The Arrangement (11 page)

He’d learned from the agent that the entire transaction had been handled via phone calls and faxes. The man had never met Andrew until that day, but he’d mentioned their phone conversations, which meant whoever took out the policy was either male or had a male accomplice. For some reason, Tony Bogart kept coming to mind. Andrew could easily imagine him trying to kill Alison and frame him, but if it had been Tony, he’d blown it big-time.

Andrew reached into the pocket of his cargo shorts for the keys that would let him into the main salon. If there were any supplies aboard, he was going to make himself a cup of coffee and do a bit more thinking before he headed out to sea. He wouldn’t raise the sails today. That was a two-man job. He’d just motor out and back.

It disturbed him that Marnie was having second thoughts, because that raised the question of whether he could trust her. Alison had been a cold, calculating bitch who’d had everything handed to her. Marnie was just trying to survive. She’d never expected to be given anything, which had the paradoxical effect of making him want to give her everything….

Now
there
was a dangerous impulse.

Andrew breathed ice-cold laughter. He couldn’t afford to be
that
sentimental. He wasn’t even sure he’d meant it when he’d promised to take her back to Long Island. He knew the manipulative power of noble male sacrifice. Women were suckers for it. On the other hand, if she’d taken him up on the offer, he wanted to think he would have done it. He had some firsthand knowledge of what her life had been like, and she didn’t deserve any more grief at the hands of some asshole.

The first time he’d come face-to-face with her in the hospital—and later confronted with Alison’s perfect, but sterile, features—he’d forced himself to recall the defiance and the courage he’d seen in Marnie the day he’d run off the young thugs who’d had her cornered. It was closer to beautiful than anything he’d ever seen in Alison.

He tried the key, but the lock didn’t want to give. Maybe he had the wrong one—or maybe he was distracted. He’d had dark thoughts about the possibility of becoming locked in mortal combat with Marnie. He had to prove his innocence, and she was not only his alibi, she was his ticket into the Fairmont world. Unfortunately, all she wanted was
out
of that world, and even though he could hardly blame her, he needed her. His worst-case scenario was that her real identity might be discovered, or even that she might confess. This trip had thrown her into turmoil, and she was unpredictable, anyway.
Untamed
was probably more apt.

Ironic, he realized. Those were the very qualities that attracted him, and yet for the last six months he’d been trying to reprogram the wildness out of her—and turn her into someone he despised.

Beyond the lap of the waves and the cries of the gulls, Andrew heard a familiar sound. The dock creaked and groaned under the weight of footsteps. The sun was in his eyes as he looked up and saw a silhouetted form coming down the gangplank.

The figure stopped at one of the other moorings, to Andrew’s relief. He didn’t want to be disturbed right now. Still, he continued to watch the intruder. It appeared the man had stopped to admire one of the yachts, but within moments, he was headed Andrew’s way again, slowly and with a certain air of menace.

As the man neared, Andrew realized who he was.

Speak of the devil. Tony Bogart.

T
ony was tempted to thank Andrew Villard for being the easiest stakeout he’d ever had. He’d been sitting in his rental car on a side road at the bottom of the hill when Villard had driven by a short time ago. Tony had recognized the Mercedes SUV as one of the Fairmont stable of cars. Apparently now it was a six-figure loaner. And easily replaced, he thought acidly, like everything owned by the rich. Nothing but toys to be tossed away when they no longer amused.

He’d followed Villard at a distance, staying several car lengths behind. Tony had been waiting since dawn for one of them to leave the Fairmont compound. Unfortunately, it was Andrew. He wouldn’t be as much fun to taunt as Alison, but Tony had a little something up his sleeve.

Now, he ambled over the dock’s rotting wooden planks, taking his time. Unlike most locals, he didn’t have saltwater in his veins and he’d never enjoyed the reek of low tide, but he wanted to give Villard a chance to work up a sweat, wondering what was going on. Intimidating a suspect was something any law officer worth his stripes enjoyed, though most wouldn’t admit it.

Fear didn’t have its own smell. That was a myth. But fear did have a look. The eyes turned unnaturally bright and the skin ashen. People dried up like slugs in the sun and were forced to lick their lips. Some couldn’t even talk.

Tony relished those signs. Few things made him feel more in command of a situation, except the resistance of a trigger against his finger. The sight of a weapon worked wonders on assholes who didn’t have the sense to show the proper respect.

He understood life’s most essential hierarchy: the law ruled. Even the rich were low on that food chain. Sure, they had fat cat lawyers, but that didn’t always get you off in these days of public trials and court TV. Nowadays, everyone had to roll over and show their bellies, and Tony loved nothing better than watching fat cats get skinned.

Villard leaped from the boat and walked toward him. He didn’t look like a man ready to roll over. Fine, Tony was always willing to do it the hard way, especially when he was armed and the other guy wasn’t. Villard had on khaki shorts, a white V-neck T-shirt and deck shoes. Hard to hide weapons in so little clothing, unless you had a gun stuck up your ass.

Tony came to a stop and let Villard do the approaching. He told himself it was a calculated move, but he had to admit that something about Villard made him uneasy. He didn’t have the cold, hard stare of a killer. That was another myth. Killers had wet eyes, like weasels, and they were cowards at heart. But Villard did give the impression of someone who had little more than a passing acquaintance with fear and loathing—and could give a flying fuck about dominance hierarchies.

He’d have to remember not to drop his guard.

“Do you have a boat moored here, or am I under surveillance?” Villard asked.

Tony smiled. “Have you done something that requires surveillance? I’d be happy to hear your confession.”

Villard dismissed him with a contemptuous look. “This is a private club,” he said, “and somehow I doubt you’re a member.”

Arrogant asshole.
Tony pretended to be apologetic. “The gate wasn’t locked, and I just happened to see you down here. I’m staying across the street.” He stepped back, shuffling and smiling, as if to leave. “And you did tell me if I had anything to say that concerned your wife I should come to you.”

“What about my wife?”

“Well, I wasn’t going to mention it,” he said, angling a curious look at the other man, “but I couldn’t help but notice…”

“Notice what?”

“There’s something weird about your wife.”

“What are you talking about?”

Tony lifted a shoulder. “You know what I mean. She’s different.”

Villard was nonchalant. “No one expects her to be the
same.
She’s been through a lot.”

“Hey, I
knew
the woman, and she’s different. She doesn’t like to be looked at. She turns her head to avoid it. Alison loved to be admired.”

“We’re done with this conversation.” Villard headed back to the sloop. He began to undo the mooring lines.

Tony strolled along behind him. “You’re taking the boat out?” he asked.

“Suddenly, I’m feeling the need for some fresh air.”

“Really? I thought it might be the need to return to the scene of the crime.”

“There was no crime, Bogart, unless you know something I don’t.” Villard glanced around at him. “How do we know
you’re
not returning to the scene?”

“Me? Why would I want to hurt Alison? I was about to congratulate you on your marriage. Should have done that yesterday. Bad manners.”

Villard’s disgust was palpable. “Jesus, are you still carrying a torch for my wife? That’s pathetic, Bogart. Grow up and go away.”

Tony meant to laugh, but nothing came out except an embarrassing squeak. His voice had broken like a teenager’s. Rage consumed him.
Stupid fuck.

By the time Tony had calmed himself, Villard was on his boat and preparing to pull away from the dock. Tony held his tongue, watching as Villard easily maneuvered the large yacht. He looked like a natural, someone who would understand sailing to the point of knowing the currents—and exactly the right spot to dump a body overboard so that it would never be found.

Except that the body was found—and alive. By Villard himself. That didn’t compute for Tony, but it was why he’d joined the FBI. He loved a good mystery.

Tony felt his cell vibrating inside the case hooked to his belt loop. He checked the display, saw that it was an unknown caller, and pressed Talk. His snitch’s calls came in that way.

“Bogart,” Tony said. It surprised him that his hand was unsteady. He’d worked with informants before, but none who had such power over his deeply personal desires. This was Tony’s chance for justice on several levels.

“She’s killed twice,” said the muffled voice in his ear, “and she’ll kill again soon. This time she’s after someone you know and love.”

“Who’s killed twice?” Tony asked.

The voice turned scornful. “You already know that.”

“You’re talking about Alison Fairmont? Who’s she after?”

“You already know that, too. Is your hearing going?”

The line went dead, and Tony hit *75, alerting his cell phone service that he wanted the call traced. The service was intended to deal with telephone threats and harassment, but it was the only resource Tony had at the moment. He’d been cut off from the FBI’s electronic surveillance operations when they put him on administrative leave.

The caller
sounded
like a woman, but there were many ways to disguise a voice. Someone he knew and loved? Tony had to laugh. There wasn’t anybody who fell into both categories, except Tony himself.

His smiled faded as he watched Villard navigate the boat out of the yacht club and turn it toward the reefs. This was getting more interesting all the time. Maybe he should thank Villard for dragging his beautiful wife out of the drink and bringing her home just in time for Tony to get a little payback.

Whoever designed this house should have included street signs.

Marnie was lost in Sea Clouds, searching for Julia’s room. Her skin had finally calmed down, along with her nerves, but it had taken nearly twenty-four hours. Andrew had covered for her, but this morning he’d gone out early, promising to come back with news of her grandmother.

Now it was nearly two in the afternoon, and the house had seemed unusually quiet all day. Marnie had begun to wonder where everyone was, and she was too anxious to sit and wait for Andrew any longer.

She’d decided it might be a good idea to spend some time with Julia. Perhaps they might even find some common ground. But first she had to locate her room. When she’d gazed up at the house as a kid, she’d always imagined it was the second-story room with the huge Palladian windows and romantic wrought-iron balconies, overlooking the ocean. But finding it from the inside was like negotiating a labyrinth.

The second floor had two wings offering spectacular views of both the mountains and the ocean. As Marnie made her way from one wing to the other, she encountered shadowy alcoves and empty guest rooms. Finally, she found a wide hallway with double doors at the end that looked promising.

She had lain awake all night, thinking about the choice she’d made and the bizarre lie she was living. There was no way around that. Obviously, she couldn’t tell Julia the whole truth, but at least she could admit her fear that she wouldn’t be able to live up to Julia’s expectations. That much was certainly true, and something even a real daughter would feel under the circumstances.

But as Marnie approached the double doors, she heard voices inside.

“There’s something fundamentally off about her. Haven’t you noticed? She’s lost in this house. She looks around like she’s never been here before.”

Marnie moved closer, listening. It was Bret’s voice.

“You can’t expect her to be the old Alison after what she’s been through,” Julia said.

“Who said I wanted her to be the old Alison? I hated that bitch—and she hated me. But something’s wrong. Doesn’t it strike you as odd that she can remember us, her family, but she’s forgotten the house where she spent half her life?”

“Bret, don’t call your sister a bitch. It’s disturbingly low class.”

“How do we know she
is
my sister?”

Marnie entered the room and hesitated, wondering what she was going to do when they saw her. Julia sat at her marble-topped writing desk, which faced the balcony, overlooking the ocean. This
was
the room that a much younger Marnie had imagined. From the inside, it reminded her of a palatial villa on the Mediterranean. Spacious and elegant, it seemed to have been designed with columns and arches everywhere. The gleaming marble floors almost made her dizzy.

Bret sat tilted back in a chair, his feet resting on his mother’s desk, probably to annoy her. Neither one of them saw Marnie in the doorway behind them.

Julia scribbled notes on the pad. “She’d damn well better be your sister. I’m planning a belated wedding reception this weekend for her and Andrew. I’m going to tell them tonight at dinner.”

Marnie couldn’t believe any of what she was hearing.

Bret seemed astounded, too. “You’re throwing them a party? I wouldn’t expose her to my society friends, if I were you. It would be cruel.”

Julia glanced up from her task. “What do you mean?”

“She’s an embarrassment. Did you see how she held her stemware when we were all at dinner? That was a 1996 Chevalier Montrachet, and her fingers were all over the bowl of the glass, warming the wine. Alison never would have done anything like that,” he insisted. “She wasn’t meek and mousy, either. She was a Fairmont, and she acted like one.”

Julia set down her pen. “That’s crazy. Do you seriously believe that Andrew would bring an imposter into this house? I’d have the police here in a heartbeat, and he knows it. If Alison hadn’t turned up alive, he would have been charged with her murder.”

Marnie wondered what her chances were of getting out unnoticed.

Bret swung around, as if he’d sensed her hovering. “Were you eavesdropping? What did you hear, you conniving little bitch?”

“I wasn’t eavesdropping. I was standing right here, in full view, listening to everything you said about me, you conniving
bastard.
”

Marnie fired bullets at him with her glare. She had never liked Bret on principle. He was a snob, and he’d always made it clear by his disdainful manner that he was too good for the likes of Mirage Bay. Many times she’d imagined flipping him the finger, but she’d never thought about walking up and slapping him.

Why not?

Bret didn’t even try to duck. Maybe he was too startled as Marnie walked over and cracked his jaw with her palm.

The noisy pop of flesh against flesh was deeply satisfying. Marnie felt fiery heat and knew she’d hurt him. Her hand was stinging.

Bret touched the bright red palm print on his cheek. “You stupid
cunt,
” he whispered. “I wish to God you’d drowned.”

Julia nearly knocked over her chair as she sprang up. She moved in between her sparring children, as if she was used to refereeing them.

“Bret, don’t even think about hitting her back,” Julia warned. She grabbed his fist and gave him a push.

He let out a snarl of frustration. “Jesus, are you still protecting her after she turned her back on you? What the hell do you want?
I’m
the faithful son, the only kid who hasn’t left you, but do you give a shit?”

Bret kicked over Julia’s chair and stalked out of the room. His spitting fury as he stormed past Marnie sent her pulse into orbit. She had to protect herself from these people. That had never been more clear.

Julia went quiet, looking out at the ocean. Marnie had no idea what to do. She shuffled, about to excuse herself, when Julia turned. “Where are you going?” she said. “Come over here and let me have a look at you.”