Then You Hide (7 page)

“
What?
Why? How?”

“Don’t worry, she can’t trace it. I just wanted her to know I’m not dead.”

“Everything can be traced. Now that she knows she is close, she will look even harder. It’s not good. It’s not safe. And tonight, she is not alone.”

Clive frowned at the ominous tone. “What do you mean?” Who would she bring down here? Someone else from New York?

Someone who knew Charlie?

“She picked up a man, or he picked her up. My guess? He’s looking for you and using her to find you. These people, they will stop at nothing. You know that.”

Oh, yes, he did. He only had to think about Charlie French…and…no, he couldn’t even think about Russell yet. The pain was unbearable.

“By the time she’s exhausted herself over there, I’ll send her somewhere else. Eventually, she’ll give up and go home.”

Clive choked and it turned into a coughing fit, his lungs burning from Marlboros. “Give up?” he finally said. “You do not know Vanessa Porter.”

“Since you do, then perhaps you have a better idea, since it is your sweet ass on the line?”

“The only way to get her to go home is to offer something more appealing than the idea of finding me.” He sifted through his cigarette butts to see if one was long enough to light for a few puffs. He braced a filter in his teeth and grabbed the lighter, then took it out and flung it back into the ashtray. “Money.”

“She can be paid off?”

“No. But if she thought she was missing out on some huge deal on Wall Street, she’d put me on hold and go after it.”

“What kind of deal?”

“An IPO, a leveraged buyout, a merger—something where her clients could make a killing. Give the girl a copy of the
Wall Street Journal
, and she’ll eat out of your hand.”

“I can try something.”

Clive closed his eyes. “You can try, but she’s very smart, so be clever. Who is this guy she’s with?”

“I don’t know. Very hot. Built like he has a big gun. A military type.”

Just like Russell. His heart skidded at the thought. “Well, if some dude is using her to get to me, she’ll figure it out. And on Nevis, she can actually talk to someone who’s seen me.”

“Some people will talk. And some people will lie. She’ll lose a few days, and maybe just give up her whole quest and go home.”

“Not Vanessa.” Clive could just see her, striding toward the Razor Partners conference room, legions of the investment firm’s lawyers in her wake, her game face on behind her glasses, her blond mane loose and long and all over the place. When she started kicking ass and taking names, she was a thing of freaking beauty. “When she wants something, honey, don’t even get in her way.”

“Precisely the reason I’m controlling and watching her every move. She’ll lead them right to you, and, my friend, you don’t want that. Or did you forget the number of stab wounds you counted?”

“Only when I’m drunk or asleep. Then I forget everything.”

“Stay that way. For now, she’s occupied. It’ll take her two days to find out where you were—if she even does.”

“It doesn’t take her two days to put together a Fortune 500 merger,” Clive told him, fingering through the ashtray again. “She’s fast at everything.”

“Yeah, well, I’m faster. And more motivated.”

“She loves me.”

The phone went silent for a moment, and Clive thought they’d lost the connection. But then he heard a soft chuckle. “So do I.”

Guilt squeezed his heart. He knew what he should say, but it would be a lie. Instead, he let a few seconds tick by.

“Bet you could use some more cigarettes and gin.”

“Actually, I’m sick of this diet. I need something healthy. Do you freaks have any macaroni and cheese on these islands?”

He laughed. “For you? I will find it.”

“I prefer Kraft.”

The snort on the phone was affectionate. “I will do my best, my friend.”

“Thanks. And hey, listen…” Clive cleared his throat. “I really appreciate this, man. You’re saving my life.”

“Like I said, I’m motivated. I love you.”

Clive didn’t know how to respond. He didn’t love back. But he needed to stay in hiding—and this man was proving to be indispensable in that regard.

“Thanks,” he said again, knowing he sounded gruff and distant. And that it probably made him even more attractive.

After they clicked off, Clive thought about getting up and attempting to run, but it was too much. He’d rather just lie there and think how grateful he was for a friend like Vanessa. After all she’d been through, after how hard she worked to put a shell around herself and protect her heart, she chucked New York and got on a plane to find him.

Now,
that
was love. Not sexual, not romantic, and not celebrated enough, but so powerful.

Her selflessness put a lump in his throat, just as the phone lit with a silent notification of a text. He didn’t read it, worried that someone, somewhere, would pick up his signal. He turned the phone off and let the screen go as black as the night around him.

Still, his fingers itched to send Vanessa another message. Could he tell her part of the truth and expect her to leave, in one piece and without him? Because if she knew the whole truth…she’d be the next to die.

And he couldn’t risk that. He had enough guilt on his soul without adding her death to it.

CHAPTER SEVEN

“HOLY SHIT,” VANESSA
whispered. “It’d be easier to get into FortKnox.”

In the moonlight bouncing off the white sand, Vanessa could see Wade’s frown.

“It’s not getting in that worries me,” he said. “It’s getting out.”

“What do you mean?”

He pointed to the solid wood fence draped in foliage and painted the same yellow as the clapboard villa and pool house it enclosed. “That’s tighter than I thought.”

“You saw that barrier from your balcony and said it shouldn’t be a problem.”

They couldn’t see much else from the balcony of his suite, which was not exactly the “full villa view” he’d used to lure her up there. Before she could get too worked up about that, he’d fed her an excellent room-service meal she’d desperately needed. Then he produced a laptop with some ultracool software that allowed him to download a satellite image of the property and produce a damn near 3-D snapshot of the villa. And true to his word, after she changed into jeans and sneakers and borrowed a navy hooded sweatshirt, they’d slipped out at midnight to follow shadowy, secluded paths that led to the Palm Grove villa.

If it hadn’t felt so risky, Vanessa would have enjoyed the cool adventure with a hot guy. He moved like ink through the night, holding her hand in his much larger, slightly callused one, getting right up to her ear to whisper instructions and send vibrations down her skin. He was so totally confident on his mission, so thorough and alert, that every cell in her jumped with awareness and attraction.

If he hadn’t been the messenger she wanted to shoot, she would have thanked him for his assistance with a night he’d never forget back in that suite. Just the thought kicked her hormones into gear.

She stole a sideways glance to catch his mouth set in a firm line. It was impossible to look at those lips and not think about kissing. Her stomach fluttered as she studied the breadth of his shoulders. He was tall, probably six-two, and broad, but not grossly muscular. Ripped and strong and—

“You want to climb up?” He tapped the shoulder she’d been admiring, his smile teasing enough to know she’d been busted.

“I can, if that’s the best way to get over the fence.”

“We just want to avoid the cameras.” He pointed to a spot a few feet away. “There’s one about every ten feet along the top. See?”

She squinted into darkness and greenery, seeing only tropical flowers and an overabundance of palm fronds covering much of the seven-or eight-foot-tall fence.

“I don’t see a thing,” she admitted. “How can you tell there are cameras?”

“Years of avoiding them. I assume a video feed from each one is being monitored this very minute. My guess is that this villa is a favorite of celebrities who want to hide from the paparazzi and too-friendly fans.”

“It’s not like Clive to seek privacy,” she mused. “He loves attention.”

“So maybe security.”

Why would he worry about security? And, bigger question, was he in there or not? She’d called his cell phone to no avail, but Wade had talked her out of having the resort ring the villa directly. They tracked that sort of thing, and the move would only put security on alert that someone was trying to find a guest. Better not to get their attention at all.

Which made sense. Like everything else he said.

“I think we can get over the wall right there, between those two cameras. Once we’re on the property, we’ll stay back, to see if there’s any activity or light in the house.”

“If there is?”

“We’ll figure that out after we watch their movements and determine if it’s your friend or not.”

“And if there isn’t anything? What if the villa is deserted?”

He threw her a look in challenge. “It’s your call. We go in, or we walk away. I say we storm the place.”

A surge of adrenaline mixed with something much more sexual inside her. “Spoken like a true Marine.” She smiled. “Let’s roll, Sarge.”

He took her hand, guiding her to the midsection of fencing. Just as they approached a spot in the deepest of shadows, a low motor rumbled, and headlights illuminated a narrow asphalt path that ran the perimeter of the resort and ended at the fenced-in property of the private villa.

“Down,” he ordered in a whisper, pulling her flat to the ground. “It’s hotel security.”

Through the blades of grass, Vanessa could see a lone driver doing a cursory check of the area. He turned the little vehicle around at the back fence along the beach. When he glanced their way, Vanessa held her breath. After a split second, he hit the gas and rumbled back toward the main building.

“Your heart’s pounding,” Wade said, his mouth inches from her ear and his hand on her back.

“My heart’s beating,” she corrected. “Proof that I’m alive.”

“You sure you want to do this?”

“Yes, I’m sure.” She rolled to her side, putting her face to face with him, inches from that kissable mouth. “I want to find Clive. This is the closest I’ve come to…”
A man this sexy in a while
. “…finding him.”

His eyes traveled over her face in assessment. “You’re pretty brave for a girl, you know that?”

“For a
girl
? Well, you’re pretty cute for a Neanderthal.”

He blew out a laugh and slowly pulled her up. “There’s nothing wrong with a little fear. It can keep you alive.”

“I know all about survival. I work on Wall Street, and I’ve been roaming the streets of New York City since I was a kid. I’m not too worried about some hotel guard in a golf cart. Unless…he has a gun.”

He pushed some bushes out of the way, clearing a section of the fence. “He probably does.”

“But can he shoot it?”

“Can he, or will he?” He glanced over his shoulder. “My guess is that he would if he thinks we’re breaking the law. Which we are.” He cupped his hands, giving her a step. “After you, ma’am.”

She put her sneaker in his palm. “You really are from another century. ‘Ma’am’? I’m barely thirty.”

He just looked at her.

Oh, yeah. The file. “All right, thirty-one. But can the ma’ams, please.”

“I’ll do my best. Grab my shoulder and push.”

She did, closing her fingers around rock-hard muscles and positioning her sneaker in his hands. “When I get on the other side, what do I do?”

“Just roll into a ball, and keep your face and hands covered with the jacket. I’ll be right behind you. Now, go, before the guard comes back and takes a shot.”

She swiftly hoisted herself up, using the fence and his sturdy shoulder to leverage herself. When she stood, she could see right into the back of a sizable villa, the pool, and an enclosed cabana. It was totally silent, dark, and empty. Not even a pool light on, just complete blackness.

“Doesn’t look like anyone’s here,” she said.

“Can you get over?”

She leaned over to see if there was something she could use as a step to the other side. Nope. “I’ll have to jump.” A long freaking way.

She glanced at the house again. Was this worth it? Was Clive in there, hiding in the dark with a bottle of depression relief?

She shifted her weight, set one foot on the fence, and went over, landing with a jolt that cracked her teeth together before tumbling onto the grass. In a second, she heard a whoosh and a thud, and Wade landed next to her on the balls of his feet like a panther.

“You okay?” he asked, pulling her closer to the ground.

“Yeah.”

“Good work. Now, stay low and close to the fence. We’ll move along the ground; otherwise, a camera over there will pick us up.”

She followed his lead as he slithered army-style toward the house, trying hard not to think about what she was doing but why, and for whom. When they reached the pool house, he cupped his hands and peered into one of the windows.

“Not much in there, and I don’t want to risk the cameras by going all the way around the front. Let’s run along the side of the pool and head to the sliding doors near the bar. Got it?”

She followed the visual path he pointed out, got steady on the balls of her feet, and sprinted when he did. They rounded the unlit pool, passed a few chaise longues and a table, and slipped under the patio overhang.

When they stopped, Vanessa waited, half expecting a bullet to fly by or an alarm to screech into the night, but all was silent, except for the beat of her pulse in her ears.

“Should we just knock?” she asked.

He cupped his hands again to look inside before he tapped lightly on the glass. “My guess is, it’s unoccupied.” He pointed to a corner of the overhang, where a tiny camera was aimed at the sliding glass door. “Stay right here, out of range. I’m going to change the picture.”

He lifted his black T-shirt to his mouth, bit the cloth, and yanked, the sound of tearing cotton loud in the silence. He tore halfway up the shirt, exposing his stomach, then two more tugs until he had a square of black fabric. He stepped around a table, pulled a chair out without making a noise, and climbed up to drape the camera lens.

He did it all so quietly and smoothly, with such ease and capability, that Vanessa gaped in amazement.

“You rob banks in another life?”

“Nope.”

“Just a regular residential thief?”

“I told you, I consult for a security firm. When you put it all together, you usually know how to take it apart.”

She really
couldn’t
have done this without him. Did she owe him something now? A trip to South Carolina? She watched him climb down from the chair, the torn shirt making him look ridiculously tough, dangerous, and sexy.

Maybe they could renegotiate, and she could pay him off the more traditional way. Then they’d both win.

He tested the slider, walking his fingers around the aluminum rim, and jimmying it. “We just need to open this thing right here.”

“How?”

“Piece of cake, ma’a—” He shot her a look. “Sorry.” He turned, scanning the patio. “I just need a little something from the bar.” He walked to the bar, stepped behind it, and looked around. “Perfect. This oughta do the trick.” He held up an ice pick that glinted in the moonlight.

“What trick is that?”

“I believe this would be called the unauthorized removal of a sliding glass door from its mounted, operable position within a supporting frame structure.” Back at the door, he ran his hand along the bottom track, his eyes closed and the tip of his tongue just peeking out of his lips. “That’d be the technical term for poppin’ the slider.”

“Did you learn that in the Marines?”

“Nope. My mama used to lock me out if I missed curfew.” He looked up and smiled wickedly, making her heart speed up more. “That happened a lot.”

She’d bet it did. She could imagine all those Southern belles keeping him out
way
past midnight.

“Unless”—he reached farther along the glass—“this two-grand-a-night villa has upgraded every door with a…” He knelt down, bending over just enough to draw her attention to his jean-clad backside. “…Yamamoto apparatus that was patented not long ago to prevent just this kind of criminal behavior. If they have, it’ll just mean I’ll have to resort to more…” He wiped a hand on his thigh and tried again. “Aggressive measures.”

There was a low rumble, then a crack, as he lifted the door right out of its frame.

He stood, holding the door steady. “After you.”

She nodded in admiration as she opened the screen door. “Nice work.” Nice
everything
.

The screen glided soundlessly on its track, and she stepped into a dark, air-conditioned room. In a moment, Wade had the slider back onto the rail.

“Whatever you do, don’t turn on a light,” he said, closing the door behind him and locking it again. “If someone comes by to do a security check while we’re looking around, we don’t want to tip them off that we’re in here.”

“No chance that you brought a flashlight, is there?” she asked.

“No, but gimme a sec.” He rounded a counter into the kitchen. “The fridge’ll give us enough light.”

Soft light spilled over the room, revealing that they were in a large, high-ceilinged gathering room decorated in Four Seasons elegance, with a gleaming marble floor and hardwood accents.

Hope and surprise lit in her chest as she took in the signs of life all over the room. A newspaper open on the coffee table, a pair of familiar-looking flip-flops by the sofa, a half-finished bottle of wine, one glass, and an ashtray overloaded with cigarette butts.

And the ultimate signature of Clive Easterbrook: a self-help book. This one was called
You, Understood
.

“He’s here,” she whispered. “At least, he was.” She picked up the book and nudged the disgusting ashtray. “He’s a marathoner who only smokes when he’s hopelessly depressed, and he’s addicted to therapy books.” The wine was merlot, his depression companion of choice, with a bluesy babe crooning on the iPod, no doubt.

How low did he go this time? She glanced around again, taking in the coat of dust on the mahogany wood, the crumbs, and a few drops of some dried-up drink on the floor. “I wonder why no one’s cleaned the place.”

Wade was already headed back from the front door. “Because there’s a privacy key in the main entrance,” he said.

“Henry said he hasn’t been by the pool in a week or so.” Vanessa lifted the newspaper and angled it to the light to read the date. “Would they really leave his room empty for a week? Don’t they worry that someone…”

“Vanessa. Come in here.”

…might have died in here?

She tried to silence the thought. Holding the paper, she followed Wade’s voice down a short hall, then forced herself to step into the doorway and face anything.

It was just a very messy room, lit softly by the closet light.

“What’s the matter?” she asked. “What did you find?”

The drawers gaped open, some full of unfolded clothes, some empty. A four-poster antique bed was unmade, and loose change, a watch, and tourist guidebooks were spread on the dresser. In the closet, a few shirts and a jacket were pushed to one side. Some dirty clothes were strewn on the floor. A phone charger hung from an electrical outlet.