In the Enemy's Arms (6 page)

But his risks were calculated. When he dove or climbed mountains or trekked into the wilderness, he was prepared. The experience was as safe as a man could make it.

Turning from Cate, he approached Benita and bent to accept a hug first from her, then Rafael. “Thanks for coming.”

“I’m happy to help out.” Her words had a faint, lyrical accent that hinted at time spent elsewhere. Before marrying Mario, she’d worked for a cruise line and traveled the world. She didn’t seem to have any regrets that she stayed in the same place all the time now, spoiling a family instead of passengers.

Cate cleared her throat, and he stepped back to introduce them. The two women exchanged looks and nods before they all got into the car, Cate squeezing into the backseat with Rafael, Justin struggling to fit in the front passenger seat while Benita did the same on the other side. When she caught him frowning, she shook a warning finger his way. “Be grateful I didn’t pick you up on the scooter.
That
would be a tight fit.”

He’d seen entire families tootling around on bikes made for two. “Hey, I’m not complaining. I like Bugs. Love ’em.”

Once the vehicle was moving, Benita shifted her gaze to Cate’s in the rearview mirror. “I understand you’re a doctor, you used to be married to Trent and you help out at La Casa.”

“I am, I was, I do.”

Benita’s scoff was soft. “If Mario and I ever divorced, I would take him out on his boat, weight him down and send him to the bottom of the sea.”

Justin grinned. “Yeah, but Mario’s not like Trent. At least, not the Trent she divorced.”

A glance over his shoulder caught a flicker of surprise crossing Cate’s face. The instant her gaze connected with his, her eyes narrowed suspiciously. She didn’t like him, didn’t trust him, and he didn’t care. Well, he cared only in that it would make the next however-many hours they were stuck together more difficult, as if dealing with bastards like the Wallaces wasn’t difficult enough already.

But he didn’t give a damn that she thought he was the same irresponsible trust-fund brat he’d been in college. It didn’t bother him that she could overlook the same things in Trent that she considered fatal flaws in him. It didn’t matter at all that she couldn’t see past her prejudices or bother to notice that just like her, Trent and everyone else, he’d grown up.

He straightened and scowled out the front window. It really didn’t matter, damn it.

“Where are we going?” Cate asked.

Benita glanced from the mirror to him to the street again. When he didn’t volunteer an answer, she did. “A little place Mario picked out. No one will ever think to look for you there. I would never go there if my darling husband whom I dearly love hadn’t told me to.”

Justin grinned. No doubt, the hotel his dive buddy had chosen was more than adequately substandard. The televisions, if there were any, would pick up only static; the mattresses would rate one thin level above the ratty carpet for cleanliness and quality; and the guests next door would likely be renting on a half-hourly basis. Back when he was young and foolish, he’d spent some time in such rat holes.

He’d bet his brand-new buoyancy compensator and dive computer, neither of which had even made it into the water yet, that Cate didn’t know such rat holes existed. He didn’t know whether to anticipate her discomfort or dread her whining.

Benita made a few turns practically on two wheels, quite an accomplishment for a vehicle as squat as the Beetle, drawing a delighted squeal from Rafael. The kid had pressed his back against the side of the car, his bony knees drawn to his chest, and was watching Cate with his head tilted to one side. Her presence kept him from his usual endless chatter.

“You can talk to him,” Justin remarked.

Cate’s gaze flashed his way, then she looked at Rafael and pitched her tone to a warm, cheery softness that she never showed Justin. “Hi. My name is Cate. What’s yours?”

Rafael stared.

“You must be, what, about four years old? And you’re going to have a new brother or sister. Which one do you want?”

Rafael still stared.

Without changing her voice at all, she spoke the next words to Justin. “Sure, I can talk to him. You just neglected to mention that he doesn’t speak English, didn’t you?”

“Aw, gee, and you don’t speak Spanish, do you? Sorry, doc, I thought you knew everything about the life in the universe.” Suddenly pain shot through his upper arm. He jerked around the best he could in the confined space—which meant his head, neck and one arm were contorted around toward her while the rest of him continued to face forward—and scowled. “You pinched me.” She’d reached through the narrow space between front seat and frame and
pinched
him.

“Stop fussing,” Benita warned, “or I’ll do it next time, and I leave bruises. Understand?”

Justin settled back. “I’m sure
she
left a bruise. I think I can feel a knot forming as we speak.”

“Rafael speaks a little English, Cate,” Benita went on. “But he’s shy about using it with Americans. Rafi? What are we having?”

He smiled slowly at Cate before answering softly, “We are having a baby girl.” Then his smile turned sour. “No boy.”

Cate’s smile came slowly, too, and was sympathetic. “No boy? Aw, maybe next time.”

“Maybe,” he echoed.

While they continued to smile at each other, Justin turned his attention to the neighborhoods they were passing through. He’d been coming to the island for fifteen years but had only a general grasp of the city’s layout. He could locate the airport and the various hotels he’d stayed at before buying his house. He knew where every dive shop on the island was, along with his share of tourist-friendly clubs and restaurants. But Benita had made so many turns, and with each block the street seemed narrower, the buildings smaller and poorer, the people on the street tougher. This part of Coz definitely wasn’t on the island tours.

Abruptly, Benita slowed to a stop in the middle of the street and leaned forward to study the buildings on the right. Unpainted cinder blocks formed walls in front of and between the first three, one a store of some sort, the other two houses. A broken sign hanging crookedly from the fourth structure identified it as
otel.
She smiled with satisfaction and pulled into the narrow drive that passed into a courtyard. Nothing bigger than the Bug could have made it through without scraping the walls.

“This is—” There was a squeak in Cate’s voice, and she tried to remove it with a deep breath. “This is where we’re staying?”

Benita was still smiling. “It belongs to my husband’s sister-in-law’s cousin’s father. They’ll give you their best room, I promise. Wait here while I go inside.”

He could see Cate trying to process exactly what “best room” translated to in a place like this. If the stubborn set of her jaw was anything to go by, she intended to make the best of it…which left him trying to figure out exactly what her best might be. As long as he was wondering, could he hope for cooperative? Maybe even quiet?

Benita returned a moment later with a key and wiggled into the driver’s seat again. There was little room in the courtyard, but she maneuvered the car to the rear edge before stopping again and holding out the key. “Mario will bring dinner and Cate’s suitcase when he gets off. Tio Pablo can provide decent beer and a fine bottle of tequila if you feel the need. When this is all done, you’ll have to come for dinner again, right?”

“Right.” Justin took the key, then unfolded himself from the seat. How had it been easier getting in than getting out? When he was standing straight, he shrugged to ease the tension in his shoulders while watching Cate climb out. She made it look so much more graceful: one sandaled foot braced on the graveled drive, all the creamy skin of her leg, muscles flexing as she ducked her head and rose out of the car like a princess out of a battered rust-flecked pumpkin of a carriage.

She ducked to say goodbye to Rafael, then Benita. “Thank you for helping us.”

“You’re welcome.” Then, with a grin, Benita added, “Good luck dealing with…” Her gaze shifted between them.

In unison he and Cate replied, “I’ll need it.”

Benita laughed as she shifted into gear and drove away.

The number on the key was faded, well-worn by years of sliding into and out of pockets and the lock. The corresponding room was ten feet down the courtyard, so he headed that way.

“Do you know I once did a medical mission on a remote, poverty-stricken reservation out west, and the place was cleaner and better kept than this?” she remarked as they sidestepped a trash bag that had been torn open on the scraggly grass, its contents scattered.

“No whining, Dr. Do-Good.” He had to wiggle the key to get it into the lock, but it turned without too much effort and the door swung open. Surprised by the interior, he forgot to step inside. Cate got halfway around him before she stopped, too. After a moment, she went in, and after another moment, he followed her.

“Wow. I never would have thought…”

The room wasn’t fancy by any means. It was so small the two beds were twins, with barely enough room to pass between them. Instead of cheap-motel bedspreads, they were made up with quilts, and a spotless vinyl floor took the place of cheap-motel carpet. The bathroom was a real bathroom—no sink and mirror against one wall, with a commode and shower in a tiny room—and it was spotless, too. The lone painting on the wall above the beds was an original of good quality, the lamps were bright enough to actually see, and the air-conditioning unit in the window lowered the temperature with no more than a quiet hum.

Justin made sure the door was locked, then set his backpack on the nearest bed. “It must be a family room, one they normally don’t rent out.”

The only response from Cate was the closing of the bathroom door. Grinning, he folded back the quilt on his bed, kicked off his shoes and stretched out on soft, faded sheets and comfortable pillows. Remembering the cell he’d taken from her and stuck in his pocket, he pulled it out, turned it to silent mode, then put it away again. If he didn’t keep it close, the first time he dozed off she’d try to reclaim it and make those damn phone calls she’d been talking about.

Phone calls that
should
be made? She was right: they weren’t qualified to deal with kidnappers. But he knew where the data the Wallace brothers wanted was, and he couldn’t get that picture their thug had sent him out of his head. He didn’t want to wind up that way, didn’t want Trent or Susanna or even Cate to wind up that way.

He also knew more about the brothers than Cate did. Too bad he hadn’t known more before he’d recommended Susanna’s project to them for funding.

Cate came out of the bathroom, still wearing the same clothes, the same braid, but somehow looking fresh, as if she were just starting her day. Must be one of the benefits of being an E.R. doctor: deal with guts and blood and gore, and revive on breaks.

She’d removed the floppy hat—definitely a plus—and buttoned her shirt. That should be a plus, but he could see through the damn thing, and somehow having that thin, gauzy fabric just barely covering the bright colors of her bikini bra and the creamy gold of her middle seemed more interesting than safe.

She sat down on the other bed, facing him. “So.” The word sounded momentous for one short syllable. “What’s going on?”

There was a time to BS and a time to be honest. This, it appeared, was the time for honesty. Too bad. He enjoyed BS-ing her so much more.

He rolled into a sitting position, stuffed the pillows where bed met walls and leaned against them so he was facing her. “Okay. Do you know who Joseph and Lucas Wallace are?”

Her nose wrinkled, drawing her mouth into a dissatisfied set, too. “Trent used to call them Mississippi’s version of the two of you. Rich, irresponsible, reckless, immature—”

“You could have stopped after ‘you,’” he grumbled. “I got the picture. True enough. Except that the brothers inherited a chain of hotels right after college and found out they have an ability to make more money than they ever imagined. They own an interest in every top hotel or resort in the entire southern hemisphere, or so it seems.”

“Trust-fund babies creating trust funds for their own babies. Who would have thought.”

Her surprise honed the edge of his irritation. “You know, Trent and I don’t jet around all the time figuring ways to deplete our trust funds even faster. We
do
stuff, too.”

* * *

Cate took a moment to mimic him, pushing back the quilt, sliding off her shoes, banking pillows behind her for comfort. She might wish for that warm beer or fine tequila of Tio Pablo’s, but she was truly comfortable for the first time since dawn. “What does Trent do besides help out at La Casa?”

“‘Help out’? Is that all you think it is? He deals with all the fundraising. He brings in new money, and he updates the regular donors on what their donations are doing and keeps them happy enough to continue sending money. He does all the PR, arranges events for the girls and coordinates all the volunteers from the U.S. It’s a full-time job for which he receives a room to sleep in and free meals, as long as he does some of the cooking or the cleaning.”

Her first thought was to argue. That sounded like a do-gooder, which Trent certainly was not.
Doing good
was something he did for himself, not underprivileged kids in another country.

But he said he loved Susanna, and he said it with far more sincerity than he’d ever given Cate. People could change for love, could become better and kinder. She had to consider it was possible. Rather, she had to consider it might be permanent. She had to admit, every time she heard from him or Susanna, she expected it to be the time she heard that he’d gotten bored and said goodbye to Susanna, the school and the girls to return to his thrill-seeking, globe-trotting life. After all, he’d committed to
her,
and how long had it been before he’d left?

Could Susanna be different? Could the love he claimed for her be so much more substantive than the undying love he’d pledged to Cate? Could Susanna hold him when Cate couldn’t? And would Cate mind if she did?