Then You Hide (14 page)

Vanessa tucked herself into the shadowy recess at a table close to the kitchen. With her baseball cap pulled low over her glasses, she peered over the top of a plastic menu to watch Wade, who sat at the bar sipping a beer, looking all sun-kissed and as edible as the fried conch he popped into his mouth. She glanced around to count five, six, no,
eight
women checking him out. And three men. And her.

No surprise there. Even under a loose-fitting T-shirt—sized to cover his gun, no doubt—you could tell his arms were cut, his chest was ripped. His hair looked highlighted from the sun, his face rugged but breathtaking, his blue eyes easy and inviting.

Picking up the ice water, she downed a gulp, glanced at the menu, then returned to the view at the bar, her gaze rolling over every incredible inch of him.

She sipped again, a strong and undeniable sexual tug moving at warp speed to raw lust.

What was wrong with her? He was a gun-carrying ex-Marine from south of Alabama, with an agenda to make a mess of her life and force her to face people that she loathed. All that slow, lazy, sexy drawling Southernness was the polar opposite of everything she’d ever found attractive in a man.

How could she lust after him?

He didn’t even
like
her. She swore too much. Moved too fast. Wasn’t freaking
ladylike
enough for him. Even if he didn’t come right out and say it, she picked up the vibe of distaste, the rolled eyes every time she muttered
shit
. She wasn’t his type.

And he wasn’t hers. But that sure didn’t stop her from enjoying every kiss and touch they’d shared while they were faking it the night before. That didn’t stop her from looking at his hands and remembering how thoroughly they explored her, or studying his mouth and wanting it on her skin again. Lust didn’t care that they weren’t each other’s type.

Had it been so long since she got laid that she was ready to give it up for a guy she basically didn’t like and whose hard-on when they messed around the night before was equally blind?

Uh. Yes
.

Vanessa lowered the menu enough to get a good look at the woman approaching Wade from behind. He turned before she even spoke to him and drank her in with a look and a smile that said he liked what he saw.

The girl
was
stunning. Maybe twenty-five, in a body-hugging pink halter, shorts that barely covered her ass, and auburn hair cascading over toned shoulders.

Wade smiled and stepped off his barstool, offering it to her. When the woman sat down, her back was angled to Vanessa, but she could see Wade’s smiling face as he said something to the girl, who laughed, gave her hair a quick shoulder toss, and nodded enthusiastically.

Wade laughed right back, and Vanessa imagined she could hear that rare low and sexy chuckle. He leaned a little close to say something in her ear, getting more giggles. He sipped. She flipped. He waved for the bartender’s attention to buy the babe a drink.

What was the deal? He was supposed to be looking for gay guys who might have talked to Clive, not doing the mating dance with a Mariah Carey lookalike.

Should she wander by, shoot him a dirty look? Call him? Wave her menu in the air? Did he really think—

A bowl of conch chowder thunked down in front of her.

She looked up, expecting to see the waiter, but this was an older man. Pale-skinned and drawn, he looked out of place—not a native, not a tourist, and, something told her, not a waiter.

“I’m sorry,” she said, pulling her gaze away from Wade and his new friend. “I didn’t order that.”

“But you want it.”

She gave him a tight smile. “It’s kind of hot for soup, so no, thank you.”

“Can I join you?” He sat down, taking the seat across from her and blocking her view.

“I’m waiting for someone,” she said quickly, moving to the side to let him know she was more interested in watching the deck than chatting with a stranger. She was just in time to catch the woman putting her hands on Wade’s shoulders to whisper in his ear.

The man inched to the right, blocking her chance of seeing how Wade handled that.

“I know who you’re waiting for,” the man said.

That yanked Vanessa’s attention back. He parked his chin on his knuckles and stared at her. The lined face, the tailor-made dress shirt, and the buffed and professionally manicured fingernails seemed out of place at Papaya’s. He’d fit right in at the conference table at Razor Partners, but here, he seemed like the odd man out.

“And I know where he is.”

Her heartbeat quickened. “You do?”

“And you have…” He glanced at an expensive watch. “An hour before the first heat.”

Heat? “What are you talking about?”

“Clive Easterbrook has more than one hundred thousand dollars on Calloway’s Girl, a beautiful thoroughbred who has a chance of winning today. She’s running in the fourth heat at the Jockey Club.”

Clive had a hundred grand on a horse race? She stared at him, using all her skill to read a man who was…unreadable.

“You want to find Clive?” he asked. “He’ll be there. It’s the only racetrack on the island, just past Red Cliff, on the southeastern side.”

“I know where it is.” She’d seen the signs in her travels around the island.

“And you’d better pray hard that his horse has a good day, because if he doesn’t…” He leaned forward and made a slice across his neck. “Not good for your buddy.”

Her stomach clenched. “Who are you?”

“That’s not important. Clive’s a gambler; did you know that?”

“He’s a hedge-fund manager. Subtle difference.” As Wade had pointed out, there was plenty she didn’t know about Clive’s life. Who was she to question another vice? “Are you sure he’ll be there?”

“He may not be running around the barbecue stands or shaking hands with the jockeys, but he’ll be there. Quietly, hidden. Always hidden, our Clive.”

Who
was
this guy? A lover? A bookie? She shifted on her wooden chair, forcing back a barrage of questions. She’d learned a little by observing Wade Cordell: no attacking and insisting. She’d
work
the guy.

She picked up the spoon as if she were going to eat some chowder and tried to change her body language from “desperate” to “conversational.”

“So, when did you last see him?” she asked.

“A few days ago. Here.”

She spooned the chowder, meeting his silvery gray eyes. “Was he with anyone?”

“Not anymore.”

What did that mean? “Before that, had you seen him with anyone?”

He cocked his head to the side. “I’m sorry, dear. I just can’t say.”

Frustration trumped subtlety.

“Why not?” she demanded. “Who are you? How do you know Clive? How can I trust you?”

He flattened his palms on the table and pushed himself up. “How can you trust anyone?” As he walked away, he put an uncomfortably warm and friendly hand on her shoulder. “Enjoy the soup, dear.” His voice was heavy with implication.

She stared at the bowl.
How can you trust anyone?
She pushed the bowl away and whipped around just as the kitchen door swung back into place. She bolted up and strode over to it.

In the tiny, bustling kitchen, the cooks and busboys stared at her. Pots clanged, and cloying waves of sweet fried plantains wafted over her.

Her waiter looked surprised but pointed to the right. “Ladies’ room is over there.”

“Where did that man go? The tall guy in the white shirt?”

“No man,” someone said. The waiter shrugged and looked genuinely stumped by the question.

A back door was closed. There was no office, no walk-in refrigerator, nowhere he could have gone. Sighing, she spun around and went back to her table, dropping into her chair and looking toward the bar.

Wade was gone, as was the girl. The barstool was empty, the drinks were cleared, and they’d both disappeared.

He sure was fast enough when he wanted to be.

CHAPTER TWELVE

WADE GLANCED OVER
his shoulder, but the young lady had taken him to meet her friend, and his view of Vanessa was blocked at this table. How long would she wait? Vanessa? Not long. Especially after the daggerish looks she’d shot his way when the lovely informant fell into his lap.

He turned back to Sarah and her friend, Maddie. He wasn’t sure yet if they were the real deal, a setup, or just a couple of cuties from Chicago who were playing him. And he’d like to determine that before he and Vanessa went to the remote Newcastle resort where the two girls insisted Clive was a registered guest.

Because, worst case, it could be a trap.

“I’m telling you,” Maddie said, her voice just a little loose from the juice, “that guy is staying at the Nisbet. Want me to take you there?” She raised a cucumber-colored glass to her bee-stung lips. “I know he’d remember me. We had so much fun together when we partied that night.”

“Maybe I’ll go there later,” Wade said, leaning back in the chair far enough so Vanessa could spot him.

He’d only mentioned Clive’s name to three or four people when Sarah had sauntered over and announced she’d heard he was looking for someone she’d met there a while ago. “A while” being relative. First it was a week ago, then two; then her friend Maddie said “a few weeks.” The discrepancies had him doubtful—as did their fast approach. Still, he worked the informants. And they worked him.

“I really liked him,” Sarah said for the fifteenth time since she’d dragged him from the bar to meet Maddie. “I mean, what a nice, nice guy. And not bad-looking, if you like tall and wiry. Which”—she laughed and pointed at him—“you must if you liked this guy.”

Maddie clunked her elbows on the table, her eyes dreamy. “Why are the best guys always gay?”

She and Sarah shared a world-weary look while Wade lined up his next question, keeping it vague enough to fit his cover but trying to get some concrete answers.

“And you’re sure he was alone that night?” Wade asked.

“Absolutely,” Sarah assured him. “But he…” She glanced at her friend again. “He was really bummin’ over some guy. That’s how come we all got so drunk. We were doing shots, playing ‘the one that got away.’”

Maddie leaned forward and put her hand on his. “Maybe
you
were the one that got away.”

Wade took a long pull from his beer, then set the bottle down. “Maybe.”

The girls exchanged another secret look.

He gave them a knowing smile. “Or maybe not.”

One more look, and Sarah cracked. “He was flat-out
pining
over a dude named Charlie.”

“Charlie?” Wade asked.
Not Russell?

“Oh, yeah, he was big-time pining over Charlie,” Maddie said. “Over and over, he said he really messed things up with Charlie. How he missed Charlie. What happened with Charlie was all his fault. He even started crying. Remember, Sar?”

“Don’t even think about that, hon,” Sarah told Wade. “I bet he’s over that by now. And he wasn’t
crying
-crying, ‘cause he was
soooo
toasted. We all were.”

“Are you sure it wasn’t Russell he was crying over?”

“He mentioned Russell, too,” Maddie said quickly. “Maybe this guy’s too much of a player for a man like you, Wade.”

“That’s what I thought.” He smiled and took another swig. “So you two are here, what, every day?” If so, they could be a real help. If not, they might be plants.

“Oh, yeah.” Maddie nodded. “We come here after work almost every day since moving from Chicago. Did Sarah tell you we moved here for the summer?”

“Three times,” he said with a wink.

“We work at Cliffdwellers,” Sarah told Wade, for the second time. Once more, and their information was officially tainted with alcohol and useless. “It’s a really nice resort. Have you been there?”

“Nope.”

“But you should go to Newcastle and find Clive before he checks out of the Nisbet or something,” Maddie said.

Should he? Or would the guy in a yellow truck follow him there and try to run him off the road again? These girls were good but not that good. If he had enough time, he could find out if they were working for someone.

“You know,” Maddie said, her fingers trying to thread his, “you don’t seem gay at all.”

Sarah punched her in the leg. “
So
politically incorrect, girlfriend.”

“I don’t mean it as like an insult or anything.” Maddie shifted uncomfortably.

Wade gave her an easy smile. “Don’t worry, ma’am. No insult taken.”

“Ma’am. That’s sooo cute!” they both squealed.

He rocked back on the legs of his chair again, casually stealing a glance over his shoulder. No Vanessa.

But Sarah caught him looking, and her face melted in pity. “Oh, you poor thing, you really have it bad. I’m telling you, he said he was staying for a few more weeks. You should go check out that place up in Newcastle.” Four times.

She was completely wasted, stupid, or determined. Or all three.

“Maybe.”

Maddie winked at him. “You say that a lot, did you know that?”

He laughed and lifted his beer. “I have trouble with commitment.”

“Don’t they all!” Sarah joked, and offered a sloppy toast. “Here’s to the commitment-phobes, both gay and straight!”

Maddie still hadn’t let go of his hand, and Sarah patted him sympathetically. “There are lots of fish in the pond for a guy who looks like you.” Then she curled her fingers around his wrist. “All kinds of little fishie-wishies you might try.”

The girls shared a look again, then Sarah grazed his hand with her fingertip. “You ever been with a girl, sweetheart?”

“Maybe,” he said, laughing with them.

They tightened their grip and asked in unison, “How about two?” They let out a squeal that could probably be heard all the way back to where Vanessa was sitting.

“We said that at exactly the same time!” Sarah giggled, still clinging to Wade’s hand. “Just think about what that means.”

Maddie pulled in closer, a lock of frosted blond hair falling into her eye. “There’s a first time for everything, baby.”

“As long as we use a condom,” Sarah said. Then she looked over his shoulder, frowning as two hands gripped Wade’s shoulders from behind.

“Don’t worry,” a familiar voice said. “Wade has cartons of them.”

He knew she couldn’t stay put and let him do his job. He turned slowly, the glint in her eyes telling him exactly how she read—or misread—the situation.

“Hey, Vanessa,” he said, keeping his voice steady and low. “What’s up?”

She thrust her hand toward Sarah. “I’m Vanessa Porter.”

“Sarah Clegg.” Sarah took her hand. “This is my friend Madeline.”

Vanessa nodded at the other girl, then surprised Wade by crouching down next to his seat. “Listen, it looks like you’re going to be tied up for a while, so I need the car keys.”

“For what?”

“I have to run an errand.” She threw a look at the girls. “You can hang with your new friends while I’m gone.”

Was she nuts? “An errand?”

Behind her glasses, her eyes bored through him. “A very important errand. I’ll be back to get you later, but I have to go.
Now
.” She lifted one brow. “If you want to stay and play, that’s totally cool. You told me I could have the Jeep anytime I wanted it.” She held out her hand. “Now I want it.”

He searched her face, trying to read what she wasn’t telling him, then pushed back his chair. “I can take you wherever you want to go.” He spoke through a clenched jaw, narrowing his eyes at her. “I was just talking to Sarah and Maddie about a friend of mine.”

Her gaze dropped to his crotch. “I heard.”

“Vanessa.”

She put a hand on his arm and leaned very close. “It’s fine, Wade. Do what you need to do here. I have to go
right now
. I know where he is.”

He stood and reached a hand out to Sarah, then Maddie. “Ladies, it was a pleasure.”

They looked at each other, then settled their attention on Vanessa, checking her out mightily as she stood, their smiles turning as fake as their hair color.

“It could have been a pleasure,” Sarah said dryly.

“And thanks for all your advice,” he added.

“Seriously,” Maddie said. “Go to the Nisbet Plantation. You’ll find what you want, honey.”

He gave them a quick wave and followed the blond ponytail swinging from the back of a Yankees cap. When he reached her side, she picked up her speed.

“They met Clive,” he said.

She didn’t miss a step. “Yes, I heard you discussing that.”

“You only heard part of the conversation.” They reached the edge of the deck, and he grabbed her arm. “And where do you think you’re going like a bat out of hell?”

She tugged away. “The racetrack. It’s south of here, near Red Cliff. I just spoke to someone who really does know Clive and was not drunk or trying to get into my pants. He told me Clive is in trouble for gambling, and he has a lot of money on a horse running today, and he’d be at this racetrack in the next hour, when the horse runs. So I’m going there.” She pointed her thumb over her shoulder, back at the bar. “But feel free to stay and flirt with the
ladies,
Wade.”

She reached the Wrangler and flung herself into the passenger seat. Pulling the keys from his pocket, he climbed in. “Who is this guy you talked to? Did you get his name? How do you know he’s reliable?”

“I don’t know; no; and I don’t. I’m going on gut. He sought me out and just spilled. It’s the first tangible lead I’ve had in a while, and I want to follow it.”

He looked at her. “What you are doing, Vanessa, is going straight to where he told you to go, exactly in the time frame he told you to, and you are willing to do this unarmed and unprotected.”

“I was unarmed and unprotected before I met you.”

“Yeah, back when you thought your friend had dropped out to be a bartender or something. Now we know it’s a little more dangerous than that.” He slid the key into the ignition but didn’t turn it. “You know what a trip to a racetrack might be?”

“A way to find Clive?”

“A
trap
.” His fury at her stubbornness built. “Someone is sending you to a specific place at a specific time, and you are running there just like they want you to. Those two girls might have been doing the same thing, and if you hadn’t barged in, I might have been able to find out who paid them to do that. I needed more time.”

She rolled her eyes. “Those two girls were drunk sluts who wanted a threesome, for chrissake.”

He grabbed her arm and forced her to look at him. “We have a deal, and I’m going to hold up my end of the bargain. They might have been girls looking for a good time, or they might have been on someone’s payroll whose job it is to detour you. The same with the guy who wants you racing to the track.”

She leaned back and closed her eyes with a sigh. “All right. That’s true. I just thought…”

“I know what you thought. I’m better than that.”

“Oh, yeah. You carry a semiautomatic, shoot it like some kind of gunslinger, but the possibility of casual sex with a stranger offends you.” She shook her head. “Whatever, Wade. I don’t want to argue. But this guy said Clive’s got a gambling debt, and doesn’t that make some sense to you? Maybe that’s why he’s hiding.”

“Maybe. Or someone wants you to go there for some reason. Maybe because he’s
not
there.”

She turned to him, some of the spark gone from her eyes. “Should we just ignore a lead like that?”

“No, we should think about a lead like that. Consider the source, check out the various routes, find out if it’s safe.”

“There’s not enough time!” she insisted. “Start the fucking car, Wade, and let’s go and think it through on the way.”

He twisted the key and rolled out of the lot, his blood pumping hard. He stopped at the road and stared straight ahead. “You’re like a…a force of nature, you know that?”

“Thank you. Now, go right. Red Cliff is south of here.”

He just stared ahead.

“I have an idea,” he finally said. “Do you want to take thirty seconds to consider it?”

“Twenty-nine.”

“My informants told me they’d met him a few weeks ago and partied with him. He said he was staying at a place called the Nisbet Plantation in Newcastle. You want to go south to Red Cliff; I want to go north to Newcastle.”

She nodded, listening.

“And someone,” he said, drawing the word out for emphasis, “could very well be sitting in that restaurant wondering which of the plants we’re going to believe. They may even be prepared for us to go to either place.”

“Okay. Then what should we do?”

He pointed toward the left. “Head toward Newcastle, pull off as soon as we find a place to hide, wait until someone who might follow us zips by, then take a circuitous route to the racetrack.”

She took a slow breath, considering that. “Could we make the track in an hour?”

“I think so. There’s a southbound road that’s off the main road, but we should be able to get there in an hour.”

“All right.”

He turned the Jeep north and drove in silence for less than two miles, to a side road with thick bougainvillea bushes that blocked the view from the road.

He parked where they couldn’t be seen and turned the ignition off.

“Just listen,” he said, with a finger to his lips. “Listen for cars passing, headed north.”

They sat quietly; the sun moved behind a cloud, and a car passed. Then another, and one more. She crossed her legs and stretched them. Her skin was smooth, toned, and flawless but for a little mole on her knee and another higher on her leg.

“Did you really think I was going to sleep with those girls?” he asked.

He saw her thigh tighten. “I don’t know.”

“I just met them.”

“You’ve never had sex with someone you picked up in a bar?”

“Other than last night?” He glanced over and caught her smile. “No. Have you?”

“No. But I’m not a hot guy with a big gun.”

He winked at her. “You’re a hot girl with a big mouth.”

“Very funny. But I thought you were supposed to be acting like you were gay.”