Читать книгу Drowning Tides - Карен Харпер - Страница 11

5

Claire burst into tears when Lexi came alone into the bedroom with a stuffed green cloth turtle in her arms. “Mommy, Mommy, Mommy!” she cried and ran to her. Claire knelt to her height and covered her face with kisses.

“Are you all right?” Claire asked. “You weren’t hurt, were you?”

“I was scared when I saw the man wasn’t Daddy. But I’m going to be in your wedding!” she shouted as Claire held her. “But won’t Aunt Darcy and Jilly be mad they can’t come? I asked Mr. Kilcorse if they could, but he said not now because they are going to see friends in Sarasota tomorrow. Isn’t that something that he knew that? Mommy, why are you crying?”

“Just so happy to see you!” Claire choked out, hugging her harder. But she felt even more distraught to realize Ames’s web could extend to her sister and her family.

“I saw the pretty dress I’m going to wear,” Lexi chattered on as Claire held her at arm’s length to look her over. “Oh, there it is on this bed, next to yours, see?” Claire had hardly looked at the stunning pale silk bridal dress lying next to one in a matching color for a flower girl.

“Yes, I see,” was all she managed.

“I like light blue! It fits me good. This turtle is mine too. And Eleanor and Ginger gave me this yellow dress, and Jemma let me eat lots of ice cream.”

“So they treated you really well? The ladies and Mr. Kilcorse too?”

“He said he is kind of Mr. Nick’s uncle. These people you hired are real nice. I didn’t like that man who grabbed me, but he ’splained it all real fast. And guess what? There was a lady named Lucille hiding in the backseat that took good care of me. She talked funny. She said she was from England. We got on an airplane, but not a real big one like Daddy flies. And when we got to the Car-been, and Lucille went back to Florida on another plane, I practiced with your and Mr. Nick’s rings on a pillow for the wedding. Yours has a big diamond, Mommy! Tied with a ribbon, so I won’t drop them, ’cause it’s like a slippery pillow.”

“Yes, yes, fine,” Claire said, finally letting go of her to wipe away tears. So much said. Thank God, they hadn’t hurt her. Ames had someone who resembled Jace. Could that have been him on the beach and not Jace? She bet the woman from England was the one on their plane and at their hotel door. Then there were the two with Lexi on the beach—Eleanor and Ginger. And Jemma. How many guards and spies did Ames have working for him here?

“But did you tell Daddy?” Lexi suddenly demanded, hands on her skinny hips. “I mean about this lope-ment wedding? I like secrets, like Mr. Kilcorse’s name is really Mr. Clayton Ames, ’cause I overheard him talking to another man about that. You know, like in that Disney movie, Mulan. Daddy told me he wants us to be a family again, but we can’t if Mr. Nick is my new daddy, can we? I don’t think my first daddy will be happy!”

Claire’s rising panic kicked up another notch. What else had Lexi overheard here? And if she blurted things out, would Ames try to keep her or silence her?

“Lexi, that’s too much to talk about right now. Later, okay? We’ll talk later.”

Claire hugged her daughter to her. She had Lexi back but at what price for her and Nick? And Jace.

* * *

As Claire stood with Nick under the trellis on the balcony to take their vows, she had to admit that the setting for the wedding was beautiful. And, at least she and Nick were still alive and she—they—had Lexi back and would be able to leave soon. She glanced at Nick standing so close, holding her hand. He looked stoic but fuming. Trying to control her trembling, she gazed out toward the darkness of the night again. The staff had been assembled except for the property guards she’d seen when they first arrived. The so-called celebrant was reading the marriage vows she and Nick repeated. She tried to calm herself, but thoughts and fears ate at her as she responded.

The celebrant was a midsixties, gray-haired, distinguished-looking judge whom Ames—alias Paul Kilcorse—not only knew but seemed quite tight with. So had he really put a fake name over on him, or was the judge on the take like the staff and guards here?

Worse, earlier Claire had learned the other price Nick must pay to get them out of here. Before they had separated to shower and change prior to the ceremony, Nick had stopped her in the hall near the room where Lexi was waiting. He’d whispered, “You know that friend of mine, Chet Hazelton, I told you about on Goodland—the guy whose family’s had that old artesian well that’s locally rumored to be the real fountain of youth? The local papers do occasional articles on it.”

“You mean that water that’s in the Youth Do drink and some kind of face cream? That new Marco Island paper’s been attacking that.”

He seized her hands in his. “Haze Hazelton’s been accused of murdering Mark Stirling, that Marco journalist who’s always stirring things up. Ames wants me to defend Haze—and tout the anti-aging products very publicly because they’re part of his conglomerate. I had to swear I would. But despite this all being blackmail and forced on me—on us—I do care for you. I promise, we will work together. Let’s remember how we really feel and get through this, get out of here, sift things out between us, even if he still controls—”

“Mommy, why are you whispering in the hall?” a little voice had cried through the cracked door. “We have to get our pretty dresses on!”

Ignoring that outburst, Nick had kissed Claire’s cheek, and they’d held tight. When he’d hurried to his room and Claire had gone into hers, Lexi had said, “I can see you love Mr. Nick. Should I call him Daddy too or Daddy number two? Mr. Nick doesn’t sound so good anymore, does it?”

Claire bit her lower lip before she answered, “Let’s all talk about it later—after the wedding and reception. When we leave here.”

Now, here during the wedding ceremony, Claire knew that Ames had one of his lackeys—the one she’d first seen in the yard by the fountain—recording everything on video, and there was an occasional click and flash of a cell phone camera or two. Would Ames give them remembrances of this forced ceremony for posterity?

She tried to concentrate on the lovely surroundings again rather than the service itself. The palm trees in the yard, with their fronds at this level, swayed and sighed. The cup of sky beyond the beach seemed set with pavé diamonds, like the ones in the stunning wedding ring she’d just accepted. It felt heavy on her finger, but you might know, it fit. She’d almost dropped Nick’s band when she’d slid it on his hand. They were about halfway through their vows. An Anglican Church ceremony, no less. What did God think of this sham of a service?

The wind had shifted, and she could hear the crash of distant surf on the south shore. She was a bit dizzy, so the full moon seemed to roll along the invisible, watery horizon like a huge, watchful eye. It threw a lighted, trembling path across the tops of the waves. If only she, Nick and Lexi could escape on that to safety.

Here on the balcony, the moon, candle glow and lighted torchères not only illumined the scene but kept the bugs away. She was continually aware of Clayton Ames, standing on Nick’s other side. If she shot a glance sideways, it seemed that devil’s dark silhouette was etched by fire.

She jolted alert again, forcing herself back to this strange reality. After a prayer, Nick said his vows, and then it was her turn.

“Claire Fowler Britten, will you take Nicholas James Markwood to be your husband? Will you love him, comfort him, honor and protect him, and forsaking all others, be faithful to him as long as you both shall live?”

She hesitated a moment. Nick squeezed her hand. Ames cleared his throat. Nick had readily said his part.

But she wanted to refuse. She cared deeply for Nick, wanted to help him, was grateful to him. Was that enough for ever-after? She glanced down at the single orchid on the now empty pillow Lexi held. Ames had given the child a nosegay to carry too, four nightshade blooms, but Claire had thrown them under the tablecloth and fished an orchid out of the punch bowl for her, and the satin pillow was speckled with pink. Rebellion rose in her.

But fear and caution made her answer, “I will.”

She could smell fragrant nightshade blossoms mingled with the sea air. They seemed to crowd around her from her bouquet and trellis, into which someone had woven the stems of the pale blue blooms. She’d taken all those flowers as a warning. Clayton Ames was poison, and he wanted them to remember that.

The celebrant began reading a prayer from the book he held. The final words in the ceremony that had legally joined her and Nick rang out as he addressed Ames and his staff who stood in a half circle around them. “Will you, friends of Nicholas and Claire, support and uphold them in their marriage now and in the years to come?”

“We will!” everyone—strangers and enemies all—declared. Did this intelligent-looking judge not at least sense this was all a fake? But if he was Ames’s puppet, it hardly mattered.

“I therefore proclaim that they are husband and wife till death do them part,” he announced with a big smile. “Nicholas, you may kiss your bride.”

He kissed her cheek lightly and whispered for her ears only, “Later.” People applauded. The deed was done. Now they faced a reception, in a place she’d never seen before a few hours ago here in the devil’s lair with his minions. She glanced down at the wedding ring on her finger, a large, emerald-cut diamond with smaller diamonds on the band. It looked more like an engagement ring than a wedding band.

Someone behind her called out, “Happy honeymoon!”

Insane! She was terrified. And she knew there would be no real honeymoon, and certainly no happily-ever-after.

* * *

With his motorbike, Jace waited in the darkness of South Sound beach for a car to emerge from Nightshade. Surely, Nick had met Clayton Ames’s price by now and Claire and Lexi would be sent home. If he could intercept them safely somewhere, he’d fly them home himself. Jace hoped Nick wasn’t hurt by all this, but Claire and Lexi were his first concern. If he could help—yeah, even rescue Nick—he would.

As different as this was, he remembered a night near Ramadi in 2006 when he’d had to bail out of his fighter jet over pitch-black terrain, real die-in-the-desert Iraqi territory. But thank God for his comrades’ motto to leave no man behind, because a Black Hawk chopper saw his flare before the enemy did.

He wished he had a sort of flare as backup now. The hair stood up on the nape of his neck, and he shivered. However this tropical place was different from the desert, the odds were great: no way he’d leave Claire and Lexi behind in enemy hands. But just who was the enemy? This cloak-and-dagger Clayton Ames or Nick himself? Had he set this up to scare and seduce Claire?

He jolted when the driveway gates opened and a car came out; its headlights sliced across the sand near him. But it was driven by an older gray-haired man who appeared to be alone. Praying Claire and Lexi weren’t hidden in the backseat—or even the trunk—he hunkered down and waited, watching the car’s taillights. The vehicle drove only a couple of houses toward George Town, then turned in. Jace toyed with the idea of going after the driver and questioning him. He had to be an ally of Ames’s, but Jace figured he’d better just camp out here.

Some sort of party was going on up on the second-floor balcony, but the chatter wasn’t loud enough to decipher. The noise seemed stilted—jerky at times, a silence followed by forced conversation. At this angle, he couldn’t see people unless they walked right up to the edge of the balcony. He’d seen Nick once, since he was so tall, but he couldn’t spot Claire or certainly Lexi, so were they still inside? Not knowing what was happening was driving him nuts. Could that be a celebration for Lexi’s reunion with Claire? But who were the guests?

Finally, one of the women who had been with Lexi earlier on the beach emerged from the downstairs driveway gate and started to walk back toward town. She was the older woman of the two, the one with silvery hair in a bouncing braid halfway down her back. If she was just a worker at Nightshade, maybe he could pretend to be a passerby and ask her what the party was for. He couldn’t risk alarming her, but he’d love to question her.

He lifted his bike from the sand and, walking it along to keep from making noise, followed her.