His gaze swept the lobby. Mia was living in Palm Beach. It's hardly the real world.
You think there are no women in Palm Beach who live in fear?
Fear of what? Coming out on the short end of divorce from an insanely rich husband?
Her expression soured. Look, you're obviously angry, and I don't really blame you. But do you want to know the truth about Mia or don't you?
Jack breathed in and out. Sarcasm was never the high road, and he was embarrassed that he'd resorted to it. Sorry. Please, go ahead.
No question, when you look at Mia and then look at Ernesto, the first thought that pops into anyone's brain is that she married him for his money. People always talked behind her back, assumed she was doing the pool guy, the tennis pro. But I'm her best friend, and I can tell you this: You were the first.
That doesn't make it right. She was still married.
Oh, please. Ernesto was the one who played around. He even hit on me once.
I hate to sound like a broken record, but why did she stay married to him?
I asked her the same question, many times.
What did she say?
Seguridad. That's Spanish for -
Security. I know. I'm half Cuban.
You are? I never knew -
It's okay, no one ever guesses, especially from my Spanish. But let's keep this about Mia and her seguridad. Financial security, I assume she meant?
That's what I thought. Till one night, we had a few drinks. I got her to talk more about it, and she started to explain. Turns out she and Ernesto didn't even have a prenup. She could have cleaned up in a divorce.
What does that tell you?
She leaned closer, her voice softening. Staying with him wasn't about financial seguridad. It was more security in the sense of protecciA3n.
Protection? From what?
She wouldn't say. Like I told you, we were drinking, and it was just a momentary slip that had her talking about something she clearly didn't want to discuss - not even with me. But I got the distinct impression that so long as she was married to Ernesto, she would be safe.
Was she afraid of something in particular?
She didn't get into that. It was more the way she talked about Ernesto, how he's from a very powerful family. Odds are you'd know his name if you were Venezuelan, and if you're at all involved in the Latin community, you'd surely think twice about messing with him. She never told me this in so many words, but if you ask me, that's why she married him.
That's the protecciA3n? She married a man who is feared by certain people?
She nodded.
Jack looked away, considering what she'd told him.
Her date suddenly came around the corner and entered their sitting area. Emilia, I hate to interrupt, but dinner's being served.
I just need another minute. I'll be right there. Promise.
He looked confused for a moment and then walked away. Emilia said, My first real date since the divorce. Guess I'd better get back.
As they rose, she took his hand. It wasn't anything untoward, but it was definitely more than a simple handshake. Corny as it sounds, Mia met Mr. Right at the wrong time. She never should have lied, and I'm sure she regrets it. I'm not asking you to take her back. But if you're in a position to help her, please - please do it.
He didn't want to promise anything. I'll have to think -
She squeezed his hand tighter, stopping him in midsentence. Let me just finish this conversation the way I started: Mia really did love you. Remember that.
Jack wasn't sure how to respond.
She offered a hint of a smile, as if to thank him in advance for helping her friend. Then she turned and headed back to the ball. Jack watched without really watching. He knew it hadn't been her intention, but he was certain of one thing.
He was more confused now than before he'd spoken with Emilia.
Chapter
13
Jack didn't leave the Breakers right away. He walked through the loggia to the back of the hotel, past the swimming pool and beyond the manicured croquet lawns. He stopped at the top of the wooden staircase that led down from the bluff to the beach. Since childhood he'd been drawn to the soothing sound and smell of the ocean.
She loved me. Or so Mia's best friend said. What difference could that possibly make now? Even if she hadn't been kidnapped, Mia still had a husband. Whom she didn't love. Whom, for some reason, she didn't have the courage to leave. Maybe that was because she hadn't met the right
No. No way was he going to let himself think that way. However this kidnapping resolved itself, he didn't need her. But he didn't hate her, either. There was anger, yes, but not that sickening sense of precious time wasted that was his failed marriage. Perhaps it was because he had suspected all along that Mia wasn't telling him everything about herself. Not that she was married, of course. Jack would never have let himself get caught up in that. But she did seem to have a secret buried somewhere in her past. Hearing her best friend say that Mia was afraid to leave her husband, that she had married him for protecciA3n, only heightened those suspicions. It made him think back to something they'd discussed only once - the first time they'd slept together.
Today's my birthday, Mia said as Jack turned the key and opened the front door to his house.
Jack didn't even try to hide his surprise and disappointment. They'd had a nice time at dinner, but it was hardly special enough for a birthday. Why didn't you tell me?
The big three-oh. Time to stop celebrating.
That's crazy. He pulled the door shut and said, Come on. Let's go out and do your birthday right.
Why don't we go inside and do it right?
The tingle of her kiss suddenly coursed through his body. That's an incredibly good idea, he said as he pushed the door open. She took his hand and led him inside, then kissed him again. Let me freshen up.
I'll get some wine, he said.
Great idea.
She smiled and looked amazing, and Jack prayed to God that he wasn't sporting his Yippee-I'm-going-to-have-sex! grin.
He went to the kitchen to retrieve his best bottle of white, having put it in the refrigerator two weeks earlier in anticipation of a night like this with Mia. He felt mildly proud of himself - quite the clever planner - as he pulled a perfectly chilled bottle of Chardonnay from the refrigerator. But it was completely empty. Someone had jammed the cork back into the neck to disguise the theft.
Damn it, Theo!
He quickly found another bottle in the pantry, but it was as warm as the night air. He scrambled back to the kitchen, threw open the freezer door, and yanked out the ice bin. It caught on a two-year-old frozen pot roast, and ice cubes fell to the floor like a Texas hailstorm. He got down on his knees and started gathering them up. One at a time, two at a time, and finally handfuls of cubes were flying across the kitchen and landing in the sink.
I'm waaaaiting, he heard Mia say. I'm not getting any youngerrrrr.
The voice came from the bedroom. Jack was desperate to make this evening perfect, and the wine was going to be the right temperature if it killed him. There was no time to put it on ice, and the thought of serving a bottle of Kistler with an ice cube in the glass was too much to bear. He would have to apply ice. He grabbed three cubes in one hand and the bottle in the other. Standing over the sink, he started rubbing the outside of the bottle, top to bottom, hoping to transfer the cold. He stopped to feel the glass. Definitely colder. It seemed to be working. He grabbed more ice and continued rubbing, up and down, harder and harder, fast and furious, his breathing audible, his hand a blur as he found his rhythm and rubbed, rubbed, rubbed.
That is the most bizarre foreplay I've ever seen in my life, said Mia.
Jack froze. She was standing at the kitchen's entrance, dressed in a black teddy that she'd obviously stashed somewhere in his bedroom in anticipation of the big night. Jack saw the curious expression on her face, and for a brief moment he seemed to step out of his own body and take a good look at himself - a maniac stroking a glass phallus to the point of exhaustion.
Wine? he said.
She just smiled and said, Come to bed.
He left the wine in the sink and followed her to the bedroom. Music was already playing. She'd figured out how to operate his old stereo and found something by Carlos Santana. She dimmed the lights, then turned and kissed him with an open mouth. It was long and passionate, and it was as if all the stress were being sucked from his body. She removed his shirt, and the palms of her hands glided slowly across his chest and stomach. Another kiss, and his pants were suddenly on the floor. She was sitting on the bed now, and he was still standing as he felt the side of her face brush against the bulge in his underwear. He smiled and gently pushed her back onto the bed.
No rush, he said.
He helped her off with the lingerie, and the sight of this gorgeous woman perched on his bed and wearing only black lace panties seemed like far more than he deserved. With just the tip of his finger he pressed against her bare shoulder until she was flat on her back. Her knees went up, and she took his hand, pulling him toward her. He went with the motion, and she wrapped her legs around his waist. He could have fallen inside her right then and there, but he resisted. He suspended himself over her, almost in push-up position, wanted to make this last. He kissed her on the lips, then on the neck.
Happy birthday, he whispered, and he started working his way down. He glided over her breasts, touching lightly with his chin, his cheeks, his nose. Her stomach tightened with anticipation as he planted kisses around her navel. Her lace panties did little to cover the vaginal mound, and it was torture to wait, but Jack forced himself past it. He slid much lower, his head between her knees, now working from the other direction as he kissed the inside of her thighs.
I'm not sure this is a good way to start, she said.
Trust me. This is an excellent start.
I'm just not sure.
Relax. Just relax.
He felt her body stretch, and he glanced up to see her reaching toward the lamp.
It'll be better in the dark, she said as the light went out.
He didn't completely agree, but he wasn't going to argue. The journey continued, Jack alternating kisses between the left thigh and the right, slowly working his way to her warmth. Halfway down, he started using the tip of his tongue. The skin was so soft, so smooth. Her legs should have been parting with invitation, but she was gradually drawing them closer together. And then he felt it - the end of the smoothness. He couldn't see in the darkness, but he detected it with his tongue. It was on her left inner thigh, just inches away from her vagina. Scar tissue.
Serious scar tissue.
He tried to show no reaction, but that was impossible. It was pointless, too, since she had reacted strongly enough for both of them.
I had a tattoo removed, she said.
Jack didn't say anything. He just lay there in the dark, his head between her legs. If this was a tattoo removal, the doctor should have been sued for malpractice. He knew she was lying.
Her body grew more tense with each passing moment. Jack wasn't sure if he should continue, but she answered the question for him. She gently took his chin and guided him up. He noticed the goose bumps on her belly as he slid across her and came to rest at her side. He lay perfectly still, and so did she. The music continued to play, and neither one of them said a word. Finally, Jack brushed the side of her face with his hand and said, Is there something you want to talk about?
She just shook her head.
Are you sure?
Just hold me, she said, her voice breaking in the darkness. Please. Just hold me.
The ringing cell phone ripped through Jack's memories. The wireless intrusion seemed so at odds with the tranquillity of the beach, but he succumbed to technology and checked the display. The call was identified as Out of Area, which wasn't all that out of the ordinary, but given the circumstances, any mystery caller brought an instant rush of adrenaline. He opened the flip phone and answered with a simple Hello.
Your wait is over, Swyteck. The voice on the other end of the line sounded mechanical, clearly disguised.
Who is this?
Osama bin Laden. Who do you think it is?
Jack's question had been more of a knee-jerk reaction, something to put the ball back in the caller's court. What do you want?
Salazar says it's in his attorney's hands. So we're dealing direct.
All the debate as to whether Jack should get involved in the delivery was over. He was on the line with the man who had viciously murdered Mrs. Thornton and who might do the same to Mia. Somehow, with everything suddenly on the line, the words Sorry, she lied to me, so she's on her own didn't exactly roll off his tongue. I'm listening.
One day this coming week, you'll receive an e-mail sometime before nine A. M. Open it. Your instructions will be inside. Follow them to the letter. As soon as the cash is delivered, you'll get the answer to Mr. Salazar's question.