Then You Hide (16 page)

“I don’t think I’ve ever had one—at least, not right off the tree.”

“They’re a treat. But lots of people are allergic to the skin. We’ll do a test.” He plucked a fat, football-shaped fruit from a low-hanging branch. “Give me your wrist.”

She held out her arm.

“The reaction is instant,” he said, gently rubbing the sun-warm fruit on her skin.

“What will happen if I am allergic?”

“The reaction varies. Some people get a light rash. Some people go crazy.”

She blinked at him. “Crazy?”

“Only in severe cases.” His eye twinkled just enough for her to be pretty sure he was teasing.

“How crazy?” She twisted her wrist, which looked normal. And delicate in his large hand.

“Crazy enough to do things you’ve never done before.”

Something low and sensual in his voice tightened her tummy. “Like?”

“Like going into the house, finding a basket or a bowl, and helping me pick fruit for a picnic on the beach.”

She laughed softly. “That’s not crazy. You think I’ve never had a picnic on the beach before?”

“Not with me.” He rubbed her chin with his thumb, a tender gesture that practically made her sink an inch deeper into the soft earth. Then he took her hand and raised her wrist to the fading sunlight, examining the skin. For a second, she thought he might kiss it, and she held her breath…and hoped.

“No rash. Looks like you can eat mangoes with abandon.”

She slipped out of his grasp before she did something else with abandon, like press her wrist to his lips and force him to kiss the spot he scrutinized. “I’ll get a bowl.”

She headed up the boardwalk to the house, the wood squeaking under her bare feet. The spot on her arm still felt hot, tingly, and alive. She had a reaction, all right. To him.

There was a long night, a hot guy, and just one bed in her very near future. Anticipation and lust curled through her. He was no saint; he was human. He’d admitted that much.

And God, she wanted to see him be human again.

She went into the bathroom and looked in the mirror. Her hair was stringy and knotted. Her face was flushed from the sun and speckled with dirt. Her top was mud-splattered from the racetrack, and her eyes looked tired and shadowed.

She slid off her glasses and touched her cheekbone, feeling grit as she tried to see herself as he did.

Loud. Fast. A finger-flipping, cussing Wall Street barracuda, covered in dirt.

Well, she could do something about the dirt, anyway.

She threw some water on her face, then lathered up a bar of soap. Makeup was out of the question, but at least she could get the grime off.

And she probably smelled as bad as he did. She smeared a little soapy water under one arm, then the other. Turning for a towel and finding none, she saw a tiny cabinet built into the wall. Opening it, she found a few towels, along with a cluster of prescription medicine bottles, a hair dryer, shampoo, and some lotions.

When she grabbed the towel, it knocked over the shampoo, which hit the meds and sent them to the floor with a clatter.

“Son of a bitch,” she muttered, dabbing her eyes and scooping up the plastic bottles. “Nothing like raiding the host’s drug cabinet.”

She set the bottles back in their approximate spots, then spotted one more by the wastebasket. She bent to pick it up, noticing the Duane Reade logo known to any New Yorker. Curious about where the über-rich Nicholas Vex bought his meds, she looked at the label to read the drugstore address. Huh—that was her Duane Reade right near Broadway and…

Sertraline
50 mg. Substituted for Zoloft.

Jesus. Was everyone on this shit nowadays? She lifted her thumb to read the name on the bottle. And froze. And blinked. And tried to make sense of what she read. But couldn’t.

Clive Easterbrook
.

Holding the bottle tightly, she ran to find Wade.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

WRAPPED AROUND A
papaya tree five feet above the ground, Wade heard the urgency in Vanessa’s voice as she called his name. He dropped the fruit to the sand and shimmied down the trunk. “I’m over here. What’s the matter?”

She spun toward him, her eyes bright, her arm outstretched. “Look at this!”

“You got a rash?”

“Clive’s prescription Zoloft. I found it in the bathroom!”

He brushed his hands before he took the little medicine bottle. “Seriously?” He read the label, noting the scrip was issued two months ago, then opened it and peered in, doing a quick count. “This is for sixty, and there are fewer than thirty in here.”

“How is this possible?” she asked, stabbing her hands in her hair as if she could pull the answers out of her brain. “He’s
been
here.”

“Well, maybe it’s the same deal as you got. Maybe your boss offered him the house after his cruise was done, for a place to work things out.”

“But wouldn’t Marcus have mentioned that to me on the phone? Wouldn’t Clive have told me?”

Wade examined the bottle again. “You said you’ve had only text messages from him, and you got cut off last night when you were talking to your boss. Plus, why would he mention Clive? I thought he was a non-person at your firm.”

“Yes, that’s true.” She took the bottle back and reread the label. “And that wasn’t until he resigned, about a month later. So, I guess it’s possible he had the same deal and stayed here.”

Still, she didn’t sound convinced.

“Was he steady on Zoloft?” Wade asked. “Or only when he got depressed?”

“He hates taking it. He only takes it when he feels like he’s headed into dark days.”

“How was he on May 15?” The date on the bottle. “Headed there?”

“Two months ago, he was fine.”

“Until a coworker was murdered a month later, and he bolted.”

She shot him a look. “He took a vacation. Which I realize he hadn’t done in a long time, but…” She sighed, staring at the bottle for answers it couldn’t give her. “I still think Marcus would have mentioned it to me.”

“Could Clive have gotten permission to stay here directly from the owner? Do they know each other?”

She brightened at the thought. “Yes, they do. Clive managed a lot of accounts heavy on Vexell stock, so he spent a lot of time at the company. He knows Nicholas Vex, though I wouldn’t say well enough to borrow his vacation home.”

“Did Charlie work with them?” he asked.

“Sometimes. She specialized in mezzanine funds, so it would depend on the situation, but overall, the group was tight.” She shook the bottle again. “One thing we do know for sure: he’s been here.”

“And gone.”

“I’m going to call Marcus and see if I can get him to tell me if he arranged for Clive to stay here.”

“I thought you didn’t want him to know you’re looking for Clive.”

“I don’t, but I could do it very casually. Tell him I found something of Clive’s and ask if he’d rented the place. I’ll be very subtle. I can be, when I want to.”

“I’m sure you can. While you do that, I’ll pick dinner from the trees.”

Wade finished getting fruit, found a blanket, and set it halfway between the bottom of the stairs and the surf. He started peeling a mango with his penknife, considering all that he knew about Clive Easterbrook and just how long Vanessa was going to remain in denial.

The guy was obviously in trouble. Either he was guilty of murder, possibly on two counts, or he knew who was. He was hiding from the authorities or a killer, and Vanessa probably wasn’t doing him any favors by searching high and low for him. How could he convince her of that?

And could he persuade her to abandon finding her friend and still agree to go to South Carolina? He’d seen the shadow cross her face every time the subject came up. She was looking for any way out of the deal, and if they didn’t find Clive, that’d be all she needed.

He couldn’t force her to go, and he couldn’t leave her in this situation, either. Whoever wanted Clive—or didn’t want her to find him—was tough enough to play hardball with the yellow truck.

Now he was jumpstarting Jeeps and cruising racetracks and getting flipped off by angry locals and eating fruit on a beach with an opinionated, pushy, high-speed
tart
.

She’d been looking lustily at him, and while that wasn’t the worst way to pass a night on a tropical island, if she thought that was going to meet her end of the bargain, then she was wrong. Although he wouldn’t mind…

At the sound of her footsteps, he looked up the stairs and practically dropped his knife. The three triangles of her bathing suit barely covered the essentials. Oh, man. No wonder she kicked butt on Wall Street. The woman did not play fair.

“He’s not around anywhere. I finally managed to get a signal, but Marcus’s voice-mail box is full on every number I have for him in my phone. Of course, the office is closed. I’ll try again in a little while. He’s never out of contact for more than a few minutes.” She trotted down the steps and dropped a towel on the sand next to him. “I thought I’d take a swim, since I’m pretty dirty from the day.” She toed his thigh. “So are you.”

The last streaks of sunlight bathed her in a golden glow. Dirty? She looked beautiful, with her hair tumbling over her shoulders, her hands on narrow but nicely curved hips.

“That’s a polite way of telling you that you smell.”

He laughed. “I thought you had a headache and were starved.” He held up a mango. “Eat first. Then I’ll join you.”

She eyed the fruit hungrily. Or was she eyeing him? “I thought you weren’t supposed to swim after you eat.”

“That’s an old wives’ tale.” He reached up and took her hand. “C’mon. Have a taste.”

She slipped out of his grasp but lowered herself to the blanket.

He carved a thick slice and held it to her mouth. “You don’t like to touch people, do you?”

Her eyes widened, and he slid the mango in before she could answer, forcing her to close her mouth and chew.

“That’s one way to shut you up.”

She narrowed her eyes at him, ready to argue, but then closed them, letting out a tiny moan. “God, that’s amazing.”

He raised another piece to her mouth. “Yep. They’re kind of like you, don’t you think?” She opened her mouth to suck in the bite, a trickle of juice drawing his attention to her lips and holding it there.

“Why? Because they’re tart and juicy and give some people a rash?”

He laughed. “No, because they’re surprisingly sweet once you get past the tough exterior.”

Her expression softened.

“And they make people crazy,” he added.

She wiped her chin, then sucked the juice off her finger, staring at him, surely knowing his cock was getting stiffer every second. “Do I make you crazy, Wade?”

“That move just did, yeah.”

She smiled, deliberately licked another finger, then grew serious. “I don’t mean to be a pain, really. And you were really great today. Thank you for all you did to help me.”

“We didn’t find Clive,” he said, lifting a bite of mango to his mouth. “So hold your gratitude.”

“We found a big clue, though.” She looked back up at the house. “And you know, I was thinking. Maybe he comes here at night.”

Wade lifted his brows. “That’s a thought. And it would be so easy. He shows up, we’ve officially found him, then you can keep your end of our deal.”

That shadow crossed her face again—the almost imperceptible expression of a lie.

“You do remember our deal, Vanessa? As I recall, you initiated it.”

She turned to the sea, nibbling on her lower lip. “Yep. I remember.”

He started digging the center out of a papaya, flicking the shiny black seeds onto the sand. “Tell me something,” he said as he slid the blade under the skin. “I can understand your feelings about your birth mother, considering she’s in jail for murder, but now that you know you have two sisters, aren’t you even curious about them?”

She kept her eyes on the water. “No.” Wordlessly, she pushed herself up. “I want to swim.”

But he had a hand on her wrist and tugged her back down. “I want to know.”

“It’s not your business to know,” she shot back. “I haven’t asked you about your family, and you don’t need to ask me about mine. This isn’t a date. This is…an arrangement.”

“Well, as part of this arrangement, I’d be happy to tell you all about my family,” he drawled. “I was raised by my mama and my grandmama, and I have two younger sisters, Bonnie Sue and Becky Lee.” He added a killer grin. “At home, I’m known as Billy Wade.”

Her own smile threatened to bloom. “Billy Wade?”

“William Wade Cordell, Junior.”

“And where’s William Wade Cordell, Senior?”

“He was killed when I was little. When my mama was pregnant with Becky.”

She hesitated, obviously torn between escape and interest. “How?”

He dug a chunk of papaya and held it out to her. She took it by hand, denying him the pleasure of feeding her again. He waited until she’d taken a bite and swallowed.

“He was shot.”

“Really? So was my dad. What happened?”

“Hunting accident. My moron uncle mistook him for a deer.” He shook his head, wishing he could muster up some hatred for Uncle Gil, but he never could. “It was an accident, plain and simple, and poor old Gil has suffered for it every day.”

“You’re kidding me. And after that, you…” She pointed to the gun that lay a foot away, still in the leather holster he’d worn all day on his belt. “You carry a gun?”

“A gun is part of my job, Vanessa. It always has been, no matter what job I had. Anyway, my dad’s death was an accident and a result of being in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“My dad was in the wrong place at the wrong time, too. But it was no accident. He was shot in cold blood by a carjacker at a rest stop in Baltimore.” Her eyes narrowed at him, sparking with accusation. “And guess what he was doing there?”

He shook his head.

“He was on his way home from Columbia, South Carolina, after a visit with Eileen Stafford.” At his stunned look, she nodded. “
She’s
the reason my father is dead.”

“No, the reason your father’s dead is that some hammerknocker with an agenda and a drug habit picked your dad out of the blue. You can’t blame the gun, and you can’t blame Eileen Stafford.”

She rocked backward. “I can blame whoever the hell I want. He wouldn’t have been there if not for her. We’d learned her identity ten years earlier, and we’d already agreed she was dead to both of us. But he had to go.”

“Why?”

“He never told me. But I think…” She reached down and scooped up some powdery sand, studying the grains as they poured through her fingers. “I had to piece it together after he died, going through his office and his phone calls. But I think he might have wanted to talk to her about her trial. Based on what I found.”

“What did you find?”

She flipped her hand and threw the rest of the sand down. “Enough to know that she’s a murderer, plain and simple.”

“Is that what your father found out when he met her?”

“I have no idea what he found out, because he was too dead to tell me.” She pushed herself up.

He was up in a flash, putting his arms around her. “I’m sorry, Vanessa. I’m sorry your dad was shot, and I’m sorry that it involved Eileen Stafford.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” She tried to pull away, but this time, he wouldn’t let her. “But you’re not sorry you want to drag my ass there and meet her, are you? Because you’d back off that plan if you were.”

“I have a job to do.” Plus, he believed that deep inside, she wanted to meet her sisters; she was just stubborn to the bone. “Why don’t you think of it as finishing the last project your father was working on when he died?”

She narrowed her eyes again. “My father was working on an M&A for a meatpacking company when he died. I did finish it, and made half a million in commission. Thanks for the suggestion, though.”

She started to walk, but he got hold of her elbow. “Maybe it’s time you let go of some of that bitterness. Maybe you can forgive her.”

“She doesn’t want forgiveness. She wants my bone marrow—and, you know, I’ve sacrificed enough blood for her.”

He took her hand and put his mouth on her palm, softly kissing it. She closed her eyes and took a quick ragged breath.

“I’m sorry for you,” he whispered, keeping her hand at his mouth.

“And now that you know how much I
really
don’t want to hold up my end of the deal, why don’t we…” Taking a step closer, she slid her other hand up his arm, stopping at his neck and pulling his face to hers. “Swim.”

He froze just as her lips reached his. “You don’t want to swim, Vanessa.”

“You’re right.” She kissed him, softly at first, then opened her mouth, but he didn’t take that invitation, so she broke the kiss. “I’m just going to go out there and feel sorry for myself for a while.”

“You’d better hurry. It’s getting dark.”

“You’ll find me—if you want to.”

Then she turned and ran over the sand, diving face-first into a crashing wave.

Of course, he could see in the dark. Of course, he could swim like a goddamn Navy SEAL. Of course, he would find her like a heat-seeking missile, wrap those impossible arms around her, drag her to the surface, and smother her with tenderness, affection, kisses, sympathy, and sex.

So why didn’t he?

Vanessa waited until her lungs nearly exploded before she popped to the surface, just in time for the next swell to break over her head. Salt burned her eyes, and the ninety-degree summer Caribbean water chilled her overheated skin.

She fought the next wave to get to a sandbar, where she could stand while the swells passed chest-high before they broke at the beach. She let her head fall backward, the water dragging her hair off her face. Then she scanned the sea around her, certain he would emerge at any minute.

Naked. Hard. Needing to drown her with sexual sympathy.

Nothing but the waves moved.

Where was he? Hadn’t he followed her in? Had he left her and gone back to the house?

She peered into the darkness. The house was completely black, the beach barely lit by moon shadows. Treading water, she finally spotted him when a cloud drifted away from the moon and silver light poured over the sand.