Son of a Gun (18 page)

“Then we’re good?”

“Yeah, Damien. We’re good.”

“Then how about another beer, because there are more new developments than just the nonexistent wedding.”

“In that case I may need a full six-pack.”

She stayed at the railing while he went for the beers, looking out at the silvery stream of moonlight dancing across the water while her mind tackled the news. Caudillo was evil to the core, but he was not a man to do things without a reason.

But how could faking a marriage to her help him? There was certainly no money to inherit. No prominent family name to benefit him. As far as she could see, he had nothing to gain by claiming her as a wife. And he’d definitely never planned on setting her free.

Damien rejoined her at the railing with two icy-cold beers.

“So what else have you learned about Caudillo?” she asked.

“This is more about you.”

“About me? You’re investigating me now?”

“I did a basic internet search on my computer over at ranch headquarters. I haven’t put you at any risk.”

“What am I supposed to have done now?”

“You were never reported as missing.”

“You have to be wrong about that. Even from the islands, I was texting my friend Dorothy every day. And then I just dropped off the face of the earth. There’s no way she wouldn’t have reported me missing.”

“Unless she got word you’d gotten married.”

“No, especially not then. She’d know I wouldn’t do something like that without talking to her about it. She’d have gone straight to the police when she couldn’t get in touch with me, or at least within the first few days.

“And even if a catastrophe had befallen Dorothy, like a freak accident of some kind, I had a job that I never went back to. I had an apartment full of clothes. Surely someone would have gone to the cops and reported that I’d gone missing while vacationing in the Caribbean. The news media usually has a field day with something like that.”

“And they didn’t,” Damien said. “I couldn’t find one mention of your disappearance, not even in your hometown paper.”

“I don’t understand.”

“For some reason, people must have thought you stayed away by choice.”

“Well, I didn’t, and I can’t imagine why they’d think that, unless…”

She slapped her hands hard against the railing. “It’s Caudillo. Somehow he’s behind all of this. I don’t know how, but I know he is. Let me use your phone again, Damien. I’m calling Dorothy right now.”

Her fingers shook as she punched in the familiar number. The phone rang three times and then a woman answered.

“Is Dorothy there?”

“No, you must have the wrong number.”

“Then this isn’t Dorothy Paul’s phone?”

“No. I’ve had this number since last March, but Dorothy must have had it before us. You’re not the first person who’s asked for her.”

Emma felt the air leave her lungs as she thanked the woman and broke the connection. She should be crying. Or screaming. Instead she felt numb.

“Dorothy’s dead. Caudillo killed her, Damien. I know he did.”

“Did the person on the phone tell you that?”

“No. She said I had the wrong number, but I didn’t. The woman said she’d had that number since last March.”

“Then you’re jumping to conclusions.”

“But knowing Caudillo as I do, it makes sense. Caudillo probably checked my phone and knew I’d texted her about meeting him. Then he killed her before she could say anything to the police.”

“That’s a big jump from a disconnected number, Emma.”

“Not when you know Caudillo the way I do.”

“Is there someone else you can call to find out about Dorothy?”

“I could contact someone at ATF.”

“Let’s hold off on that. I’ll get someone on this first thing in the morning, but in the meantime, you need to try and keep a positive spin on this. Caudillo surely didn’t kill everyone who knew you to keep them from reporting you missing. Something else is going on here. And there’s no evidence that Dorothy is not alive and well with a new phone number.”

“Dorothy did have a habit of changing her phone number when she dumped a boyfriend.”

“I’ll call my buddy and see if he can track down a number for Dorothy Paul in Nashville. So back to your disappearance going unreported. What about your parents or other members of your family? Have you contacted any of them since your escape?”

“I have no family.”

“Care to elaborate on that?”

“Only once we’ve exhausted every other topic in the world. Next question.”

“Whose idea was it to go to the Caribbean on your vacation?”

“Dorothy’s. I wanted to go to Italy and then she convinced me we’d have more fun island-hopping. She’d hooked up with some beach bum she’d met in a chat room. The Skype affair died long before the trip.”

“Did she say what happened?”

“No, she just stopped talking about him. That was typical of her chat-room boyfriends. They came and went as quickly as her real-live hookups. But don’t get the wrong idea about her. She was smart and competitive and a super friend.” Her voice broke again. She had to get a grip and hold on to it. Her emotions were so far out of sync, she’d need to get better to have a nervous breakdown.

“I think we’ve covered enough for now,” Damien said. “How about dinner?”

“I’ve lost my appetite.”

“Then come to the restaurant with me and keep me company while I have dinner.”

“Do I have time to shower first?”

“All the time you want.”

She gathered the empty bottles and leftovers and piled them just outside the hotel door for pickup. When she turned around, Damien was standing in a doorway that opened to an adjoining room.

“Which room do you want? They’re a little different, but both have ocean views.”

So the question of sleeping in his arms or scooting to the far edge of the bed in her cotton pajamas had never really been an option.

She wasn’t sure she wanted to sleep in his arms. So why did it bother her that the decision had been made for her?

Because Damien didn’t need her the way she needed him, that’s why. His emotions were fine. He hadn’t lived ten months with a madman.

She picked up her bag. “I’ll take the other room.”

And she’d keep the door shut. Not to keep him out, but to keep her in.

* * *

CAUDILLO WALKED INTO THE restaurant and was immediately swamped with attention. Ordinarily he loved the waitresses fawning over him like he was a rock star. Tonight, he really wanted to be left in peace to drink his wine alone. But it was important to keep up appearances, so he played the game.

“It is good to have you back. We haven’t seen you in so long, Mr. Caudillo.”

“Too long. I missed you and that delicious sweet fungi soup. I trust it’s on the menu tonight.”

“It’s always on the menu. If not, I would have gone in the kitchen and made it for you myself.”

The island beauty making the offer bent over so that he had a long, satisfying look at her perky breasts and the nipples that were barely covered by the bikini top of her uniform.

He’d see she was rewarded well tonight for her thoughtfulness. Unlike Emma, he didn’t make her sick. But then Emma hadn’t reacted to him that way at first. She’d played him. Slightly aloof. Coy. Classy. But the attraction had been more than evident in her eyes and in her smile.

Another of the beauties hurried out with a plate of tiny codfish cakes.

“Are the codfish fresh?” he asked.

“This morning they were swimming in the sea. And Alioto dipped them in her special mix of onions, peppers, flour and annatto oil, just the way you like them.”

She moved in close as she set them on the table in front of him, swaying her hips so that her firm buttocks were even more pronounced. Yes, he’d been away from Misterioso much too long.

The young ladies continued their efforts to please him, knowing they’d reap ample compensation for their pampering. But even as they stimulated him, they didn’t flush Emma from his mind.

They’d sat at this very table the night he’d met her. She’d thought it was by chance that they’d met that night, but Caudillo trusted little to chance.

He’d spotted her from the deck of his yacht even before it was anchored. He’d kept his binoculars directed at her for at least an hour.

He’d seen her fingers loosen the clasp of her bikini top when she was sunning. Had watched her rub the smooth, oily concoction on every inch of her exposed skin. Had been excited by the way the water shimmered on her flesh when she’d come out of the surf after a swim.

And even that hadn’t been by chance. He’d come to the island that day just for her, and she hadn’t disappointed—at least not then.

It wasn’t her failure to provide him with ATF secrets that brought him the supreme regret. It was the humiliation and rejection. His touch had made her sick. Vomit from her stomach had slapped him in the face, even rolled into his nose and eyes and between his lips like a fetid kiss.

He could never bring himself to make love to her after that, could never trust her not to debase him with the revolting poison of her stomach’s contents.

She should have been fed to the sharks then. But he couldn’t bear to lose her. She haunted his mind when he was away from the island, and he couldn’t wait to get back to her.

That was over now.

The plans were in place. Even if she were crazy enough to go to the FBI and accuse him of kidnapping her, no one would believe her. And if she lied about their marriage and accused him of kidnapping her, who’d believe her lies about his dealing in illegal arms?

He’d have to play it carefully for a while, but he could use a vacation anyway. Rio was nice this time of year. But first he had business in America.

He’d effectively neutralized Emma’s threat to him. Having her killed would offer him no real satisfaction.

That’s why he would take care of the job himself. He’d look her in the eyes while he tortured her the way he’d killed the others. He’d be standing next to her, perhaps even holding her hand when she begged for death.

And then he’d mercifully give her what she pleaded for.

* * *

THE CANDLELIT RESTAURANT where they’d had dinner had been romantically intimate with a breathtaking view of the breaking surf in the moonlight. The perfect setting for lovers. A painfully awkward setting for her and Damien.

The predinner conversation had set the tone for the evening. The disturbing new questions without answers created a medley of gloom and doom that couldn’t be infiltrated by the setting or the food.

She’d picked at her meal of broiled fish, baked potato and salad. Damien had devoured his surf and turf. Now they were back at the hotel, and she had a trip to Enmascarado Island to look forward to in the morning.

“We could take a midnight stroll if you’d like,” Damien offered as he closed the door behind them and turned the deadlock.

“Not tonight. I’m tired. I think I’ll turn in.”

“I’m thinking the same. I’d like to check out of the hotel by seven in the morning, if that’s okay with you. We’ll grab some breakfast on the way to the airport.”

“How can you possibly think of food after all you just ate?”

“Cowboys have a rough life. We need nourishment.”

“You do see yourself as a cowboy, don’t you?”

His eyebrows arched. “What do you see me as? Or dare I ask?”