether she intended it or not, her mouth opened to him. It was all the invitation Casey needed to slide his tongue inside where he experienced the familiar, heady taste of her. He captured her own tongue in a hot wetness that threatened to spiral both his emotions and his need in a lower area out of control before he managed the wisdom to release her.

His voice was as raspy as a file when he asked her, “Does that answer your question?”

She was breathing hard, unable to form a reply. Her purse and tote had slid back onto the floor. Collecting them again, she fumbled for the handle and opened the door. She couldn’t get out of the car and away from him fast enough. He watched her hurry up the hill toward the villa.

Nice performance, McBride. She’ll probably never let you get anywhere near her again.

After that episode, Casey wondered how he could still be hungry when he drove off in search of the little seafood joint on the harbor front. But, heck, if he couldn’t satisfy one appetite, he might as well satisfy another.

He found the place all right, but there was nowhere to park. The fishing boats had come in with their catches for the day, and the area was crowded with customers wanting fresh fish.

He had no choice but to park two blocks away and walk back to the restaurant.

The waterfront was a busy place. There were vessels everywhere at the docks loading and unloading. Mostly unloading. He knew that on islands like St. Sebastian much of what was consumed had to come in from elsewhere.

He paused to watch steel drums, the kind that contained chemicals and other liquids, being transferred from a freighter into a secure, fenced enclosure. The burly white guy directing the operation had a long ponytail and tattoos covering his bare arms. He also had an unpleasant disposition. Casey didn’t much care for the way he growled at the native workers under his command. But it wasn’t his business to interfere.

With anger simmering, Casey moved on. He was nearing the restaurant, working his way through the crowd, when he felt something hard pressed tight against his back.

This wasn’t the first time in his FBI career he’d experienced this kind of thing. Not a frequent occurrence but enough to identify the barrel of a gun.

Great. Just great. As if he hadn’t already had enough excitement over the past few hours, he was about to be mugged.

He had no weapon of his own. His Glock had been confiscated, along with his FBI identification folder, back in Chicago when he was placed on suspension. And although his training had taught him several tactics for defeating an opponent, even with a gun in his back, he didn’t dare use one of them. There were too many people here, kids as well, and he wasn’t going to risk one of them being shot.

All this went through Casey’s mind in no more than the span of several seconds before he muttered a resentful but resigned “All right, let’s not hurt anyone. My wallet is in my back pocket. Just take it and clear off.”

He could feel a breath stir near his ear as a rough voice informed him sharply, “Sorry, but this ain’t any robbery.”

No native dialect, but Casey did detect a slight foreign accent. Eastern European, he thought. He’d heard them before in his work. He figured the gun must be a small one and that the guy holding it had to be pressed against him so closely that no one seemed to be noticing.

“If it isn’t a robbery, then what do you want?”

“Just to warn you, that’s all.”

What in the— “Warn me about what?”

The voice that hissed back at him had the venom of a deadly snake in it. “Stay away from her, McBride. If you know what’s good for you, stay far away from her.”

And that was it. Casey could feel the barrel of the gun retreating from his back. He should have waited for a moment more than he did to be sure it was safe before he whirled around, but he was afraid of losing his enemy. As it was, there was no sign of anyone like that. Whoever he was, he’d managed to melt off into the crowd and disappear, leaving Casey with a fuming inability to deal with him.

It wasn’t until then that it occurred to Casey. He had known his name. The bastard had known his name. With that came another realization. Marcus Bradley. Yeah, he would swear to it. That was the explanation here. Bradley had connections, probably had spies everywhere on the island. And one of them had told him that Casey McBride had been seen in the company of Brenna Coleman. And Bradley didn’t like it.

That was the her Casey had been warned to stay away from. Like hell he would.

* * *

The first thing Brenna did when she reached the guesthouse was to hurry into the well-lighted bathroom and peer into the mirror. She expected to see her lips redder and more plump, but there was no change in her face.

Only the eyes that stared back at her were different. There was a wildness in them. And why shouldn’t there be when she was still shaken from Casey’s mind-numbing kiss? There had been nothing sweet or tender about it. It had been a fierce demonstration of masculine possessiveness.

She should have been furious with him when he let her go. Why hadn’t she been? Why wasn’t she furious with him now?

Maybe because she didn’t have anyone to blame but herself. After all, hadn’t she willingly contributed to that savage kiss?

In want of some relief for her cheeks that felt as if they were flushed with a fever, she ran the tap and splashed cold water on her face. It helped. At least physically. Emotionally, she was a mess.

They had been parted for two years, convinced themselves they had gotten over each other long ago. Had that been a lie she’d inflicted on herself? And had he, as well? Was she, in truth, still in love with Casey McBride?

Dear God, she couldn’t let herself get involved on that level all over again with him. Couldn’t relive the hell of being sick with worry about his safety whenever he was on some dangerous assignment.

What was she going to do about him? Brenna asked herself as she wandered back into the sitting room. She stood there for a moment gazing at the unfinished seascape on the easel.

She knew what she needed to do. Work. It always helped keep her mind clear when she had a brush in one hand and a palette in the other.

And it did help to steady her nerves when she got busy, determined to complete the painting. For now, anyway.

* * *

Brenna would have preferred not sharing dinner with Marcus that evening. But asking for a tray in the guesthouse would have raised questions, probably brought him to her door to express a concern for her absence. It was easier to join him at the table on the terrace.

Marcus looked tired. It was an opportunity to defer any questions about her and instead ask him what was troubling him.

“Rough day?” she wondered, dipping her spoon into the savory turtle soup Gilda had served them.

“It was a bit,” he admitted.

“Oh? Trouble at the site?”

“I’m afraid so. We have a problem with missing building materials. It’s not uncommon for theft to occur whenever construction is underway on the island, but this time it’s also tools. The poverty, you know, makes things that can be sold or traded attractive. I’m sorry to have to do it, but I’m afraid we’ll have to post nighttime guards at the site.”

“That’s too bad.”

Gilda brought in a platter of steaming pork roast, island vegetables and two plates and placed them in front of Marcus, knowing he liked to serve the entrée himself to his guests. Removing the soup bowls, she retreated to the kitchen.

He was silent while he helped Brenna to a generous portion of the pork and passed her plate to her. It was only after he served himself that he spoke again.

“What did you do today?”

“I spent a portion of it in town hunting for other subjects to paint.” It wasn’t totally a lie. She had gone down to the city to catch a taxi to the airport.

“And the other part of it?”

“In the guesthouse. I finished the seascape there. When it’s dry, I’ll show it to you.” She was glad this was the truth. She hated lying to Marcus.

“I’ll look forward to that.”

“I think you’ll like it. It turned out well.”

He was quiet again, his cool blue eyes searching her face in the gleam of the candlelight. His possible suspicion made her uneasy.

“I understand,” he said softly, “that you also spent some time with your friend from the beach.”

Not just possible suspicion, she thought, but a certainty. She should have known better than to try to hide anything from him. Marcus Bradley had the kind of power and connections to uncover whatever secrets he wanted.

“He gave me a lift back to the villa.”

“Did he? I heard it was a bit more than that. Do you think it’s wise, Brenna, being with him? He is, after all, under investigation.”

So Marcus knew that, too. And if he knew that much, then he also had to know her “friend from the beach” was her ex-fiancé. “And just how did you manage to find out Casey McBride turned up here?” she challenged him.

Marcus was disturbingly casual about it as he cut into his pork. “Most of the island’s resort keepers are very good about letting me know who’s staying with them.”

“Marcus, I don’t appreciate all this surveillance. I think it’s my business where I go and who I see.”

“You musn’t mind if I’m concerned about you, Brenna,” he said, his voice low and soothing. “After all, you’re my guest. I feel responsible for you while you’re here on the island. Why don’t we forget all about it? You haven’t touched your pork. It’s one of Gilda’s specialties.”

Brenna resisted the urge to scrape her chair back from the table and march back to the guesthouse. She couldn’t afford to alienate Marcus. He had paid her a generous advance on the paintings he expected her to produce, money she had loaned to a friend back in Chicago who had a baby on the way and whose husband had lost his job. A sum that Brenna didn’t have to repay Marcus. She had no choice but to fulfill her commission and that meant keeping her anger in check.