D is for Desire

D IS FOR DESIRE Witchy Women 2

Jianne Carlo

EROTIC ROMANCE

Siren Publishing, Inc. www.SirenPublishing.com

A SIREN PUBLISHING BOOK IMPRINT: Erotic Romance ABOUT THE E-BOOK VERSION: Your non-refundable purchase of this e-book allows you to one LEGAL copy for your own personal use. It is ILLEGAL to send your copy to someone who did not pay for it. Distribution of this e-book, in whole or in part, online, offline, in print or in any way or any other method currently known or yet to be invented, is forbidden without the prior written permission of both the publisher and the copyright owner of this book. D IS FOR DESIRE Copyright © 2008 by Jianne Carlo E-book ISBN: 1-60601-194-4 First E-book Publication: December 2008 Cover design by Jinger Heaston All cover art and logo copyright © 2008 by Siren Publishing, Inc. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: This literary work may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, without express written permission. All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is strictly coincidental. Printed in the U.S.A. PUBLISHER Siren Publishing, Inc. www.SirenPublishing.com

DEDICATION For Allie and Barrie, For memories cherished and tucked deep inside. Thank you for sharing your home and your hearts, J. And for the rest of the lime: Michael & Deidre, Dale & Harry, Missy Mer & darling Arden, J’ouvert really is the sweetest of all!

D IS FOR DESIRE Witchy Women 2 JIANNE CARLO Copyright © 2008

Speedo Thongs & Pastelles “You want me to wear a red Speedo thong? In public?” Alex Mayfield dangled a fire-engine-red spandex strip from his forefinger. The shiny material fluttered, waving like a vulgar flag, in the tropical gusts fanning the patio. “Under this?” A rope bearing two rectangular burlap flaps hung from a crooked thumb. “Not in this lifetime, sweetheart.” The blasted man both fascinated and irritated, and Desdemona Bloom couldn’t decide between jumping his bones there and then or calling the whole thing off. Stick to the plan. He’s the last item on your to do list, Dee reminded herself. She squared her shoulders and straightened. Even standing on the top step leading to the driveway, Alex topped her by two inches, and he stood on level ground. “And which lifetime would you wear it in? No, scrap that. We’re in Trinidad, and this is Carnival. You agreed to play Mas.” She read the puzzlement in his Mediterranean eyes, in the three lines etched on his forehead. “Mas is short for Masquerade. It’s how Trinidadians refer to Carnival. At any rate, you agreed, and that means wearing the frigging costume, whatever it is.”

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“I am not going to wear this gaudy scrap of red fluff. Anywhere. And that’s final.” Arms propped on lean denim-clad hips, Alex tipped his head back, and his hooded eyes traced the V of her halter top. “Pish.” She snorted. “Don’t give me that. A man like you loves to show off his body. I can picture you flexing your muscles in the mirror, practicing poses. Let’s face the facts.” She held up a finger. “One, we didn’t exactly hit if off at Jake and Tee’s wedding. Two, you’re Jake’s best friend, I’m Tee’s. Three, we’re both staying under their roof for ten days’ vacation. We’re supposed to enjoy ourselves. So we need to find a way to co-exist.” Her eyes narrowed. “Are we on the same page?” “Since we’re enumerating points, here’s one for you. What the hell does that have to do with this?” Alex waved the thong before dropping it onto the porch railing. “And what is a ‘pish’?” Dee counted to thirteen. “I’m in the public eye. Pish is my accepted substitute for frigging idiot.” One brazil-nut eyebrow arched in a sardonic gesture honed to perfection. “And to think I looked forward to the pleasure of your company during my vacation here. Funny, how the thousands of miles separating us mitigated the memories of your sarcastic tongue. You know, you’re a helluva lot nicer when you communicate via email or IM. And for the record, I was under the impression we had a good time at the wedding. ” She bit her lip as recollections of their IM camaraderie flooded her mind. Heat suffused her cheeks at the memory of their passionate necking on the beach in the short interval between Jake and Tee’s marriage ceremony and the picture taking, three months ago. Wishing she understood why he’d blown hot and cold that night, first pursuing and then ignoring her, Dee curled her fingers into fists. The sting of nails biting into flesh arrested her mounting exasperation. Ingrained politeness came to Dee’s rescue. “I didn’t mean to snap. I’m not at my best at one in the morning. The band we’re joining has over eight hundred members, and they’ll all be wearing the same costumes. Do you think I’d normally go out in public dressed like this?” She hooked a finger at the triangular scraps of ruby fabric, which served as a halter-top. “It’s Carnival time. Believe me. No one will even notice you.”

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His sensual mouth thinned, becoming paradoxically more alluring. Yet, his eyes never left her breasts, and he didn’t even look up. Dee changed tactics. “It’ll give you a chance to show off the six-pack you’ve worked so hard to acquire at that exclusive gym I’m sure you’re a member of.” She attempted a cheery conspiratorial grin but settled for a flash of teeth. “Don’t belong to a gym, and I like your costume. It’d be impossible not to.” And the world revolves around your handsome self. Her bare foot tapped a simmering drum-roll on the terrazzo. She folded her arms under her chest, her skin prickling with snappish testiness. “It’s an eight-pack, actually.” “My breasts acknowledge your correction.” She snorted and unfolded her arms “Do you even know what my face looks like? You, you….” Dee’s eclectic command of the English language failed. Her jaw clenched. “Sweetheart, you’re the one not dressed. If you don’t want the attention, you should cover up.” Glowering at him, she stalked forward, and snatched the swimsuit from the railing. “It’s Carnival time. Everyone dresses in nothing, both men and women. It’s no big deal. Men will give me the once-over, but they’ll also speak to my face. What color are my eyes?” She shaded her eyes with a hand and turned her face to the side. “Blue? Brown? Any frigging clue?” Silence. “Can’t even guess, can you? That’s my point. You’re either deliberately being rude and obnoxious, or you have the control and manners of an adolescent boy with his first hard on.” “Not true,” Alex muttered. “Either one. And that costume’s intended as deliberate provocation, not that I’m reacting to it.” “That bulge in your crotch proves otherwise,” she said, sticking a fingernail into his straining bicep. His arm jerked backward, and Alex fingered the indentation on his ridged muscle. “Go, change.” “Ouch.” He scowled at her. “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, you’re a walking SWAT team. You’ve a helluva body, and you know it. Looking is still legal, far as I know, and sweetheart, I’d have to be dead to stop.”

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“Depends on who you’re looking at.” Dee made her little girl voice, normally a handicap, into an annoying chirp. “An Attorney General doesn’t need much of an excuse to throw someone in jail.” “Are you threatening me?” His azure eyes seared irritation. Obviously, accustomed to women fawning over his every word, he didn’t anticipate her annoyed reaction. Frig, she hadn’t anticipated it either. Dee snapped, “If that’s the only way you’ll put on the goddamned costume, then, yes, I’m threatening you.” Loud laughter broke out behind him. Clutching the fabric to his chest, Alex swiveled. Jake Mathews’s amused onyx eyes twinkled at them. “You’re supposed to be on my side,” Alex accused. “I am.” Jake flashed an audacious grin. “Don’t puff yourself up, buddy. You’re here on ten days R and R. Go with the flow.” “Jake, are they ready?” The shouted question came from the open kitchen window. “No, babe,” Jake answered, cupping his hands over his mouth. “I’ll hustle things along.” Distant steel band music resonated around the moonlit porch. The wind picked up in the still morning taking a circuitous route along the porch. A sheet of music on the grand piano rustled, hustling a few dry leaves into the air, and finally, in the dead silence permeating the porch, sending a lone, glacial finger across the back of Dee’s neck. A rare charge of trepidation seeped into her pores. The clatter of cutlery dragged her attention from the two men. Through the double set of French doors framing the wraparound porch, she caught a glimpse of Tee dropping spoons into a glass jar. Jake’s amused rumble drew Dee’s gaze. “Come on you two. Stop bickering. And buddy, if I have to wear this damned Viking costume, so do you.” Jake gestured at bare, tanned knees poking out from under knee-length burlap flaps. “Everyone wears costumes for Carnival.” “Who’s gonna make me? I draw the line here, Jake.” Alex’s straight, gray-flecked hair swirled at the accompanying adamant shake of his head. “I won’t do it.”

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“Do you want to tell Tee that?” Jake asked. “You know how excited she is that you’re here. Ever since you agreed to play Mas, she’s focused on making all these arrangements.” He frowned. “It’s taken her mind off the miscarriage, Alex, for which I’m eternally grateful to you.” “Oh heck, twist my arm why don’t you?” Alex muttered. “How can I say no to that? Okay, okay, I’ll change, but I’m wearing shorts over this thing.” He threw a mutinous glare at the offending slip of crimson cloth. The interplay between the two men, each so different in personality, intrigued her. Like Tee and herself, the two men were childhood friends and grew up together in, of all places, an orphanage run by retired priests. Alex straightened, and he clamped an empathetic hand on Jake’s shoulder. No words passed between them as they stared at each other. Jake dipped his chin, as if acknowledging some silent message of support. That small gesture, Alex’s long, elegant fingers on his friend’s shoulder, clutched seconds of constriction in Dee’s throat. It sluiced away any lingering irritation with him. Dee tapped Jake’s arm as Alex slammed the powder room door. “How’s Tee doing? I know the past couple of months have been hard on the two of you. I’ve never seen her so depressed.” “Losing the baby hit both of us hard, but more so Tee. Hell, it’s been a nightmare, coming home to find her crying every day.” He tugged an earlobe. “Alex’s visit seems to have snapped her out of her depression, though. She’s been like the old Tee, humming while she’s working, and she’s started riding again.” He squeezed her shoulder. “Try to get along with Alex. You two are a perfect example of what Tee calls Tobago love, masking your attraction to each other with veiled hostility. If nothing else just keep the peace.” “I know you won’t believe it, but I am trying to be civil to him.” She emphasized the last few words. “I think he relishes irritating me. He’s polite enough to everyone else, why not me? The man speaks to my breasts, and he doesn’t even try to hide it.” “Cut it, Dee.” His square jaw angled. “Name me one man who isn’t obsessed with your breasts.” “You aren’t,” she countered. “And Alex wasn’t during the wedding when we first met.” She fell silent.

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“Dee, I warned Alex off.” Jake’s words made no sense. “I don’t understand.” “At the wedding. Tee sent me to get you for the photos.” She squeezed her eyelids shut. He knew. He’d seen Alex and her lip-locked on the beach. Humiliation and some sort of primitive Amazonian rage pricked her pores; her fingernails dug U’s into her palms “Explain.” “I saw you two on the beach. I told Alex to back off. He didn’t take it well.” Black spots danced in a frenzied jumble in front of her eyes. “You had no right. I’m not a child, Jake Mathews.” “You’re Tee’s best friend. A one-night stand was in no one’s best interest. And don’t forget, I know the truth about you nine witches.” She ground her teeth together so hard, it hurt her jaw. No wonder Alex had ignored her after the dinner. A whole litany of questions flooded her mind. Why had Jake assumed it would be a one-night stand? “In retrospect, I was wrong to interfere. And I owe you one. FYI, Alex instigated this trip, not Tee. And every phone call since the wedding, he’s asked about you.” “Why are you telling me this now?” “I dunno,” he said, averting his gaze. The information digested like food well past its expiry date. “What are you trying to tell me?” “Proceed with caution?” He made direct eye contact on that one. “We’ve a complex of tangled relationships here, you, Tee, me, Alex. A real opportunity to screw things up. And my wife’s in a fragile place, Dee, I don’t want her hurt. She’s matchmaking, you seem to be co-operating, and Alex is acting out of character. All we need is a spark in this tinderbox.” “You don’t like to talk about relationship stuff.” “Think about that.” “Point taken. However, it’s Carnival Monday morning, and I’m not getting maudlin, Jake Mathews. On to more frivolous matters. What does the Mayfield Magics stand for?” At his raised eyebrows, she said, “It’s on Alex’s t-shirt.”

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“He coaches a peewee soccer team, and that’s their name. He’s fascinated by the whole witch thing, hence the Magic part.” His lips curled at the corners. “Maybe his new obsession with your breasts is the result of a spell?” She snorted, relieved to see his mood lightening. “You know very well I can’t bewitch anyone. Neither can your wife.” “Yes, but Alex doesn’t know that.” His sable eyes danced. “Run with it. Make him think you’ve cast a spell over him. Alex loves his playboy image, but, he’s a conservative at heart, and you’re a card carrying liberal. It’ll drive him insane.” Jake rubbed his palms together. “Do it for me. Make him squirm. It’s about time he realizes not all women are putty in his hands.” Wrong, Dee thought, wishing for the hundredth time she had this attraction to Alex under control. If only he was more like Jake. She hadn’t liked Jake at first, thought him a harsh, unfeeling man, until she found him pounding a fist against a tree tears running down his face. That was the last time she’d seen him, two days after his wife’s miscarriage. Months later, the experience had gentled his stoic features, and the mention of his wife’s name sprouted weeds of tenderness in his coal eyes. Divining the real Jake meant pealing back one layer to discover several more. He held himself apart, allowing few into his heart. This boyish tilt to his character, where he encouraged her to trick his friend, set her to unraveling yet another layer. “Jake. Dee,” Tee’s shout came from behind him. “We’re wanted.” Jake yanked his head backward. “Everyone always seems to gravitate to the kitchen.” “Darling, put on some music, please.” Tee’s cheerful chant halted their forward movement. “Dee, I need you.” “You go,” Jake ordered. “Any requests?” “How about some Soca? Kevin Little? Or the Baha Men? Or your perennial favorite, David Rudder?” Dee wound her way down a shadowed corridor past a dimly lit bar. The fluorescent lighting in the kitchen made her blink when she entered the cavernous chamber. The room, painted in a combination of lime and canary, reflected the cheerful, vibrant personality of its occupant. Tee glanced over her shoulder and swept Dee a wide smile.

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The tension and worry built during her conversation with Jake dissipated a notch. Enduring friendship forged at the tender age of four meant each woman could read the other with one glance. And, being a witchy healer, seeing the pain of others was Dee’s forte. She could tell Tee was on the mend, mentally and physically. “We need to get everything set up. Put the food in the micro, and then help me with these glasses,” Tee commanded. “What’s going on with you and Alex? I came out onto the patio a few minutes earlier and left when I overheard your comment about your breasts acknowledging his correction.” She sighed and slid four tumblers from the shelf onto the speckled counter. “It seems overnight Alex developed an obsession with them. Jake wants me to make Alex think I’ve put him under a spell. What do you think?” “He won’t fall for it.” Tee squinted at the beige platter she held in one hand. A long, ringlet glinting amber in the track lighting fell forward over one shoulder, and she flipped it back. “Alex is fascinated with my special abilities, as he refers to them. When we were in Scotland last year, he plagued me with questions. You know how uncertain my conjuring powers can be. When I tried to conjure up a storm and got dandelion clocks instead, I swear he cross-questioned me about it for hours. And he’s relentless. I’ll give you any odds he’ll bring it up this trip.” She turned to face Dee, one hand braced on her hip. “If you’re still planning to seduce him, this breast fixation should make it easy-peasy. Well, are you?” “Don’t give me your goody-two-shoes disapproving look. Yes, I am. Once the Prime Minister announces my appointment as Barbados’s Acting Attorney General, the press will put me under a microscope. If my performance is exemplary, I stand a chance of being appointed permanently. That means no private life for the next five years. If I’m going to indulge in an affair, Alex fits the bill to a T, and the timing couldn’t be more perfect.” Dee snatched a yellow and white checkered dishcloth and picked up a dish. “Give me that and take this instead.” Tee handed her a leaf-embossed platter mounded with various shaped pastries and pointed to the microwave. Obligingly, Dee swept it into the appliance and closed the door. “Three minutes?”

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“Yes, but not yet. Wait ‘till the others get here. Go on about your Alex seduction. I’m positive a list is coming next.” Tee draped the dishtowel on the stove’s ivory enamel handle. “Lists organize the mind.” She shot back and held up a finger. “One, he lives in Boca Raton, Florida, so we’re not likely to run into each other again. Two, he’s a hunk and with his experience, likely to be a good lover. Three, he’s commitment phobic, and I am definitely not interested in anything remotely permanent. Four, I fantasize about him, and that’s a first for me. And, last but not least, no one else is available.” “It’s so cold, so unfeeling.” Her friend waved a sun-kissed hand. “The shot glasses are in the far cupboard on the middle shelf.” “It’s what I want, sex without the emotional involvement. You and I know after the rape, that part of me never functioned properly. I was sixteen then.” Dee rose on her bare toes to reach the glasses. “I’ll be thirty soon. I’m a healer who can’t heal herself. It’s plain cowardice, I know. It’s been so much easier to focus on my career and bury that side of me.” “Why change now?” Tee took the drink measures from her. “One, if I put it off any longer, I won’t do it. I know me. Two, because all my goals are within reach. As AG, I can change life for women and children in Barbados. Maybe even throughout the Caribbean.” Dee darted a peek at Tee’s face and waited for her reaction to the coming declaration. “Three, once I take office, I’m giving up the healer thing.” “What?” Tee stopped mid-stride, and her tawny eyes burned with accusation. “That does it.” She thunked the glasses on the granite counter. The cracking sound echoed around the room. Arms akimbo, she raced into speech. “I’ve watched you bury your humanity bit by bit over the last five years. When you graduated from the Inns of Court, you were filled with passion, viewed law as a noble career. Now look at you. You’re made of ice. You put people into compartments. This one for the guilty murderer, another for the JD you can’t reform. These days I wonder which compartment I’m slotted into—childhood friend who knows too much? The healing part of you is the only part left that cares, and I’m dammed if I’m going to let you bury it without fighting you every inch of the way.”

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“You don’t have any say in this. I have two weaknesses, my sexual reactions, and being a witchy healer. If I want to prosecute Butch Reniere, I can’t afford either of them. Whether you like it or not, I will bury both. First, I’ll conquer this frigging attraction to Alex Mayfield, and then I’ll hold a funeral service for the healer. If you’re my friend, you’ll support me in this.” Precariously close to sweeping the shot glasses across the room, Dee gripped the counter’s rounded edge until her fingertips stung. “I’ve supported you, Tee, even when I thought Jake was the worst decision you could make. Don’t force me to make a choice I’ll regret.” “Can’t you see what you’re doing? Being a healer is an integral part of you. It’s who you are. Look what happened when I tried to deny my conjuring powers. It was only when I accepted them that I became whole, happy.” “I am perfectly content with my planned lot in life.” The words came out hollow, forced. “Content? What the hell is that? If you died tomorrow, do you think you’d measure your life by the bills you passed in Parliament?” She shook her head so hard that for a minute, honeyed ringlets hid her face. “Not a bloody chance. Damn you, Dee. On your deathbed, you’ll regret all the things you haven’t done. Like taking up your mother on that tea she’s always inviting you to. Going golfing with your father on a Sunday morning the way you used to. Tell me the last time you did anything like that.” Her voice softened. “I can see it in your face. It’s been years. Answer me something else. What happens if I have another miscarriage? What will you do? Refuse to help heal me and deny me the chance of having a child?” A tear streamed down Tee’s almond cheek, and she swiped at it with her knuckles. “Could you? Without hating yourself?” The often-repeated argument ventured into new ground with her last question. Dee knew she’d give her life for her friend and anyone else she loved. Even though her decision stood firm, irreconcilable emotions threatened to topple it at any moment. Inured by her experiences with the dregs of humanity since beginning her stint as a prosecutor, she struggled daily for balance, teetering on the edge of a razor’s blade. The naked pain of victims and relatives when murderers and rapists went free sliced away ideals and hope. Every not guilty verdict devoured another part of her soul and left her bitter and

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malcontent with the insidiously corrupt legal system, and, ultimately, herself. “And your obsession with Butch. Is that healthy? Playing his game and letting him think you’re succumbing to his seduction, to his bribes?” Tee’s moisture-laden eyes threatened a downpour. “I know you don’t want to hear this, but maybe being Attorney General isn’t right for you. Maybe you should re-evaluate your career, your direction. You haven’t been happy for a very long time, Dee, and that can’t be right.” “I’ve wanted to be the AG since I was sixteen. It’s what I’ve planned for, lived for. What else would I do?” Like flesh eating larvae consuming hale skin, the words bit at her core, devoured every inch of exposed soul, and created an aching void. Since learning of her acting appointment, she had begun to question whether she was right for the position, and that notion kept her tossing and turning in the bleak hours after midnight. She was AG material. She was. The goal had kept her going after the rape. She had to be right for the position. Doubt and a fetid river of self-pity threatened to obliterate her control. Dee gritted her teeth. “You’ve helped so many people, and unlike me, everyone accepts your talent. Everyone you’ve healed loves you.” “They’re grateful to me. Don’t confuse that with love.” Dee insisted, as she dragged one hand through her short curls. “And what about the times it’s gone wrong? I can’t control it, and I hate that. You conveniently forget what happened with Alain. What happens if I kill someone? No, don’t shake your head, it’s a definite possibility the way things are going. How will I live with myself if that happens?” “What does Douglas say about this?” Tee’s stance sparked belligerence, hands fisted on her hips, pelvis thrust forward. “Our mentor and guardian warlock warns me certain things in life are fated.” She tapped a bare foot, and the miniature bells on her toe ring jingled. “Except for the witch part of me, I’ve forged my own fate. Hard work and determination, that’s my path after Carnival’s over. I will never practice healing again unless it’s a dire emergency for someone I love. I am going to be the best frigging Attorney General in the history of the Caribbean.”

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No birds chirped, no cicadas sang, no frogs croaked. Her words plummeted into the harsh quiet of the night and seconds grabbed at them, making the statement seem callous, austere. A minute crept by, and still, the two women stared at each other, one willing the other to take the words back, one refusing. Steel band music sounded in the distance, echoing through the narrow valley, rumbling up the mountain, softening the stillness of the pre-dawn hour, and breaking their face-off. “What about a husband, a companion, and a family?” Tee’s brows knitted, and her stubborn jaw tipped down. “That’s your dream. I’ve never wanted it. Frig, I don’t even like children until they’re older.” At Tee’s pained grimace, Dee added, “I’ll love yours, I promise.” “It won’t work, you know. You can’t cut it out of your life. Healing is part of you, and burying yourself in your career,” Tee said, shaking her head. Stark sorrow radiated from her golden eyes. “You’ll regret it. And this Alex thing, I just don’t know. I have this really, really, bad feeling it could back fire on you.” “How? The only way it can is if either one of us falls in love.” She snorted. “Pish. It’ll snow in Trinidad first, and since, the island’s ten degrees north of the Equator, we both know how impossible that is.” “I hate ‘Pish’.” Tee grimaced. “You sound like a prudish Victorian spinster. I know you don’t want to slip up and swear in public, but pick something else. Please.” “I’ll tell you a secret. Pish really irritates men. Especially stuffy, selfconscious Barbadian MPs.” She sniggered. “I’m becoming worried about your deteriorating view of the male sex.” “It’s the job. All I see daily are vicious, violent criminals who prey on women.” She peeked out the window. Trying to change the subject and lighten the grim atmosphere, Dee continued, “Shouldn’t the rest of the gang be here already?” “Michael’s driving.” Tee rolled her eyes. “They’ll be at least half an hour late, he always is.” “So true.” She heard a door slam. The sound flashed an image of Alex’s tight butt as he stalked to the powder room. “Did you know Alex coaches a peewee soccer team? It seems so out of character. I can’t see him getting dirty.”

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“Get the salt, will you?” Tee’s forefinger directed Dee to the left. “Alex loves children, and he’s really good with them. You sound as if you want him to be superficial and shallow. Are you afraid you might fall for him? If I hadn’t met Jake first, I’d have made a beeline for him. Underneath all that Rolex, Trump-Country-Club bluster, he’s a sweetie, a sensitive hunk.” “Come on, he’s superficial and shallow. Unfortunately, he’s what I want, for this affair, anyway. I don’t buy him liking kids. I’m more inclined to think he does it for the access to bored, hot soccer moms.” She tossed a fish-shaped blue saltshaker between her palms. “Yes, that makes sense. I can’t see him with runny nosed toddlers.” The strains of “Who Let the Dogs Out,” thundered out of the overhead speakers in the kitchen. Tee turned the intercom’s volume switch on the wall, and the sound lowered. “I hear a car.” Dee rested her palms on the black-speckled green countertop and tiptoed to look out the open kitchen window. “Yep, I can see Michael’s SUV. Jake buzzed him in.” “Turn on the micro will you?” Dee obeyed, and the appliance hummed. “Just so you know, I’m going to make Alex work for it. I haven’t forgotten the remark he made at your wedding. I’m not falling into his arms that easily.” “Really?” Tee lifted a golden eyebrow, and full, rosy lips turned up at the corners. “Who’re you trying to convince? Methinks the lady doth protest too much.” Voices and throaty laughter preceded the entry of couples into the kitchen. Loud greetings of old friends resonated through the cavernous room. Four women in crimson halter-tops entered, followed by a parade of men wearing t-shirts, burlap flaps, and sneakers. Three couples paired off leaving a long-legged, sensual beauty standing to one side, Rosie, Dee’s nemesis. “It’s twelve-thirty. We should get a move on.” This came from the last man who trailed into the kitchen. “Hi, Michael.” Dee kissed their grizzly-cheeked friend. “We have time. The truck isn’t even here yet. We’re getting a ride to the zoo. No one has to worry about drinking and driving.” “We have any food? I’m starving.” Michael wrapped his arms around her and squeezed. “I could always eat you for an appetizer, Dee darlin’.

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The microwave dinged. “Decision time, Mike. Me or the food?” He plopped Dee down on the tiled floor. She opened the micro and placed the large platter onto the stovetop’s center griddle. The aroma of beef and onions wafted on steamy wisps curling above the hot dish. “Help yourself, everyone. “ She waved blue-painted fingernails in the direction of the food. Michael, a stocky, solid goateed male with dark Irish looks and impossibly emerald eyes, strode over. He swept Tee off the diagonalpatterned surface, and sat her on the counter. “How are you feeling, darlin’?” “Fine, I’m much better.” “Don’t overdo things, darlin’.” “I’m quite capable of looking out for my wife.” Jake edged between Michael and Tee and hovered, palms clamped on hipbones. “Calm down, man.” Michael spoke around a mouthful of pastried beef. He used a triangular-shaped pie as a laser pointer and aimed it at Jake. “We’re all concerned about your wife. You may be her husband, but we’ve known her since she was a little girl.” “You just love to wind Jake up,” Dee said, planting her bare feet in front of them. “It’s J’ouvert morning, the beginning of Carnival. We’ll get enough testosterone on the road. We don’t need it exploding in here. Got that?” She pierced each pair of eyes with a warning glare. Michael tapped two fingers to his temple. “Aye, aye, ma’am. Nothing like a short woman with a Napoleon complex. Bet you’d ride a man hard, Desdemona.” “Beg your pardon?” Dee pinched his forearm. “Dee, I meant Dee. Uncle, uncle.” Michael examined his blotchy flesh. “There’s a mean streak in you, woman.” His gaze shifted to the left. “Hi, Alex. Good to see you again.” Dee stilled and slowly turned her head. “You made it back.” “Yeah. Happy now? I’m wearing the blasted costume.” Alex managed to look Dee in the eyes. His were cobalt and brilliant. Burning. She forgot about the others, and her body tautened like a bowstring before release. Heat braised her cheeks as Alex continued to stare into her

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eyes. Her hollow stomach quivered. Delicious shocks sparked low in her pelvis, and moisture drenched the skinny slash of material between Dee’s thighs. Her face flamed, and she squished her legs together. “Hello. Anyone at home?” Dee blinked when Tee waved a hand in front of her face. “Sorry. What?” “Time for the shots. Will you do the honors?” She handed Dee a red and white striped Dr. Seuss top hat. “We could use another hat,” Dee said softly. “I know you bought this one for the baby.” “No.” Tee bit her lower lip. “I need to come to terms with the miscarriage.” “Okay, Cupcake. Don’t take on everything all at once.” “I won’t. Promise.” Tee grinned at her. “Alex, there’s food on the stove if you’re hungry.” Alex touched Dee’s arm as she walked by. She hesitated and glanced at him. “What?” “I’m starving.” His eyes dropped to the cleavage spilling over her ruby halter-top. “Ravenous in fact.” Desire pooled hot and wet, searing her belly and impairing her reactions. He winked. She grabbed two banana-leaf-wrapped rectangles and shoved them into his hand. “Eat a couple of these. They’ll sate your appetite.” Alex fumbled with the hot, damp, food and retorted sotto voce. “Won’t make a dent in my hunger. Not one iota.” He winked again. The crooked, rueful smile catching his mouth flamed all sorts of hot, fluttery reactions low in her stomach. And other places. Desire dangled a heady invitation in his fervent gaze, crackling and snapping like brown sugar caramelizing too fast. “What is this?” Alex turned the rope-tied parcels over in his hand. “It doesn’t look like food.” Rosie, their voluptuous, mahogany-haired Venezuelan friend, lodged her curvaceous form in front of Alex. She trailed an ivory finger down his bare arm and reached across his chest, making sure her turgid nipples scraped his t-shirt. Plucking one rectangle out of his grasp, she untied the

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thin string holding it together. “These are pastelles, honey. They’re similar to a Mexican tamale, but, like all things Venezuelan, much spicier.” Dee gritted her teeth at Rosie’s blatant carnality. A wave of jealousy threatened to sweep her into an emotional abyss. “I remember you from Jake and Tee’s wedding. You’re the one who danced the flamenco,” Alex said, eyeing her, blue eyes bedeviled. “I always make sure I’m remembered, honey.” As she spoke, Rosie unwrapped the package and revealed a cornmeal pie. The ceiling fan above circled, mingling aromas of cornmeal, beef, and Scotch Bonnet peppers around the kitchen. Rosie pinched off a corner and brushed it over Alex’s lips. “Here. Taste an exotic Venezuelan treat. I guarantee you won’t be disappointed.” Dee couldn’t tear her eyes away, and, at that moment, Alex caught her watching them. He opened his mouth and covered Rosie’s finger to the knuckle. Sucking the food off one inch at a time, he held Dee’s gaze. “Oh, hon’. We’re in for one hot Carnival.” Rosie stuck her wet finger in her mouth and slurped. “Wipe that snarl off your face, Dee.” Tee whispered out of the corner of her mouth. Aloud, she continued, “We’re ready.” She curled Dee’s fingers around the felt hat “Take the hat around.” Dee stifled the temptation to throw a jug of icy water over Alex and Rosie. Her spine morphed into a steel rod, unbending. Curving her neck left to right, she blew out a breath, and then sidled forward. She gave Jake first choice. He took a slip of paper from the hat, but didn’t open it. She raised both eyebrows. The room went silent, and all eyes went to them. “Aren’t you going to see who you picked?” Michael, sitting on the kitchen countertop, legs dangling, asked the question. “Nope.” Jake smirked. “What are we picking?” Alex queried. He lounged against the cabinets hips braced on the rounded edge. “Women for shots. We do Tequila shots off a woman’s belly,” Jake explained. Dee stood before Michael. His hand disappeared into the red and black hat. “Who’d you get?

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Michael drummed all ten fingers on the counter, picked up the note, opened it, and said, “Tada.” He waved both hands in the air, the white slip of paper trapped between two fingers. “I got the luscious, drum roll please, Rosie.” He grinned and crooked a finger at the woman who sat opposite. “Come home to papa, darlin’.” “We need to wait until everyone’s finished.” The Venezuelan beauty tossed her long tresses. “It’s tradition.” Rosie leaned over, grabbed the rum bottle, and poured two ounces into a glass. “Here, handsome, you can pass this along.” She batted her eyelashes at Alex. “How long are you here for, honey?” Dee’s spirits picked up when Alex let out an audible, exasperated sigh and grouched, “Ten days.” She edged forward. Dee held out the hat. “Your turn.” His hand brushed her breast when he straightened. An electric current hit her, and she lowered her eyes to hide her reaction. Her nipples hardened into burning points. Alex dipped his hand into the hat. From her vantage point, Dee noticed the burlap flap covering Alex’s groin quivered imperceptibly over a conspicuous bulge. Her eyes widened and flew up to meet his. Alex’s jaw worked and a bead of sweat dotted his temple. Her eyelids drooped in a futile attempt at subtlety. The flap lifted higher, and the bulge widened. The cycling shorts he wore over the Speedo barely disguised his burgeoning erection. Her selfconfidence bolstered, Dee’s lips turned up at the corners, and she flashed him a knowing glance. That adorable crooked, rueful smile chased his lips. She considered changing into old-lady panties. No thong would contain her creamy reaction if he kept smiling so sexily. “Well, man, who do you have?” Michael nudged an elbow into Alex’s side. He opened the folded paper, and then flattened it out on the countertop drawing the edge of his palm over it. “Tee.” “You may be my best friend, Alex Mayfield, but if your tongue or lips so much as come near my wife’s belly, I’ll beat you to a pulp.” Jake’s

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cheerful voice shocked them all into silence. He held out his still folded note. “I think it might be healthier for you if we trade.” “Crap, you always spoil my fun. How about I get one shot, and then we trade?” Alex sighed at the stern expression on Jake’s face. “Here.” He rolled the rectangular note into a ball and tossed it. Jake grinned when he caught it. “Thanks buddy.” He reached across a wooden butcher’s block and slapped his note into Alex’s open palm. “All yours.” Alex unfolded the note and stared at the paper. Dee hadn’t moved. He braced his elbows on the counter, the white slip dangling from two fingers. His gaze went to her bare toes, and then roamed a languid path up her body before those brilliant blues connected with her gray orbs. She knew before his voice intoned. “Dee.” Paralysis ruled her limbs. Not so her internal reactions. The heat burning inside her rivaled an uncontained California wildfire. Tee shoved Dee in the small of her back. She stumbled forward. Recovering, Dee took the hat around to each male, which resulted in various pairings. Michael lined up shot glasses, a Tequila bottle, and the Mexicanpatterned saltshaker. Everyone gravitated to the longest counter opposite a small dining table. Voices grew louder, and the room hummed with fluid activity, ice clinking, knives slicing limes, the tap running. The mound of food leveled off to sparse packets, and the kitchen smelled of rum, citrus, and beef. Michael turned up the intercom, and the din grew as people sang along to calypso melodies. All rituals repeated since Dee turned eighteen. This year the group had agreed to switch locations because of the proximity of Jake and Tee’s home to their ultimate destination, The Savannah, Trinidad’s version of Central Park. Jake’s second Carnival and Dee decided that, so far, he’d handled it well. She frowned, remembering his penchant for possessiveness. Not accustomed to the casual, affectionate attitude of Trinidadians, he bristled when any male touched Tee. Jealous spats spoiled many a Carnival celebration.

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She walked across the room to the bookcase and tiptoed, straining to return the hat to its original top-shelf position. Alex uncoiled his languorous pose and pounced in one fluid motion. He laid his palm on her bare shoulder, and said, “Here, let me do that.” Hot air tunneled across her earlobe, and his nose brushed her temple. Tingling nerves sent out an amber alert when his thumb drew a soft circle on electrified skin. He leaned in further, and his pelvis brushed her butt. Subconscious reflexes took over. Dee pressed backwards, and the delicious hardness of Alex’s erection splintered her composure. Desire proved the marauder of rational thought. Moisture pooled between her thighs. I’m a goner, she thought.

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Tequila, Salt & Belly Buttons The little sweetheart’s bottom dug into Alex’s cock. Hot lust deluged his arteries, engorging his penis to a painful lance. He let his fingers brush Dee’s forearm in slow feather strokes. Her minty breath teased his nostrils. Reluctant to end the sensuous interlude, he clasped his fingers around hers. With an impatient flick, she let the top hat fall, ducked under his arm, and scooted across to the other side of the room. Alex shot her a rueful glance, retrieved the hat, and placed it on the shelf. Mesmerized, he studied the sweet sway of her voluptuous hips, and surrendered, no longer willing to fight the escalating desire boiling his blood. As a witch, had she cast a spell over him? For weeks, Desdemona Bloom’s articulate, passionate, idealistic arguments dominated his email communications. Each new dawn his eagerness to get to his inbox spiraled. Even her cultured British accent, when they spoke on Skype, matched the picture he’d envisioned. Long-legged, lean, slim-hipped, raven-haired, and poised, with an intellect to match his, the vision personified his ideal mate, and that’s how he’d pictured Dee. When he finally met her his mental portrait had shattered, dissolving into a vivid kaleidoscope of scattered images; button nose, halo curls, sad, detached eyes, a one-hand-span waist. A voluptuous sensuousness dominated her every breath, her every slight movement. The exact physical opposite of women he had dated in the past. Alex studied Dee surreptitiously, cataloging all her flaws: she was a good ten pounds heavier than he liked his women, way too short, hippy, and not simply blond, but almost platinum. His constant erection in her presence acknowledged Dee’s assets in rapid succession. Full, wicked, rosebud mouth made to wrap around a satiny head, tiny waist, and those magnificent breasts. Earthy and unpretentious, she wore not a scrap of makeup.

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Accustomed to the painted faces and Botox restricted expressions of Palm Beach socialites and models, he found her uninhibited chortles, and the corresponding crinkles at the corners of her eyes, charming, even—dare he think it?—bewitching. Caught in a fever of unexplainable, unassailable lust for the most unsuitable woman he’d ever met, Alex, nonetheless, had to have her. And he stood a chance, if her smile earlier when she noticed his flagrant arousal meant anything. “Now we do rock, paper, scissors for who goes first,” Michael stated. Alex and Dee occupied the last position. Dee hiked onto the counter kitty corner to him. Her bare feet dangled, and every time she shook one foot, bells jingled. He frowned and peered into the dark shadows covering the lower half of the cupboards. Annoyed when the source of the sound remained mysterious, he sauntered to the cooler stationed on the floor below Dee’s feet. “’Cuse me.” He knelt down and opened the cooler. Bells jingled at his ear. Alex’s head whipped to the right, and he stared at the sexiest, daintiest foot in existence. A perfect arch, plump Marilyn Monroe toes. His nose mere inches away, when he discerned the color she had painted her toenails, powder blue. Red nails would never do it for him again. Bells jingled, and Dee’s big toe caught the edge of his nose. “Ow.” He glared at her and rubbed the tingling spot. “So sorry.” The jaunty angle of her chin, the twinkle in her astounding eyes, hurricane gray rimmed brilliant silver, sent his cock a-throbbing with gleeful anticipation. “Getting a drink.” Alex waved a beer plucked from the cooler at Dee and slunk back to his original position. Jake and Tee did shots first. Tee lay on the kitchen counter, and Jake stood next to her. He slurped three shots from her navel. They switched positions, and Tee did two amidst much hooting and hollering. The other couples followed, and the cheers and catcalls grew louder, the crude suggestions more explicit with each shot. Then it was Michael and Rosie’s turn, everyone crowded around the far counter focused on Rosie’s exposed midriff. Alex strolled to the opposite shadowed corner where Dee stood, elbows braced on the cool granite. He brushed her arm, bent his head, and whispered, “Do you wanna go first?”

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She straightened and shook her head vehemently. His lips brushed her lobe. Alex thought he’d expire on the spot. Dee smelled like Forget-Me-Nots at nighttime. The scent went to his head. His tongue developed a life of its own. He licked the base of her ear, discovered the soft whorls above, and sucked on the sweet, tender lobe. His teeth jumped into the fray and softly nipped her flesh. She leaned into him, gasping sexy, almost inaudible, mewls. Her knee buckled at his shin, and the side of her hip grazed his groin, rippling blood to his prick. A flush of pink color stained Dee’s cheeks, and her smoky lashes fluttered, casting enticing shadows on her honey skin. Their audience faded into insignificance. A bell pealed. She jumped and bemused, stormy eyes questioned his. In slow motion, a dainty hand rose to cup her ear as confusion battled logic for supremacy in those dove eyes. Triumphant that he’d thrown her off-kilter, a possessive grin slapped ownership of his mouth. It was all he could do not to crow out loud. Angry consternation froze his mental jubilation when he realized he’d made love to her ear in the midst of a roomful of strangers. He actively loathed public displays of affection, far less broadcasting lustful behavior and blatant desire. An irritating buzz interrupted his thoughts. “That’s the gate.” Jake walked over to an intercom on the far wall. He pressed the speaker button. “It’s our ride.” “I told the driver to come at two,” Michael complained. Alex pointed to the burnished digital clock hanging above the pantry. “It is two.” “Oh blast, we’ll be late,” Michael grumbled. “Dee and Alex haven’t had their turns.” “You two need to make it a quick one,” Tee said and lifted a bare shoulder. “Sorry. One shot each.” “Guys, help me with the other cooler, will you?” Jake spun around. “It’s in the back.” Three men left the room. “Dee, I’ll bring your sneakers and get the cash.” Tee disappeared followed by two of the women.

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“Who’s going first?” Michael looked from Alex to Dee. “Me,” Alex rapped out. He cupped his palms on the edge of the counter and lifted his hips onto the smooth surface. Rotating sideways, he hooked his t-shirt over his head and lay down on the cool granite. Watching. Sizzling with predatory lust. Dee’s eyes wandered up the cut in his middle to his hard pectoral muscles. He had a great body, knew it, relished it, used it to his advantage. His nipple puckered as she stared at the light dusting of brown hair on his chest, and his breathing rasped with increased frequency under her rapt gaze. “Get a move on, Dee. We don’t want to miss the band. You remember how long we had to look for them last year.” Daphne, Michael’s wife, tapped her on the shoulder. When Dee didn’t react immediately, she snatched the Tequila bottle off the countertop and poured the liquor into one of the two shot glasses near Dee’s hand. “Here.” Michael slapped the saltshaker into her palm. “Take the lime.” She took the green-skinned wedge from him. Her hand jerked, and the saltshaker spilled fine white grains, which settled in the middle of Alex’s stomach. A few rolled into his navel, tickling the skin. Daphne emptied the shot glass into his round belly button. A car horn honked, once, twice. Dee didn’t look at him, not once. She seemed hypnotized by his belly. His blasted cock leaked moisture and jerked on his pelvis. Daphne, damn her, grinned at him saucily, her eyes sweeping between his face and his arousal. She winked at him. Bending her head, Dee moistened her lower lip, and that wondrous plump mouth covered his navel. She sucked once, twice, the slightest of sensations. Her tongue rimmed the circle of his belly button, once, twice, three times. It triggered a tsunami-sized flood of desire through every pore, every single inch of him. His balls contracted, tightening upwards. His penis soared toward release. Pre-come trickled in wet, tacky splotches each time his twitching cock made contact with taut, scalding, pelvic skin. Only drastic action could save him now. Alex jerked away from Dee’s succulent mouth and rolled off the counter. He jumped so forcefully that he stumbled, and his pelvis rammed

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into the back of a kitchen chair. He welcomed the pain and held onto the edge of the wooden frame waiting for the sharp sting to subside. The car horn sounded again. More honks of impatience. Without turning around, Alex muttered, “I’ll skip my turn.” He snatched the T-shirt and pulled it over his head. “What the frigging hell got into him?” Michael inquired. “Or out of him as the case may be.” Daphne burst into a fit of giggles. “Darlin’, how much did you drink?” “It’s not that, Mike.” Daphne cupped a hand over his ear and whispered nosily. Alex ignored their heated murmurs and headed straight to the waiting pickup. They followed him sniggering and muttering at his expense, he just knew it. He risked an over the shoulder cut. Dee trudged behind the sniggering pair. She wore that same dazed expression from the ear interlude. He didn’t relax until his back hit the side of the truck’s tray. He’d almost come. Him. The playboy who could take ‘em or leave ‘em. He prided himself on his ability to hold back. For crap’s sake, he savored being in control, deciding when he was ready to climax. Women sought him out as a lover because of his vaunted control, and his good looks, of course. Jake nudged him with the top of a bottle of Black Label Scotch. “Swig?” Alex took a pull of the liquor. As the fierce burn coursed down his throat, his tension eased. Dee’s almond-tinted hands clasped the ridge of the truck’s white side. She dragged one leg over the top. Michael gave her bottom a sound push, and she crashed onto her hands and knees on the plastic tray. In the faint light spewing from the security fixture attached to the garage wall, her breasts gleamed as they listed forward and then side to side. A slash of white skin spilled over the red material, and a hard pink nipple peeped out from the fabric. His cock, limp and aching from hitting the chair, roared to attention. “You okay, Dee?” Tee scooted across Alex’s range of vision blocking his view.

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Grateful for the distraction, mentally anyway, Alex slugged down more Scotch and fought a familiar sense of disquiet, of bleak emptiness. Lately, nothing filled the growing void somewhere deep inside his soul, save the peewee soccer team and the five young men he mentored. The familiar pride in his achievements, the comfort he drew from his top-of-the line Rolex, hand-tailored shirts, Hermes one of a kind shoes made solely for his feet, all paled, turned meaningless and insipid by the yawning barrenness of possessions. “For what does it profit a man to gain the whole world and forfeit his soul?” The oft-quoted biblical expression clouded his morning coffee, repeating at odd moments in his day; driving on I-95, seeing a homeless man pushing a shopping cart, buying the latest aftershave. He had everything money could buy, and it wasn’t enough, not anymore. “Watch it, buddy. We’re going to be drinking till dawn.” Jake’s murmured advice startled him, and he assumed a cheerful, carefree expression. “You okay? You seem a little down.” A deep furrow formed between his dark eyebrows as he searched Alex’s features. “I actually came in from New York. I spent a week at the orphanage before coming here. Those visits always leave me feeling empty.” Alex mugged a grimace. “I know what you mean. Those memories are bittersweet. I know I need to make it up there more often. I’m glad you still keep up your visits. What the priests do is so important. They make a difference in boys’ lives. They did in ours.” The pickup roared to life and backed down the driveway, breaking the silence of the night. “Father Murphy asked me to give a speech for St. Michael’s graduating class. I spent the week with the boys.” “Yeah. So?” They hit a pothole. Jake and Alex grabbed the tray’s rim. Alex checked Dee sitting two down opposite, shocked by his instinctive, protective gesture, but relieved to see her unharmed. Jake snagged an arm around Tee and drew her close. “What made you blue?”

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“I sat in on Father Murphy’s final workshop. You know the one where the boys write their own obituaries.” “Damn, that brings back memories. Mine’s packed away in a box in the attic.” “I lost mine in a move somewhere along the line. So I did the workshop.” “And?” “I’m thirty-one, no relatives, no family. I’ve done no community work.” “Not true.” Jake interrupted pointing at his t-shirt. “You do the soccer team, and you mentor five St. Michael’s’ graduates every year.” “You have Tee. You’re starting a family. I know the miscarriage set things back, but you got her pregnant once, it’ll happen again.” “I hope so. Tee wants children desperately.” Jake cut to his wife who had shifted right to chat with Dee. “Did you know Murphy keeps a copy of each graduate’s obituary? He showed me mine.” Alex sneered. “To my surprise, I’m exactly where I wanted to be, according to what I wrote when I was eighteen. Financially secure, at the top of my profession, I date beautiful women, and I mingle with the rich and famous. I even own a fleet of expensive cars.” “Strange how time changes your desires.” Jake mused. “Or people.” He dropped a kiss on the top of Tee’s head, and Alex knew he offered up a silent prayer of thanks. “You’ve made a life here in Trinidad with close friends who don’t seem to care about what Country Club you belong to, or what brand of watch you wear. If I disappeared off the face of the earth tomorrow, what’s the sum total of my life? Who would mourn me?” “Christ, man,” Michael growled an interruption. Dark eyebrows raised, the man’s lip curled up at one corner. “Drink up, man. This is Carnival. Definitely not the time to discuss the meaning of life.” “He’s right, buddy. We’ll be arriving soon. Are you ready?” “Where are we off to?” “I thought Tee emailed you a detailed description of the events.” Jake’s forehead wrinkled. “Forgot to read it.” Alex owned up. “Too damned lazy you mean.”

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“You didn’t read my email?” Tee shook her head. “Don’t say I didn’t try to warn you. I thought you were being a good sport about the mud. You haven’t grumbled once.” “Mud?” Alex shuddered. “I hate mud. Nasty crawly things live in mud, and, besides, it’s dirty. I like being clean.” “What a little girl,” Michael drawled. “This is macho country, man. You’d better not say that out loud again. You’re liable to get yourself into a whole heap of trouble.” “We’re playing mud Mas.” Tee blew a sigh out of the corner of her mouth, and long ringlets eddied her bronzed cheeks. “We’re going to meet our band at a park by the Zoo. When we get there, they’ll have a few bathtubs filled with warm mud. We lie down in them so we’re covered in it.” “It’s actually quite a surreal experience.” Dee’s clipped enunciation seemed predominantly Etonian, the Queen’s perfect English. Alex hated English accents and their uppity connotations, but Dee’s entranced him. He couldn’t keep his eyes off her luscious lips as they formed words. Every street light bathed her chin length silvery curls with moonlight iridescence and made her round, gray eyes charcoal saucers. “They filter the mud for insects so nothing bites at you in the dark. I’m not certain if it’s because it’s warmed, but the texture of hot mud is like silky velvet.” Her description stamped images of them naked and slippery wrestling in warm mud on his pupils. “They use warm mud in the best of spas, you know. It’s a great feeling, very sensual.” Rosie flashed him a lascivious grin. “I’ll warn you, everyone gets dirty at Carnival time, especially for J’ouvert.” Michael’s grin turned into a carnal leer. “Hell, half the fun of playing Mas is rubbing up against greasy or muddy women. Nothing like wining on a slippery, sexy woman.” “Wining? What is wining?” Alex rested his elbow on a bent knee. “Did you see the movie, Dirty Dancing?” Rosie queried. “Yes, a long time ago.” Alex frowned. “What’s that got to do with this wining?” “Wining is dirty dancing taken to its zenith,” Rosie explained. “You hug a woman from behind.”

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“From in front, too.” Michael interrupted. “I’ve never been able to decide if I prefer the front or the back.” “Let me finish.” Rosie held up her hand. “You hug a woman either from in front or behind, and dance down the streets of Port of Spain grinding your pelvis against her bottom.” Alex’s mouth dropped open. “And no one objects? Specifically the women?” “No, and the best part is that you can do it with anyone who looks approachable.” Michael made a great show of kissing his five fingers. “Sweetness galore. It’s all part of J’ouvert.” “Michael’s a fanatic about his Mas.” Daphne offered, her mouth curving at the corners. She squeezed in next to Alex on the tray of the pickup truck. “What exactly is this J’ouvert?” “The words are French, a contraction of jour ouvert which translates into day open,” Dee answered. “The Carnival tourists see on television is a daytime affair. This is when the gut carnival instinct takes over for the natives. Pure hedonism.” Her words went straight to Alex’s engorged prick. Dee would be wild in bed. He knew it. “Trinidad Carnival is not like any of the others. In New Orleans and Rio, it’s a spectator attraction with few participating,” Tee explained her chin lifting with pride. “Basically here, the whole country is involved in some way or another. Even the kids.” “What my wife means is that the whole country is buzzed,” Jake interjected. “Everyone’s drunk on the atmosphere, if not actual liquor. Look around you at these empty, silent streets. Within an hour, these vacant roads will be filled with revelers, music trucks, and steel bands.” “And liquor carts,” Michael added. “Can’t forget the liquor carts.” “J’ouvert is my favorite part of Carnival. Pretty Mas is fine, but if I had to choose. I’d take J’ouvert and mud Mas any day.” Tee edged onto Jake’s lap, and her fingers combed his black curls. “Someone has to teach Alex how to chip,” Daphne stated. “Chip?” Alex grimaced. The licentious excesses of Carnival, which had seemed so appealing a month ago dissipated with each new explanation. He’d expected beautiful costumes and elegant parties, not rolling in warm mud. “What’s a chip?”

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The pickup rolled to a halt, and the engine died. Early rising birds chirped a melody intermingled with cicada warbles. A white sign with black letters displayed the painted words, ‘Trinidad and Tobago Zoo,’ and the wood creaked as a gentle breeze blew across the asphalt road. “We’re here.” Michael vaulted over the edge of the tray. “Damn, the music trucks are starting up. Did anyone tell our driver what time to pick us up?” “He’s meeting us for eight in the morning.” “Good. Come on. Make haste women. Let’s find the bathtubs.” Michael trotted away. “Here, Alex, take a swig. You need to loosen up.” Jake passed a bottle of Black Label Scotch to him. “It’s not single malt, but it’ll do.” Jake forced Alex into the tub. He point-blank refused to take off his tshirt. “The less the stuff gets on my skin, the happier I’ll be,” Alex grumbled as he lowered himself into the mud bath. To his utmost surprise, the hot glaze prickled the surface of his skin and enhanced every sense, making him aware of the sweet, frangipani aroma dusting the small park, the sable sky dotted with twinkling diamonds, the low rhythmic pounding of African drums combining with his escalating pulse. “For someone who didn’t want to get into the tub in the first place, you sure look as happy as a clam in there.” Michael prodded Alex’s shoulder blade. “It’s my turn. Get up. The trucks will leave soon, and the liquor cart. We can’t lose the liquor cart.” The cold morning air hit the mud coating Alex’s skin, and it dried in slow, tight stings, curing into patches of chill, crisp flakes. Sexuality thrummed through him like a living, breathing creature, and all his fantasies converged into one. Dee. He jumped when Daphne curled her arm around his waist. “Come on, sweetie, you’re in my hands for wining and chipping instructions.” She handed him a wineskin. “Have a swig, and we’ll get started.” Obeying, Alex chugged the liquid in the wineskin. Tequila. He refused to think about tomorrow’s hangover, or was it today’s? “Here we go. Position yourself behind me.” Daphne guided his arms around her waist. “Now this is wining.” She ground a slow, sensual circle

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with her hips pressing her buttocks over his arousal. A tiny groan escaped his mouth. “Are you sure Michael will be okay with this?” Alex whispered in Daphne’s ear, knowing they were a married couple. “Course, sweetie, anything goes at Carnival time. It’s all good fun once we don’t take it too far. Think of it as harmless flirting loaded with sexual tension.” Daphne changed direction and circled to the left. She leaned forward, bent almost double at the waist, and ground against his penis making smaller, rapid movements with her hips. “Crap,” Alex said. “Does everyone walk around at the point of climax?” “Hopefully, you do climax at some point in time.” Rosie inserted her arm around Alex’s waist from behind. “Shall we give him a Trini sandwich, Daph?” “Why not? We’ll get him off to a good start.” Rosie’s long copper-hued arms lifted his damp t-shirt and snuck around the heated skin of his stomach. She matched Daphne’s rhythm, circling her hips around his from the back as Daphne ground her bottom into his cock from the front. Sweat broke out on Alex’s temples. “Crap, no wonder you guys rave about Carnival. This is heaven. Christ, I’m a Trini sandwich. This may be my first Carnival, but it certainly won’t be my last.” “Now chipping is basically shuffling your feet down the road in this position keeping my bumsey plastered over your pelvis.” Daphne arched a look back at Alex. “Bumsey?” he queried. “Trini word for bum,” Rosie answered. Her fingers drifted to the tip of his arousal. Alex captured her hand with his. He let it drop to his side. “How long do we do this for?” He wanted to ask Jake if none of the women objected to a stranger’s blatant erection. “For J’ouvert, until around eight. Then we go home, shower, eat, sleep, wake up, and come out to play pretty Mas in the sunshine.” Rosie rubbed her palm across Alex’s bare belly. “He’s got a definite 6-pack, Daph. You need to show Michael, just to rile him.” “Jake, pass me the Scotch, will you?” Alex asked.

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The two women lifted his t-shirt and busied themselves examining his chest and stomach. Rosie tweaked one of his nipples. Horrified, Alex grabbed her hand and clasped it in his. “Don’t manhandle the poor boy, ladies.” Jake smirked at Alex and slapped the bottle into his hand. “Drink up. You look like you need it.” The DJ blasted into life, splintering the low conversational hum of eight hundred bodies dancing and twirling in the darkness of the early morning. Daphne and Rosie disappeared, immediately replaced by a couple of slick, skimpily-clad, voluptuous, coffee-colored women. They sandwiched Alex and ground into him, a mound on his ass, a bottom rubbing his throbbing cock. He drifted with the flow, letting the women dictate his direction. Steel band music thundered along the cool morning breeze. Moisture hung heavy and thick, coating sweaty bodies with cool dew. Michael passed him the Black Label bottle. “I can feel the rain coming. It always rains on J’ouvert morning. Take a shot. It’ll ward off the chill. This is the best part of J’ouvert coming up. The rain makes all those gorgeous nipples hard. Luscious bubbies with their pointy nipples. A man can’t ask for more.” Alex noticed Dee a few yards away. Her platinum curls glowed in the faint lights from a nearby café. Across the wide path, their eyes met, tangled, promised. A five-deep circle of tipsy females all bent on sexual pleasure surrounded him. She turned her back on Alex. His fascination with Dee bewildered him. Alex wondered what her ‘special abilities’, Tee’s PC term for witchy talents, were, and whether they included inciting uncontrollable lust in unsuspecting men. Dee seemed made for Carnival, sexy, rumpled, abandoned, prancing to the blaring music. Two bikini-clad women wearing burlap loincloths and scarlet haltertops led the band into the street carrying a large banner proclaiming their theme, ‘Vikings’. Crude but effective, he decided, and searched the suffocating crowd for Dee. He caught a glimpse of her white-blonde curls in a random stream of moonlight. Compelled like a gnat to a flame, Alex elbowed his way through the crowd and came up behind Dee. To the right, Jake and Tee chipped to the music. Jake’s linked hands draping his wife’s bare waist, her hips plastered to his.

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Bittersweet envy strung through Alex in response to the couple’s Kodak moment, the easy intimacy hard to stomach in the face of his recent, callous decision, which he already regretted. His gaze swept to Dee, and something tugged at his soul. Carefree mother earth goddess, hands thrown up in the air, forefingers pointed, eyes closed, sensuality personified. She bent her knees and did a rapid stripper’s roll, circling her hip to the left. The burlap flap fell away as her bottom lifted, and Alex got a ten-second glimpse of a high, rounded, naked cheek. A slash of scarlet slashed its edge. Dizzying desire sparked lightning bolts, and primordial instincts wrestled away any remaining veneer of civilized man. His hands snaked around Dee’s narrow waist, and he locked them together. Dee jerked to a halt becoming un-pliant in his embrace. Alex pulled her back to his chest. Her head popped around, and she didn’t seem surprised to discover it was he. Dee let him hug her, but Alex felt her doubt in the rigid tension of her spine. He loosened his hold letting a few inches separate them. Gradually, she began moving to the music, hips undulating. Alex drew her closer in small increments until they chipped forward together. A large man bumped into Alex’s shoulder, warm liquid from the bottle in his hand sloshed over Alex’s arm. Sparks lit the dark morning to the right of them, and the pungent aroma of marijuana battled those of rum and perspiration for dominance. “Here comes the rain.” Michael materialized at Alex’s side. The music halted for a moment, and his shout resonated over the shuffling of feet. “The bubbies, here comes the bubbies. I need some whiskey and a woman to wine on.” A smattering of stinging, cold raindrops assaulted Alex’s skin. Michael passed the bottle of Black Label to Dee. She twisted out of Alex’s arms to get it, took a swift swallow, and plopped the bottle into his hands. He took a sip of the fiery liquid and gave it to Jake. Alex’s eyes were drawn inexorably to Dee’s breasts. Sure enough, her nipples had hardened under the chill torrent of raindrops, tightening into stiff, round points. His lips dried out, parched, thirsting. His mouth burned with the need to suckle, sip at those nubs. He grabbed the whiskey bottle and took another long swig, trying to eradicate the flood of lust threatening

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an embarrassing release. When he encircled her waist again, Dee relaxed, snuggling into his arms. His cock grazed the small of her back, feeding on the slight friction. A fierce breeze whooshed down the six-lane road, puckering flesh. Dee’s petite form shuddered, bursting into a series of little shivers. Alex touched his mouth to her ear. “Cold?” Dainty hands came up to cup her shoulders, and she nodded. Planting his feet wide apart, Alex shouted, “Stay there.” He braced against the crowds milling at his back, hooked his t-shirt over his head, and offered it to her. The crowd jostled Alex along the length of a blaring music truck. A man wearing black spandex cycle shorts sang into a microphone under the fluorescent lights of a canopied music truck. He warbled a calypso, equal parts Rap and Soca, his bluesy voice climbing above the crowd’s sing-along and the rain’s drumming. The moment proved intoxicating in the extreme. The scent of musky coupling and sweet rum filled the air. The music wove into Alex’s brain. Pelvises gyrated friction, from the front, behind, and at the sides. As individuals, they held no goals, no direction. As a united crowd, bent on sensory pleasure, music, elation, touching, grinding, the scent of heated arousal, a sugary, languid, soaring excitement with one end in sight: climax, the poignant fulfillment of a bacchanalian dawning. J’ouvert, the day opening, the literal translation of the term. Drunkenness stole over Alex in time to the rising red ball of the sun on the horizon. They crossed the Savannah Stage at six o’clock. The band refused to leave the wide wooden podium, even after some self-important official pleaded with them over a megaphone to let other bands have their turn. On the stage, Michael chucked Alex’s shoulders. He cupped a hand over Alex’s ears. “Weren’t the bubbies magnificent? God’s best creation?” Alex grinned and stumbled, happy to see a familiar face. He nodded and mimicked Michael’s action, shouting into his ear. “I lost Dee.” Michael shrugged. Alex yelled again. “Have you noticed her mouth?” “Christ, yes,” Michael bellowed. His eyes darted around. “What’s wrong?”

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“Gotta find Daphne. Happens when you think about that mouth.” Alex bobbed his head in sad agreement. He swigged more Scotch and found himself making a beeline for Dee. She weaved in and out of the throngs like quicksilver, tangible yet not. He caught glimpses of her in the crowd. Her silvery curls a magnetic halo, drawing his eyes. Alex was never short of women, one in front, one behind. As soon as a pair disappeared, another took their place. Content, dully aroused, riding an enjoyable high, but in no way driven towards orgasm, he drifted with the crowd. They finally exited the stage around eight o’clock. The sun’s rays grew uncomfortable, and all at once, the stench of sweating bodies, too much liquor, and dried mud became sour to Alex’s nostrils. “Time to go home,” Jake’s voice came from somewhere behind. Alex shook his head and looked over his shoulder. Jake and Tee trudged together, his best friend had one arm wrapped around Tee’s shoulder. Her eyes were heavy-lidded. “I’m beat.” Tee opened one eye and smiled at him. “Did you have fun, Alex? Did you enjoy your first J’ouvert?” “I sure did, sweetheart.” Alex touched a finger to her mud-caked cheek. “Did you know I fell in love with you when we were all at Brodick Castle? Just a little, sweetheart. I need to find a good woman like you, Tee.” “Damn, how much did you drink, buddy?” Jake shrugged his arm off Tee’s shoulder. “Babe, you take one side, and I’ll take the other. Alex is pissed. I’ve never seen him this drunk.” “We can’t find Michael.” Dee materialized in front of him. “Daphne and the others are looking for him.” “We’ll find him under a car somewhere. You know he always finds a parked car and passes out underneath it.” Tee snickered. “Daph’s going to rail at him later.” “They’ll meet us at the roundabout.” Dee rubbed a flake of mud off her elbow. She wore a t-shirt over her scarlet halter-top. Alex wondered when Dee’d put it on. Belatedly, he realized he’d lost his. He blinked, trying to clear his bleary vision and realized she had on his t-shirt. The words “Mayfield Magics” barely visible under mud and blue paint smears. “How’d you get my t-shirt?” His tongue rolled around the words.

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“Just how drunk are you?” Dee’s glower made him stumble backwards. “You gave it to me. Don’t you remember?” “I’m not that drunk.” Alex chucked the near empty Black Label bottle into a garbage can at the side of the road. “’Course I remember.” Jake, Tee, and Dee herded them back to the pickup. The walk stretched out forever. Each step seemed like the last few moments ascending Everest’s summit. Revelers and steel bands filled the streets. Music trucks competed with each other for domination. Each passing group growing in volume until the din became a disharmonious ruckus polluting their ears. Half an hour later, the rest of their group met them at the St. Ann’s roundabout. It took two hours to drive the fifteen-minute ride to Jake and Tee’s home. “Okay, everybody out,” Jake ordered. “The hoses are at the side of the laundry room.” He pointed to the left. Late morning sunshine peeked over the hill limning the horizon, and warm rays penetrated the morning’s chill. Alex propped himself on the patio steps, braced the wall, and rested his elbows on bent knees. The garage gates swung open, and a blue Toyota Land Cruiser reversed slowly down the driveway. A grizzled face topped by unruly, white hair popped out the driver’s window as the car halted. “You guys aren’t staying for breakfast?” Tee asked. “Naw, we decided to go home and sleep.” Harry, one of their group replied. “We’ll meet you later, Tee.” The gate clanged shut, and Dee and Tee started up the driveway. “Alex, you cannot pass out over there.” Inch by inch his spine slid down the tiled wall. “Why not? Seems as good a place as any.” “You need to hose off. Strip.” “I’m not stripping and bathing in a hose, Jake, and that’s final.” Alex glowered unsteadily at his best friend, annoyed at his gradual sobering. “You’re not trudging through my house caked in mud either, buddy.” Alex plucked flakes of dried earth off his forearm. “Hell, use the cabana bath, no one else will.” Jake pointed to the side door. “I’ll grab your jeans and a shirt. Take off that costume outside though. Linda’ll kill me if I muddy up the place.”

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“Housekeepers aren’t supposed to give orders,” Alex mumbled. He wobbled in the direction Jake indicated. The back of Jake and Tee’s house faced the side of a mountain. Alex shucked his shoes and socks and darted a glance left and right. No one was in sight. He peeled off his shorts and then the Speedo thong, now brownishblack in color, and untied the rope dangling the two crumpled flaps of burlap. One long stride, a hefty thrust to a wooden door, and he stumbled into the cabana bath. Heaving a weighty, distinctly weary sigh, he slid the enclosure of the cavernous shower stall right and stepped in, relishing the warm steam curling around his shoulders. It must be an automatic shower, Alex decided, as the sharp, sweet spray of hot water hit his back. He closed his eyes and stretched out his hands fingers splayed, searching for the soap alcove. His palms met soft, yielding plump mounds, slippery, supple skin. He salivated. Alex cupped both breasts. They spilled over his large hands, heavy, heated. Both thumbs responded, in unison as if military trained, grazing taut nubs, and rubbing them to fierce attention. Alex opened his eyes, and his shaft saluted the sight of Dee framed by misty fog and streaming water. The back of her head rested on dark emerald rectangles. Platinum curls plastered her cheeks, and ash lashes fluttered on heavy lids. Her succulent mouth opened to a fellatio O, and she emitted a breathy mewl. He ducked his head. His lips parted. He’d been fantasizing about these forever. Alex moaned as his mouth closed around one rigid point. Dee, Dee, heaven and hell rolled into one sweet nipple.

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Steam & Tequila Spills For a few precious minutes, Dee allowed his fingers to play along the undersides of her breasts. Alex’s mouth covered one nipple, his tongue laved it, and he suckled the whole point in. She whimpered and moaned, arching closer, and her fingers ploughed into his hair. Moist steam enshrouded the twined couple, ensnaring them in a dreamy, erotic web. The soft patter of water on smooth tiles lifted the sensuality of the interlude, spiking already electrified nerves into staccato snapping. Alex rolled her other nipple between his thumb and forefinger and finally lifted his eyelids. It wasn’t another tantalizing fantasy dangling beyond reach. The swollen nub he tugged grew harder beneath the pads of his fingers. “I want you,” he growled. “Get out,” Dee hissed and pushed him away, crossing her hands over her breasts. “Get out.” Alex’s arousal throbbed. She stared at it, and his prick swelled to her beautiful lips, begging. The tip of a pink tongue flicked across the seam of her mouth. He groaned. “No. I want you.” He tried to pry her hands off her breasts. “I want you. You want me. What’s wrong? Come on, sweetheart, we have heat between us.” “No.” Dee shook her head. Hot droplets splattered over Alex’s chest, and rivulets ran down the V of his pelvis. “Are you listening? I said no. I’m not your type, remember?” Her eyes dripped disdain. “You like your women long and lean, not vulgar and double D. Get out.” Alex winced. Father Murphy’s favorite scold flashed into his mind. Make your words soft and sweet in case you have to eat them. He caught a glimpse of the silvery curls dusting the juncture of her slender thighs. Pretty,

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pink folds glistened through the wet transparency of her beach-sand pubic hair. He’d never seen a more beautiful sight, her folds the tint of a perfect burnished conch shell. The dusky rose and peach hues gleamed at him. His mouth watered. “It was a stupid thing to say.” Alex snagged his fingers through his hair. “Especially, now I’ve seen them. They’re magnificent, Dee. Beautiful.” She balled up her right fist and punched his stomach. “Oooof.” he gasped. “Why’d you do that? You hurt me.” “And I’ll hurt you more.” She grabbed a wooden back scrubber from the soap alcove and brandished it at him. “If you don’t get out this instant, I’ll hit you with this where it’ll do the worst damage. Get out.” She waved the weapon in his face. He held up his hands. “Okay, okay, I’ll go.” Every frustrated expletive washed out of his mind by the priests during his boyhood fell out of his mouth in a low, savage growl. Chivalry died, succumbing to frenetic need, and he forced his thoughts to restraint, conjuring Latin verbs until rationality and renewed determination tamed his throbbing erection to a half-flaccid state. He cut her a dart over his shoulder and cursed again as his eyes feasted on pouting nipples, swollen globes. Hands balled, he stormed out of the shower and slammed the cabana door. Sobered straight in the instant the cool morning air hit his wet flesh, Alex muddled through his instinctive reactions to Dee. He couldn’t remember ever wanting a woman with such fevered desperation. Anything, whatever was necessary to have her, he’d do. Time for a take no enemies strategy. A crisp morning breeze raised goose bumps over his exposed skin. “Why are you naked, wet and er,” Jake said, as he surveyed his shivering, dripping friend. “In that state?” Alex flashed him the scowl of man starving for one particular, unwilling woman and finally, his cock decided to obey orders to subside. He glared at his wayward organ. Great. Perfect timing. Jake arriving in time to observe his abject humiliation and failure, and relish every moment. He’d never live this down. “Here, I brought you a change of clothes.” He held out a bundle. “What about a towel?” “In the cabana bathroom.” Jake jerked his head in that direction. “Why don’t you get one?”

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“Can’t, Dee’s in there,” he grouched. “She threatened my manhood.” “Ah, I begin to comprehend the situation.” Superior amusement curved Jake’s mouth. “Not a warm welcome? Tsk, tsk. Wait until I email the others.” One finger tapped his lip. “Let’s see, a woman refused you. Hmm, now when was the last time that happened? Oh, wait, it’s the first time.” He burst into laughter and bent over at the waist, guffawing so heartedly, that for a full everlasting minute, he couldn’t get words out. “Shut the hell up,” Alex snarled. “And if you email any of the others, I’ll tell your wife about why you wanted that vasectomy.” That halted his best friend’s hysterical chortling. “Try it right now, and I’ll kick you out.” “Ah, hell. I’m sorry, Jake. I didn’t mean that.” Jake dipped his chin, accepting the muttered apology, his features absent of any hilarity. He rapped on the door. “Dee, can you pass me a towel?” The door snapped open, and a small, almond hand dropped a plush burgundy bath sheet to the terrazzo floor. Jake passed it to Alex who grabbed the fluffy towel and wrapped it around his hips sarong-style. “The laundry room is around the corner.” Jake pointed a finger. “You can dress in there.” Alex bent his head, and strode away tossing the bundle of clothes between both hands muttering, “Damned big-breasted women. They should all be shot, or banished from the face of the earth.” He dried off and changed rapidly determined to get back to the others before Dee did. Alex made it to the kitchen in record time. He folded his arms across his chest and leaned against the side of the fridge scrutinizing his best friend and his wife. Having a wife certainly made things simple sexually, he thought. Jake snuck up on Tee as she pulled out an oval white platter from a kitchen cabinet He folded his arms around her waist and nuzzled the side of her neck. “Have I told you lately how much I love you?” He sniffed. “You always smell so damn good. I have something to tell you, witchy woman. Guess what I caught Alex doing?” “Passing out?” Tee set the platter on the counter and leaned into her husband’s embrace.

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Jake had changed so much in the last few months, now so openly affectionate and seeming to need to touch his wife constantly. Tee brought out the best in his best friend, and she adored him. A fierce craving for a similar relationship, a destined mate, a woman to love and cherish, and a couple of toddler soccer stars had him thinking of that obituary again. Jake spoke, and Alex straightened about to clear his throat, but his friend’s next words cancelled the action. “He was in the cabana shower with Dee. I found him standing outside naked and shivering, and hard as a rock.” Jake brushed little kisses up the side of his wife’s face. “Alex with Dee? Oh my, this is very in-ter-esting indeed. You know they’d make a great couple. What do you—?” Jake kissed her soundly, cutting off the rest of her question. A full minute later, he lifted his head and said in a stern tone belied by the tender expression he wore, “No matchmaking. Do you hear me, witchy woman? None. Leave them alone. Alex is commitment-phobic. I warned him off Dee at the wedding.” “What do you mean? Why?” “Remember when we couldn’t find them for the photos?” “Uh-huh.” “Caught them necking behind a rock.” “They’re adults, Jake.” “Alex may be my best friend, but if I had a sister, I wouldn’t want him dating her. Given Dee’s history, it’s not wise to encourage them. I reamed him then, and if I’d known Dee was coming for Carnival, I’d never have let him visit. I think he engineered them being here together. Alex can be a real bastard as far as women are concerned. But then again, those Palm Beach socialites he favors, those Boca Bitches, probably deserve his callous treatment. Dee doesn’t. She may wear that tough lawyer exterior, but she’s a softie underneath all her armor.” Molten warmth heated the kitchen as the sun’s jonquil rays beamed through the open kitchen windows, matching the heat creeping over Alex’s cheeks. In the distance, steel band music sprinted to a crescendo. He edged backwards and continued his eavesdropping. “What’s wrong? Something’s bothering you, isn’t it?”

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Tee nodded. “She and I had an argument earlier. Dee told me she’s giving up her healing. You know how worried I’ve been about her. This last edict scares me. She’s cutting everyone off. Maybe Alex can shake her up, make her realize what she’s giving up. Dee needs to be courted, and Alex has a strong romantic streak. It could work out. She likes him, darling. A lot.” “No matchmaking, babe. While I agree with you, Dee’s changing and not for the better. There’s no future to a relationship between the two of them. Alex wants to marry a socialite, and Dee wants nothing more than a career. Leave it alone.” “I won’t go there, for now anyway. I think you’re wrong about him, though. Alex is a wonderful man. Whether he realizes it or not consciously, he desperately wants a family. I can tell from the way he interacts with his little league soccer team. He loves children.” “But, witchy woman, he loves his Rolex and his Ferrari more. The soccer team is his way of assuaging his conscience for being so successful. Wealth and status are very important to Alex. You know him well by now, can you deny that?” Alex retreated to the piano room, ego bruised, and the old adage about eavesdroppers ringing in his brain. Jake’s judgment cut to his core, and served to exacerbate the yawning void pervading his soul. Even before reading the obituary he’d written at eighteen, he’d accepted he needed more, and had made a commitment to settle down. He wanted, no yearned, for a bond like Jake and Tee’s. But was he even capable of it? He knew Jake would surrender every possession, every material good in a heartbeat if it meant losing Tee. Honesty forced him to admit, he’d have a hard time doing the same. Christ, he’d joined the ranks of the shallow, self-serving, status conscious tax lawyers he’d once despised, and his choice of mate exemplified that. Raking his fingers through his hair, for a few seconds he wallowed in self-pity, contemplating the miserable sum of his life. Tee showed a lot more faith in him than Jake did. Since Jake and Tee’s wedding, insignificant Dee details had become annoying pop-ups in his life, like those irritating Internet ads, which surfaced at irregular, cloying intervals, unbidden, unwanted, and impossible to ignore. Desdemona Bloom, the epitome of

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irresistible desire dangled at the periphery of his vision, leading his every action, always a tad unattainable. But, his eavesdropping had proved fruitful. He’d learned one salient point; Dee liked him. A lot. Time to step up the heat. Alex rubbed his hands together in gleeful anticipation, shedding deeper, dank thoughts and pending, ponderous, life altering decisions. He headed back to the kitchen, humming loudly to warn them of his approach. “So kids, what are you two up to?” “Jake thinks pretty Mas is more your style.” “It is, buddy, you’ll like it.” Jake, the traitor, promised. “Tell us about the costumes again, babe?” A breeze wafted around the kitchen, shuffling paper napkins in a bright green clamshell holder, tossing Alex’s damp hair around the nape of his neck, and circulating the comforting smell of toasting bread. “We’re pirates. I think our section’s called Captain Jack’s Mates.” “More costumes,” Alex’s snapped complaint resonated around the long room, and a frustrating image of Dee’s slick, peach-pink-tipped globes crowded his pupils. As if waving a red flag to his penis, she appeared, bumping his hip as she walked through the kitchen doorway. She wore a short white crop-top and faded denim cut-offs with frayed edges. Her bottom cheeks winked at him alternatively with each step of her dainty bare feet. His cock saluted the sweet vision, doing a frenzied rumba in his jeans. “Everything’s ready. All the others are on the porch. Do you have pineapple juice, Cupcake? Michael’s allergic to citrus.” “I always forget that. I’ll find it and bring it out. You three go and start.” Dee strode ahead of Alex gathering speed in an obvious attempt to escape his company. He caught the belt loop of her shorts and dragged her into the piano room. She batted at his hand. Jake’s form flashed past the open doorway. “What the hell are you doing?” Her low growl raised gooseflesh and tantalized his erect cock, which scraped coarse denim. “This,” Alex answered, devoid of thought, focused on taste, her plump mouth a lighthouse beacon luring him to a sailor’s rocky death. Desire snared him. He angled his lips over hers and drank, starved, lapping at her full, luscious lips. His tongue went on a rapturous journey of exploration.

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“Where are Alex and Dee?” Michael’s shouted question broke the sensuous fog clouding his thoughts. “You go out first.” Alex rubbed the pad of his thumb across Dee’s swollen mouth and grinned at her bemused expression. He turned her around, smacked her bottom lightly, and pushed her towards the door. Dee glowered at him over her shoulder as she hurried away. The chorus of Bacchanal Woman, Jake’s favorite calypso, echoed around the porch. David Rudder crooned, “Sweet scandal where she walks.” In the piano room, Alex agreed with the lyrics, remembering Dee’s sexy sway, while waiting for his raging erection to subside. By the time he made it to the patio, she was already seated at the table, her plate piled high with food. She studiously ignored him and carried on a murmured conversation with Jake. “Help yourself. We’re serving buffet style.” Tee waved at a laden side table. “What’s this?” Alex pointed to a platter. “It’s Buljol. Cod baked with olive oil, green, red, and hot peppers, tomatoes, onions, and limejuice. We eat it with bakes. A type of fried bread that puffs up as it cooks, and is soft in the middle. You tear apart the bake.” She demonstrated as she spoke pulling apart the round bread at the seams. “And then scoop the Buljol up like a sandwich.” “Fish for breakfast.” Alex shuddered. “Yeech. Worse yet, you eat it with your hands.” He avoided the first two dishes on the table. “Did you enjoy your first J’ouvert, honey?” Rosie asked as her hand raked a buoyant path down his left thigh. He sidestepped her elegant, red fingernails. “Yes.” Taking a large helping of scrambled eggs, he added bacon, sausages, a bagel, and two croissants to his plate. “You sure seemed to have worked up an appetite.” Michael stared at his mounded plate. “Alex eats like a Mack truck.” Tee offered. “He’s always hungry.” “I think Dee and I may have similar hungers. Her plate’s as full as mine, and she’s what, five foot?” Alex arched an eyebrow, daring her to respond to his not-so-subtle sexual innuendo.

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She didn’t look up and continued to chew. Finally, she dabbed a napkin to the corner of her mouth and said, “Five foot, one and a half inches. Has anyone looked at our costumes?” “We might need to adjust yours.” Tee wrinkled her nose. “It’s a red tube top, a little on the small side, and we have black and white striped pirate’s breeches.” Dee in a tube top, Alex visualized it. He’d never survive, not for a minute, not for a nanosecond. Lust throbbed through every pore, and the musky aroma of desire submerged rational thought. Her blue toenails winked at him from under the table. “The guys have the same pants and red vests,” Michael grumbled. “I can’t believe we paid so much money for such a simple costume.” Warm morning sunlight skipped across the patio, throwing cheerful, leafy shadows across the pearl gray tablecloth. A flock of blackbirds swooped across the manicured gardens, swirling a low arc against the lush green foliage. Their joyous chirping accented the airy atmosphere. “What happens next?” “We sleep for three hours. Wake up. Eat. Put on our costumes, and head to downtown Port of Spain,” Tee answered. “Then we dance in the streets until we’ve had enough and come home. You’ll enjoy it, Alex, I promise.” “We do the same thing tomorrow, but we start really early. We need to meet the band for 7:30.” Michael poured a glass of pineapple juice. “Daphne and I will meet you four downtown. We’ll pick up the others.” The aroma of freshly brewed coffee preceded Jake and Tee’s housekeeper, Linda’s, entrance through the open French doors. A jiggly, round woman in her late fifties, Linda set the glass carafe on a small electronic plate warmer and dusted her hands. “Miss Dee, I have a message for you.” Linda’s pudgy brown hand scrambled inside a wide pocket, and she produced a dingy slip of paper, unfolded it and read. “A Sir Arthur Flood asked you to call him at your earliest convenience.” “Why the hell is Flood calling you?” Jake growled. “When did he call?” “Does he visit Trinidad often?” Alex raised one eyebrow. “Don’t get into a snit, Jake. The man helped us when we needed it.” Still, he wondered what the head of Scotland Yard’s Specialist Operations Division wanted with Dee. He and Jake had met Flood months earlier, and the man had been

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instrumental in foiling the attempts on Tee’s life. Flood and Tee’s father, Henry Inglefield, were high school chums, having attended one of the most exclusive boarding schools in the UK. A few weeks ago, he had met Sir Arthur again during Henry’s investiture as President of Trinidad and Tobago. He couldn’t prevent the self-satisfied grin tickling his lips. While he’d planned all his material successes, he’d never imagined being friendly with the head of MI5 or the President of a nation. Life had taken strange, unexpected turns since he’d met Tee. “And he’s a friend of my father’s.” Tee tsked. “He helped to rescue me when I was kidnapped last year. Be nice, darling. But it is curious. Dee, why on earth is he phoning you?” “Bloody hell. Settle down all of you.” Dee glowered at them. “He wants information on someone the Attorney General’s office intends to prosecute. We’re collaborating.” “Is he in Trinidad?” Jake probed. “We’re communicating electronically. As far as I know, he’s not in Trinidad. Now can we get back to a normal conversation?” When no one offered an answer, Dee said, “Thank you, Linda.” The housekeeper gave Dee a nod and swept back into the bowels of the house. “What’s our strategy for pretty Mas this afternoon?” Michael’s question defused the tense atmosphere. “Uncle Ian volunteered to drop and pick us up today and tomorrow so we don’t have to worry about transport.” “Who’s Uncle Ian, Tee? Did I meet him at the wedding?” “Yes. He’s my Dad’s friend. He’s not really my uncle, but the families have been friends forever. It’s a West Indian custom to address close adult friends of the family as uncle or aunt,” Tee explained. “Isn’t that confusing?” “Only to outsiders, buddy.” Jake loaded a bake with the Buljol and added a dollop of hot sauce to the heaped circle. “Any female on the island can tell who is related to whom by asking one single question.” Daphne giggled. “And that question is, give me a drum roll Michael. What’s your mother’s maiden name?”

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“Really? How odd.” Alex grimaced. “Doesn’t that grate on your nerves, everyone knowing everyone’s business?” He tore apart his croissant and spread butter on every exposed inch of the flaky golden pastry. “Yeah. I understand now why Tee says that if you grow up on an island, the first thing you want to do is get off. See the world. Leave everyone behind.” Jake leaned back in his chair, stretched his legs, and crossed them at the ankles. He dragged Tee’s chair closer and draped his arm around her shoulder. “When I was a teenager, my mother knew what I was going to do before I did,” Michael complained. “Darlin’ do-do, that’s because you were always the one cooking up outrageous schemes.” Daphne softened her scolding words by pecking her husband’s cheek. “Getting my backside tarred before I did something wrong really irked me.” He drummed his fingers on the glass tabletop. Snickers broke out at Michael’s griping. “It can be irritating, the incestuous nature of Trini society. But, I wouldn’t raise my children anywhere else.” Tee rested her chin on Jake’s shoulder. “I like the sense of family. The whole extended relatives bit, even if everyone knows a bit too much about your private life. You’re more the urban type. You relish your anonymity.” “I suppose I am fanatic about privacy. And, I’ve never been one for the great outdoors, except for sailing of course.” An idea percolated in Alex’s mind. “Do you like to sail, Dee?” She had pointedly ignored him during the meal, and it rankled. “You’ve met your match there, buddy. Dee’s an expert sailor. She crews for a yacht that competes in Antigua at the big sailing regattas over Easter. If you like, you two can take out the Sunfish later on this week,” Jake offered. “Sounds great, what day do you want to go?” Alex persisted. Her cheeks flushed a deep pink. Dee’s eyes narrowed, and that juicy mouth pouted. She shrugged and said, “Whatever. We’ll see how the week pans out. Well, I’m off to catch forty winks. Tee, are you setting the alarm?” “Yes, I’ll wake everyone.” The moment arrived. Alex had decided on his first maneuver while getting dressed in the tiny laundry room. Ambush one of the five senses, his favorite opening gambit in the age-old game of seduction.

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“Hold your horses, Dee. You owe me a Tequila shot. I didn’t get my turn. Fair’s fair.” “You’re being ridiculous. J’ouvert’s over.” Dee planted her fists on her hips. “I want my turn.” He lifted an eyebrow. “Now.” “You might as well give in, Dee. When Alex uses that tone, he can’t be moved.” Tee shook her head. “No one will have any peace until he gets what he wants. He’ll wait us out. He’s a lawyer, just like you.” Alex grabbed Dee’s hand before she had a chance to think of an escape, and he dragged her in the direction of the kitchen. He lifted her onto the counter and pressed his hand to her stomach, edging her into a prone position. She scowled at him, and her lips thinned into a resentful line. “Why are you doing this?” she snapped, and tried to rise. His hand firmed on her belly. Her flesh under his palm burned like molten caramel, sugary, boiling his senses. Desire dizzied him. “Let me up, you jerk.” Alex grabbed the Tequila bottle, and his mouth closed over the cork top. He snapped it off and spat it into the sink. Inch by inch, Alex edged Dee’s crop-top up exposing a tanned midriff. His breath strangled in his throat at the sight of Dee’s white-gold belly ring. Her magnificent breasts rounded to perfect high mounds as she lay on the smoky counter. The shirt fluttered, and the firm white underside of her breasts peeked out from the cotton fabric. She wasn’t wearing a bra. Alex’s cock thanked the gods by doing a pagan dance on his stomach. Sunlight slipped over the countertop. A stray silver beam highlighted a faint circle of iridescent hair, dusting a peculiar halo around Dee’s navel. Alex swallowed when her belly ring winked at him, the marquise diamond sparkling in the morning sun. He poured the amber liquid into a shot glass with his left hand and slipped the bottle onto the granite surface. Alex upended the small tumbler centering it perfectly over Dee’s belly button. He bent his head to her stomach and suckled avariciously. The liquor had a sharp bite to it, and her skin radiated heat. His tongue trailed around the circumference of her navel lingering on the surface of the small diamond. Dee’s hot flesh smelled of suntan lotion, the fruity kind

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made for tasting. Alex’s palm slipped, cupping her left side, his thumb caressing circles. He gave up striving for any semblance of control. Dee, his. Touch, taste, conquer. He forced his face away from her smooth, flat belly. His groin tightened. The kitchen buzzed with conversation, and the others stood in the doorway, hollering encouraging comments. It all faded into the background. In a peculiar dazed trance, Alex touched his forefinger to Dee’s stomach. A slight graze. Her muscles contracted at once. Alex stared. His finger stroked a small circle on her belly. Same reaction as before. His mouth curved with satisfaction. “Well, are you doing another?” Dee growled. “Yes.” She clamped her lips together. On the second shot, his tongue developed a mind of its own, licking a path along her lower belly. Alex waited for the slight undulation as Dee’s muscles quivered to his touch. His hands spanned her narrow waist on the third shot, tracing the outline of her hip. “I think three shots are enough, buddy.” Jake slapped him on the back. The Tequila bottle tilted forward and spilled. A long rivulet ran down Dee’s stomach, disappearing under the waistband of her cut-offs. Alex shoved the bottle against the wall, placed his hands on the outside of her shoulders, and whispered in Dee’s ear. “I’m going to lick Tequila off your pussy before we leave here this morning.”

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Desire Trumps All Dee’s pupils dilated and heat skittered from her prickling scalp to her curling toes. Alex’s confident declaration rattled every single organ, forcing basic functions, like breathing, into fast forward. Panic over her inability to control her reactions to Alex made her pulse stutter and caused bile to rise in her throat. She decided to retreat to the safety of her room. A telephone pealed behind her head. “Can you get that? The phone’s above your left shoulder. It’s an oldfashioned land line, one for emergency use in blackouts.” Stunned into an outside-of-the-body trance, Dee heard Tee’s words, but couldn’t force out a response. Wearing a devilish grin, his blue eyes dancing with mirth, Alex didn’t say a word while he helped her into a sitting position, then he walked out of the room without a backwards glance. “Dee, the phone, you’re blocking it. Answer please.” Baffled and perturbed, she picked up the phone. “Mathews’ residence. Oh, hi, Uncle Henry. Tee’s right here. Hold on.” Dee offered Tee the phone and said, “It’s your Dad.” She slid off the countertop. Work, her salvation when confusion reigned, reared its welcome head and she focused on the message Linda had delivered. Return Flood’s call. Her black, government-issued cell phone beckoned from its position in the outside pocket of the lavender purse lying on the granite counter. She sidled over and palmed it. Mindful of the poor reception in the guest room, she disappeared into the piano room, and hit the zero button programmed to dial Sir Arthur’s private line. He answered on the second ring. “Flood here.” “Sir Arthur, it’s Desdemona Bloom. I received your message.” “I apologize for disturbing your Carnival celebrations, my dear. Unfortunately, we need to initiate Project Plucked Parrot rather sooner than

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anticipated. Is there any way we can have two hours of your time a week from today in Trinidad?” Dee held the phone away from her ear and stared at the instrument as if it could give answers to all the questions bubbling through her brain. Accelerate the timing of Plucked Parrot? Her ribcage felt too small for her pounding heart. She breathed in to the count of three and retuned the receiver to her ear. “A conference call?” Dee asked and tapped her finger to her chin. “No, I’ll be there in person, as will the rest of the team.” Voices raised in argument broke her concentration. “Could you hold for a moment, Sir Arthur?” Dee edged the door closed and tiptoed across the room. She leaned back on the doorframe, and rested one bare foot a third of the way up the wood. Peach drapes rustled in the breeze billowing into the piano room, concealing her form. Faint sunlight waltzed shadows on the wrought-iron porch railing. Poised between the patio and the piano room, she continued the conversation. “When do you arrive?” “Late Sunday evening.” “I’m booked to return to Barbados on Sunday. But, I can re-arrange everything.” “I hope this doesn’t disrupt your plans, my dear. Request an extension of vacation leave from the Prime Minister when you see him later today. He knows of the accelerated schedule. Extend your stay in Trinidad by two days. That should give us enough time to set events into motion.” “What time is our meeting? I presume it’ll be at the British Embassy?” “Not this time. My trip is intended to be a private, social visit with good friends. You make it a point to see Tee’s parents while you’re in Trinidad. Simply stick to your regular routine. Be at President’s House for half-past nine.” “What about the rest of the team? How can they arrive under social cover?” “An old boys’ billiards tournament.” “Of course, brilliant. It slipped my mind the three of you went to the same boarding school. Consider everything done.” They chatted about several banal trials, mutual acquaintances, and other projects for several minutes. Flood ended the conversation.

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Dee contemplated recent events from all angles, but couldn’t pinpoint any occurrence which necessitated such a drastic change in timing. Microscopic planning was critical to the success of Project Plucked Parrot and her safety. She’d volunteered herself as bait because no one else stood a chance of becoming intimate with their target. If Tee knew the reason behind her being with Alex during these Carnival days, Dee refused to complete the thought. She recalled Tee’s earlier accusation that she was obsessed with Butch Reniere. Although she’d never admit it to anyone else, seeing him imprisoned for the rest of his life fulfilled a basic need of hers, a long delayed revenge. All the tangled webs she’d contrived threatened strangulation at that moment. Playing so many ends against the middle, how to keep it straight and still keep the balls in motion? The door banged open. Jake stalked into the room, head down muttering, “Women, can’t live with ‘em. Can’t live without ‘em.” Tee appeared in the open doorway, arms akimbo. “Darling, we have to tell the others.” Billowing drapes curtained her form for the few seconds necessary to escape. Dee slipped out the French doors onto the patio and returned to her bedroom, wondering about their argument. Somehow, she knew it related to her and, possibly, Alex. Had Tee warned Jake about her seduction intentions? Frig. She both hated and relished the way she felt about Alex. Her life had been a consciously planned sequence of events leading up to one culmination, her investiture as Attorney General. Now the goal danced just a tad out of reach, and she wanted to back off. The claustrophobia of the whole situation squeezed alarm into her lungs. Used to being in control, somehow within the last few months, she’d ceded it, letting events lead rather than dictating the steps to a pre-determined conclusion. The thought slipped in even as she tried to bolt the back door. All the certainty about her career had vanished, and she no longer knew if she could rise to the occasion. Not now, it was too soon, too rigid. She wanted a little of what Jake and Tee had, she didn’t want to be just an office, a position. Frigging hell, she was acting like an adolescent, a bloody confused teenager. Dee smacked her hand to her forehead, letting the stinging impact

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of skin against skin force reality into her thoughts. She twanged the bedroom door shut with her foot and made a beeline for the king-sized bed. “We need to talk.” The whiskied croon jumpstarted her nerves. One palm to her thundering heart, she whirled. Alex lounged against the wall, his hands folded across his chest. “What the bloody hell are you doing in here?” Sparks fired Dee’s skin. Her pulse tripped into a salsa. “Surrendering.” He straightened and walked to her. She edged backwards and put out her hand. “Stop, don’t come any closer.” “Dee,” Alex said, in a gentle tone. “This thing between us. It’s only getting hotter and hotter. You may as well surrender to the inevitable. I have. Since I saw you last night, I’ve been hard as a rock, and it keeps building exponentially.” “That’s just sex and Carnival. It happens to everyone. It has nothing to do with us. There is no ‘us’.” “Tell me you’re not soaking wet right now between your legs.” Alex tangled a finger around a stray curl and brushed his thumb over her ear. She shivered under his touch. He did that crooked boyish grin again, and she blew out a sigh. “I can smell your arousal. I did in the kitchen.” She squeezed her legs together, hoping the action would make the stickiness go away and mask the musk in the air. “Don’t look like that, sweetheart. We’ll only go as far as you want to. I won’t rush you too much.” Alex slid his hand underneath her loose, cropped shirt. He brushed his thumb up the underside of her breast. “Even before we met, there’s been heat between us, those long phone calls from the UK, then Boca, then the wedding.” Dee sucked in her breath as his other hand came into play, easing her tshirt up. She clenched his palm to the material, preventing further movement. “And what you said at the wedding? And the way you acted after, you know?” “Heck, sweetheart, I can explain. You have magnificent breasts. I already know that from the shower. ” Cobalt eyes blazed and darkened before they met hers. “ And I am an ass to have ever said anything else. In

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words and actions, you’ll know how much I regret my hasty words. I’ll worship them out of your memory.” All the acridness from the wedding flooded her veins, and she smacked his hands away. “Why did you say that to Jake, then?” “Sour grapes. After we kissed on the beach the night of the wedding, Jake reamed me. He told me if I screwed you, he’d put me in hospital. I couldn’t have you, and I was all a fever for you, so I reacted like a two-yearold.” Mollified, but not satisfied, she asked, “Is that why you hooked up with that woman later on?” Long elegant fingers traced the exposed flesh between her top and cutoffs. His gaze moved from her navel, one forefinger almost at her belly ring. “Sorry?” She repeated the question. “What woman?” “The supermodel who was draped all over you on the dance floor.” “Heck, woman, I got blind drunk that night. I wasn’t capable of hooking up, and believe me, you were the only one on my mind. And you’ve been on my mind constantly since the wedding.” He eased the fabric above her breasts and stared as if mesmerized. “Christ, they’re even more beautiful than I dreamed, and so pouty, so saucy just like you.” Something eased inside her soul. The hurt she’d felt since the wedding dissipated. “Do you know the first thing I do in the morning these days is head to my laptop to read your emails. You brighten my day. Give me that first smile in the morning. This is inevitable, sweetheart. You and I are going to embark on an amazingly hot affair. Tee said we have three hours before we leave. I don’t intend to waste a single minute, and I certainly don’t intend to sleep.” He found her nipple and rolled it between his fingers. Alex brushed his lips across hers. “The color here,” he said, thumbs feathering her areolas, “reminds me of the rosy hues of a conch shell. Unbutton your shorts for me, Dee.” Her limbs wouldn’t respond to her frantic mental commands to resist, retreat. Alex’s blistering blue eyes never left hers. Spellbound, Dee’s lips

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went dry. She wet them with her tongue, flicking from corner to corner, and remembered Tee’s words about matters backfiring. A sudden trepidation clogged her throat, and she swallowed, once, twice. “Alex, maybe this isn’t such a good idea. We have mutual friends. This could backfire on everyone.” Bending his head, he licked the seam of her mouth and tugged her lower lip between his teeth, grazing, suckling. Desire hit like a hurricane, fast and furious, and she clenched her thighs together, afraid the moisture pooling there would leak. He broke the caress and leaned so close their noses almost touched. Scorching azure eyes met hers. “Can you really stop now? Do you even want to?” Hot, tequila-scented breath sent everything racing- heart - lungs, but it fogged all semblance of brain activity save images of them naked and entwined. Though all else sprinted, when she shook her head, it felt like the movement happened in slow motion. “We can prolong our agony, or we can succumb to a morning of exquisite pleasure.” Alex splayed his fingers over her breasts, kneading, stroking. “Unbutton your shorts, Dee.” “Alex, we should stop.” She managed to gasp. He tugged at both of her nipples. Sunspots raced across her skin, igniting her brain. Coherent thought ceased to exist. “There’s no stopping now. Unbutton your shorts.” Gaze crazy-glued to his, her hands moved in slow motion. She fumbled with the button. It wouldn’t come lose. His large, hot hands covered hers. “I’ll get it.” Within seconds, her shorts landed on the floor. “I think we’ll leave this on for now.” Alex ran a finger under the edge of her blue thong. Somehow, seconds later, she lay on her back on the bed. Alex sat next to her. “I’m not going to last long once I’m inside of you.” He played with her nipples, pinching lightly at the taut points. “Let’s attend to your needs first, shall we?” Sinking onto the mattress, he flipped onto his side, elbow resting high on the pillow a tad above Dee’s shoulder. He lowered his head, and kissed her, a languid, intoxicating discovery, which fevered her mind. Two lazy

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forefingers traced the circumference of each breast, and aching nipples smoldered, stiffening. She followed Alex’s lead, slipping her tongue into the sweet heat of his mouth. He tasted of salt and lime and tequila, and desire intoxicated her mind, her senses. Her arms moved of their own accord, fingers stroking his chest as his soft lips fused them into an intimate tango of slow, dueling tongues. The tender invasion licked flames over Dee, emboldening her tentative touching. She discovered the supple flesh above his teeth, the velvety texture of the roof of his mouth. Her tongue’s tempo increased in cadence with her rising passion. She caressed his stubble-shorn cheek and wrapped her hand around his head, pressing him closer. He changed the pace of their kiss, demanding the lead, slowing the pace, kindling her excitement into a roaring blaze. She fought him when he lifted his head, forcing her hand to fall back to the bed, and groaned her disappointment. Tracing a languid, nibbling journey across the seam of her lips, he licked and suckled. She opened for him, but he seemed in no rush, content to explore every inch of her mouth. It maddened her, spiked desire to fever pitch. She speared her tongue inside, and for a few brief seconds, passions flared and he met her stroke for stroke. She rubbed along the length of him. He captured the tip of her tongue and wet the seam of her mouth, forcing her retreat. All the while, Alex’s fingers continued stroking an unhurried outline of her breasts, building a whirlwind inflammation. She wriggled closer, pushing off the bed, lifting one leg over his, mid-thigh. Alex pressed his forearm over her mid-section, gently settling her back onto the mattress. He draped one bent leg over her hip, stilling her agitated squirms, never once stopping his slow, drugged kissing, or the blasted fingered circling of both breasts. Dee twisted one hand around his neck, tangling her fingers in Alex’s silky brown hair. She urged him closer. His open, wet mouth strolled to her cheeks, to the line of her jaw. Her hand fell away, and she lost the feel of tense neck muscles, the soft strands of his hair tickling the back of her wrist. A bereft sigh escaped, replaced by a whimper as the delicious touch of his tongue to the pulse beating at her

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neck sent a conflagration racing over her skin. A thin sheen of sweat covered her entire body. When he nuzzled a sweet spot right there between neck and collarbone, she moaned and bit her lower lip. His perpetual, sluggish tracing around the mounds of her breasts never halted, not for a second. Tongue and teeth dawdled on each centimeter of flesh in a measured journey from one shoulder to the other. Time went into suspension, sounds, scent, tactile sensation magnified: Alex’s hot tequila-scented pants, his woody, spicy aftershave, the calluses on his fingertips and palms. When he nipped her earlobe, Dee arced upwards and grabbed at his t-shirt pulling him as hard as she could. She tried to tip to the side, needing his earlier hard caressing of her nipples. He broke their kiss. Her eyes flicked open. A Cheshire-cat smile stole over his face. His fingers never missed a beat, continuing their lethargic circling. “Want more?” his husky baritone drawled. She nodded, her gaze hypnotized by his long, bronzed fingers. “Look at me, sweetheart.” Alex licked the corner of her mouth, which was pursed in intent concentration. When her startled eyes met his, he growled, “Say it, Dee. Tell me you want more.” Her chest rose and fell faster under his fingered ministrations. Dee’s tongue wet her lower lip, and her heavy eyelids drooped and then rose in a languorous lifting. “I want it all,” she whispered. A feline grin crept across her lips. “All, every single bit,” she said, her voice raspy with desire. She reached down and forced his hand to her breast, squeezed his thumb and forefinger around the turgid tip. Her eyes never left Alex’s. Whatever he read in her gaze and caress changed his movements from languorous to pure vigor as desire darkened his azure eyes to navy. “Yes,” he growled. “First you.” He settled between her thighs, nudging them apart, and even through the denim, his hardness grazed delicious friction. Silken locks slipped and slithered around her breast electrifying the flesh as his tongue found the other peak. He licked the point and suckled the whole nub in. His hand

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tortured its twin, rolling, tugging, pinching while pinkie and ring fingers circled the underside of her breast. Slight, sweet, teasing movements. She arched her hips upwards and ground her pelvis over the swollen cock straining against the tight material of his jeans. He slid over her, shoved her thong aside, and his fingers found her curls and soaked panties. When he sighed, his fiery exhale met her wet skin, sending rivers of delight through every nerve ending. Looking up at her, Alex groaned, “You’re wet, sweetheart. Cream for me.” Sliding up along her chest, he sucked her lower lip and nipped. One finger tipped the slick core, while his thumb circled her entrance, dipping inside. “Christ, you’re hot, and tight, so tight. Time to take this off.” Alex rolled to her other side and tugged at the blue material. “Lift your hips. That’s it.” The air conditioner sent a steady stream of cool air across her heated skin. Somewhere in the distance, a steel band practiced a calypso chorus over and over again. “You have the prettiest pussy I’ve ever seen. All these blonde curls and your lips are the same color as your breasts, peachy and glistening.” He nudged her thighs apart with that perfect nose and separated her rosy flesh, hunting her nubbin. The first flick of his tongue sprouted a crowning wildfire, which jumped across every synapse. Better than her wildest imagination. Oral sex, oh frigging heaven. Her hips bucked upwards, sideways, trying to maneuver his tongue to the right spot. She arched as his teeth closed over her nub, sawing lightly. “Look at me, Dee.” Alex licked her navel. “I want to watch you come. Stay with me, sweetheart.” He drove his thumb further. Her muscles clamped about the single digit as he stroked in and out, circling her pearly point with his fingers, driving up the rhythm, then, slowing it to a maddening crawl, a slow in and out. Crazed and desperate, she lifted up to meet those circling fingers, keep them at that spot, increase the friction right there. She groaned when he

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slowed down again, but then he added his mouth to the inferno, licking and slurping, and sucking. She couldn’t get enough breath into lungs, and her heartbeat battered her eardrums. She screamed, her pelvis came off the mattress, and her thighs closed around his hand. Wave after wave hit her, and he encouraged more with little nibbles, a grazing tongue. His touch changed, becoming more soothing and tender versus deliberate frenzied plundering. A few scattered insane thoughts about bronzing his elegant fingers went through her brain, and his murmurs grew into actual words. “I knew you’d be wild,” he said. He tongued her belly button and whispered, “One more time.” Shifting to the side, he took possession of her mouth, and his tongue repeated the cadence of his fingers, building to another explosion. Sweet, tortuous desire chased through every pore, every inch of exposed flesh, setting her writhing and squirming against his palm. “I can’t.” Dee whimpered, even as her eyes lost their focus, and an orgasm spiraled through her body. “Hell and damnation, sweetheart, I can’t wait another minute.” His hand withdrew. She heard the sound of a zipper separating and slotted her eyes open in time to see Alex’s jutting arousal as he wrenched his jeans down and footed them off his ankles. He had an all-over tan. Even his bare toes proved alluring, long, copperbrown, manicured. Alex held a square packet in his hand. He ripped it open, pulled out a small circle, centered it over the head of his penis, and rolled the thin polyurethane sheath over the length of him. And, oh the length of him. Dee’s toes curled in anticipation, even as her brain did a rapid recoil considering his six-foot two height, and her five feet. She weighed just under a hundred and ten pounds, and he had to be at least one ninety. His perfect rump depressed the mattress. She shoved his t-shirt up, and ran her hands across his hard stomach, savoring the velvet heat of perfect skin, all of a sudden greedy to touch his rippled physique, explore that most fascinating organ.

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Hooking the shirt over his head, he let out a ferocious growl, and crashed to a horizontal position, covering her burning body. One knee separated her legs and he muttered something inaudible as his cock slipped inside. The feel of him, thick and hard and hot, right there, proved paradise’s existence. “Oh, yes,” she said. “Oh, yes.” “Open your eyes,” he husked the hoarse order. A thin sheen of sweat peppered his forehead, and he looked to be in agony. “Don’t wriggle, sweetheart, I want this to last, to be sweet torture for both of us.” He held his position, barely inside. “But I want more, all of it.” Her internal muscles clamped a virtual firestorm. “Christ,” he groaned, drove his tongue into Dee’s mouth, lifted her hips, and filled her in one deep, plundering thrust. She froze beneath him. Her lips jerked away, breaking their kiss. Shock lanced his features. “Dee?” Alex cradled her face. “Did I?” She averted her gaze and bit her lower lip. Nodded once. “I would have been gentler if I’d known.” One finger tilted her chin. “I can’t stop now, sweetheart, but I can stay still until you tell me I can move.” He outlined her mouth with his tongue. “Are you in pain?” She shook her head. “I’m going to roll us over so you’re on top, okay?” Dee nodded. Already the sharp sting was subsiding, and the unyielding pressure lessening. “Are you comfortable?” “I don’t think comfortable is the right word,” she managed. His eyelids flew upwards, and the familiar crooked grin curved his mouth. “Probably not.” She shifted, rolling onto her forearms, and wriggled her hips experimenting with a rocking motion, then a little bump and grind. Delicious, addicting. The feel of him inside. “No, don’t.” His breath came in fast, labored gasps against the tip of one breast. “My control is precarious at best.” Magical, long fingers tightened around her bottom, holding her immobile.

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“You can move,” she murmured, feeling her body flame with embarrassment, but desperate for more. “Thank God.” He brought her mouth to his and began his own race to completion, using his hands to set the pace, lifting and thrusting high. She complied, eager to help, and rested her palms on his chest. Her back arched, and her breasts rose and fell, their peaks tight, long, hard. He captured one and sawed the burning tip. Desire spiraled. A breathy mewl spilled out. Her pants grew desperate, hot gusts fanning out. Alex reached between her thighs and pinched once, twice. On the third soft twist, she exploded, her convulsions sending him flying into a series of tight shudders. Collapsing onto his moist, hot chest, she rested one cheek on his ribcage still heaving from exertion. Lethargic contentment seeped into her bones, and a sensual torpor claimed her brain. Alex’s heart cavorted in fits and starts, and the erratic beat settled into an even rhythm after an undeterminable period. She let out a long, audible sigh, and her breath flinted his taut nipple. Dropping a kiss on the top of her head, he feathered his hands down her spine and squeezed her bottom cheeks. “Cold?” “Not really.” “Sore?” The intimacy of the moment and his question served to rattle the edges of her delectable contentment. She didn’t want to discuss anything, sleeping dogs and all that. “Dee.” He traced a slothful circle on her bare shoulder. “Are you sore?” “A little,” she mumbled. He rolled them over so she was below him and on her back. When he traced the outline of her mouth, she melted. “Thank you, Dee, for the gift of your virginity. I’m honored.” He brushed his lips softly across hers. Roasting embarrassment flamed her face and neck. “Did you know your blush is the same pretty, peachy color as your nipples?” Alex grazed butterfly kisses over her forehead, down her nose,

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across the line of her jaw. “Don’t get all embarrassed on me now, sweetheart.” He slipped out of her warmth. “Stay here, I’ll be right back.” Dee followed his confident stride until he disappeared into the bathroom. Sex. After all these years. She pulled the sheets over her breasts and contemplated the stuccoed ivory ceiling, palms cradling her head. The decision to have sex with Alex had been prompted by the possible, fatal outcome of Project Plucked Parrot. Frigging hell, who was she kidding? She’d fallen in lust, and desire ruled her soul. But, she was nuts not to have done it before. No wonder it obsessed the world. The act exceeded its billing. And orgasm, she couldn’t find words to describe the sheer, selfish pleasure of climax. When Alex broke it off, a vibrator would be a lame substitute. At least he was nice about it. Frigging hell, he probably had a line for every possible sexual scenario. She snorted, certain he stood panicking in the bathroom wondering how to extricate himself from this sticky situation. But he had mentioned an affair. She definitely wanted to do it again. Couldn’t wait for the next time. How old was he? Male adolescents seemed to have perpetual hard-ons. But she’d read somewhere men reached their sexual peak in their early twenties. Experience won over quantity, right? Quality. But there were only nine days of vacation left. Quantity appealed. Somber thoughts invaded. The rape had never once entered her mind. Was she over the second hand experience? At sixteen, healing Daphne after her brutal rape had been the second time she used her special ability for something major. After the disaster of the first time, Dee clenched her jaw, and set aside that thought. Healing meant absorbing the pain of others, and all of Daphne’s fear became hers. For months after she recovered from the two-day coma, anytime someone touched her, even someone she loved, she had to fight an overwhelming nausea.

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It was during those first few months after awakening she’d decided her future. Finding out that the men who’d raped Daphne hadn’t been convicted had sent her into a rage. Once she fixed on the goal of becoming Attorney General and changing the laws, making them more favorable to women, she had deliberately resolved to avoid sex. It made life easier. And not once, in the intervening years, had she ever encountered desire. She had loads of male friends but shunned anyone who showed sexual interest. Oh, she heard all the rumors - she was a lesbian - frigid - a manhating bitch - and had welcomed them. Meeting Alex had been a shock to her system. All those years of repressed sensual curiosity exploded into a feverish burning. Desire. It consumed her. For weeks, she wondered about his cock, and started watching late night porn, although that soon palled. Oral sex now, she dreamed about that almost every night and during boring legal seminars. Never one to vacillate, Dee manipulated the invitation to Alex and developed an action plan. Simultaneously hating and craving submission to him, coveting control of the affair, but knowing he was too bloody experienced for her to set the pace. This round to Alex. The bathroom door opened, and she sat up. A sudden burst of unreasonable anger laced through her, and she felt a need to lash out at him. It must have shown in her face for Alex halted in mid-step and studied her features. He scrunched his shoulders square and strode purposefully towards the bed. She didn’t say a word when he sank onto the soft mattress, glorious, confident, almost arrogant in his bronzed nudity. Silence tautened. His lips thinned, and he tugged at the white cotton sheet. She gripped the material, her knuckles whitening. Dee played the waiting game well. Silence didn’t bother her one whit. She stared directly into his amazing blue eyes, glacial once more, the heat and the passion long gone. “What’s that for?” She angled her nose at the bowl. “I only want to help,” he said, his voice a low murmur.

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“I think you’ve…,” She nipped the sheet between her chin and collarbone, and her fingers mimicked quotation marks. “Helped me enough today, don’t you?”

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Latin Verbs & Incidents “I don’t know what to say,” Alex admitted, as he opened the French doors, which grazed a rectangular terrace. He juggled the bowl and washcloth to his other hand, and stalked toward the bed. “Pish.” Dee snorted. “Don’t tell me I’m your first virgin.” He closed his eyes. Did the woman have any tact or grace at all? Exhaling a long sigh, he sat on the mattress. The smell of sex curtained the small room, teasing his nostrils. He loved the scent of sweet climax, the sweaty aroma of a sexual tussle, the faint hint of a woman’s arousal, that taint of muskiness in the air. He lifted reluctant eyelids. Sunlight dappled a merry pattern on the planked flooring. “As a matter of fact, you are. I wish I’d known. Why didn’t you tell me?” A dusting of peach coated her skin from forehead to chest, and her charcoal lashes fluttered. Platinum curls swirled around her neck as she dipped her chin and chewed on that Angelina Jolie mouth. Angelic innocence personified, save for those lush lips. His groin tightened as the image of her mouth covering his greedy prick danced in his mind. Glancing at his erection, he sighed, knowing relief wouldn’t be forthcoming, and wondered about her pain. She averted her eyes and stared at a Cabazon print hanging between the two sets of French doors. Flimsy white drapes billowed and floated in a cool morning breeze, carrying the tangled aromas of fresh cut lawn and citrus. “It doesn’t matter,” she muttered. “Maybe I’m old fashioned, but it seems to me a woman’s first time should be special.” Alex cupped her jaw and turned her face back to him. His thumb grazed downy skin, which pinkened as he spoke. Two yellow-chested Macaws quarreled and shrieked outside the room’s French doors, exploding the still silence of the morning, their vivid blue

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feathers flashing in and out of a mango tree. A soft, warm, gardenia-scented breeze whirled around the room, lifting doily edges and the sheet cover. “What would you have done differently if you’d known?” His hand dropped away and circled the bowl on the bed, sloshing water over her thighs. Her belligerent tone and the unanswerable question she tossed out strained his self-control. “Why are you angry with me now?” He raised an eyebrow. “You weren’t a few minutes ago. Even if you’re regretting what happened, being angry won’t help the situation.” She sat up straighter in the bed, resting her back on the two pillows lining the headboard, bent her head, and stared at the cotton sheet. “Sweetheart, talk to me.” “You wouldn’t have done it if you’d known, would you?” “Look at me.” He reached over and tipped her chin up. “Nothing could have stopped me from making love to you this morning. Nothing.” “Nothing?” Her pupils dilated under his gaze, rimming those slanted gray eyes with a silver iridescence. That wicked mouth softened. “I wouldn’t have raped you, but I was hell bent on making love to you.” The ringing truth in his words surprised even him. “From the moment I saw you at the wedding and then again last night, I’ve thought about little else. And when you told me, you wanted it all, every single bit, I lost it.” “Oh?” Adorable witch, he thought, enjoying Dee preening like a peacock displaying its train. “Pax? Can we kiss and make up?” Her head tilted to one side, and that luscious mouth crooked up at one corner. “I suppose so. It’s either that or we declare war, and I don’t think Tee will forgive me for ruining her Carnival.” “Hardly flattering reasoning,” he grumbled. “What are the terms of this thing, whatever it is?” She clasped one hand to her sheet-covered bosom and waved the other in a small semi-circle. “Christ, woman, do you have a grain of romance in you?” He squinted at her. “And do you mind letting me lead?” “I like being in charge, and I’m not known for my tact or diplomacy.” She leaned towards him and stabbed a curved fingernail at his collarbone. “Lay down the rules, so I know what I can or cannot do.”

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His fingers twitched around the small towel, and the room grew warmer. “Here are the rules. There are no rules. We’ll go with the flow, see how things work out. Now, let me clean you.” Alex dipped the washrag into the bowl and rung the cloth dry. He batted her hands away from the sheet, and two small palms fell to soft, rounded thighs. The sight distracted him for long moments, his gaze traveling to the juncture, the sweet V framed by sand curls. He began conjuring Latin verbs and concentrated on his immediate task. Setting the bowl between her thighs, he dampened the towel and squeezed out the excess water. Her eyes darted around the room as every inch of her skin dusted a darker shade of peach, making her pale ringlets seem almost silver. Control regained on his third verb tense, he ventured conversation in the hopes of reducing her obvious embarrassment. “Should you take an ibuprofen for the pain?” “It doesn’t hurt now. Did Tee tell you about my powers?” The swift change of subject halted his cleansing strokes. One eyebrow raised, he studied her face for brief moments. “Vaguely. I know there are nine of you, but Tee really didn’t go into any detail. Why?” It seemed as if his scheme to distract her had succeeded as he’d finished wiping the faints flecks of blood and semen off her thighs, and she hadn’t even noticed. “My special gift is healing. I never get sick, and my injuries heal faster than normal. I’ll be fine by the time we’re ready to dress for pretty Mas.” Alex eyed her, not believing a word. From his second hand knowledge, the first time was not a particularly pleasant experience. Thankfully, he attended to her needs first, and she’d come three times. An image of her glistening, moist folds enshrouded his brain. His cock saluted its readiness. “Why don’t we go into the Jacuzzi for a bit?” Alex scrutinized her suddenly flustered features as her eyes focused on his pulsing, disobedient prick. “It could only help if you’re sore. Don’t worry about the others. They’ll be fast asleep. We won’t be disturbed.” He insisted on carrying her out the cabana door to the spa. This part of the grounds faced west, so the morning sunlight only hit the raised hot tub in intermittent bursts. Alex stepped down into the heated bath, sat on the ledge, and drew her back against his chest.

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“You’re an amazing woman.” He dropped a quick kiss on her temple. Unable to resist, he sifted her breasts in his hands and ran his thumbs over their tautening peaks. They pearled to his touch. “Christ, you’re passionate. You came three times, and you were a virgin.” She shifted forward, trying to put more distance between them. Tightening his hold, he tugged her back until her bottom pillowed his erection. “Either you use a vibrator regularly….” He stopped in mid-sentence. “But if you did, you wouldn’t be….” His voice trailed off, and he frowned, puzzled. “That does it,” she snapped, elbowed his waist and scooted to the left. “No more speculation. You can wonder all you want.” Wagging a finger two inches in front of his nose, she bit out, “I won’t ask you about your sex life, and you’ll not ask me about mine. Got that?” The devil’s hell blared in his chest, but he gritted his teeth and remained silent until his legendary restraint kicked in. “I lead. You follow. Remember? And unfortunately, sexually transmitted diseases are a fact of life, as is AIDS. We should have discussed our sexual history before making love. I know you haven’t had actual intercourse before, but there are other ways to indulge. Whether or not it makes you uncomfortable, I need to know, is there any chance of me catching anything from you?” “This is the year 2008, you chauvinistic fool. I lead when I want, that’s number one.” Her finger did a rapid two-step in a wide arc. “No one’s ever touched me below the waist, and I’ve never even had a yeast infection. That’s number two. Number three, considering your reputation I’m positive I should be the one who’s worried.” Father Murphy’s other favorite refrain blazed into his head, retreat is the better form of surrender. He snatched her hand, grabbed the opposite shoulder, and kissed her mercilessly until she melted against him. When her small hand cupped his face, he broke their kiss, nipping his way to her ear. “I surrender, sweetheart. No more discussions about your sex life.” Spinning her about, he hugged her back to his chest, relishing the warming touch of skin on skin. “I’ve always used a condom, even my first time. I’ve never had a shortage of partners.” She straightened. He firmed his hold on her slippery form. “It’s not a boast, Dee. I choose my partners carefully, and I’m monogamous when I’m in a relationship.”

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She snorted. “I am. To my knowledge, none of my former partners suffered from any STDs. I do a complete physical every year and an AIDS test is part of it. Last month, it was negative.” Different species of birds chirped, whistled, and sang sweet melodies. Warm water swirled a strenuous whirlpool around the Jacuzzi, relaxing Alex’s tense muscles. He nibbled and worried a languid trail to her ear. His teeth captured the lobe and sawed gently. She let her head fall to his opposite shoulder, and her small hands caressed slight circles on his thighs. “Isn’t it a beautiful day?” He waved a hand at the azure sky dotted with feather light cumulus clouds. Sighing, she relaxed, the small of her back grazing his rampant cock. “Carnival Monday always starts out this way, but it rains towards the end of the day. Carnival Tuesday, on the other hand, is always as dry as a bone. No matter what, both days are so breezy you never feel the heat.” God’s weather agreed with her words, sending a cool swirl about their shoulders, negating the heat of the spa. “How long are you staying?” He brushed her soft cheek with his knuckles. “I’m here until Sunday. I’m going to Tobago with everyone. We’re staying at Jake’s B&B from Ash Wednesday morning until Saturday. My flight home leaves early Sunday morning.” Coconut trees encircled the spa dais, creating a sense of intimate aloneness in the world. The vertical cliff-face of a mountain dripping colorful orchids rose high above them. Purple, yellow, and peculiar zebrastriped flowers hung down the otherwise bare clay slope. A Gardenia tree in the far distance perfumed the air, its brilliant white flowers signaling their dominion as they danced in the breeze. “I’m here for twelve days, until the following Saturday. I’d like to spend as much time as we can together, you and me, I mean, not the others.” The words popped out of Alex’s mouth unplanned and somewhat unwanted, but there none the same, hanging thick and uneasy between them. And he had added two extra days. Her head swung around and connected with his jaw. “Sorry.” She touched her palm to his skin. “What are you thinking of?”

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His direction now fixed, Alex decided to go for home or broke. “If I fly to Barbados with you, will you be able to spend the week with me, or do you need to work?” He adjusted the jets, setting them lower. “I’m starting to prune—shall we go in?” “Sure.” Dee nibbled a finger, and he read the battle in her clouded eyes even as she shuttered them. “Sweetheart, look at me.” Tipping her chin to him, he coaxed, “Spend the next eleven days with me,” She blinked, once, twice, and worried her lower lip. Finally, she let out a long sigh and nodded. “I watch myself carefully in Barbados because of my new position. Why don’t we stay on and spend some extra time in Tobago instead?” She stepped out of the spa and shrugged into her robe. Alex hooked his bathrobe over one shoulder, he twined their fingers together. “Sounds like a plan. I’ll arrange everything, shall I?” The day had turned windy during their sojourn in the spa, and cotton candy white clouds raced across the blue sky. He hugged her at the entrance to the room. “You won’t regret this, I promise.” Autumn words indeed. Switching off the air conditioner and leaving the French Doors open, Alex guided Dee to the bed. He tucked her into the crook of his arm and snuggled her close to his side in the wide bed, pulling the thin cover sheet to mid-pelvis, leaving her breasts bared. “Tell me about this Carnival band today.” Alex toyed with a sliverdusted ringlet and used his other hand to knead her neck. Dee yielded to his fingers, her muscles slackening under his massage. “There are about thirty-five hundred members, probably six or so music trucks. People arrange private liquor carts for their own groups.” “That’s a lot of people. How many bands are there?” Alex slid her left leg over his greedy prick. “Oh gosh, hundreds.” Dee gasped as her thigh brushed the hard length of him. Alex gave her shoulder a little nudge. “The bands,” he prompted. Slate eyes studied him, searching and hesitant, but she continued. “About half are big bands like ours. There are bands as small as five or six

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people, but everyone gets their turn on stage.” She frowned. “I think our band is called “Outlaws of the World.” “And we’re pirates?” “Yes.” Alex’s hand cupped her left breast, the sight of his brown fingers on Dee’s un-tanned, pale skin erotic, exciting. All at once, he remembered her admission in the spa. “Who touched your breasts?” Angry jealousy made the question a growled one. “Huh?” Heavy lidded eyelids fluttered, luscious lips parted, mintscented breath coming in little pants, and she commanded, “A little harder.” His lips curled as he considered this five foot nothing of wild, wanton woman, virgin a mere couple of hours ago, and he couldn’t prevent the grin from broadening into a wide smile. “Anything to oblige, sweetheart.” He bent his head and swooped her puckered nipple into his mouth. Her hitched gasp proved macho-satisfying. Brushing a kiss on the tip of her ear, he whispered, “Who touched your breasts? You said no one’s ever touched you below your waist.” Charcoal eyes narrowed, becoming icy pools more silver than gray. She tipped her chin up and said through gritted teeth, “And why is that any of your business?” “Because I find myself pathetically jealous and tempted to punch the breath out of anyone who’s touched you.” Lips twitching, she stopped further comment by cupping her hand over his mouth. “Teenaged boys and some very stupid men have tried to grope me. I learned how to knee a man in the groin very early on. I’ve had these puppies since I was eleven.” A shower of pleasure spurred another idiotic smirk. “I’m the only one who’s ever seen these,” he said, hands eagerly claiming dominion. “You’re preening like a peacock,” she harrumphed. And he felt like one, his delight inordinate. His cock vaulted to attention, and he stifled the urge to plunge into her hot sheath only by conjugating the Latin verb for love, Amo, Amas, Amamus. Subjugation of his prick came by the third tense. “Alex?” She touched his cheek.

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Startled, he opened his eyes, and made a quick recovery. “Tell me more about the band. I’m enthralled.” Her forehead furrowed, and she searched his face. Alex smoothed her brow, and he gave her a soft, open-mouthed kiss. “The band, sweetheart.” “Okay,” she mumbled, her frown reappearing. “Our section is about two-hundred people. Some sections are larger. I think the Buccaneer section is the largest. Each section has a king or a queen. Those are elaborate, elegant costumes that take a whole year to make.” “Is there a huge monetary prize for all of this?” He feathered a finger along the side of her neck. She swayed to give him more access. “Not really.” He suckled moistly at the skin she bared for him. “No money trades hands?” He blew a soft caress over her damp skin. “This isn’t a materialistic society,” she said, her voice wavering through a muffled moan as he lapped at the sweet curve of her bare shoulder. “Carnival’s in our blood. It’s a hedonistic passion. People work free to make the costumes, even the Kings and Queens.” His hands developed a mind of their own and went back to a slothful sifting of her breasts and an absentminded caressing of the undersides. “There are judges at each staging arena, and a best band is chosen by them. But, the most important competition is for the People’s Choice. Anyone, at any of the arenas, can vote for their choice. The money is minimal and certainly doesn’t cover the cost of the costumes.” Listening half-heartedly, interested, but more aroused than ever, he strained to follow their conversation. “How does the band make money then?” “Unfortunately, by the cost of the costumes.” His fingers tugged at her nipples. Dainty ivories worried her lower lip, but she continued. “They mark up the costumes astronomically every year. It doesn’t matter though, the band’s designs open the first week in September and are sold out within a couple of weeks.” That hurdled his mind. “You mean, fully five months before Carnival?” She wiggled her bottom against him. His cock surged into her crevice.

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“Yes. Oooh,” she moaned. Her virginity surged into his brain, and he began conjugating Latin verbs again. The word “battle” seemed appropriate, and he settled on Dimicatio, Dimcatis, Dimcatit. By the fourth tense, he had regained some semblance of control, although his obvious arousal begged to differ. “Some bands sell out before others.” Dee’s hands gesticulated as she spoke, and her fingers fluttered when they made contact with his erect penis. “Oh.” Her gaze dropped to his organ. It jerked. Her tongue snaked out to wet her lips. “Christ.” His gaze followed her delicate, shell-pink tongue. “You are the sexiest woman I’ve ever met.” He cupped a hand possessively over her breast. “Touch me, sweetheart. Touch me. ” Guiding her hand to his shaft, he curled her fingers around the head. With a long sigh, which warmed his skin, she rested her cheek on his chest and traced her forefinger down his length. “As much as I hate to say this. It’s fascinating.” “Why do you hate to say it?” His lungs hitched into uneven gasps as her small fingers flitted this way and that, testing foreskin. “It seems to me that the world revolves around a man’s fascination with his cock. I’m only adding to the universal male ego, by succumbing to the same fixation.” She explored the slash on the apex of his shaft, tracing its outline. “Show me what you like. I’ve seen porn of course, but I’m sure every man is different.” “Jesus, Mary and Joseph, yes. I’ll show you. I’m leading. Remember? It’s hard to believe you’ve never done this before?” He said, relishing the fierce, rapt expression on her face. “No.” A shadow crossed her features. Small white teeth sank into a reddened, lush lower lip. “Douglas wouldn’t allow us any sexual leeway. He said when we were ready everything would fall into place.” “Douglas Graham, is that who you mean? The warlock mentor? The one who, as Tee put it, nurtured the nine of you?” When she nodded, he added, his mood soured, “That man has had way too much influence on my life, but I’ve yet to meet him.” The sudden flare of irritation dampened his desire a tich. “Weren’t you ever tempted?”

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“Actually, I’ve always been leery. I haven’t had the best of experiences as far as sex goes.” She twirled a finger around his navel. Her tone brokered no questions. She definitely did not want to discuss the topic further. He tabled it for contemplation later. His curiosity piqued, he asked, “What’s with the sexual leeway bit?” Every muscle in contact with his skin tensed. Her jaw flexed unconsciously against his chest. A fraught silence cannonballed around them, shattering the ephemeral, sweet intimacy. “Dee.” A knock followed Tee’s soft call. The door slid open. Alex hastily pulled the sheets over their naked bodies. Tee popped her head through the opening. Her eyes bulged. “Oh my.” She clicked the door shut. Dee buried her face in her hands. “Oh no,” she wailed. “I didn’t want anyone to find out. Not like this anyway.” “Sweetheart, do you think sexual heat like ours can be hidden?” He cuddled her, enjoying the warm, soft curves. “The minute I met you again, I’ve been as hard as a rock. Daphne eyes my groin constantly and grins like a fool at my perpetual erection. Believe me, she’s made sure the other women know, too. I’ve caught them whispering and staring and, in Rosie’s case, pointing.” The door opened and Jake stalked in. “Alex, I’d like to speak to you. Outside. Pronto.” He crooked a finger over his shoulder and glared at the two of them. “I’m surprised and disappointed, Dee.” “What’s this all about?” Stark nude, Alex vaulted off the bed. He stabbed Jake in the chest. “Don’t take that big-brother-I’m-in charge-attitude with me. Dee and I are two consenting adults, and what we do behind closed doors is our choice. Don’t interfere.” “Dee is Tee’s best friend. If you hurt her, I’ll personally beat you to a pulp. Consider yourself warned, Dee is not one-night-stand material. Understand this, I know exactly what’s happened here. Precisely what you’ve taken from her, and I don’t like it one bit.” Jake slammed the door so hard, it vibrated. Alex stared at the pulsing wooden frame and considered his friend’s surprising display of anger.

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“Crap.” He tunneled his fingers through his hair. “That didn’t go well, did it?” “Possibly the understatement of the year,” she muttered. “I know your friendship with Jake dates back forever, and I don’t want to come between you two. Maybe we should take a step back.” “Don’t go there. Don’t even think about it.” He trudged back to the bed. She had the sheets pulled up to her chin. Caution-filled gray eyes peered at him. “What did he mean by knowing exactly what I’ve taken? Did everyone but me know you were a virgin?” “Tee,” she replied, lifting one shoulder “The woman has few secrets from her husband. And I’m her best friend. No one else knew, besides Douglas and the other seven. I’ll talk to Jake, and let him know this was my decision.” “Christ, woman, it takes two to tango. There were two of us involved, and we both had to consent. I’ll sort things out with him.” Alex reassured her. “Are you and Tee going to be okay?” “Yes.” She reached for the throw at the bottom of the bed, and stood, wrapping it around her shoulders. “They’ll be waiting for us.” They dressed, constrained by a tense silence. Alex captured her hand on the way out the door. Murmured conversation reached them. The others were milling about the porch. All eyes swung their way. Jake glared pointedly at their entwined fingers. “I’ve laid out the costumes. Yours and Alex’s are on the couch.” Tee pointed at the living room. “You two get changed and join us in our bathroom for the glitter and stuff.” Alex tugged Dee into the living room. He grabbed the clothes from the sofa and headed for her bedroom. “I don’t see any reason we should be in two separate rooms, do you? I’m going to move my things in here, unless you object.” He cocked his head and searched her features. “I’m not certain that’s a wise move at this point.” Two lines marred the space between taupe eyebrows. “This is all very fast, Alex, it makes me nervous.” He kissed the middle of her palm. “It is quick, I realize that. But, I think we should give this thing between us a chance, and we only have eleven days left.”

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“That’s a lot of pressure.” “Shall I get my suitcase or not? Your call.” “Yes.” She sighed. “I suppose it’s hypocritical to pretend nothing’s happened.” By the time he returned, Dee had on her carnival costume. The red tube top molded her breasts and waist snugly. “Are you wearing a bra?” Alex’s cock jumped for joy when she shook her head. “No. Does it look bad? I wish I had normal sized breasts. It’s at times like this breast reduction surgery suddenly appeals.” “Christ, no. You’re perfect. I know women who’ve paid good money to look as great as you do.” Unable to resist, he cupped a hand over her right breast. His thumb gravitated to her nipple. “I’m going to be a raving lunatic by the end of the day,” he growled. “Maybe you should wear a t-shirt over that thing.” “It does look bad.” She twisted left and right trying to see the fit of the tube top in the narrow oval mirror on the wall. “You look scrumptious. Way too scrumptious,” he complained. “I’d prefer I was the only one to see you in that.” And stopped short, stymied by the surge of possessive jealousy flooding his brain. “Dee,” Tee called as she knocked on the door. “Come in, it’s open.” Tee stuck her head into the doorway. “Oh good, you’re ready. Alex, we’re going up to the bathroom. Do you know where it is?” “Yeah, I’ll be there in a couple of minutes.” “You’re changing rooms?” Tee glanced at the open suitcase on the bed. “Yeah.” He shrugged. “Any objections?” “Are you okay with this, Dee?” “Uh-huh.” She worried her lower lip. “Will Jake hit the roof?” “He won’t be happy. He’s become very protective of you, especially after last month’s incident.” “What incident?” His gaze swept between the two women.

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Pretty Mas, Roti & Murderers “Nothing important.” Dee headed for the door. “Try to hurry, Alex. We’re running late.” While the two women started up the stairs, Alex unpacked quickly appropriating one of the drawers in the dresser. Impatience marred his usual precise alignment of clothing. He thrust his clothes in a haphazard manner onto the rack in the walk-in-closet, leaving his loafers askew. Devoid of Dee’s presence, the once cozy room morphed into a sterile, unwelcoming space. Ten minutes later, when he entered Tee and Jake’s enormous bathroom, Alex searched for her elfin features. Blaring fury erupted at the sight that met his eyes. Dee had one small palm resting on Jake’s bare chest, and was in the process of painting a scarlet half-moon on his cheekbone. Alex hooked Tee’s arm through his, and herded her in front of Jake. He took the brush from Dee’s hand. “Here,” he growled, as he angled the long wooden handle in Tee’s direction. “I believe Jake is your territory.” Her mouth dropped open, and Tee’s tawny eyes danced with mischief. “My, I do believe Alex has finally met the green monster,” she said and took possession of the paintbrush. Tapping the pointed end to Alex’s bicep, she added, “You may have it worse than Jake. Darling, did you notice Alex’s jealous hissy fit?” “Christ’s sake, Tee. Does the whole world need to know? Keep your voice down.” Alex scrunched his nose, crooked Dee’s elbow with his, and towed her away to the far corner of the room. “That was unnecessary.” She twisted her arm out of his. “I always do Jake’s cheek, it’s a tradition.” “Let’s call this the start of a new tradition. You concentrate on me.” His hands spanned her waist, and he lifted her onto the counter.

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She glared at him for a brief moment and sighed into a wry smile, touching a dainty finger to his lower lip. Unable to resist, he nibbled at it and seared her with his eyes. Primordial possessiveness pealed through every pore. Mine. And everyone needs to know it. Mine. “Who’s got the blue glitter?” Dee asked. “I do. Here. Catch.” Michael spun the tube in her direction. Alex snapped it out of the air and clamped it into her palm. The lone window in the over-sized bathroom faced east and provided only filtered light, shaded as it was by the afternoon sun. The harsh illumination provided by fluorescent tubes framing the sides of the bathroom painted a gaudy, vulgar tone on the group’s bare-skinned activities. “Take off your t-shirt.” He obligingly hooked the garment off. “I guess I won’t be wearing that.” Alex let it plop onto the counter. She twisted off the cap and faced his bare chest. “Any particular request?” “Do whatever you want, sweetheart,” he murmured for her ears only, a flaming cannibalistic craving to taste every inch of her flesh making him bare his teeth for a second. An overwhelming urge to be buried deep inside her body sent him crashing over a Niagara waterfall, thoughts splattering. A shudder wracked through him as he fought the need to surrender. “Are you okay?” She said, dusting her fingers over his shoulder, his right nipple, her plump mouth pursed. “Barely.” He closed his eyes, shutting out light, lust. Her warm breath heated his skin. “Come forward a little, Alex.” The prosaic words scattered an icy coolness, raising awareness of their position amidst the crowd in the suddenly confining bathroom. Conjugating yet another Latin verb, he scooted to the edge of the counter and stood between her spread legs. The pulse at her neck beat softly. Alex touched his tongue to it, licking at her salty skin. She pushed him away and darted a glance around the room.

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“What the hell? What happened between you two? Dee, this is not like you at all.” Michael’s scowl proved the perfect accessory for the massive red, black, and white, skull and crossbones decorating his chest. “Are you okay?” One of the other males stepped forward and stood besides Dee. “Did he force himself on you?” A miasma of claustrophobic silence descended, churning the atmosphere in the room to a simmering roil. The aroma of sweat, soap, and sex thrummed around them insistently, agitating the tension to boiling point. Alex spun about and let his elbows fall onto her knees. “Dee and I are together. It’s our choice. Stay out of this.” All the men, save Jake, formed a semi-circle around them. “Dee, it’s your call.” Michael glowered at Alex, arms akimbo. “It’s almost twelve thirty. Uncle Ian will be here in less than half an hour. Leave Alex and Dee alone, they’re adults.” Tee’s voice held a hint of steel. The easy camaraderie from the breakfast table fell away, and the pressure in the room bubbled over. Jake dropped a bottle of aftershave on the tiled floor. Tee mumbled soothing phrases and cleaned up the broken glass. The whole room stank of Cool Water. Dee traced a large Fleur-de-lis on Alex’s shoulder using a dark blue felt pen. She drew a lightning bolt down the middle of his chest in a bright orange-red hue and rubbed incandescent sparkly gel all over his pectorals, neck, and arms. He never took his eyes off her face. When she concentrated, Dee’s plump mouth pursed, and little lines appeared around her eyes when she squinted at her artwork. “There.” She patted his chest, and raised startled gray eyes to his. “Are you hot?” “Sizzling hot. Hard as a rock,” he whispered. She stared at the blatant bulge between his legs and wet her lips. He groaned. “It promises to be a tortuous day.” “Ladies, will you help me get the wineskins ready?” Tee asked. “Alex, take off your Rolex. It’s liable to be stolen, and I know how attached you are to it. Michael, leave your St. Christopher medal and chain in the kitchen. We’ll see you gentlemen downstairs.”

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The women left the room chattering about the contents of their wineskins. Alex hopped off the counter. He didn’t like the way the men immediately blocked the doorway, even Jake making up the periphery of a showdown line. “Daphne and I started dating in high school.” Michael’s soft tone bristled the hairs on Alex’s spine, which did nothing to soothe his rising irritation. “Dee spent summers in Trinidad with Tee. The year Daphne turned sixteen, she went to the beach with a group of friends, and wandered off by herself onto a lonely stretch.” “For Christ’s sake, what does this have to do with me and Dee hooking up?” Alex snarled. “I don’t have to listen to this crap.” “Shut up and hear Michael out.” Jake pushed him into the doorframe. “Four men raped and beat Daphne. The doctors didn’t think she’d pull through. Dee healed her. She took all Daphne’s pain, absorbed her fear. Dee went into coma. She’s avoided men ever since. For Dee, it was if she was the one raped.” Michael explained. “Somehow the rape became Dee’s memory. Daphne has no recollection of it whatsoever, and no fear of men. Not that Dee’s afraid of men. I don’t think she’s afraid of anything.” “Dee’s healed each one of us, or our families at some point in time, but it comes at a cost to her. My mum was in a bad car accident three years ago. She broke her leg in four places. The doctors never thought she’d walk without a limp. Mum’s fine today, but it took Dee several months before she walked properly,” said one of the other males. “Tee hemorrhaged during her miscarriage, and the doctors wanted to remove her ovaries. Dee healed her.” Jake stated. “You know how much Tee wants children, Alex. I could never repay Dee for what she did for my wife. So you see we all have good reasons for being very protective of her.” “Here are the rules of engagement you will operate under as far as Dee is concerned. One, you ever hurt her physically, you’re dead meat.” Michael held up two fingers. “Two, if you ever verbally abuse her, don’t come back to this island.” “If I were you, I’d think long and hard before you jump into this relationship. You stand to lose a lot.” Jake’s grim warning echoed around the tiled bathroom walls.

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Alex waited until they all left. He sat on the edge of the tub and wondered if he had done the right thing tumbling into a relationship with Dee. He thought about the rock that he’d given Beverley Princeton the day before he left for the orphanage. Although technically no proposal was uttered, the implications were there. The affair with Dee had begun as a bacchanalian vacation romp, and suddenly it morphed into a complicated tangle, one long plunge into shadowed, uncertain depths. On the way to downtown Port of Spain, he brooded and tried to find a way to have his cake and eat it, too. A win-win solution for all concerned, Jake, Dee, himself, and Beverley. Halfway through their journey, Jake sat next to him. “Didn’t mean to be hard on you, buddy.” “Cut the crap. You meant every word you said.” Alex retorted. “Two things puzzle me. One, how does a woman like Dee with a body like hers remain a virgin for twenty-nine years? And even more of a conundrum, why me for the first?” “I can’t answer the last question, but I can tell you why I think she is, or was, a virgin.” Jake lowered his voice. “This is strictly between us, Alex. No one else.” “On St. Michael’s honor.” Alex’s fingers formed a Vulcan greeting. “Tell me your theory.” “The rape is a big part of it. Dee’s worked with battered women most of her life. Her sole goal has been to become Attorney General and reform old statutes, which deny women’s rights. Dee believes her breasts and her body negate her credibility. Twice, Tee’s talked her out of breast reduction surgery.” “She mentioned it this afternoon,” he muttered. “I didn’t think she was serious.” “Douglas forbade it. I’m convinced that’s the only reason she hasn’t done it. Barbados’s Prime Minister, a good friend of Dee’s father, has gone out on a limb to appoint her as Acting Attorney General. She won’t allow a stain on her reputation, and for her, that includes frivolous dating. The woman’s a complete workaholic.” “I find it hard to believe there’ve been no men in her life. She’s so uninhibited. Her costume, the way she danced this morning.”

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“You know how they advertise what happens in Las Vegas stays in Las Vegas?” Mystified by Jake’s words, he nodded. “Trinidadians have the same attitude for Carnival. During Carnival, people have leeway to do what they normally wouldn’t, and no one judges anyone based upon Carnival behavior. I guarantee you we’ll see Supreme Court judges, ministers in several governments, staid businessmen and women being completely licentious, yet on Ash Wednesday, the day after Carnival, all’s forgiven and forgotten. You’ll see. It’s part of Carnival’s appeal. Even the press holds to some sort of unwritten law, and censors itself.” He considered Jake’s summation. “I suppose it’s the only way an admittedly incestuous society can deal with an event like this. Still, it’s hard to fathom. She’s so in tune with her body, how did she refrain?” “What’s the age of the youngest Attorney General in any one of the fifty states?” “I assume there’s a point to that question and obviously you know the answer. I don’t.” “He’s thirty-four, a good old boy, and third generation connected. Dee’s younger, brilliant, and a woman in a male-dominated, ultra-conservative society. She started college at sixteen and a half, finished her Master’s before she turned twenty, and made partner in the most prestigious Barbadian law firm three years later. Some of that is due to her family’s status, but most of it is due to wearing blinders. Many of her peers don’t believe she’s qualified or capable for this new position. Dee easily puts in eighty hour weeks.” “I get the picture. She’s married to her career.” Alex tunneled his fingers through his hair. “Then the second question assumes even more importance and begs another. Why now and why me?” Blaring trumpets halted their conversation. Their minivan slowed to a stop. “Are we here?” Alex shouted, cupping a hand over Jake’s ear. Jake shook his head. The discordant live music came from a band sauntering by their vehicle. The van accelerated into motion, weaving through the center of a middle-sized pan-around-the-neck steel band. A multi-treed park appeared in the distance.

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“Uncle Ian.” Tee patted the elderly man’s shoulder. “Stop here. The park is just ahead. You can turn right and avoid all the traffic on the way back.” Jake hopped out of the mini-bus first and helped Tee down. Michael guided Daphne and Dee outside. He slouched against the hood of a parked car, and draped an arm around each woman, daring Alex to interfere. He didn’t. Someone pulled out a wineskin and passed it around. Alex swallowed a large portion before he realized it was Tequila. He dug into his money belt, found a strolling vendor, and bought a cold Carib beer. The afternoon heated up as they trudged to the park where the band met. Electrifying colors dotted bodies of all shapes and sizes; large, round women with enormous bosoms, small, petite figures costumed in minute scraps of neon bright spandex. Some carried standards, six-foot poles bearing emblems of their sections in the band, theirs a glistening, curved, silver machete. “There’s the painted body section, hell men, come with me. I have to take a look.” One of the men hollered and did a little jog to the right. About thirty women wearing nothing but garrulous, multi-colored paint and very narrow black thongs preened at the edge of the crowd. Most had the hard, muscular bodies of women who worked with weights. Alex watched as one of the guys from their group approached a petite, boyish female with small breasts. She embraced him, lustily wining on his pelvis. He touched a finger to her bold nipple, and the woman burst into laughter, captured his hand, and pressed it to her breast. “David.” Alex turned around when Dee squealed a happy greeting. A tall, mahogany-skinned man with the broad, sculpted shoulders of a footballer held her in his arms. Alex’s jaw clenched. The man traced the side of Dee’s cheek in a tender, lover-like gesture. Alex didn’t know he was capable of Superman speed. In seconds, he vaulted to Dee’s side and snaked his arms around her waist, forcing the other male to retreat. She tensed, stiffening in his hold.

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“Aren’t you going to introduce us?” Alex asked, assessing the man; early fifties, handsome, a full head of gray hair, and from the gold around his neck, a potential sugar daddy. “David Powell, meet Alex Mayfield. Alex, this is David.” Nodding at David, he offered a hand. “Pleasure.” Dee scooped her back away from him, and the arm securing her to him tightened. “I’ll catch up with you later, Dee.” David’s withering stare scorched Alex’s extended hand. He muffled a snarl and dropped his hand, cementing it around Dee’s waist. “Okay, see you later, David. Say hi to Claudia.” As soon as the man left, she tried to squirm out of Alex’s embrace. “Don’t please. Stay,” he whispered. She remained un-tractable, and his wariness mounted. “You can’t blow hot and cold and expect me to jump to your bidding, Alex. It’s not fair.” Pounding base reverberated through the park. The ground below their feet pulsed with sound. He cupped a hand over her ear and shouted, “We can’t talk here. Come with me.” They walked to the far end of the park. Dee sank to the grass and sat crossed-legged, surprisingly long fingers snagging at cool, emerald grass. Leaning against a broad tree trunk, he stretched his legs out so his thighs touched hers. “The men ganged up on me in the bathroom after you ladies left. Michael told me about Daphne, and Jake told me about your role in Tee’s miscarriage.” He plucked a long weedy stalk. “I hadn’t realized the full impact of your special ability. I suspect I still don’t. Daphne’s rape is what you meant when you said you hadn’t had much luck with sex, isn’t it?” “Yes,” she replied. “Do you want to renege out of whatever it is we’ve started? Feel free to take an out. No hard feelings.” “I wish it were that easy.” He responded without a second’s hesitation. “Right now, I couldn’t stay away if I tried. Besides, I think your friends and Jake might object.” “I’ll speak to the others.” “No.” He shook his head. “I’ll handle it.”

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“Where do we go from here?” The sun peeked out from feather-white clouds gathering above, and she turned her face up to its warmth. “Let’s take it one step at a time,” he suggested. “Am I forgiven my brooding?” He tickled the long reed over her nose. Smoky eyes flew open. She knuckled the edge of her nostril and then nodded. “And forgotten.” A canopied music truck parked at the side of the road roared into sound. Six gyrating females wearing the barest of bikinis held onto a metal bar and sang into microphones. An Amazonian woman at least six feet tall belted out a hoarse calypso. Dee plugged a finger into each ear. Alex helped her to her feet, and they hurried away in search of the others. They found most of their group trailing down the street behind a DJ truck. Chipping proved delectable, Alex locked his arms around Dee’s waist, and held her firmly against his pelvis. The difference in their heights meant the base of his cock rubbed the top of her rounded bottom. Unlike the drowsy sensuality of J’Ouvert, Pretty Mas was all pulsing, fevered, carnal desire. Near-naked bodies, sweat, sun, and Dee’s ample bum polishing his painful arousal threatened his control with each shuffle forward, each swirl of her bottom. He drank Carib beer instead of Tequila or Scotch; he had firm plans for them tonight. Dee downed a shot of Tequila, and another. She circled her hips over his groin, and then did what Daphne had done in the wee hours of the morning, bent over double at the waist, and ground against him perpendicular to the road. His balls tightened, his erection thickened, his eyes crossed. She flashed him a saucy smile and really got into the music, wining all over him. When she went behind and reversed their positions, it became sheer agony. Her fingers brushed the top of his penis, erratic butterfly caresses, settling into the calypso’s rhythm. Desire spiraled as a music crescendo reached its zenith. Alex lifted her away from his body battling for jurisdiction, but failure loomed. No amount of Latin conjugation could help him now. They passed a hotel bearing the words, ‘The Crowne Plaza’, under a satellite-shaped, circular glass dome. He dragged Dee into the lobby. “What are you doing?” Two familiar vertical lines formed between her eyebrows.

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“Getting us a room,” he mumbled searching his money belt for a credit card. It took ten minutes of frustrated negotiation, and he was forced to take the room for the rest of the week, but Alex finally secured them a room with a king-sized bed. Minutes later, he had them ensconced in a luxurious suite and took great pleasure in slamming the door shut after tipping the luggageless bellman. “Are you hungry?” Dee opened the mini-fridge. “Peanuts?” She offered him a long bag. “We’ll order room service. I’m starving, but food comes second. Your wining set me on fire, sweetheart.” He tugged the scarlet tube top down, and suckled one, sweet, soft tip, teeth grazing it hard. He grasped her bottom cheeks and hooked her legs over his hip. “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, what you do to me,” he groaned. She ground upwards, gray eyes half-lidded, a victorious female warrior smile curving her mouth. It did him in. The pale triangles of her breasts beckoned, bewitching him, and his last coherent thought was where the heck had his renowned control gone. He shuffled forward, and they fell onto the bed in a tangle of legs, arms, pelvises. The ultimate merging of polar opposites fated together, mated together, his mouth to her breast, his shaft to her mound. Clothing flew left and right. Dee’s passion matched his. “Are you sure you’re not sore?” he whispered. “Not a whit,” she growled. “Kiss me again,” and speared her tongue into his mouth. He groaned his approval spurring her toothed exploration of his lips, sweet nibbles of his skin. His fingers moved between her folds, stroking the slick softness of her, furrowing into crevices, and finding her center. The other hand worshipped her nipples, playing with the ridged points until they stood at West Point attention. Dee tugged his hair, breaking their warring tongues apart. “What?” His lips returned to hers dazedly. She tugged again and dragged his head down to her breasts.

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“My pleasure. I could suckle you forever.” And he set to it, using his tongue and his mouth relentlessly. She wrestled closer, spewing breathy moans, and mumbled something. “What?” Another low murmur, but he didn’t catch the words. “Say again,” he commanded. “Tell me what you want.” “Bite them.” A wash of color stained her cheeks at the words. And he set to it, sawing first one nipple then the other between his teeth. She went up in smoke, murmuring, cajoling, begging for more, more pressure. He bit harder, and she convulsed in his arms all aquiver. A bead of perspiration rolled down her cheek. He lapped at it and whispered, “Did you just come?” Bright splotches stained her cheeks, and she ducked her chin in conspicuous embarrassment. “I’ve won the lottery,” he said, his voice catching in triumph. He settled between her thighs edging them wider with one knee and entered her slowly, inching forward. Her vaginal muscles vacuumed him inside, sucking at his penis. “You’re so tight, Dee, so damned hot.” He snatched a pillow from the headboard and stuffed it under her hips. His penetration deepened and he knew when he hit her G-spot. She screamed his name and raked his back with her nails. Dee hooked her feet around him. His testicles contracted, and he ejaculated, pulsing into her heat. The sound of panting filled the air. His damp chest slid along her soft skin, and a deep, satisfied serenity enveloped the darkened room, their joined bodies. Silken curls tickled his chin and brought mind and body together again. “I didn’t think I was going to survive that.” Raking his hair out of his eyes, he rested on his forearms, and surveyed her flushed cheeks and glazed charcoal eyes, which still smoldered. “Why do you have such a wicked look on your face?” She squinted up at him, lush lips pouty, prettily swollen. “You’re smiling like a kid let loose in a toy store. “You came when I suckled your breast.” He knew his grin widened. She cupped her hands over her face. “I didn’t even know that could happen.”

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He pried her hands away. “Sweetheart, you are an astoundingly passionate woman, and I am a very fortunate son of a bitch. I’ve never had sex like this.” He shook his head. “Never. Don’t you dare feel embarrassed. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. I’d like to shout this out to the world. Every man alive would envy me if they knew.” “While I haven’t read extensively on the subject, I seem to recall most women take a long time to orgasm.” “Obviously, not this woman.” He feathered his tongue across her rosy mouth. “Are you sore, sweetheart?” “Not in the least. That was wonderful, Alex.” She captured his tongue and sucked it gently. “You’re very good at this.” “Is this the Attorney General’s legal opinion?” He nuzzled her neck. “Would she go on record? “Acting. The acting Attorney General needs a more thorough demonstration of this lawyer’s skills.” She nibbled his shoulder and licked and sucked her way to the pulse throbbing in the hollow of his neck. When she pressed her open mouth over the spot and let her tongue rest on his flesh, he thickened inside of her. “You smell so good,” she murmured, her lips vibrating against his pulse. “I can’t. We’ve been sweating in the sun for hours. My aftershave must have disappeared by now.” “It has. Now I can smell you, and you smell exciting. All male pheromones, salt, and sex.” He started to pull away. She locked her ankles around his thigh. “Don’t go. Stay. It feels great.” Knuckling the hollow of her cheek, he said, “I suggest we adjourn to the bathroom. There are a number of aquatic skills I’ve yet to demonstrate. I believe the Attorney General called a recess during my last courtroom appearance in that particular arena.” “Acting. We can’t, Alex. Tee will be frantic when she realizes we’re missing.” She worried her lower lip. “How long do you think we’ve been gone?” “Probably all of forty minutes. Unfortunately, this didn’t take nearly as long as I’d anticipated.” He smirked. “Do you really think she’ll be worried?” “Yes, especially after this morning.”

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Sunlight winked in through the gap in the far curtains, casting his shadow onto the bedspread. One dainty finger traced the line of his nose. “Okay, then as much as I hate to do this, let’s shower separately. You go first, and I’ll order a couple of sandwiches to go. I’ll get two sodas from the vending machine.” Sighing, reluctant, he eased out of her center, and couldn’t resist giving her bottom a playful smack as she wriggled off the bed. Within quick order, they readied to race and meet up with the others. Dee knew the park where the band planned their next stop. She took a shortcut through some eerily empty streets, and they munched on something she described as a Roti, somewhat like a soft tortilla filled with cubes of curried chicken and chickpeas, which she called channa. The afternoon sun reached its peak, the intense heat buffeted by gentle breezes. Exhausted revelers rested on park benches, the grass, and the curbs. Some weary masqueraders took off their shoes and splashed about in the fountain in the middle of the square. They found Michael and Daphne first and wandered about with the couple searching for the others. Tee sprang to her feet when she spotted them. “You worried the daylights out of me, Desdemona Bloom.” Tee cuffed her shoulder. “You’ve been gone for over an hour.” “Alex was hungry so we stopped for a bite to eat.” Dee’s face flushed. “You know how long everything takes during Carnival.” “Did you forget we pre-ordered a late lunch?” “It slipped my mind.” She avoided Tee’s gaze. Alex rescued Dee by the simple act of pulling her back to his chest and linking his fingers around her waist. “Don’t scold her. It was my fault.” “That phone call this morning from my father, Dee, was about what happened to you last week.” Tee’s chin jutted out and her arms were akimbo. “Don’t,” Dee warned. “What’s going on?” His eyes narrowed. “Apparently someone tried to kidnap Dee last week.” His blood coagulated, and his nice little beer buzz evaporated. “Why didn’t anyone tell me about this?” “Dee didn’t even tell me, but my father found out all about it. That’s why he called this morning to warm me to be careful.”

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“As Barbados’s Attorney General, shouldn’t you have assigned protection?” Jake appeared out of nowhere. He rested his hands on his wife’s shoulders. “Acting,” she mumbled and pink color stained her cheeks, as she studied a dirt patch in the park grass, toeing the lawn circumference with her white tennis shoes. “What happened to your body guards?” Jake’s velvety tone didn’t match the fierce glint in his black eyes. “It’s Carnival, look around. With all these people about, who could move quickly enough to spirit me away?” She waved a hand at the throng of masqueraders lining the streets. “Dad said you left for Trinidad on an executive jet instead of your planned commercial flight. You dumped your bodyguards.” Tee squinted at her. “Alain Reniere flew you over, didn’t he?” “Blast it darlin’, I heard that. You’re one stubborn woman, Desdemona Bloom.” Michael materialized next to Jake. He spoke in a low tone. “Alain Reniere is harmless, but his father is a dangerous man, a known criminal and an accused murderer. A man who likes to have Attorney Generals in his pocket.” As she opened her mouth to correct him, he glowered. “Even acting Attorney Generals. That was a stupid move, Dee. You have to let it go. You can’t protect Alain anymore. He’s not a little boy any longer, he’s a grown man.”

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Bacchus & Bacchanal “Reniere, I know that name,” Alex mused, pinching the bridge of his nose. “But, I can’t place it.” A trumpet blasted an off-key note nearby as a brass band warmed up. Lime park lawn darkened to emerald when a charcoal cloud shaded the sun’s brilliant light. “Jean-Paul Reniere owns the Bacchus string of private gambling clubs. There’s one in every Central American capital city and several in the larger Caribbean islands. Alain is his only son,” Michael explained. “He’s a good friend of Dee’s. Alain’s mother once lived opposite Dee’s family in Barbados, and she added him to her collection of wounded doves. Alain’s autistic, brilliant in some areas, but simple in others.” He touched a forefinger to his head. “Most summers as teenagers, we all hung out together although Alain is much younger.” “Jean-Paul is a different matter entirely. A sadistic, vicious man with vast, deviant appetites.” Jake scowled at Dee. “Commonly known as Butch or The Butcher, Jean-Paul also controls all the online gambling activities headquartered in Antigua.” He curled one arm across Tee’s collarbone. “Butch is the head of our version of the Mafia.” “Dee is supposed to curtail her friendship with Alain, not deepen it. Butch will use it to try to get her in his pocket. It’s a dangerous game you’re playing.” Michael’s glower deepened. The afternoon sun winked out of its cloud blanket, heating her bare shoulders. Alex tightened his hold on her. “Just how violent is this man?” She shuffled her feet, blew out a long, audible sigh, and relaxed snuggling closer. Jake and Tee’s earlier argument in the piano room popped into her mind, and she realized it had been about her safety.

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“Last year Butch took out a whole family, children included. Rumor has it, he made the man kill his two kids, both were toddlers, then his wife. As the wife lay dying, Butch hacked the man into pieces, with his weapon of choice, a cutlass.” Jake’s mouth thinned into a fierce, grim line. “Word on the streets says he had one of his henchmen record the whole thing on DVD.” “Cutlass?” Alex asked, his legal training kicking in. “Pirate sword,” Jake replied. Several revelers in Captain Jack’s Pirate garb jostled past them. Each bore the standard that represented their section, a white, black, and red spiral-painted pole capped by a massive, silver machete. The afternoon sun glinted off the metallic paint blinding those directly in the path of its reflection. “You’re going after him.” Tee’s tawny eyes flashed disapproval. “Don’t Dee. That man is scary, and he’s crazy. If the gossip is even half-true….” She shook her head. “Is Reniere behind the attempted kidnapping?” Alex scrutinized her face. “He is.” Tee’s flat tone rang with certainty. “What makes you so sure?” “Dee’s professional expression is collected and neutral.” Tee pointed a finger at her friend. “That’s it. You won’t get any more information out of her.” She covered her husband’s hand with hers. “Ten to one, your parents don’t know. Am I right?” “We’ll discuss this later, Tee. It’s Carnival Monday, not the time, nor the place,” Dee declared. “Arepas, Meat Pies. Arepas, Meat Pies for sale. Hot and spicy.” On their left, a stout man with a weathered oak complexion lumbered by carrying a tray of golden half-moon pastries. Fried beef combined with the scent of onions and garlic lingered in the air. A band of around twenty men covered in bright blue paint and mud chipped into view, palms pounding small Tassa drums hanging from their necks. The din exploded around them. At the edges of the road, other males joined the band, rhythmically striking spoons to empty beer bottles, adding to the musical fracas. It became impossible to continue their conversation.

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Alex locked his hands around Dee’s waist and pulled her tight, pressing her against him. They waited for the men to pass. Their band began regrouping, gathering into sections. Soon other Pirates brandishing poles and bearing gleaming silver machetes surrounded them. The crowd shuffled forward at a slow clip, moving them in its wake. After several long moments, the roar of music subsided to low rumbling. “Was Reniere behind the kidnapping attempt?” Dee caught the yeasty aroma of ale as Alex’s breath fanned her cheek. “I can’t talk about it. It’s under investigation.” She tiptoed and cupped her hand over his ear. “It’s Carnival. We only have about two hours left today, and then tomorrow at midnight it’s all over. Let’s enjoy the moment.” The sun dipped behind a large, dark cloud, and the wind whipped up, scattering Poui flowers in the air. A billow of canary trumpets sprinkled over Tee, tangling her tawny hair in yellow brilliance. “Is Tee raining flowers, or is it really the wind?” He rested his chin on Dee’s head and dropped a kiss on the top of her hair. The easy affectionate gesture tugged away the uncertainty building in her. Bemused and a tad off-kilter, she had to concentrate not to descend into throes of adolescent adoration. Dee realized she didn’t feel an ounce of uneasiness in Alex’s company, no threat, no hint of violence. She stumbled and would have fallen save for his strong arms and instinctive support. Numbed footsteps carried her forward even as the truth dawned, the fear that had tinged every male relationship since Daphne’s rape was no longer present, cleansed somehow by this man. She’d tried so desperately to view him as shallow, to turn him into an amicable stud, a means to an end, and she was guilty of condemnation without trial, without any evidence whatsoever. “Sweetheart, come back to me,” he said and hugged her to him. “Sorry.” She fumbled to recover the train of their conversation, Tee, conjuring. “A bit of both, I think. Tee’s come a long way in a short while, and Jake’s mother’s training in 1501 made a huge difference. Most of the time she gets things right these days. I know when you two met her powers weren’t always reliable.” “The first time I ever saw her use them was on the way to Brodick Castle when she tried to make it thunderstorm. It rained Dandelion clocks

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instead.” Alex grinned. “She had Tiny Graham making the sign of the cross for protection.” “I haven’t met Tiny yet, but he’s supposed to join us on Ash Wednesday at The B&B.” “Aha. Something to look forward to, torturing Tiny.” The music truck parted them from the others and made further conversation impossible. The sun winked between ash clouds, and scuffed gravel and dirt puffed as their feet shuffled forward. Alex’s constant erection nudged her backside, and her ego and desire soared. Sexy calypso music, the constant thrum of background steel bands, the mingled aromas of musk, rum, and the occasional exotic tropical flower, all combined to heighten every touch, every contact. His hands locked at her waist, supple, bronzed fingers toyed with her belly ring, and moisture pooled, coating the slash of spandex between her thighs. At four o’clock, the skies spit raindrops. The gentle shower proved refreshing, invigorating. Their section crossed the Harris Square stage around five, and they decided as a group they’d had enough. The party split into two at that point. Tee, Jake, Dee, and Alex headed northeast and the rest, west. They trudged across the Savannah to the St. Ann’s traffic circle, or as the Trinis put it, roundabout, where they were to meet Uncle Ian. “I need to put in an appearance at the Embassy’s party at the Hilton. David and Claudia are meeting me at the Fountain.” Dee said, and pointed to a massive phallic-shaped water fountain in the center of a small park, which abuted Trinidad’s botanical gardens. “We’ll wait with you,” Jake stated. “How are you getting back to our place?” “David and Claudia will drop me off.” “Don’t you want to get cleaned up first?” Alex coaxed and he drew her against him. “Come home with us. Shower and put on some clean clothes. I’ll come to the party with you.” “You can’t.” She wriggled out of his embrace and turned to face him. “I’m attending this party in my role as Barbados’s acting Attorney General. I have a strict rule about separating business and pleasure. Also, I have a reputation to maintain.” “What the heck does that mean?” he growled, hands fisted on hips.

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“I won’t advertise our affair. Actually, I’d prefer it remains a secret.” She didn’t flinch when Alex lowered his glowering face towards hers. Deliberately, she sought distance, unnerved by her recent enlightenment Dee set out to cleave their growing accord. “It’s not as if we have a future,” she added, speaking for his ears only. “This is a one-shot deal as far as I’m concerned.” Cobalt eyes raked her face, rushing over every feature, and he reached over to grasp her shoulders. He shook her once, twice. His jaw clenched and worked. “Uncle Ian’s here.” Tee tapped Alex’s shoulder. “Have you spotted David and Claudia as yet?” “They’re at the fountain.” In a calculated move, she gave him her back. “Okay, we’re off then. Time to go, Alex.” “I’ll see you later, Cupcake.” Dee kissed Tee’s warm cheek. An evening breeze gathered strength, lifting dry earth into the air and spraying water from the fountain in a wide arc over the exhausted revelers. She brushed the faint spray off her right shoulder and weaved through the crowd. Dee met David and Claudia as scheduled, and together they climbed the steep stairs leading to the world’s only upside down Hilton Hotel. It took a good ten minutes. Nestled into the side of a mountain, the view from the rough stone steps proved spectacular. Costumed revelers dressed in bright, dazzling colors waved neon standards in the air. A cacophony of music battered their ears: steel band, drums, and blared calypsos. Once inside, Dee relaxed leaning on the cool elevator panel grateful for the blessed, but brief, silence. The doors opened onto a poolside courtyard. A small crowd milled around the sparkling blue water, and a group of seven men played steel drums in one corner. Bright garlands of garish, orange spray-painted carnations decorated the tables surrounding the Olympic-sized pool. White wicker chairs with green and red floral cushions clustered each table. David, Claudia, and Dee made a beeline to the most important official present, an elderly man dressed in a Hibiscus printed shirt-jack, the casual suit of the Caribbean. “Ms. Bloom, so glad you could make it.” Barbados’s Prime Minister’s booming voice resonated above the polite murmur of conversation. “Ready for the new session of Parliament?” A short, slim, balding man with a

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heavily lined face and twinkling hazel eyes, he kissed the top of Dee’s hand in a courtier’s old-world gesture. “Yes, sir. Have you scheduled our planning meeting?” Dee queried her immediate boss, a man she knew from early childhood. “There’s been a slight hiccup in our plans,” the politician demurred. “We’ll speak on the telephone when you return from your trip.” The Prime Minister lowered his voice. “I know we agreed to investigate certain individuals, my dear. However, I answer to your father regarding your safety, Desdemona. No more shenanigans like yesterday’s, agreed?” “Bodyguards prevent the access I need to cultivate, sir.” Heat stamped across her cheeks at the gentle chastisement. “That’s not acceptable, Madam Attorney General. Procedures must be followed at all times.” Abjectly reprimanded, she capitulated. “Yes, Mr. Prime Minister.” “Has your Carnival proved enjoyable so far, my dear?” “Yes, sir. Actually, it’s been so wonderful I hoped to extend my vacation leave.” Dee bit her lip, about to request two days leave when she remembered her agreement with Alex. “By five days. I have no pressing matters scheduled and can easily arrange for my staff to handle anything outstanding. If you have no objection, sir?” “I’m astounded, Desdemona.” The Prime Minister’s hand fluttered over his heart. “Is the world coming to an end? It must be if you’re asking for more vacation. Is this the same woman we had to bully into taking two days off last year?” Her whole body flamed. “I’m pleased to see you moving towards a more balanced lifestyle. Permission granted with great pleasure, my dear.” Two of Barbados’s cabinet members joined them, and Dee managed to extricate herself from the small circle. She found Claudia and David and made the rounds with them. Most of the guests were happily intoxicated and more interested in dancing or arranging sexual liaisons than actual conversation. It took less than half an hour to meet and greet everyone. After that, they filled plates with canapés. The three of them settled gratefully into the soft floral cushions borne by the white wicker chairs arranged around a circular table. Unwanted and unbidden, her argument with Tee crowded her mind.

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Was she AG material? One basic thing separated her from most of the lawyers she knew, passion. All her legal friends wore masks and distanced themselves from their clients. She couldn’t. If only she could subjugate the healer in her, maybe then she could be objective, neutral. Yet, each time she met an incest victim, a battered common-law wife, a young boy who’d been a pedophile’s toy, rage at the unfairness of life scourged her soul. Even as she accepted her passion as a weakness, she knew becoming a soulless, impartial prosecutor was not for her. What then? What of all the people who believed in her? People like David, her father, Sir Arthur who’d gone out on a precarious limb in recommending her for the acting AG position. How could she disappoint them? “Who’s the young buck?” David asked. He sat forward, pulled a cell phone from his back pocket, and laid it on the table, his dark eyes studying her with the fierce attention of a seasoned CIA region leader. She shook her lethargic, depressing thoughts away and focused on the situation. “Don’t be aggressive, honey,” Claudia, his wife, reprimanded. “Alex, you mean?” Dee queried. When David nodded around a mouthful, she answered. “His name is Alex Mayfield. He’s Jake’s best friend, and he was best man at Tee and Jake’s wedding. Alex is visiting for Carnival.” “I don’t like him, and I don’t like the way he treats you.” David waved at a passing waiter. “Over here. Come and take a drink order, young man.” “He’s gorgeous. What a hunk. I saw Alex walking away with Tee and Jake.” Claudia’s brown eyes gleamed as she grinned at her husband. “You’re jealous of his good looks, honey.” A twenty-something muscle bound male plodded to their table. He held a black oval tray in front of him like a warrior’s shield. “Two rum and Cokes. Make sure it’s Old Oak Rum. I can taste the difference,” David warned the waiter. “Dee?” “Cold water, no ice, and a slice of lemon.” The waiter’s face pinched together in the middle, he repeated, “No ice?” She nodded. Flicking a steel lighter out of the pocket of a Hawaiian-print shirt, he lit the two candles in votives centered on the glass table. They glowed dimly in the dusky light.

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When the waiter left, David continued, “I know his type. Conceited, selfish, materialistic. Used to getting by on his looks.” Dee snorted out a laugh. “Come on, David. How could you tell from two minutes in Alex’s presence he’s materialistic?” She brushed a paper napkin across her mouth. “Not that he isn’t. He most certainly is.” “Wears a Rolex, am I right?” The pool lights came on, and the steel band struck up a softened version of a hotly paced calypso. “On the nose, David.” The trade winds picked up, as they always did at dusk, creating a circling cool breeze. She rubbed her bare shoulders. “Not to change the subject, but your friends know what a softie you are underneath that hard exterior.” Claudia’s short dark curls bobbed, and she dabbed a napkin at the corner of her mouth. “I saw what you went through to get the poison out of my bloodstream after the snake bit me.” “We nursed you for a five full days after that.” David covered Claudia’s hand with his. “I couldn’t believe how much weight you lost in such a short period of time. Tee told us you had to go to Physical Therapy to regain your muscle strength.” The waiter delivered their drinks. He set a Coke with a wedge of lemon and no ice in front of her. She looked at the glass, sighed, and met David’s gaze. Dee shook her head at him, and he closed his open mouth. “It’s okay. I get that all the time. People don’t really listen.” “I know I’m being overprotective.” David held up a hand, forestalling her interruption. “That young buck, this Alex. He’s out for himself, no one else. I don’t want to see you get hurt, Dee.” Several drunken youths crashed into the chairs behind David, knocking one over. He spun around to confront them. The cell phone lying in the middle of their table vibrated on the metal surface, jerking about. He grabbed it and answered. “Speak.” “Have you seen The B&B yet?” Claudia picked up her glass and swirled the ice around. “No, I’m really looking forward to going there on Ash Wednesday.” Dee took a tiny sip of the lukewarm Coke, grimaced, and added, “Tee says it’s really cozy and relaxing. It’s right on the beach.” David’s chair grated, sounding like chalk on a blackboard.

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Dee shivered and glanced at him. His skin turned ashen, and his eyes swept to Claudia’s. He covered his mouth with his hand and spoke into the receiver. Minutes ticked by, and a slew of expressions crossed David’s face, each one more alarming than the last. He shoved his chair away from the table, stood, turned his back to them, and stalked to the far corner of the pool. “Did you see the number?” Dee asked Claudia. “No, but I don’t think it’s good news.” Minutes later, David made his way back to their table. He gripped the back of his chair. His eyes squeezed shut, and he slowly raised his gaze to his wife. “Tyler’s dead. Killed by a grenade on the outskirts of Baghdad.” Liquid pooled at the corners of Dee’s eyes. Claudia covered her mouth with her hand and shook her head. Tears streamed down her cheeks. “Honey, it’ll be okay.” David rushed over to his wife and knelt at her side. He brushed her arm. “When?” Claudia sobbed out. “Two days ago, but the embassy just got word. They know he’s my,” David’s voice wavered, but he ploughed on. “Was my brother-in-law and called right away.” He rubbed Claudia’s back. “I told them not to phone Harrie. I can get us helicoptered to Tobago tonight.” “When is she due? It’s soon isn’t it?” Dee addressed David. She pressed her palms together and twisted her hands to one side. “In four weeks.” Claudia stammered. She swiped a paper napkin across her face. “Let’s get going. You can borrow supplies from Tee and Jake.” Dee rose from her chair. “You’ll never get back to your place—night Mas will start soon, and the streets will be too crowded. We can figure out what to do on the way there.” “You know Trini society, one person gets a hint of this and the rumors will start flying. David, we have to get to Harrie tonight, either that or first thing in the morning.” “I know, honey, but first let’s drop off Tee, and then I’ll arrange everything. I’ll need Internet access.” “Jake has a couple of PCs at the house, and, of course, I have my laptop there as well,” Dee volunteered.

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Silence reigned after that. It took half an hour to get to the roundabout. As predicted, masqueraders packed the streets, dancing and singing a joyful chanting chorus. When they arrived at Jake and Tee’s house, they found Uncle Ian, Jake, and Tee on the patio. Jake sat next to his wife on the rattan sofa with an arm draped over her shoulder. He nursed a short tumbler in one hand. Tee sipped from a wine glass. Uncle Ian sat opposite them, one leg propped on an ottoman. The elderly man puffed on a long, turbo-shaped cigar. He rested his head on the chair’s edge and blew a perfect circle of smoke into the air. The spicy aroma blended with the perfume wafting from the Gardenia flowers hanging over the porch rail. Tee took one look at their faces and sprang to her feet. “What’s wrong?” “Tyler’s dead.” Alex strolled onto the porch whistling, but halted when he heard David’s bald statement. He looked at Dee, a question in his blue eyes. “When did it happen?” Jake asked. “Two days ago. A grenade.” “Who’s Tyler?” Alex inquired. David scowled at him. “Is he staying here?” He jerked his head in Alex’s direction. “Yes, he is. Tyler is, was, David’s brother-in-law. He was married to Claudia’s youngest sister, Harriet, one of our close friends.” Jake clapped a hand on David’s shoulder. “How did she react?” “She doesn’t know yet. I think Claudia should be with her when she hears the news. We’re going to helicopter over tonight. Harrie’s due in a couple of weeks. Claudia’s afraid of how her reaction will affect the baby.” “What about her parents, have they been informed?” Uncle Ian stabbed his cigar against a crystal ashtray. Sparks fell onto the coffee table and died on contact. “As you know, David, they’re old friends of mine.” “Blast, I forgot completely about them.” David slapped his palm to his forehead. “We’ll need to delay Tobago to tomorrow morning.” Claudia burst into tears. Tee hugged her and herded her through the French doors. She glanced at Jake and then at Dee before the two women disappeared. “I don’t think Claudia is up to telling them, David.”

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“You’re probably right, Dee. Ian, will you come with me to tell them?” “Certainly, I’ll stay on with them. I know your Claudia will need you tonight.” Uncle Ian jangled the keys in his pocket, and the men headed for the carport. “Tyler served in the armed forces?” “Yes, he was a Lieutenant in the U.S. Army. His wife, Harrie, has had a very trying pregnancy.” Jake tugged his earlobe. “I’ll probably go over and join them tomorrow.” Dee avoided Alex’s eyes. “She’ll need me.” Alex stuck his hands in his pockets, rocked on his heels, and scowled, his disappointment and annoyance abundantly clear. Her neck muscles knotted, and she cricked her head left and right to try to ease the tension. “Crap,” Alex muttered. “How long will they be?” He jerked his head in the direction of the receding pair of men. “Claudia’s parents live at the tip of the valley. It’s about thirty minutes away.” As soon as the gate clanged shut behind the departing vehicle, Alex’s cell phone rang. He flipped open the earpiece. “Mayfield, here.” A rash of static erupted, and he flicked the phone away from his ear and stepped under a light, glancing at the LCD display. “It’s unknown.” “Then it’s a local number, they come up unknown on a US phone,” Jake explained. The phone rang three more times with the same results. “We’re at the furthest end of the valley. Sometimes cell reception stinks. Besides which, with so many tourists in the country, I’m sure the towers are jammed.” The house phone rang. “’Scuse me.” Jake swiveled and headed to the kitchen. “You agreed to spend the next eleven days with me,” Alex growled. “Are you reneging?” “Harrie is a good friend of mine. She may need me.” Dee fisted her hands on her hips, surprised by his attack.

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“May? May?” Alex barked. “You would miss our time together based on, “she may need me,”? Do you know how many women, famous women, models and actresses, would jump at the chance to spend eleven days with me? I’ve had royalty throw themselves at me.” Rage threaded her veins, setting a red cloud of anger dancing under her shuttered eyes. She flicked them open and exploded. All her uncertainty and doubt about her tumbling world and Alex triggering a blazing fury. “You frigging, arrogant bastard, you’re so frigging full of yourself. Such a puffed up little cockerel. You’re all looks and no character. No moral fortitude. Harrie’s worth a million of you.” Behind her, Jake coughed. “Hate to interrupt you two. Alex, I think that phone call was for you.” “Who was it?” His narrowed eyes never left her, his chin angled in a stubborn line, and balled hands fisted on lean, sexy hips. “I’m not sure. Someone with a heavy German accent asked for you. Said he was a friend visiting TnT, and he wanted directions to the house.” “Name?” “The reception was so bad, and his accent so heavy, I couldn’t catch it. He had to be on a cell phone. Maybe it was him who tried to call you earlier.” “No one knows I’m here. You must have misunderstood.” Alex’s fingers spiked his hair. “Dee and I need to talk. Give us a few moments.” “He asked directly for you. I gave him directions.” He glanced at Alex and flinched. “I’ll go check on Tee and Claudia.” “No, Jake. Stay. Alex, you and I have nothing to talk about. I’m going to join Tee and Claudia,” she said. “I’ve decided to fly to Tobago tomorrow. I’m sorry about missing Carnival Tuesday.” She sped off, her feet whirring like Fred Flintstone in his car, her mind a ricocheting bullet bouncing combating emotions. She should never have slept with Alex, never secretly hoped it could amount to anything, never thought she could be Attorney General, never tumbled into the tainted quagmire that was Butch Reniere’s world.

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Lawyers, Liars & Ladies’ Men “Let’s go sit at the bar,” Jake suggested. “I need a couple of stiff drinks.” “So, do I,” Alex muttered, cursing his inept handling of the situation. Dee torpedoed his rationality at the best of times, but now his plans and careful machinations combusted into thin smoke as desire for her escalated into a careening obsession. Hell and damnation, what was it? Why did the thought of her leaving make him crazy? Damn it, she couldn’t go. Crap, he’d go with her. That’s it. Forget Carnival, he and Dee would spend the next ten days in Tobago. Relieved weariness forced his shoulders to slump, and he edged onto a rounded chair. After fixing a scotch on ice for each of them, Jake sat next to him. Their legs dangled from the high bar stools, and their elbows rested on the oak countertop. “How long were they married?” Dispassionate legal instincts kicked in and he readied to assess his position. “Harrie and Tyler? Less than six months. They had a tempestuous, whirlwind romance. Love at first sight kind of thing.” “Right, the stuff only women believe in.” A sneer twisted the corners of his mouth. His eyes fell on Jake’s features. “Heck, I forgot, you believe in it too. That’s only because of Tee, though.” “Sometimes you’re a real ass,” Jake grouched. “I hope this doesn’t bring Tee down. She’s only now starting to feel better about the miscarriage.” “That must have been hard. After all you two went through.” Alex waved his tumbler under his nose and inhaled. “It’s amazing how the smoky smell of a fine single malt scotch can soothe the nerves. Tee seems fine, Jake. I wouldn’t worry.”

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“You didn’t see her face when David gave us the news. It crumpled. She put on a brave front, but it’s going to be rough for me, Tee, Dee, and the others.” “The others?” Alex sipped his drink and sighed in appreciation. “The nine of them. Harrie’s a witch, too.” “Figures.” Alex swirled the ice in his glass. “Have you meet all the others?” “No, not yet, although I know Harrie well. She stays with us when she visits Trinidad. Dee will have to ask Alain to take her to Tobago if she wants to leave tomorrow. All the commercial flights will be full.” “Tell me more about Alain and this Butch Reniere.” “Alain’s autism is primarily social. He doesn’t interact well with most people. Dee’s very protective of him, and he adores her.” Jake took a long swallow of Scotch. “He’s a bear of a guy, chubby but tall, and guileless. Apparently, he’s the reason Butch divorced his first wife. He couldn’t stand the thought of having a deficient son.” “I’m not sure how I would react to that either,” Alex admitted, and reached for the Glenfiddich bottle. “How did Butch come to own Bacchus?” “He began his criminal career early. By the way, he’s a brilliant lawyer, born in Cayman to a prominent, respectable family.” “Why are the scumbags of the world always lawyers?” he grumped and poured more scotch into his glass. “You tell me.” Jake’s black eyes danced to a devil’s tune. “Anyway, to cut to the point, he laundered money for South American drug kingpins using his family’s banking empire as cover. His father discovered his illegal activities and disowned him, but not before Butch squirreled away a fortune. He set up the first of his string of private Clubs before he was twenty-five. Butch is a take no enemies sort. Anyone gets in his way, they die, usually a particularly nasty, public death.” “Sends a message, does he?” He pointed the bottle at Jake. “Top you up?” Jake nodded, and he complied accordingly. After he returned the green bottle to the counter, he asked, “How long has he been in business?” “Eons. Butch is in his late forties, very well preserved and quite the ladies’ man.”

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“Why does Dee think she can get him?” Alex lifted an eyebrow. “I’m sure it’s been tried if he’s been around for so long.” “Butch has a thing for Dee, has had since she was a teenager. Since her appointment as acting AG, he’s turned the heat up. Wherever Dee is, he appears. The press has noticed it, and rumors are circulating. Butch flaunts his attention to her.” “Here, in Trinidad?” “Trinidad, Barbados, St. Lucia, the island doesn’t matter. He makes a practice of giving her a gift publicly when he turns up at the home of a friend of a friend, or the birthday of a friend of a friend. Someone Dee trusts indirectly.” “Give me an example.” “A retirement party for one of Henry's school chums about three weeks ago. We were there. It was spine chilling. Never saw Dee’s hands shake before that. I’m absolutely positive she never expected him to be there.” “How often does this happen?” Tee’s mention of Jake’s protectiveness after the incident last month sprang to his mind. “It started off as an irregular occurrence, but he’s stepping up the pace. At least once a month nowadays, and he sends flowers or jewelry to her the day after.” In the process of taking another sip, Alex’s hand jerked, forcing him to chug a huge gulp. “He’s sending her gifts. Are you sure?” “Positive. Three dozen long-stemmed red roses and a Tiffany-wrapped box arrived the day after that party for her father’s friend. He has advance knowledge of her movements, that’s certain. Dee sent everything back, of course.” “This is creeping me out. I’m going to talk her out of this.” Jake snorted. “As if you could stop her. And from what I heard on the patio, Dee isn’t too pleased with you at the moment. Besides, you aren’t planning to be around, are you?” He squirmed on the bar stool and straightened. “Don’t know. This whole thing is a surprising complication. My long-term plans don’t involve a witch or the Caribbean. Then again, that obituary…” The thought of being apart from Dee clogged his throat for a few seconds. “Leave it alone for now. I need to do some thinking.”

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Jake swiped his forehead with the tail of his linen shirt and plunked his glass on the bar. “It’s hot in here. Open the TV room’s doors, Alex. I’ll get the kitchen door.” When they met back at the bar, Dee, Claudia, and Tee were clustered together in front of the bar stools. Jake immediately went to Tee’s side. He stroked her cheek. “Are you okay, babe?” “As okay as I can be considering.” Her reddened eyes glistened. Tee’s normally tawny complexion was wan. Alex’s gaze shifted to Dee. Her gray eyes held thunderclouds of anger and sadness. She wore another pair of cut-off shorts and a blue t-shirt. He forced himself to stay in one position, and his fists clenched as he waited for her to look his way. Instead of obeying his silent command, she swept around and out the French doors. The gate bell pealed loudly in the small area. Jake flashed Alex a pleading glance. “Can you get that, buddy? It’ll be Ian and David. Just press the open button on the right.” Hurrying to perform Jake’s request, Alex scuffed his new Gucci loafers on the edge of the kitchen table. He hit the rightmost button on the intercom, grabbed a paper napkin from the table, and went over to the sink. Low voices reached his ears through the open kitchen window. He heard David’s deep baritone. It grated on his nerves. Alex flicked the tap on and wet the napkin. He headed back to the table, pulled out a chair, and rested his foot on it. Using small circles, he rubbed the scuff off the polished brown leather, wadded the napkin into a small ball, and threw it at the open wastebasket in the far corner. He smiled when it landed smack dab in the middle. As he rounded the corner of the living rooms’ French doors, he heard a familiar, lazy Southern drawl. A hangman’s noose tightened around his neck as he pulled up short in front of a tall, slender, Chanel-scented female. “Hello, darling.” Beverley Princeton wrapped her arms around Alex’s neck and planted an open, wet kiss on his lips. Hail pelted down Alex’s spine chilling the blood in his veins and slowing it to a glacial retreat. He disengaged her arms and took a step back, putting a foot between them. His eyes swept the patio. David and Claudia lounged against the porch rail with Dee sandwiched between them. David’s features darkened, he glared at Alex, and crossed his

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arms over his chest. The shadow of the column next to him veiled Dee’s features. Jake clutched Tee’s shoulders. He shook his head slowly, and his lips thinned into a taut line. Tee’s tawny eyes shot darts at him. Alex’s hands burned into scorching fists. Crap, crap, and more crap. “Your fiancée was just showing us her engagement ring, Alex,” Tee said, her voice laced with the sting of a thousand fire ants. “That rock’s quite a statement.” Alex never took his eyes off Dee. “What are you doing here, Beverley?” “You don’t seem pleased to see me, darling.” Her nasal voice held a hint of a whine. “And your friends don’t seem to know about our engagement.” She waved a tanned hand at the group on the patio. The five carat princess diamond decorating her ring finger sparkled in the glow from a light fixture. The trade winds died in that instant, transforming the cool night air into a still, heated moistness. Alex’s armpits grew damp, and he slid his arm back and forth, riding the cotton of his tight t-shirt over the sogginess. “What are you doing here, Beverley?” His mind wasn’t capable of anything but the repetitive question. “This is your fiancé?” A large man stood behind Beverley. His guttural accent turned the word ‘this’ into ‘dis’. He had at least three chins, which jiggled and melded into a thick, squat neck. “Who are you?” The tightness in Alex’s chest expanded, compressing his stomach into a fiery, knotted ball. Having Beverly appear unwanted proved distasteful enough, but this man made every hackle rise. “Hans Schmidt, the German Ambassador to Trinidad and Tobago,” Jake growled. “It appears your fiancée knows him well.” The man looked more like a thug than a diplomat, his creepy pig eyes and cold assessment of every individual on the porch at odds with the smile pasted on his face. Alex couldn’t pin it down, but Hans Schmidt radiated a dangerous, sinister quality. “Hans has a winter home near my parents’,” Beverley drawled. “He and mums and daddy are members of Mar-a-Lago, you know, Donald Trump’s place.” Dee’s sneaker-clad foot left the ground. She bent her knee and hooked the shoe on the porch rail. Her elbows moved to rest on top of the wrought

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iron fence. The shadowed recesses didn’t prevent Alex from following her every move. “Hans invited me here. We flew in on his private jet.” Beverley flicked her perfectly styled, long, straight hair over her right shoulder. “Hans invited us to stay with him, darling.” She trailed a scarlet nail down Alex’s t-shirt, pausing briefly to brush his nipple with the pad of her forefinger. “He also invited us to Barbados after this Carnival thing. Hans is a member of the Royal Westmoreland Golf Club —Tiger Woods has a home there. I know how thrilled you’ll be to play that course.” “Are you okay, Dee?” Alex asked. “She’s fine, Alex, no need to worry.” Tee jumped in, her tone a snarled warning. “Why don’t you fix Beverley a drink?” She motioned to the bar area visible through the piano room’s French doors. “I am parched, darling. A glass of Crystal would be wonderful,” Beverley purred, her hands darting across Alex’s shirt and flitting over his chest. Beverley grabbed Alex’s hand and towed him to the bar. He searched the wine cooler, found a bottle of Tattinger, and held it up. “This is all I can find.” “It’ll do in a pinch.” Beverley traced a fingertip along the neckline of her sleek halter-top. “I can’t wait to get you alone, darling. You look yummy in jeans and a t-shirt, very macho indeed.” In the short space of time it took to open the bottle of Champagne and fill the requisite crystal glass, Dee vanished, along with Claudia and David. Tee engaged Beverley in a brittle conversation about boutiques. Jake grasped Alex’s forearm and pulled him over to the side of the porch. His hand gripped Alex’s flesh like a steel-jawed animal trap. “Take Schmidt up on his offer, buddy,” he said, his low rumble coated with tamped ferocity. A sudden gust sent the palm plant behind Alex into a fury. The fronds scraped across the back of his neck, and his spine reverberated. “You bastard. You slept with Dee, and all the while you planned to marry that superficial, name-dropping bitch.” “It’s not what you think.” He speared his hair. “I didn’t actually propose to Beverley.”

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“You don’t think that rock is a proposal?” Jake’s growl turned feral. Beverley broke off her conversation with Tee. She swiveled, and slinked forward, striking a deliberate pose in front of them, one long leg thrust forward, manicured fingers splayed over her narrow hipbones. “What are you two talking about?” She displayed her hand, fingers wide apart. “You don’t like my ring?” The stone caught the light and twinkled its perfection to all and sundry. “It could be bigger, I suppose.” Beverley waved her hand back and forth staring at the winking stone. “But, I like it. I’ve decided we don’t need to look for another, darling. Mums approves too.” Behind her Tee muttered, “I bet she had it appraised before she gave her approval.” Beverley’s head swung around. Her mahogany hair swirled around her shoulders and upper arms, perfect auburn highlights glistening. “Of course, I had it appraised. No sane woman these days would accept a ring without knowing its value.” She flicked her hair over her shoulders with her right hand. “Buffy, my gal-pal, is quite jealous. Hers only cost half as much as mine.” “Bev.” Hans braced both hands on the arms of his chair and heaved his bulky form upwards. All his spare tires jiggled, his triple chins, his jelly belly, his almost C-cup breasts. “Bev,” he pronounced it as ‘Beff”. “We must return to my house. It is late, and I am a guest of the President’s tomorrow.” Tee’s eyes flashed to him. “You’re in the viewing stand tomorrow with my father?” “President Henry Inglefield is your father?” Hans captured Tee’s hand between his damp, fleshy palms. “An interesting man, your father. I am honored by his invitation.” “Pack quickly, Alex darling, we don’t want to keep Hans waiting, now do we?” Beverley took a dainty sip of her champagne and rested the flute on the coffee table. “Now, where did I put my purse?” Tee extricated her hand from Hans’ snare. “You left it on the bar.” Alex vanished into the living room and came back seconds later brandishing a small beaded clutch. “I’m not coming with you.” Beverley took the purse out of his hands. “Why not?”

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“I came here to spend time with my friends and play Mas. I’m not changing my plans.” Beverley pouted. “Darling, you’re being silly. We could be together, and Hans’s house is breath taking. The view is wonderful.” “Sorry.” “What about the golf in Barbados?” She arched her breasts forward, and her left nipple grazed Alex’s arm. “I hear Tiger and his wife are in residence. We’re sure to meet them.” “I’ll call you when I get back to Boca.” Even the wind died down, the leaves in the trees stopped swishing, not a mosquito buzzed, the silence absolute and severe. Alex stared Beverley down. Seconds ticked by, and the grandfather clock in the living room began to chime the hour. The bell rang ten times. The loud ringing echoed in the quiet that followed. “I’m not a happy camper, darling. We’ll need to discuss this.” The nasal, whining quality in Beverley’s voice intensified. “Let’s go, Hans.” Neither Tee nor Jake acknowledged his existence after the duo departed. Alex took a deep breath. “Where did Dee go?” Tee collected the champagne glass from the coffee table. “I’m so angry with you right now, Alex Mayfield, that I’m liable to say something I’ll regret later on. You can thank your lucky stars you’re Jake’s best friend. That’s the only fact preventing me from throwing things at you. I’m going to bed now and so is Jake.” She marched in the direction of the kitchen. The sound of glass smashing into smithereens punctuated the air. “You’re a blasted asshole, Alex.” “You need to tell me where Dee went.” He plowed all ten fingers through his hair. “I have to at least apologize to her.” “Screw what you need.” Jake shook his head. “Go jump off a cliff. I am this far.” He left a hair’s breadth of space between his thumb and forefinger, and stuck his hand under Alex’s nose. “This far away from beating you to a pulp. Don’t say another word.” Jake stomped off the porch, leaving Alex alone with his thoughts. He slumped onto the sofa and rested his feet on the coffee table wondering what Dee thought of him now. He’d screwed things up. Big time.

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The trade winds picked up again, and the dwarf Gardenia at the far end of the patio rustled and swayed back and forth. White Gardenia blossoms bobbed up and down. Alex’s eyes followed their jerking dance. His thoughts mirrored their action, bobbing from Dee to Beverley to Jake and Tee, the obituary, and back to Dee. He found Tee’s address book by accident. Deciding to get pissed to the gills, he headed to the bar, poured a double measure of scotch, and went in search of ice. His eyes wandered about the kitchen. Underneath the wall phone, a bound red book the size of a diary lay open on the countertop. Resting the ice-filled glass on the granite surface, he caught sight of Tee’s writing, ‘Bloom, Desdemona Eileen’. Listed under Dee’s name were all her contact information, personal cell phone, work cell phone, and email address. He tore the page out of the book and headed back to the patio. Nursing his fourth drink, Alex remembered the friend in Tobago, the one whose husband was killed in Iraq. He went back to the kitchen, grabbed the address book, and sat down, prepared to read each entry. Halfway through, the name Harriet Lloyd jumped out. About to tear that entry out too, he decided to appropriate the book. He was damned in Tee’s eyes anyway. An act of theft didn’t make any difference now. The rest of the night blurred. Alex didn’t remember making it to bed, and woke to a drum-rolling hangover and an empty house. No Jake, no Tee, a perfect opportunity for escape and Tee’s car parked conveniently in the garage. The keys dangled from a hook on wooden fish-shaped key holder. He found the spare key and pocketed it. Less than half an hour later, he drove Tee’s horse accessory cluttered Toyota Highlander up precarious inclines and around spine-tingling ninety degree twists on a strip of asphalt with the enticing name of Mount Hololo Road. First, he checked out Claudia’s parents’ place. They were in the address book too, an amicable couple. Alex introduced himself as a friend of Jake’s, and expressed his condolences over their son-in-law’s death. Over a cup of coffee and a toasted, buttery English muffin, he discovered David, Claudia, and Dee had left for the airport an hour before his arrival. Armed with that knowledge, Alex bade the older couple a hasty farewell and headed to Piarco Airport. Trinidad’s legendary traffic jams rivaled LA’s except for the fact most drivers ignored the rules of the road. Where

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possible, cars drove on the shoulders of the highway and oftentimes, a thoroughfare designed for two lanes held three or four. Driving on the wrong side of the road didn’t prove as daunting as he expected. Arriving at Piarco Airport, he telephoned Jake and Tee’s home phone, and left them a message telling them where he parked her car. He charmed the lovely young woman at the Tobago Express ticket counter into putting his name first on the standby list and bought her a doughnut and a cup of java. The first available seat was on the four o’clock flight. He had no idea what he intended to say to Dee, had avoided thinking about it last night and today. The long wait forced him to analyze the situation. Crap, the outcome didn’t matter. The fact he was at the airport meant his decision had already been made. Alex wondered what he could say to Dee to persuade her back into his bed. He propped his chin on his hands and focused on the screen of his iPhone lying on the table. He played the DVD of “Life with Beverley”: the picture perfect couple photo-oped in Palm Beach Magazine, names dropped in New York newspaper gossip columns, Bazaar Magazine mention at the beginning of every season. Web images YouTubed across the tiny console: charity committees for her, tedious political fund-raisers for him, plotted public appearances as a society couple, and disparate private lives. A succession of discreet affairs on either side with bitterness seeping into a banal existence, and appearances kept up at all costs. No passion, but no messy, unpredictable emotions either and an airtight prenup. Dee’s bare feet with her little blue toenails, those jingling bells, her cutoffs, and the delectable crop top popped into his mind. A zealous advocate of the high road, she risked personal injury to save her friends and pursued justice for the less fortunate. He both admired and disdained her naiveté in the face of cynicism and corruption. A woman less suited to the ravaged office of Attorney General, he couldn’t picture. Despite an unknown parentage and a Bronx orphanage upbringing, Alex had attained the wealth, veneer, and status required for acceptance into oldmoneyed Mayflower, Palm Beach society. That his looks played a vital part in the approval he acknowledged, but it did not deter from his inordinate

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pride in his achievements. Yet, when he read his obituary a week ago, none of this turned out to be what he wanted. A Styrofoam cup filled with coffee splattered onto the floor, splashing his jeans and Gucci loafers. Alex stared at the spreading stain and saw the next ten years in the widening, mud-brown splotch. Interminable, humdrum, devoid of joy and happiness. Filled with predictable financial security, success, the wealthy and the famous, hypocrisy. Fatherhood, a family, a wife he respected, someone to challenge and charm him; sons for soccer, and daughters for spoiling, that’s what he yearned for. Friends who judged him, not his Rolex. He had no idea the reasons driving him after Dee, but knew with absolute clarity there was no future for him and Beverley. To hell with the plan, at every crossroad in his life, he’d relied on his gut. He wanted Dee, and he would have her. A plethora of Beverleys plagued the Mayflower marriage market, and the chronic shortage of heterosexual males worsened annually. If he eventually decided in that direction, it stood well within his grasp. That brought him back to the present issue. There were no other options. He had to break it off with Beverley. Dee would tolerate nothing less. Deep in thought, he strode to the adjacent parking lot, leaned on an ancient, rusted Cadillac, and propped one foot on the back door. Hot asphalt warmed the underside of his Gucci loafer. He hit nine and speed dial, and waited while the phone rang. “Beverley, it’s Alex. I’m glad I caught you.” He listened to her chatter on about Carnival costumes for a couple of minutes. “I need to speak with you, Beverley. It’s important. Where are you? Can you speak privately?” Her excited answer surprised him. “No, I didn’t change my mind about staying with Hans.” She interrupted with animated insignificant prattle. The woman did not take a breath between words. Alex wondered how he’d put up with her inane babbling for three months.

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“Beverley, for Christ’s sake, shut up for one full minute.” She complained about his tone. “Be quiet and listen to me.” He enunciated each word slowly. “There’s no easy way to do this. I’ve changed my mind. I don’t want to marry you. You can keep the ring if you want. Sell it. Do whatever you want with it.” Alex lifted the phone away from his ear at her first shrieked, foul epithet and waited for her to calm down. A full four minutes went by. His lips flattened in disgust as her thin veneer of sophistication dissipated into absolute vulgarity, and he studied the minute hand on his Rolex. The second it hit the five-minute mark, he flipped the phone shut. It took another three minutes before she called back, still screaming. He hung up on her again. Training a half-intelligent animal would be easier work than training Beverley Princeton to be his wife. Finally, he texted her; ‘Stop screaming then I’ll talk.’ On her fourth call, Beverley started sniffling and broke into sobs, complaining of the embarrassment she would suffer. Apparently, she had broken the news to several gossip-driven girlfriends. He listened to her droning accusations and plaintive grievances, figuring it was the least he could do. When they called his flight over the intercom, he jumped at the chance to end the phone call, and headed back to the Tobago terminal. “I’m sorry to cut this short, Beverley, my flight’s about to leave. I’ll phone you when I get back to Boca.” He jabbed his forefinger at the power button on his cell and waited for the lights to go off. Slipping the phone into his pocket, he rocked on his heels while waiting for the clerk to call his seat range. It ended better than he expected. Breaking off a relationship in person was an inexorable, messy, acrimonious task. This was a nice, clean break. All at once tense neck muscles slackened, and a sudden burst of carefree adolescent happiness made the futures seem bright, filled with opportunity. He whistled, “Don’t Worry, Be Happy,” on his way up the plane’s steps.

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B&B Bewilderment Tobago’s main highway paralleled the Caribbean Sea on the west coast and the Atlantic Ocean on the east, and the two-lane road circumnavigated the island. Their vehicle cruised past savage waves, which crashed navy surf onto sienna-speckled white sand. Late afternoon sunlight hit curving crests and beach foam coloring them silver-white. “It’s almost four o’clock,” Claudia said. “I’m worried, David. The delay with the helicopter—suppose some army official rang Harrie?” “There’s no way Harrie could have heard the news, only Embassy officials know, and they’re sworn to secrecy.” David reassured her. “But we were supposed to be here last night,” Claudia protested. “Honey, it’s out of my hands. Don’t worry about it.” “How do you think Harrie will react?” Dee asked. “I don’t know. She was seven when I left for college. I missed all her formative years. We’re sisters, and we like each other, but we’re different generations. Harrie is so introspective.” Claudia’s brown eyes darkened. “You went to school with her, how do you think she’ll react?” “She’s four years younger than I am, so I don’t know her that well either. Tee knows her best. Before we left, she told me Harrie is easily depressed. I know she was madly in love with Tyler.” Dee shifted so the sun didn’t shine directly onto her back. “At least, she’ll have the baby. That’s a reason to live.” Claudia met Dee’s eyes in the rear view mirror. David’s cell phone rang. He wore his Bluetooth headphone wrapped around his right ear. “Speak.” What an intimidating way to answer a phone. Her lips curved, maybe she should adopt it. Humiliation and rage singed Dee’s skin, heating it, and she gritted her teeth. Beverly and she were polar opposites. What did Alex

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see in a woman so pretentious, so cloying, so manipulative, so frigging status conscious? Deep down she knew the answer. Beverly was the perfect Palm Beach socialite, the type of woman Alex planned, no schemed, to marry. Another status symbol to add to the scrapbook of his life. She went with his Rolex. The two of them would make a stunning couple at fancy charity balls. Did he make love to Beverley the way he did with her? Tears misted her vision, but she willed them away. No need to mope. The last thing she needed was a relationship, to want to please someone. The duties of an acting Attorney General took precedence over everything. Project Plucked Parrot was her chance to put Butch Reniere away forever and keep Alain safe. Thank God Clive Newel resurrected the project. His desire to get Butch almost rivaled hers. Claudia burst into sobs in the front seat. “What’s wrong?” “Claudia’s Dad had a heart attack. They’ve taken him to Mount Hope. He’s in critical condition,” David replied. He held his wife’s hand. “It’ll work out somehow, honey. Don’t cry.” “David, why don’t you and Claudia go back to Trinidad?” She suggested. “I’ll tell Harrie. I’m here until Sunday anyway. You two can come back when Claudia’s Dad is better.” David met her eyes in the rearview mirror. “Are you sure you can handle it?” “Yes,” she answered. “There’s no need to tell Harrie about her Dad, is there? I mean until we know what’s happening.” “God, no.” Claudia interjected. “Don’t say a word about Dad. Thank you, Dee. I’d really like to be with Mom, now. She’s not good with hospitals or doctors.” “Harrie’s at The B&B anyway, and that’s where I planned to stay,” she said. “Just drop me off there and head back to the airport. Don’t come in, Claudia, she’ll take one look at your face and know something else is wrong.” “Dee’s right, honey.” David agreed. The silent drive to The B&B took twenty minutes. They rounded a hairpin bend, and a lemon, two-story Plantation-style house came into view.

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Intricate, white latticework framed extensive balconies on both floors, and splashes of cobalt blue dotted the walls bordering weathered oak double doors. The mansion sat on a wide promontory protected by massive, black, volcanic boulders, a secure haven on a battered headland. Jake’s B&B appeared deserted from the outside. Two blue and yellow scooters with empty wire baskets fitted in front occupied narrow parking spots. Dee hopped out of the car, plucked her carryon from the trunk, and exchanged good-byes with a tearful Claudia and an angry David. They promised to call as soon as they reached Mt. Hope Hospital in Trinidad. She took a minute to appreciate the charming picture The B&B presented. The wildness of the coastline only served to accentuate the magnetic tranquility of the enchanting tropical Great House. The interior mirrored the colors of the exterior. Lemon, faux-painted walls lined the narrow foyer, and they angled in a graceful arc into the lobby area. Original artwork covered every surface of the curved, oak-paneled room; brash oils, pastel watercolors, collages. A stately, mahogany giraffe, standing at least eleven feet, guarded the colorful canvases. A Noah’s Ark art gallery. At the center of the circular room, a slim man bent over a monstrous oak desk made notations in an old-fashioned ledger with a green fountain pen. He looked up as her sneakers squeaked over the planked flooring. “Miss Bloom,” he said, his accent, clipped, English. He pushed wirerimmed, Harry Potter glasses up his nose, and flashed an electrifying smile. It changed his plain features, transforming him into a boyishly handsome man. Tousled hair, the color of pale straw, framed his face, and hazel eyes with a hint of emerald at their core met hers. “I recognized you from the photographs in the newspaper. Congratulations on your appointment.” “Thank you. You must be George Brown.” She grinned. “I’ve heard so much about you. It’s a definite pleasure to finally meet you.” “Likewise, Miss Bloom, likewise.” George stood up. He was of middling height and wore tweed-patterned trousers with a crisp, white linen shirt unbuttoned at the second button. “Oh, pish. Call me Dee.” She waved a hand and shook her head. “I get enough formality in my job, believe me. I feel like we’re good friends from all I’ve heard about your adventures, and we will become good friends, George. I intend on it.”

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“Very well, Dee.” He snapped the cap of the pen onto its barrel, and extended his right hand. “Welcome to The B&B.” She shook his hand firmly. He let her lead. “I’m afraid I’m a trifle perplexed. For some reason, I expected you to arrive tomorrow. Oh, dear.” He peered around her form. “Are the others with you?” “No, they’re not, and we were supposed to come tomorrow. I came over early. George, is Harriet Lloyd here? I need to speak with her.” “Harrie’s assisting me with the artwork.” He gesticulated towards the curved walls. “Being such a talented artist herself, she has an amazing eye for pairing works.” “Where is she now?” “She took the golf cart and the dogs, Ludie and Kazak, to the beach to let them run off some energy, Kazak anyway. Ludie is a trifle too ancient for vigorous activity. She likes the cart though. Her ears flap in the breeze.” His dazzling smile appeared again. “Harrie loves seeing the sunset from the beach. I can send someone to fetch her if you’d like.” “No.” She shook her head. “I know how much she loves alone time with the dogs. Do you have a room available for her? I’m afraid I have very bad news. Tyler, her husband, died two days ago, and I don’t want her to be alone tonight.” He clasped a hand to his heart, and already pale skin whitened to the point of transparency. “This is terrible, simply terrible. Of course, we have loads of room. Everyone’s in Trinidad for Carnival. We had one unexpected guest arrive an hour ago, but aside from him, The B&B is empty. Even if we were full, I’d make room for Harrie. I’d do anything for her. If you’ll give me a few minutes, I’ll check the register and organize rooms for the two of you.” “Where’s the bar area? I could use a cool drink.” George pointed to an arched hallway. “Through there. Ashraff, our bartender, can fix you anything you’d like.” “Thank you. Regarding the rooms, do you have a suite or rooms with connecting doors? Harrie has a tendency to sequester herself when she’s hurting. I want someone to be with her every minute.” “Of course. All the staff will gladly stand watch for Harrie. Everyone here loves her, and I don't say that lightly.” He ploughed five fingers

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through his pin-straight hair, a disarrayed hay-spiked wave marked their path. “Her baby,” he murmured. “There have been so many complications.” “I know, that’s why I’m here. We didn’t want the US Embassy telling her over the phone. We all want nothing but her well-being and happiness. She’ll be fine. The baby will become the focus of her life.” “I hope so. She’s become a trifle despairing these last few months as she hasn’t heard from Tyler regularly, and that scares her. And of course, this news will confirm her worst fears.” “We’ll deal with her reactions. Go get everything ready. I’ll get a fruit punch and wait for her on the patio.” Adjacent to the bar, an outdoor dining area defined by a rectangle of speckled terrazzo tiles merged into soft beach sand. A handsome man of Indian descent wearing powder blue jeans and a white linen shirt greeted her. “Good evening, Miss. I’m Ashraff, bartender and part-time maitre d’. Can I offer you a drink?” “A tall lime juice. No ice please, Ashraff.” Dee extended her hand. “I’m Dee Bloom. Tee is my best friend.” “Pleased to meet you, Miss Dee. Tee and Jake are great bosses.” Ashraff pumped her hand. “One tall lime juice, no ice, coming up.” George came out after she finished her juice. “Your room is ready. I’ll show you to it. Ashraff, can you spot me in the lobby?” “Sure thing, boss man.” The three of them made their way into the lobby. George led Dee up a curved staircase fitted into the wall. “How many rooms does The B&B have?” she asked. “Twelve rooms altogether, two of those are suites. The Brodick Suite and the Claridges Suite.” “Tee named them, didn’t she?” “Yes. I’m certain you know the tale of how Jake & Tee met?” One index finger shoved his spectacles up his nose. “Oh, believe me, I’ve heard it ad nauseam. You worked at Claridges, right? That’s where Jake met you.” “The most fortunate meeting of my life, I’m still amazed I ended up here.”

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George’s smile seemed as bright as the sun lighting the hallway. They passed two doors opposite each other. “These are the single rooms.” He opened a door. She peeped in. “Do all the rooms have balconies?” “Yes, The Suites have two, one on the side, and one directly in front of the ocean. Since we face east, there are some spectacular dawn views from every balcony.” “It’s utterly charming,” she exclaimed. “I love the combination of colors. I’d never think of putting royal blue and yellow together, especially the yellow on the ceilings.” “Harrie came up with all the color pairings, but Tee named each room. This is The Napoleon.” He made a futile attempt to contain the twitching of his lips. “This is my room, isn’t it?” She fisted her hands on her hips and glared at the room. “I so hate it when Tee salutes and says ‘Oui, Mon General Napoleon.’” She mimed actions to the words. He chuckled, but wisely said nothing. “Oh, you brought my suitcase up. Thanks.” “That door connects the two rooms.” He pointed to a door in the center of the right wall. “I’ve left it unlatched and put Harrie in next room. I’ll let you get settled. As soon as she arrives, I’ll ring the room.” “Thanks, but don’t bother ringing. I’m going to take a quick shower and come on down. I’ll wait for her on the dining patio.” The door closed behind him. She unpacked by tossing clothes randomly into drawers and hanging the dresses. After a quick, refreshing shower, she shrugged on sweat pants and a t-shirt. The wooden floors were smooth and cool to her bare feet. Her toe bells jingled as she tramped down the stairs. She halted mid-way, immobilized by the scene unfolding below her. Ashraff sat behind the lobby desk. Alex drove a golf cart into the lobby from the direction of the bar area. An enormous Rottweiler sat in the front seat adjacent to him. The animal let out a ferocious snarl and snapped its teeth when the cart stopped. Alex leapt out of the vehicle and jumped back a good three feet. The dog hurdled the driver’s seat, leaping towards Alex’s throat, teeth bared and canines prominent.

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Alex froze. A hoarse bellow erupted like a thunderclap in the silence, “Kazak heel!” As he shouted the command, Ashraff sprinted around the desk to the golf cart. One enormous canine head snapped back, and the animal dropped to the ground. “Kazak. Heel!” The dog whined a mournful protest, but it complied, pink tongue lolling to one side, and trotted the few paces to where Ashraff now stood. Dee deciphered his throaty yell seconds after his ringing voice stopped echoing. “Ashraff, I need some assistance,” Alex said in a loud whisper, his gaze fixed on the Rottweiler. “Sit,” Ashraff ordered. He raised a hand in a Hitler’s salute, and the dog obeyed, haunches slapping the floor. “Harrie’s in the cart. She needs help.” “What happened to Miss Harrie? Everyone’s looking for her. Miss Dee is anxious, and George is near a nervous breakdown.” “I met her on the beach,” Alex explained. “I thought she knew about her husband’s death and offered my condolences. She just stared at me, and then she grew quiet and unresponsive. She’s unconscious, and she’s been like that for about five minutes.” Ashraff called out, “Stay,” to the dog. He knelt beside the cart. “Did she pass out?” Glancing over his shoulder to Kazak, Alex scooted over to the back seat. “I’m not sure.” He spiked both hands through his hair. “She seems to be in some sort of trance. Is there a doctor nearby?” Then Dee saw Harrie’s shuttered lids, her chest rising and falling in shallow, almost imperceptible, movements. “Wait a minute, what did you say? Why did you offer Miss Harrie condolences?” “Her husband died two days ago.” “Nah! That’s all she needs. How? Where’s her sister? Why did you tell her? Do you even know Miss Harrie?”

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“This is no time for questions. Besides, it’s way too complicated to go into right now. We need to get her help right away. Is there a doctor available? Can you get him here immediately?” “Yes, we have a doctor for emergencies. I’ll phone him.” “We need to make her comfortable. Where can I take her?” “Take Miss Harrie to the library, Mr. Mayfield. There’s a large, comfortable sofa there. You’ll need to carry her. The cart won’t fit. It’s only a few feet away down that hallway.” He pointed in the opposite direction. “I’ll get the doctor, and George, and Miss Dee.” “Take the dog with you.” “Kazak. Heel.” Ashraff motioned with his hands, and the man and the dog disappeared into the shadows of the hallway. When Alex scooped Harrie into his arms, a black Labrador with a ridge on its back hopped out of the cart. The canine swept a saliva dripping tongue over Alex’s bare shin. “Frigging hell,” Dee whispered, galvanized out of her paralysis. She pelted down the rest of the stairs and followed Alex’s path, toe bells jingling a furious tempo. The animal followed him into the library. She sprinted through the wide arched entrance, her hands pumping at her sides. Her eyes met Alex’s dark blue orbs. “Where?” She searched the room, gaze flicking corner to corner, and fixed on Harrie’s prone form curled into a fetal position. “What happened?” “Why didn’t you tell her about her husband? You had all day.” His jaw clenched. “Frigging hell. Why are you here? What did you tell her about Tyler? What did you do? You’re a frigging jackass, Alex Mayfield. Get out before you do more damage. I never want to see you again.” “How was I to know that you hadn’t told her?” he demanded. He grabbed the edge of the oak desk with both hands and glowered at her. “What business do you have telling Harrie about Tyler?” she returned. The hurt he’d inflicted on both of them morphed into rage. Reacting on pure instinct, she picked up a Dresden shepherd from a side table. “You don’t belong here. Get out.” He eyed the porcelain ornament. “For Christ’s sake. You yourself said it was a one-shot deal. Don’t be hypocritical. Heck, maybe I should have

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mentioned Beverley.” He held up a restraining hand. “I fixed that problem. I broke it off. I’m not involved with her anymore.” “What?” Shock interlaced Dee’s anger, and her hand fisted around the figurine’s head. “When? Why?” She blanched at Alex’s reddening face. He looked as guilty as a snotnosed seven-year-old caught stealing Oreos. “You’re lying to me,” she accused, and slammed her fisted hands onto the ridge of her pelvic bones. The china ornament jammed into the soft underside of her ribcage and she winced at the sharp twinge. She glared at the shepherd and set him gently on the side table. The deliberate move slowed her breathing. “I want to be with you,” he said. “So, I broke it off.” “I don’t believe you. When did you have the time?” “Before I left. It’s done. I’m a free man.” “You can’t look me in the eyes. You’re lying.” “I’m not, for crap’s sake. I broke it off.” “Get out. I don’t believe a word you say.” “Crap.” He dragged his hands through his hair. “What the hell is wrong with you? I called Beverley before I left, and I broke it off. You can call her if you need verification. I’ll give you her phone number.” She gasped. “You frigging coward. You broke it off with her over the phone. I don’t know what I ever saw in you.” Their shouted argument brought Ashraff and George careening into the room. Both men screeched to a stop in the doorway. George strode to the couch, dropped to one knee, and set his narrow palm on Harrie’s forehead. He growled, “Bloody hell you two. This is no time for a lover’s quarrel. Harrie needs help.” Mortification and guilt slashed heat over Dee’s cheeks. Her gaze jerked to Harrie’s pale face and prone, still form on the couch. The heavy linen drapes framing the eight-paneled French doors whipped to opposite sides, slapping oak bookshelves. Through the open door, ocean waves battered the beach, forcing silt-laden, moist particles in mixed directions. Wet sand hit the glass panes driven by a rising breeze. “Bad news.” Ashraff’s lilting voice interrupted the momentary quiet. He hovered in the library doorway, rocking from side to side. “Dr. Jardine’s at Flagstaff Hill checking on a patient. We can’t raise him on his cell.”

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Alex pinched the bridge of his nose. “I rented a car. Give me directions, and I’ll go get him.” “He’s on the other end of the island. It’ll take you at least an hour to get there and another hour to return,” Ashraff explained, his copper cheeks coloring a fierce Indian red. “Try the hospital. See if you can find a doctor or a resident we know,” George ordered. “Harrie needs medical attention immediately.” She whirled. “Do you have smelling salts?” “I don’t know. I’ll check the emergency kit.” Ashraff threw the words over his shoulder as he sped down the hallway. “Here, let me by, George.” Dee elbowed him aside, knelt beside the sofa, and brushed Harrie’s damp ringlets off her face. A thin sheen of cold sweat coated every exposed inch of skin. While everyone was pre-occupied, the black lab had climbed onto the couch and curled into the space formed by Harrie’s bent knees. Dee elevated Harrie’s feet resting both heels on the edge of the high arm of the sofa. The black dog whimpered a protest, but re-settled its limbs, its charcoal nose in contact with the underside of Harrie’s knee. She took a blue throw from the sofa back and tucked it around Harrie’s pregnant stomach, over her toes, and under her heels, partially concealing the animal. Dee cradled Harrie’s face, and she tucked a wet, Irish-Setter-red curl behind her ear. The sound of a booming crash filled the room. “I need to check on that, I’m afraid,” George said. “I’ll be back in a tick.” He moved with the grace of dancer, lithely rising and slipping through the open doorway. Harrie’s inert form pinched Dee’s heart. Unable to bear contemplating all the possible medical ramifications of her unconscious state, she concentrated on immediate action. “Do you have a minute hand on your watch?” “Yes.” Alex rubbed one temple. “Why?” A low, rumbling thunder drowned the rhythmic pounding of the surf on the beach. “I want to take her pulse.” She turned Harrie’s limp hand over and pressed a thumb to the green vein clearly visible under the pale, clammy skin.

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“Give me ten seconds,” she muttered. “Start.” He stared his Rolex. “Stop.” “One hundred and five.” She met his gaze. “Normal pulse ranges between sixty to under one hundred. Her heart’s racing.” “What does that mean?” He frowned and spiked his hair again. “I’m not sure.” She shot him an uneasy glance. “I’m not trained medically. Douglas wouldn’t allow it.” “Douglas Graham? Damn the man.” “Douglas said it was too dangerous,” she mumbled. “At times like this, I wish I hadn’t listened to him. Not that I had much choice. I feel so useless.” “You’re here, and you have a special talent for healing others—” Alex broke off. “One of the guys said you limped for months after you healed his mother. Will helping Harrie make you sick, Dee?”

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Tobago Tragedy Dee’s eyelids flicked up, and the answer Alex didn’t want weaved through the storm clouds of her eyes. His hand found a brass letter opener, and he forced the edge through a post-it pad. A torrent of defensive rage surged through his veins at the thought of her suffering. Trying to regain control of rioting emotions, he unclamped his hand from the cold metal and let it thud onto the desk. George slipped into the room, his tread so light no sound preceded his entrance. Only the grassy aroma of his aftershave alerted Alex to his presence. Ashraff followed in his footsteps, his heavy stride unmistakable. “What’s wrong?” Alex asked the minute he saw the look of panic straining the man’s angular features. “I think we may be in for a spot of bad weather,” George replied. “The banyan tree near the hydroponics greenhouse toppled over.” “The weatherman on TTT says there’s a storm approaching with winds over sixty miles per hour,” Ashraff said. “TTT?” Alex raised an eyebrow. “Trinidad and Tobago Television.” “Is something wrong?” George’s rubber soled loafers slid silently over the ivory tiles in Dee’s direction. “I wish I had more medical training,” she answered. “I feel so helpless.” “Dee.” George knelt next to her. “I can help. At Claridges, the staff was required to take Medical Emergency courses. I know the basics. How long has Harrie been unconscious, Mr. Mayfield?” “Alex,” he corrected, and glanced at his watch. “Just under ten minutes.” “We can assume it’s not a simple faint then,” George stated. “Tell me precisely what happened before she became unconscious.”

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“I thought she knew her husband was dead, and I offered her my condolences.” He scowled at Dee’s snide snort. “Take that condescending gripe off your face, Dee. Anyone would have done the same thing.” “Can we concentrate on Harrie?” George barked. “What happened after that?” “She stared at me and tears rolled down her face, but she cried without making a sound.” he replied. “I tried to speak to her, but she seemed to be in a trance. I don’t think anything registered.” He pointed at the canine curled below Harrie’s elevated feet. As if cued, the animal’s long pink tongue swathed her ankle. “She curled her arm around the dog’s neck. By the time I arrived here, she was like this.” “No hysterics. No odd behavior?” “No, nothing like that, the opposite really. No reaction at all.” “Right. Thanks.” George nodded at him. “We need to determine if she’ll respond to any stimuli, beginning with light.” He handed Dee a miniature green flashlight. “Shine a torch light close to her eyes, and see if Harrie’s pupils move.” “You do it, George. I took the requisite one-day CPR course when I joined the Hospice’s board, ages ago.” She pushed the torch back into his palm. “Your training sounds more intensive.” They all flinched when a crack of lightning disrupted the stilling air. “We never get storms in the dry season,” Dee murmured as she glanced at the ivory ceiling. “No matter. Proceed, George.” He sat on the sofa next to Harrie, switched the light on and moved the pinpointed beam slowly in an arc from one closed eyelid to the other. Harrie’s left eye twitched under her ashen skin. Dee let out an audible sigh. “She responded.” “Not as I hoped. Her eyes didn’t open, which is the worst response on the Glasgow Scale for the light stimuli,” George whispered. He knuckled her pale cheek. “Can you hear me, Harrie? We’re all here. Nod, if you can hear me.” The sudden insistent roaring of an angry sky washed out his words. “She moved towards your hand,” Alex said, his pulse hop-scotching under the tension. An imperceptible shake of his head was George’s only reaction. He pressed Harrie’s thumbnail firmly. Her chin swung in the direction of the

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pressure, and she whimpered. Using a clenched fist, George rubbed his knuckles vertically along Harrie’s breastbone. Her arm rose to her neck. “Oh, Lord, I forgot to check her pulse.” George’s voice wavered. “I do apologize. I’m afraid I panicked.” “For Christ’s sake man, forget the apology.” Alex gritted his teeth and paced a furious line along the back of the sofa. “Ignore him, George.” She patted his fisted hand. “I took her pulse, it’s one -oh-five.” “Let’s take it again. Dee, will you do the honors?” “Of course.” Dee switched positions with George and held Harrie’s wrist between thumb and forefinger. “Ten seconds. Go, Alex.” He stood immobile staring as the second hand ticked. “Stop.” And held his breath awaiting Dee’s answer. “One fifteen.” Her voice shook. “What’s happening?” “My mum’s diabetic, I’ve seen this before. Her blood sugar’s too low.” George sat back on his haunches. “Ashraff, go and fetch soft cloths, warm water, and a large glass of orange juice. Posthaste.” “Why orange juice?” Alex asked, his eyes following Ashraff as he jogged out of the room. “Three to four ounces of orange juice will raise her blood glucose level back to normal. I didn’t realize Harrie was diabetic.” “The pregnancy brought it on. Harrie told Tee who told me when I decided to come over with David and Claudia. She didn’t want Tyler to know.” Rain drummed onto the galvanized roof of The B&B, a steady, pulsating, background thumping. A fierce gust blew a spitting stream of brine through the open French doors. “Don’t just stand there like a frigging frog on a log, Alex. Close the damned doors and the window, then turn the ceiling fan to low.” Dee issued the orders without looking up. “She’s sweating a lot, George.” “Aye, aye General. Any other orders?” The damned woman couldn’t resist taking charge. Who the heck did she think he was, her lackey? He battled with the heavy, folded metal-framed doors. It took several minutes, but he managed to secure the lock. The windows proved a simple task. By the time he finished, Ashraff returned carrying a tray with all the requested items.

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“We need to lift Harrie into a sitting position.” George took the tray from Ashraff. “I’ll get that.” Alex scooped Harrie into his arms and sat down on the sofa, resting her sideways across his thighs. He brought her up to a seventyfive degree angle. His palm rested along the bridge of Harrie’s distended stomach. Her flesh fluttered and undulated, pressing into the sensitive skin in the center of his palm. He stared at her closed eyes, bewildered by the sensation of new life pulsing within. “Dee, she knows your voice best, you feed Harrie the juice,” George suggested. “She won’t open her mouth.” Dee touched the rim of the glass to Harrie’s lips. “Wet your finger and run it in between her lips. Coat her gums. Eventually the salivation process will force the flavor against her taste buds.” The storm transformed into a constant, vicious barrage of booms and ear-splitting firework explosions. Alex’s gaze fixed upon a sudden bulge in the middle of Harrie’s stomach. It looked like an elbow. He shook his head in dazed wonder. “It’s not working.” Dee cupped her hands over George’s ear. George took the glass out of her hand and waved her aside. He pinched open the corner of Harrie’s mouth and eased a thimbleful of orange liquid into the narrow pocket. Using his thumb and fingers, he massaged her cheek and gums, and finally, to the great shoulder slumping relief of everyone present, Harrie swallowed. No one spoke for several minutes as George continued his ministrations with practiced efficiency. “Will she wake up now?” Alex’s shouted query fell into a precipitous moment of storm calm. Harrie’s eyelids fluttered upwards. For a brief instant, Alex caught a glimpse of her fixed mahogany eyes. His right arm tightened in an involuntary protective reaction. Her lower stomach did a crowd-wave motion under his hand. “At least the baby’s okay,” he murmured, unable to look elsewhere, and became convinced he caught sight of an outlined foot as Harrie’s oversized shirt gaped between buttons, and her pale skin bulged outwards.

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A new issue dampened his jeans and sent his stomach clear to Tibet. “We have a problem.” He met Dee’s gaze. “She’s soaking wet.” “Where’s the closest bed?” “Mine. On this floor,” George answered. “Alex, take her there,” she ordered. “Ashraff, boiling water and any sterile bandages you might happen to have.” When he lifted Harrie off the couch, the black dog whimpered and lumbered off the furniture. “George, the dog,” he prompted. “Ludie follows Harrie everywhere, Alex,” George explained. “She’s quite gentle. Ludie will whine all night if she’s separated from Harrie. Best let her go along with you.” “Behave yourself, Ludie,” he muttered. It was nigh on ten minutes later that he settled Harrie on George’s queen bed. Ashraff laid the tray with all the items Dee requested on the table closest to her. Ludie curled up on the rug, paralleling the bed’s footboard. As soon as Ashraff straightened, a resounding explosion broke over them, and the lights went out. “Crap,” Alex cursed. The thin, round beam from George’s miniature flashlight didn’t allay the fever-pitch blackness of the room. “I don’t suppose you own a generator?” “It’s on backorder.” Misery delineated George’s voice. “Get candles and hurry. I need to check to see if Harrie’s water broke or if she’s bleeding.” Panic and apprehension laced Dee’s voice. “Bring the hurricane lanterns from the dining room, Ashraff. It’ll give us better light.” George flicked an old-fashioned matchbox and lit a candle on the bedside table. “Harrie’s bleeding. My jeans are soaked with her blood.” From midthigh to above his knees, dark red stains covered the powder blue of his rolled up denims. Another series of brash detonations rang out. The outside sky flared a brilliant eruption as Ashraff jogged into the room carrying two lit hurricane lanterns. He placed one each on the low tables framing the bed. “The garden shed’s caught fire. I need some help getting it out. The wind’s blowing sparks every which way.”

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“You go with him, George. Alex, you stay with me. I may need you to lift Harrie,” Dee decreed. “First, we need to get her out of these clothes.” He slipped a Swiss Army penknife out of his pocket. “I’ll cut her shirt and pants off, it’ll be easier.” As soon the others left, he reached out and pushed the door closed. His cheeks heated as he explained, “She should have some privacy.” Working together, they managed to get Harrie out of her garments. Dee washed the blood from between her thighs. “Jesus, Mary and Joseph, so much blood,” he said, dismayed to see how quickly more appeared. “Alex, I need you to help me. I want to try to stop the bleeding. I’m going to crawl into bed with Harrie and hold her.” She stood up and shucked off her sweatpants. “What the heck are you doing?” he shouted, horrified by her inexplicable actions while her friend lay dying. “For some reason the healing works best skin to skin.” She avoided looking at him. “I will probably pass out. It’ll be temporary. Just don’t separate us. Promise me no matter what happens you won’t separate us until she stops bleeding.” His whole body clenched with knife-stabbing fear. “I’m not very good with sickness,” he rasped. “It’s your chance to play the hero.” She joined her palm with his. “Word of honor, Alex, you’ll let me save Harrie?” “You have it.” His jaw worked a furious battle with his ultimate goal. Keep Dee safe. He didn’t know if he could honor his promise. “Don’t let the others back in here until I’m done.” She pulled off her tshirt, discarded her bra and panties, and climbed into bed with Harrie. Just before she tucked her small arms around her friend, she said, “Lock the door, Alex, and it may be a good idea to not look for a while if you’re squeamish.” He tried. He really did. He managed to look away for one minute on his watch, then another. By the third minute, he was too scared not to look. The sight that met his eyes brought a vicious hiccup of bile up his throat. A thin layer of scarlet blood stained Dee’s skin. Her eyes were fastened shut, and a grimace of agonizing pain contorted her features into a mask of horror.

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As he watched, ruby liquid seeped through the pores on every inch of her flesh. Alex climbed onto the bed. She didn’t seem to be breathing. He touched a trembling finger to her chest above her heart. At the almost imperceptible rise and fall, he sagged in relief. Uncertain, he bathed the blood from her skin. More came. An endless river of red. How much blood could someone lose and still survive? He didn’t know and cursed his lack of knowledge. Her skin became glacial and wet. Even through all the scarlet stains the hue turned a terrifying bluish-green. The slow seeping away of her life’s force seemed unabated. Finally, Alex could stand it no more, and he sloughed off his clothes and crept into the bed to warm the two cold women. Mere minutes later, convulsions wracked Dee’s tiny body. Violent, deep shudders jerked her arms and legs in flailing motions, but one arm held onto Harrie, intractable in its intent. The storm raged outside, ebbing and flowing much like the two bleeding women. His brain went into hibernation. Dimensions merged, time flowed. “Dee,” Harrie’s weak whisper shocked him out of his trance. “What did you do, Dee?” She raised a hand to Dee’s bleeding face. “How are you, Harrie? How do you feel?” She didn’t seem surprised at encountering two naked people. Her bright mahogany eyes dimmed when she turned to him. “What happened?” “You went into some kind of trance and started to hemorrhage. Dee stopped your bleeding, but hers won’t stop. I don’t know what to do.” He stared at Harrie, hoping for an answer. “Do you?” “No, but I think my water just broke.” Tears streamed down her face. “I can’t go into labor, my baby will die. I must have a C-Section. Help me. Save my baby, please.” “We called for the doctor. He’ll be here soon.” His panic escalated. “I’ll go check on him.” He struggled into a seated position, reluctant to leave Dee, but terrified of Harrie’s impending labor. He shoved on clothes, at war with time.

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He found Ashraff, George, and the rest of The B&B’s staff battling the elements and a blazing garden shed. From his experience with Hurricane Wilma a while back, he knew the wind straddled hurricane strength. It threw him back one-step for every two he took. The rain had the impact of rubber bullets and twisted direction with every new gust. Beach sand rose in a tornadoed fury abrading his skin. Halfway to them, Alex surrendered to fate, knowing he must face Harrie’s labor, and Dee’s worsening condition, alone. He returned to George’s bedroom. He checked on Harrie who mercifully had passed out either through exhaustion or pain. Dee’s skin was not a healthy color, but the bloody perspiration ceased its thick, fast flowing and now only held a tinge of pink. Alex hurried to change out of his wet clothes and donned his sweat pants, and an old t-shirt. The whimpered moans of pain erupting from George’s room caused sweat to pepper his forehead. He found an electric kettle in the kitchen and a couple of clean dishtowels. Alex only realized how panicked he was when he plugged in the electric kettle and nothing happened. Cursing his stupidity, he jumped from his crouched position at the corner of the room when sweet, gentle Harrie bellowed and shrieked at the same time. “Are you all right?” “Do I look all right?” She scrunched up on her forearms as a contraction overtook her and screamed an expletive she shouldn’t know. Alex sat gingerly on the edge of the bed. “How can I help?” Harrie grabbed his palm and tried to cleave it in two as the next contraction gathered strength. As she lay panting on the bed, she wrapped both hands around his. “Cut me open, please. Save my baby.” He barely stopped the tears from falling at the desperation in her voice. “Please, my life is over anyway. Save his. Name him after his father, and you, what’s your name?” Her tears rained arrows through his heart, her words machetes carving the pulsing organ to bits. “We are all going to get through this, Harrie.” He cradled her face in his hands. “All of us.” The contractions came hard and fast after that, unrelentingly, exhausting Harrie until they were more in control of her body than she was. Alex held her through it all, grateful her bleeding had stopped. Dee didn’t budge once,

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not through Harrie’s screams, her frenzied thrashings, or her pleading whimpers for him to save the life of her child. He didn’t think any human being had so many tears to cry. Harrie’s labor pains were agonizing to watch. Alex would have given anything, anything at all, to shoulder them himself. Towards the end, labor took control of a world-weary, numbed Harrie. She no longer made any sounds at all, simply stared at him with wide, unseeing, dark eyes. In between contractions, her body lay wherever the last spasm left her. Inert, limp, and ultimately pliable. In the wee hours of the morning, Harrie’s stillborn son slipped into Alex’s hands. He had strong, clear features, a shiny bald head, ten, tiny perfect fingers, ten little toes. Alex held him in his palms and railed at the unfairness of life. He didn’t even realize he was crying until Harrie touched his wet cheek and opened her arms for her son. He wrapped the cold, unmoving infant in a clean green dishtowel and handed him over. Alex sat in the middle of the bloodied bed, and he scooped Harrie into his arms, holding her to his chest as she sobbed her heart out. When her sobs grew silent, punctuated only by a spasmodic hiccup and a little snort of despair, he kissed her forehead and waited for exhaustion to claim her. Many events shaped him in his short life span, the orphanage, Jake’s forced determination to survive, his toddler soccer team. But, he doubted any other single event could show him how shallow his life was. The strength of this, once pregnant, now devastated, woman in his arms shattered any previously defined reality. A charcoal-coated George tiptoed into the room minutes after Harrie’s muscles relaxed into a weary stupor. He took one look at Alex’s face and whispered, “The baby?” Alex shook his head and inclined his jaw to the green bundle cradled in Harrie’s arms. He had covered Dee with a blanket earlier. George pointed to her tousled curls, and in the barest of whispers he asked, “Has she woken?” Alex shook his head again and motioned George over. “Do I take the baby from Harrie?” he whispered.

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“No, she’ll need closure,” George answered and tugged the ramshackle blanket down, touching a tentative finger to the baby’s cheek. Moisture dripped unrestrained from his eyes. “Let Harrie wake in your arms.” Alex nodded and rested on the headboard. Within seconds, he was asleep. He awoke to Dee’s blood streaked face two inches away from his. Her rosebud mouth quivered precariously as she stared at little Tyler’s still face. Harrie awoke and pushed up from his chest. She didn’t look at either of them. “I’d like some time alone with my son.” Alex kissed Tyler’s forehead, as did Dee, then she kissed Harrie, too. They left the room in silence, Alex wearing bloodstained sweatpants, and a scarlet spotted t-shirt, Dee wearing the blanket. She walked straight out the dining room and onto the beach. He went upstairs, showered and changed. Dawn broke. From his room, he saw Dee meandering up and down the sand now littered with the destruction from last night’s storm, the bleak morning grayed over by a solid cover of melancholy, threatening clouds. Another figure edged onto the beach followed by two black dogs, one gamboling and worrying branches down the sand, the other plodding behind her mistress who clutched a green bundle to her breast. Alex hurried down the stairs. He found George in the lobby. “Harrie’s walking on the beach. She’s still in shock, she shouldn’t be alone.” He speared his hair. “She lost so much blood last night. We have to persuade her to lie down. Go after her, why don’t you?” “I think we have to wait for Harrie to want to come in. She’s running on adrenalin now. I’ll send William out to shadow her. She adores that boy. I think he might give her some comfort. Don’t worry. Ashraff’s following her every movement, although she won’t acknowledge anyone.” Neither woman returned before noon. Alex paced the property, checking the outside dining area every ten minutes or so. Around eleven-thirty, Dee returned. He went to meet her, but she shook her head at him from a distance, glued her eyes to the sand, and walked right by him, never acknowledging his presence. Harrie’s return proved harder to face. She carried her dead son cradled in one arm, and she whispered to him all the way to the lobby. Alex heard

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her say. “Ah, Tyler junior, you’ll be a great artist when you grow up. No wars for you, my sweet son.” Alex made a beeline for his room. For only the second time in his life, tears fell. He bit his lip to stem any sobbing and tasted blood before he regained some semblance of control over his traitorous emotions. Time inched by. Tee, Jake, and the rest of their friends arrived mid-afternoon. Alex avoided them, and went for a walk on the beach. The crisp sea air focused the tumultuous whirring of his brain. Distance, he needed distance before he could deal with the events of the past few days. He decided to go back to Boca and immerse himself in work. Alex found Jake in the library, alone, head propped in his hands. “Jake,” he said. “Alex.” His friend’s rough voice mirrored the desolation in his black eyes. “I don’t know what to say. George said you delivered the baby. It must have been devastating.” “Yes.” For a moment, Tyler’s sweet features stun-gunned his brain. “I came to let you know, I’m leaving.” “I understand your wanting to leave. This is purgatory.” “Hell, Jake, not purgatory. God-damned Hell.” “James, Harrie’s father, died this afternoon,” Jake shook his head and met Alex’s gaze. “She’ll have to be told.” “It’s enough to doubt your faith in God. Mine anyway.” Alex rasped, close to tears again. “Harrie hasn’t spoken to anyone but Tyler, and she won’t give him up.” Jake’s voice hiccupped. “I saw her, Alex. I went up to her room to see if I could do anything.” He held up his hand, his jaw worked, and he bit his lower lip. All in a futile effort, as tears fell from his eyes. Finally, Jake choked out. “She was trying to breast feed Tyler.” All the blood drained out of him. Alex spun about and made a beeline for his room. While everyone was in the dining room having an early, dour supper, he packed his bags and left, catching the last flight to Trinidad. He spent a sleepless night at Trinidad’s airport hotel and caught the morning flight to Ft. Lauderdale. Before he boarded the plane, he called George for an update on Harrie and Dee.

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Exhausted, but unable to sleep, Dee spent the night pacing the beachfront. George planned to take her a sleeping pill within minutes. Harrie’s hysteria became unmanageable, and the doctor had sedated her. The baby was to be buried on Monday. Harrie had named him Tyler James after his father.

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Project Plucked Parrot George knocked on Dee’s door at dawn. She lifted iron-heavy lids and spoke softly, “Come in.” “Harrie?” Dee questioned as soon as he stepped through the doorway. “Claudia and David arrived an hour ago. She’s with her sister. Dee, she won’t let go of the baby.” George’s forehead furrowed. “Dr. Jardine joined them a few minutes ago. I’m at a loss.” “So am I.” She sat up in the bed. “Tee is anxious to see you. Everyone is. I told them you needed to rest.” Sunlight sent elongated shadows through the room. “I can’t face anyone, George, not even Tee. Can you do me a favor and tell them I’m asleep? I want to see Harrie and make sure she’s okay. If she is, then I’m leaving tomorrow on the first flight out of here.” George’s face shuttered, and his full mouth took on a bitter twist. “Harrie doesn’t want to see you. She blames you for her being alive while her baby’s dead. You and Alex. I’m sorry, Dee.” “I see.” Her fingers tightened around the soft satin of the duvet. “Alex?” “He left on the last plane out.” “I see.” “Dee, Harrie’s hysterical. Don’t take her reaction to heart. She’s been through a lot.” “I know.” She stared at the pastel bed covering for a long moment. “I’ll leave on the first flight tomorrow. Please don’t let anyone else know. I’m not up to explanations or answering questions. Harrie obviously doesn’t need or want my company.” “Dee,” George pleaded. “Harrie’ll come around. You saved her life. Eventually she’ll understand.”

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“Will she?” She shook her head. “I don’t think so, and I don’t blame her at all. I can’t control it you know. Even if I tried, I couldn’t save the baby over Harrie. I don’t know how to do that.” “Don’t, Dee. Don’t play what if. No one wins that game.” “Words of wisdom, George. Would that I could stop.” He approached the bed and opened a clenched fist. Two tiny white pills lay in the center of his palm. “Prescription sleeping pills from the good doctor. I thought they might be useful.” “You’re a savior. Thank you.” Dee slipped the pills onto her tongue and swallowed. “I’ll leave you to arrange everything for tomorrow?” “Rest easy. This I can handle.” She pulled the lightproof drapes closed. Life’s ultimate futility descended with the room’s darkness when George clicked off the lights and closed the door. She cried silent tears until the pills claimed her consciousness. Dee spent the weekend at the Barbadian Embassy’s suite of rooms at the Hilton Hotel, going over the plans for Project Plucked Parrot. She worked diligently and walked the treadmill in the hotel’s gym every night until she couldn’t manage another step. Even so, she needed the help of the extra three pills George had given her to find oblivion every night. The drugged slumber left her groggy and irritable in the mornings, but it was better than lying awake and thinking about everything. At nine on Monday morning, the Embassy chauffeur drove her to President’s House. “Aunt Tricia, how are you?” Dee greeted Tee’s mother, and kissed first one cheek, then the other, European style. “Fine, dear. Tee is still in Tobago. She and Jake are staying for the baby’s funeral. Tee brought me up to date on everything. What a horrible tragedy. That poor girl.” “Yes, a tragedy,” Dee repeated. “The gentlemen are all in the study, dear.” Tricia waved a manicured hand. “You know the way.” “Yes, thank you.” She strolled in the direction indicated, her thoughts concentrated on the task ahead. A month and a half ago right, after being appointed to her position as acting Attorney General, Dee inherited Project Plucked Parrot. Founded to eliminate the three major criminal organizations dominating the region, Project Plucked Parrot was an initiative begun

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several years earlier by the governments of the Cayman Islands, Costa Rica, Panama, Jamaica, Barbados, and Trinidad and Tobago. The tongue-in-cheek project title referred to Parrot’s Retreat, the main residence of Jean-Paul ‘Butch’ Reniere. Clive Newell, Interpol Coordinator for the Americas, paid Dee a courtesy call her second day on the job, and briefed her on the project’s status. It was at a standstill. When Dee informed Newell of her close connection to Butch’s son, Alain, his face had lit up. In the position for three years, Project Plucked Parrot was Clive’s only failure and a complete embarrassment for Interpol. Dee made Clive’s year when she told him that Butch started propositioning her when she was sixteen. Clive dealt directly with the Prime Ministers of each Interpol member and oversaw the National Central Bureau located in each country. Local law enforcement agents staffed all NCBs. Although corruption permeated all islands and countries, Panama, Trinidad, and Jamaica were the worst offenders because of the volume of money laundering through each country. Parrot’s Retreat, situated on fifty acres of mountainous, isolated coastal property on Trinidad’s north coast was Reniere’s vacation destination. Butch had the island’s Chief of Police firmly in his pocket, and Trinidad’s Attorney General was a childhood friend. Clive met with the Prime Ministers of the three countries, and proposed a method of jump-starting the stalled Plucked Parrot. Use Dee as bait. The five leaders deployed a team comprised of various secure International NCB members immediately. Dee hesitated at the burnished, cherry double doors, wondering what accelerated the timing of Plucked Parrot. The first move, her acceptance of Butch’s bribes, was previously scheduled to happen in a month’s time. “Come on in,” Uncle Henry’s deep baritone, so reminiscent of James Earl Jones’s, answered Dee’s knock. Five men at the peak of their professional power occupied the study. “Sir Arthur, Ian, David, Henry, Clive,” Dee said politely, and nodded at each man in turn. “Good morning.” “Coffee?” Clive Newell was in the act of pouring coffee from a silverplated pot into a chintz teacup. His hand waved at an empty teacup and saucer. “Please,” she answered.

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“Sit, my dear.” Henry patted the spot next to him on a wide floralpatterned sofa, and she obeyed. “We have approximately an hour and a half to resolve everything,” Arthur Flood said. “So let’s get down to brass tacks.” “Interpol sources confirm an agreement between a major Afghan DrugLord, one Karim Mohammad, and Reniere to launder money through his Bacchus clubs, beginning immediately. Should the agreement prove fruitful, we expect the other Afghan Drug Lords to jump on board within a few weeks.” Clive set her coffee cup on the low table facing the couch. He took a seat opposite her. “That’s the reason for pushing forward the start date for Parrot.” Uncle Ian’s faded blue eyes held a hint of remorse. “I want to go on record as opposed to Desdemona’s involvement.” “It’s noted. We have no other options at this point, Ian.” Newel’s grim tone startled Dee. “Have you accepted any of Reniere’s gifts to date, my dear?” Uncle Henry’s expression matched Newel’s. “None, all have been returned, seemingly unopened.” “A few weeks after your return to Barbados, you will receive an invitation to a cocktail party hosted at Westmoreland. Accept the invitation and attend,” Ian said, in his clipped English accent. “Reniere will need you to turn a blind eye to his offshore banking activities in Barbados. He will accelerate his efforts to recruit you into his web. At this event, be friendly to him. Make sure you’re noticed.” “By friendly, you mean flirt with him?” “You know his ego, my dear. Don’t let him think you’re succumbing, but don’t dissuade him either.” “Do you want me to accept his gifts? He’ll be suspicious if I do an about face.” “We don’t expect you to do a one-eighty. From that point on, don’t avoid him, but return his gifts. Butch gave Alain the keys to Parrot’s Retreat and free reign to have friends over a week ago.” David’s bleak obsidian eyes met hers. “Get Alain to invite you over. Tell him not to tell his father. We’ll provide you with hidden cameras and microphones. Once you’re in, do a sweep of the exterior and each room within the mansion.”

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“As a precaution, my dear, MI5 will implant a GPS microchip under your skin, so we cannot lose track of your location.” Sir Arthur tugged on his gray-flecked auburnish goatee. “We want you to make two separate, secret visits to the property.” “Reniere is scheduled to be in the Far East within a few weeks. He normally spends a minimum of three weeks there. Once we know the date he departs, you’ll conduct those two secret visits.” Clive Newel laid out the strategy. “How long am I supposed to stay for each visit?” “For as long as it takes to do a sweep of all the rooms,” David answered. “If at any point in time, you feel the slightest bit uneasy, leave. Rely on your gut instinct. I cannot stress that enough.” “Time your second visit for after your birthday, Desdemona,” Clive Newel ordered. “Reniere knows you and Alain always celebrate your birthdays together at your family’s Hunting Lodge in Barbados. He is sure to buy a present ostensibly from his son for you. Reniere buys all his jewels from one source on St. Martin. We’ll implant a GPS in the piece he chooses as another fallback position. Tell Alain you don’t have sufficient security for the piece and ask him to keep it for you until the next visit.” “That will force Reniere to open the safe. Every time the safe is opened, he has to change the pass code,” David explained. “We hacked into his security system last week and were able to access the code, but we can only do so within a sixty-second span after the safe is opened and closed. We’ll do the same during your visit and send it to the new cell you’ll be carrying.” “The day before your third visit, we’ll raid the property and plant our own bugs and cameras,” David stood up. “Of course, Butch will have his men sweep the place after that. We expect they’ll discover the majority of our equipment, but not all. Worst case scenario, we can rely on your implanted GPS.” “What if Butch shows up unexpectedly? What am I supposed to do?” “Slip him the drugs we’ll provide you with.” “How am I supposed to slip the drugs to him? And how long will he be out?” “We’re taking a double-blind approach on that. There is one water pipeline into the property.” Clive drew on a legal pad, he swiveled it around. “Here is the road.” He tapped a pencil to the drawing. “And this is the

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pipeline. Two miles before it, there’s a junction. We’ll have campers spending a week there. When you enter the gates, we’ll feed a heavy sedative into the waterline. Any contact with tap water will make a person sleepy. A full eight ounces will knock him or her out for three to four hours.” “If you can’t slip the drug into Reniere’s food or drink without detection, that’s your fallback position, the water,” David cautioned. He strode over to the side table. “Reniere’s safe is in the basement.” “You’ll need to drug Alain as well. Once the boy’s asleep, open the safe, copy the files from his server to these jump-drives.” Clive held out a circle with a copper rectangle dangling from it. “These function as earrings as well as storage devices. No one will suspect you’re wearing the evidence.” “How am I to know which files to copy?” “Reniere is obsessive compulsive. He organizes everything by date. We’ve narrowed the information we need to three different dates. Those are the directories you’ll copy,” Clive answered. “I’ll give you the information before you leave.” “Exactly what am I copying?” “The Ramsingh family murder,” Clive stated. “After you’re finished, you’ll erase his server with a special magnetic tool that we’ll give you.” “These are all plans. Once you’re in the field, it’s a dynamic situation. If you see an opportunity, take it. Again, your gut is your best defense. Any hint of unease, back away.” David emphasized the last two words. “Under no circumstances put yourself in danger.” “Over the coming weeks, we will develop other safety precautions, and implement them.” Sir Arthur met her eyes. “We are scouting for a safe house for you for the months afterwards. Once Plucked Parrot is complete, we’ll issue a press release stating you are on a leave of absence from your post due to health reasons. An interim individual sympathetic to Reniere will be appointed.” “Until we’re ready to proceed with the arrest and trial, you will remain in isolation. Three individuals will know your location, Clive, Arthur, and me. You must have a row with your friends, my dear,” Uncle Henry’s gruff voice softened. “All, including Tee. Their lives will be in danger otherwise.”

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“I understand,” Dee murmured. It would be a while before she would be able to look Tee in the eyes anyway. “Tee won’t give ground easily.” “Think of something, my dear. You must, for their sake.” They wrapped up after that, and she joined Tricia and Henry for a light lunch on the patio overlooking an Olympic sized pool. A month flew by seemingly on a moment. Dee buried herself in work, refusing for a second to dwell on Harrie or Alex, or anything that had happened in Tobago. Sleep proved elusive, and her appetite dwindled to the point where the sight of food made her nauseous. A recurring nightmare plagued her nights, and she awoke every morning with the same image in her mind, Harrie with her stillborn baby clutched to her chest. Plucked Parrot became an obsession, a vindication for her ambitions. Determined to see it succeed, she crossed a few ethical lines without hesitating for the first time in her life. To her surprise, the day she first avoided telling the truth to Clive Newel about her interactions with Butch Reniere, she felt no guilt, no remorse about her actions. Driving home that night, her thoughts were a kaleidoscope, changing with every bend in the narrow, asphalt roads. Unsettling yearnings pranced unbidden when she least expected, visions of families, babies. A week later, one of her cousins held a birthday party for her toddler, and Dee attended instead of sending an expensive gift and her regrets per the norm. She wandered to the swings, fascinated by the children’s interactions. Three and four-year-olds shrieking, laughing, and scrambling with hysterical un-coordination as gifts and sweets exploded out of a Mickey Mouse piñata. Afterwards, instead of returning to the main house, she made her way to the family’s hunting lodge, a remnant of bygone colonial days when there were actually wild animals to hunt. She passed the private landing strip located about a mile away from the lodge and arrived in front of the miniature version of the main plantation house. She parked the car, shucked off her shoes, and walked to the edge of the cliff behind the sleek cottage. Dee stared at the vast expanse of the Atlantic Ocean framed by the distant horizon. The three quarter moon illuminated the silvery sea surface as far as the eye could see. A strong, whipping wind tossed her curls about her head. Hopelessness strung through her soul. Life

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loomed empty and directionless. All her plans, goals stripped meaningless by the events surrounding Carnival. Dee hated uncertainty. All her life she’d known exactly where she was going, what she wanted. In the space of one week, that determined protective shell had been shattered, leaving her exposed to the vagaries of life. The Atlantic Ocean failed to restore her sense of purpose, and she turned to head back home just as the cell phone in her pants pocket vibrated. Dee checked the number—the main house, Douglas, worried because she was so late. She texted, “On my way,” not wanting to speak to anyone, afraid the threatening waterworks would implode the last vestiges of her self-control. Taking the easy way out, she drove home and snuck up to her bedroom through the back door. For a long, indeterminate period after changing and flopping onto the bed, she stared at the ceiling fan, following the whirring motion of the blades. Douglas had to wake her the following morning. She’d overslept and was half an hour late to start the day. Nothing went as planned, and by five that afternoon, her normal placidity dissolved into irritated anger. Two briefs lined her desk when she returned from an unplanned, unproductive meeting with Clive Newel, and she sat in the creaky wooden chair flipping through the first one when a knock sounded on the heavy oak door. “Come in,” she barked, and immediately regretted her tone. Her assistant poked his head in the door, features pinched, a hint of scarlet staining ridged cheekbones. “Dee, a gentleman’s waiting to see you. He’s been here since three o’clock.” “Who is he, and what is he here about?” She glanced up briefly before returning to the legal document. “Mr. Alex Mayfield, and he said it’s a private matter.” Dee’s head snapped up, and her neck cricked with the violence of her response. Hot blood turned to ice water, freezing motion, thought. Her voice sounded far away when she finally managed a response, “Send him in, and you go home, too, Les. I don’t need anything else.” Pressing her hands on the wooden desk’s unyielding surface, she stood, although both knees and arms quaked their refusal. Alex’s large frame filled the doorway, and the evening sun lit him from behind, so she couldn’t

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distinguish his features, just a dark outline that seemed foreboding, grim, sepulchral. He didn’t smile a greeting, his expression somber, almost funereal. When he stepped into the room, Dee studied his appearance. His handsome features were drawn, his face leaner than she remembered. To her surprise, he wore faded blue jeans and a white linen shirt rolled up just below his elbows, and that perpetual wicked gleam in his blue eyes had been replaced by a subdued determination. An oval St. Christopher’s medal glistened against the exposed copper skin framed by his shirt lapels. “You look tired.” His cobalt eyes raked her head to hip. “Thanks a heap,” she said, anger battling mortification and shock. Their gaze met, held for immeasurable seconds, maybe minutes. Dee’s eyes fell away first. “What are you doing here, Alex?” “I thought maybe we could have dinner.” “You flew to Barbados on the off-chance I would be free for dinner?” There was no concealing the rage in her voice. “Something like that.” His calm, gentle tone irked her further. “Well, I’m not,” she growled and sat heavily in the chair. “Go away.” “No. I came here to say something, and I’m not leaving until I’ve done so.” He settled into the chair in front of the desk, and propped his elbows on the seat’s mahogany arms, fingers steepled. All the rioting emotions drained out of her in the long silence that followed. “Have dinner with me, Dee,” Alex stated more than asked. “I don’t think we have anything to say to each other,” she said, and knuckled her eyelids, exhausted to the core. “You don’t believe that, and you know it.” “Where are you staying?” “Sandy Lane,” he replied. “I’ll meet you there in half an hour.” She surrendered, just wanting to get the confrontation over and done with. On the way to the hotel, Dee’s brain played scenes from the past, in slow motion at first, then on fast forward, rewinding over and over, until she was a cauldron boiling with conflicting emotions. She had no idea of what to expect or how to respond. No plan of action came to mind, and she couldn’t begin to formulate one.

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The maitre d of the hotel’s restaurant escorted her to an outdoor table. Alex stood to greet her, and waited until she sat before he spoke. “Something to drink?” he asked. “White wine spritzer.” Dee unfolded her napkin, and concentrated on placing it in her lap. “You’ve lost weight.” That damned gentle, placating tone annoyed her to no end. She wanted to rail at him, throw things, pummel his chest, hurt him like he had hurt her. The thought arrested her jerky movements. Until that very second, she had denied it, adamantly repudiated the notion he had wounded her to the core. “What do you want?” She threw her napkin onto the table. “I can’t do this. I’m leaving.” He stepped around the table, and pulled her to her feet. “Let’s take a walk.” She bit the inside of her mouth hard and kept her eyes fixed on their joined hands. “I flew three thousand miles to see you. It’s the least you can do.” She nodded. They walked down a series of coral stepping-stones to the beach. Dee reached down and slipped her shoes off holding them in one hand. It was dusk, the setting sun halved by the distant horizon. Fine, sandy beach rimmed turquoise lapping waves, which shadowed to navy as daylight waned. Alex removed his moccasins and dropped them on the beach. He took her shoes and put them next to his. They strolled south towards the equatorial line, neither speaking. As they rounded the graceful curve of Sandy Lane Bay, Alex grasped her hand, and dropped to the beach pulling Dee down with him. “How’ve you been?” “Fine.” Both of them stared at the Caribbean Sea as a light wind buffeted the summer humidity. The breeze lifted Dee’s curls off her neck. She sighed, and said, “What do you want, Alex?” “I’ve spent the last month haunted by Tyler’s little face. And you,” he added softly. “Dee, I want you to know that Beverley was never serious, not after we made love. I….” He broke off and ploughed both hands through his hair. “I had this idea that marrying someone who could trace their ancestry

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back to the Mayflower would somehow make up for me not having any. That if my children had that kind of lineage, then they would never feel the insecurity of not knowing where they belonged. I’m not sure why it’s important for you to know that, but it is.” “Why did you leave without saying a word after what we’d been through together?” “I don’t know, and I’m not making any excuses. I had to get away. I couldn’t face Harrie again, or you. My world turned upside down that night. Everything I’ve ever believed in, all my goals seemed petty, unimportant in the face of it all. I needed time to think.” “And now that you’ve had the time?” Numbness had set in. Dee felt like she was hovering above, watching two people play out a scene. Every word he uttered mirrored her emotions over the last month, feelings she consciously repressed up until he vocalized them. “I know what I don’t want. I don’t want a life married to a West Palm Beach Socialite, where appearance, wealth, and prestige are all that counts. I want you to know that I cherish the time I spent with you, and that it meant something to me.” “What do you want from me?” “Absolution.” “Sorry, not possible.” She started to get up, and he laid his hand on top of hers. “Don’t go, please. Let me finish.” She sat back down and rested her chin on bent knees, arms hugging her legs, as if the posture could keep her from splintering. “I’ve spent the last month trying to figure out what I want out of life. Tyler never had a chance to draw a breath, to cry, to be. During the past decade of my life I’ve achieved financial and career success, but I can’t take a BMW with me when I die, and having powerful connections doesn’t say much about my life, if that’s all I have at the end of it.” Silence reigned. She didn’t have a clue as to how to reply or whether he wanted one, and a peculiar hollowness ballooned in her throat. “I need you to forgive me, Dee. And I would like us to be friends.” Hysterical laughter bubbled up. Friends? “Dee?”

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The sun disappeared altogether, leaving them sitting side by side in a cool darkness. Softly cresting waves provided a hypnotic, soothing background rhythm. “Forgiveness I can do, Alex. Friendship?” She shook her head. “Can we try? Will you reply to my emails? Take a phone call or two? I’ll keep trying. I find I can wear almost everyone down if I persist long enough, and I promise you, that in this case, I will.” A hint of a teasing note wove through his solemn tone, and although she fought it, a smile chased and caught her mouth. “I won’t promise anything.” “You didn’t say no.” She could hear the relief in his voice. “I didn’t say yes,” Dee cautioned. They walked back to the restaurant, and had a surprisingly civilized, enjoyable dinner. Alex kept the conversation to the mundane, work, Tee and Jake. He walked Dee to the car when they were finished, hands in his pockets, and said a simple goodbye. She drove home on autopilot, and went through her nighttime routine without once dwelling on the evening. For the first time since the night with Harrie, she slept like a log, no nightmares, no images of Tyler, and Dee actually awoke feeling refreshed. During the next month, she made a concerted effort to contact Harrie to no avail. George told her Harrie had secluded herself in the cottage, and would see no one save him and Ashraff. He assured her Harrie was physically recovered, but depressed and listless. When Dee remarked that she planned to fly over to see Harrie, George dissuaded her. She had to drag the reasons out of him; Harrie still blamed her for Tyler’s death. Two weeks later, George called to let her know Harrie was painting again. He thought this a good sign, and added that her appetite was improving, albeit slowly. Dee received daily emails from Alex, mostly forwarded jokes or amusing anecdotes. He always included a little remark from him, nothing deep or intimate, and she replied in kind. A month later, acting on impulse, she flew to Tobago to see Harrie. She didn’t let anyone know she was going, not even George. Centered on a mountaintop, Harrie’s lattice-worked cotton candy cottage featured a breathtaking view. On the right, the churning Atlantic Ocean, in the middle Bucco Reef, and to the left, the calm, turquoise waters of the Caribbean Sea.

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She parked the car under an enormous Avocado tree plump with fruit and stepped on one getting out of the vehicle. Green pulp oozed over her bare toes, not an auspicious start to the visit. She used a Kleenex to clean off most of the goo. The door to the house stood wide open. Mid-day sun reflected off the bright pink walls, obscuring the shadowed interior. Dee squared her shoulders and stepped inside. “Harrie?” Heavy with dust and a cloying incense aroma, the murky living room was bare in the center. Furniture lined the walls shoved here and there in a haphazard manner. Four easels dominated the space in the middle. Dee studied the first painting she came to. Tyler, in a haunting portrait, his wide blue eyes vibrated, sparkling life. Eyes that never saw daylight glowed as bright as the noonday sun. “Murderer.” Harrie said the word in a normal, even tone. Dee whirled. Nothing prepared her for what she saw. Harrie was in the same dress she wore the morning of Tyler’s death. Mud and leaves encrusted her beautiful Titian ringlets, weighing them into dank, uneven waves. Not an inch of her natural skin showed through layers of paint and stains, not even around the eyes. “Get out. I never want to see you again.” Again, that normal, even tone, flat with no hint of emotion. She raised one hand displaying a carving knife. Dee balked. “You don’t want to do this, Harrie.” “I’ve dreamed of it.” She bared her teeth. “Every night I kill you in my dreams. Then I end my pain.” She took a step forward. Dee shuffled backwards. “Harrie, I saved your life.” “I should be dead. I have nothing to live for.” The knife clattered to the floor, and a vacancy took over the hatred blazing from her green eyes. “Get out, Dee, and never come back. You’re dead to me.” “Let me heal your pain. I can help to take it away,” she pleaded, her heart hammering in her chest. “Pain is the only thing that keeps me going. Take that away, and I have nothing left. Leave. Now.” The bleak despair and stabbing accusation blaring from those liquid chocolate eyes shattered her newly rebuilt conviction, and all the rioting emotions she’d suppressed for two and a half months erupted. Her

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composure splintered, her self-confidence dissipated, and Dee trudged cowardly out of the house to the car. She stifled her tears until she hit her bed that night. Then they came and wouldn’t stop, not until exhaustion and numbness claimed her mind. The following morning when she awoke Dee tried to sort through the last few months and realized how parallel her actions were with Alex’s. She sought absolution from Harrie where there was none to give. That morning Tee phoned. “Why didn’t you call me?” “About what?” “Your visit to Harrie.” Tee’s voice held a grim note. “How did you find out? I didn’t tell anyone.” “George saw you leaving.” “At the airport?” Dee prayed Tee said yes. “No, at Harrie’s place. She had a knife on you, Dee.” “She was hysterical, that’s all. It’s understandable, her husband died, then her baby, then her father. Who wouldn’t go off the deep end? Besides, she never intended to use it. I probably caught her cooking.” The barefaced lie proved some sort of atonement. “You saved her life.” Tee spoke in a bleak, resigned tone as if Harrie was lost forever. “For what? She said pain was the only thing keeping her alive. I’m burying the healing part of me forever.” “What does Douglas say about that?” “I don’t give a frigging damn.” Dee hung up. Tee did not call back. Harrie continued to refuse to see anyone but George. Not even Tee could get through to her. In Harrie’s muddled mind, everything became Dee’s fault because she’d saved her and not her son. In all the confusion since Carnival, Dee conveniently forgot she and Alex didn’t use a condom on Carnival Monday afternoon. Because she traveled frequently for her job, Dee kept a carryon at ready packed with the necessities. Preparing for her first weekend at Parrot’s Retreat, she browsed through her suitcase and came across her emergency stash of tampons. Ice froze each vertebra one by one. Regular to a T, Dee could name the day, and sometimes the hour, her period would come. She calculated backwards and came up with a horrifying date, the Friday after Carnival,

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three and a half months ago. Dee stared at the offending objects transfixed by the image of a floor of stacked dominoes falling, each one triggering the fall of another, until each polka-dotted tile flattened. The old-fashioned ding of the rotary house phone sounded. No one else was at home, Douglas off visiting his sister in London, and her parents in Canada for a brief hiatus. Dee jogged down the narrow corridor and grabbed the phone from its receiver. “’Lo,” she panted into the speaker. “Dee?” She recognized Jake’s deep baritone. “Yes, it’s me. What’s up?” “I need to see you.” There was a pause. “Without Tee knowing about it.” “Something wrong?” His tone made her uneasy. “I can be in Barbados this afternoon. Do you have time?” “Actually, I’m flying over tonight. Fleeting visit,” Dee lied. “Some AG matters. Maybe we can meet for lunch tomorrow? I should be finished my work around noon.” “What time do you arrive tonight?” A chill gust from the overhead air conditioner vent sent a glacial shawl over her bare shoulders. “Eight, why?” “I’ll pick you up.” Another pause. “Why aren’t you staying with us? And why haven’t you told Tee? No, don’t answer. I’m glad you haven’t told her. This may work out for the best. I’ll see you later.” Dial tone. Dee stared at the dead phone for a few stunned minutes. Jake seemed frantic at the end. Something was dreadfully wrong and every intuition pointed to Tee. At Piarco Airport, Jake used his father-in-law’s diplomatic status to meet her in Immigration. Officials prioritized her through the required stamps and within minutes, Jake led her to his car. He did not meet her eyes, not once. It was a moist night. Even the constant, cool evening breezes could not mitigate the high humidity. Sweat trickled down the side of Dee’s neck. Jake shoved her carryon into the back seat and opened the passenger door for her. She sat and buckled up, waiting for Jake do the same. Before she

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could say a word, he slapped both palms on the dashboard on either side of the steering wheel. “I have good news and bad news. Which do you want first?” Jake stared straight ahead into the blackness of the night as if Dee didn’t exist. “Bad,” she whispered. “Tee has Stage II Ovarian Cancer.” “No.” She could not breathe. The thick, clammy atmosphere bore down upon her chest. She shook her head and tears sprouted, streaming down her cheeks. “No. I won’t have it.” “The good news is she’s pregnant.” Jake’s grated laugh collapsed into a stifled sob. “Oh, Jake.” Dee threw her arms around his neck. “Not Tee.” They sat there for some time, not speaking, wet cheeks glistening. A motorcycle roared by the passenger window forcing them to acknowledge the outside world. Dee straightened, flicked off her shoes, and sat Indianstyle. “When?” “Two days ago. She went for a post-miscarriage checkup.” “What’s the prognosis?” “Good, if both ovaries are removed, and she follows up with chemo.” “The baby?” “Tee’s two months pregnant. Chemo would prove fatal to the baby.” “Are there any other options?” “Unproven homeopathic remedies. It doesn’t matter, Tee’s adamant. She wants the baby and is refusing treatment.” “I’ll help. I’m sure I can heal her.” Dee thought about Harrie and Tyler. “She doesn’t want my help, does she? Because of Harrie’s baby?” Jake nodded. He lifted his head from the steering wheel. The streetlight on the opposite row of the parking lot lit his face a ghostly white, his expression so bleak as to strike a sword into her soul. “I’m under strict orders not to talk to you. At first opportunity, Tee’s going to pick a fight with you. She’s not going to see you until the baby’s born.” The perverse coincidence of their planned actions almost sent her into hysterical laughter, but the ghoulish image of Tyler’s fragile features

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suppressed that irrational response. Raindrops hit the windshield, a large fat drop splattered in a narrow circle directly in front of her. It seeped outwards growing in diameter. “We can drug her, and I can do it while she’s unconscious.” Dee knew the suggestion was futile. He turned on the ignition. “You know we can’t do that. Although I’m sure I’ll grow desperate enough to want to try.” The vehicle moved into traffic. He hit the indicator. Tick, tick, life bleating towards a conclusion. “There may be a slim chance of Tee having the baby, and you healing her.” “Whatever it is, I’ll do it.” She vowed, and clasped his bicep. “You know that.” “When we time-traveled last year to Brodick Castle, my mother introduced us to a famous healer named Old Gwyneth. Learned men and women from many countries and centuries sought her out for cures, but she also mentored other healers, teaching them how to focus their skills.” Dee heard Jake’s unspoken plea. She closed her eyes and prayed, prayed for a chance, any chance at all to make Tee whole. “You want me to go back in time to 1501 and be mentored by Old Gwyneth?” “I know it’s a sacrifice. I don’t know how long it will take, but you’d probably have to, at the least, take a leave of absence from your position. Maybe even resign.” Jake hit the indicator again, and pulled over to the shoulder. He switched on the overhead light and shifted to look at her directly. Dee winced aloud at the anguish in his black eyes. “Frigging hell, Jake, this is Tee we’re talking about. We both love her. I’ll do it gladly. It’s no sacrifice.” His face crumpled, he nodded, once, twice, and flicked the seatbelt. It snapped back, Jake shoved the driver’s door open and bounded out of the car. He paced the length of the vehicle furiously, rubbing each shoulder to the corner of an eye. Dee heard a muffled sob, and she let her own tears fall. Cars whizzed by. Time crept forward. Eventually, he returned to the car. “Where to?”

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The engine roared to life and he eased the vehicle back onto the highway. “The Hilton, I’m staying in the suite our embassy retains year round. I’m in meetings until noon tomorrow. Do you need to see me again?” When Jake shook his head, she continued, “How do we go about this?” “I’ll show you how to use the pirate trunk my mother gave me. It will take you to Brodick Castle and my mother. How long will it take you to arrange the time off?” “I’ll go through all my outstanding matters next week and rearrange responsibilities. I’m on a project that only I can handle, Jake. Let me see how quickly I can wrap that up, and then I’ll go. Can I call you next week?” “Sure. I’m a bit of a mess tonight, Dee. It’s been a helluva couple of days. Thank you, from the bottom of my heart.” “How’s everyone doing?” She changed the subject and kept the conversation to the mundane until they arrived at the Hilton. Dee said goodbye to Jake, checked in, and made her way to the two-bedroom suite. After showering and setting the alarm, she clambered onto the high bed and snuggled under the covers, expecting not a single minute of sleep. The alarm woke her at six the following morning. Sir Arthur Flood, Henry, Clive, and Uncle Ian were at President’s House to meet her. David was conspicuously absent, but with so many details to memorize, she forgot to ask about his whereabouts. They went over the minutiae of the coming weekend and plans for the following two weekends. Clive informed them that Butch was en route to London, bound for Kabul, Afghanistan. All the tension holding Dee’s spine rigid seeped away at that tidbit of news, and she sank into the buttery leather sofa. She asked Henry for a minute of his time after the meeting. Once the others left, Dee linked her arms with her godfather’s. “It’s been so long since we’ve had any social time together, care to have lunch with your god-daughter? My treat?” Since she was a little girl, having lunch with Uncle Henry meant Dee had a secret to tell. “Certainly, my dear. Let’s inform you aunt, shall we?” Henry winked at her. “She’s usually in the gardens.” Dee waited until they stood in front of a gushing waterfall and then went straight to the point. “Uncle Henry, have you four identified a safe house?”

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He winced. “We have several prospects, but, no my dear, we have not found anything we think will suit.” “I think I may have the perfect solution,” Dee spoke softly. “You, Jake, and Douglas will be the only ones who will know where I’ll be.” “And where is that, my dear?” Henry arched a snow-white bushy eyebrow. “Brodick Castle, 1501,” Dee replied, breaking into a wide grin. A slow, rueful smile broadened her godfather’s mouth, and he erupted into a guffaw. Henry propped a foot on the fountain’s edge and slapped a thigh. “Perfect, absolutely perfect.”

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Kites, Secrets & Mentees Dee played the voicemail again. Tee was supposed to be avoiding her, not calling. She hit the speed dial button. “Hi.” “Dee?” “Jake, I received a message from your wife. She invited me over for a barbeque on Saturday,” Dee paused. “What do you want me to do?” “Come. I think Tee may be willing to listen if we both speak with her about Gwyneth.” “I’ll fly in on Saturday morning.” “Give her a call later on. She’ll expect to hear from you,” Jake suggested. “How’s Harrie?” “No change. Sorry.” “I’ll see you in a couple of days.” Dee sighed and disconnected. The message button flashed at her. She hit it, and listened to her messages. Two related to upcoming civil trials and one from Daphne about Michael’s surprise birthday party. Alex’s deep rumble began the third message, and her toes curled as she contemplated keeping it and replaying it in the wee lonely hours of the morning. “Dee, it’s me. I need to speak to you. It’s important. Call me on my cell.” Last night, she did her little thing in the cup and stuck the strip of paper in the liquid. Her heart skipped a whole track field of hurdles when the plus sign appeared. It still hadn’t really sunk in. She and Alex communicated regularly these days via email, phone calls, and even a few snail mail letters. What would this do to their budding relationship? She didn’t want him to feel obligated to her or the baby. Dee slumped onto the library sofa as the word thronged and reverberated like a machine gun spraying explosives. A baby. Never once in her life had she

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ever pictured herself as a mother. A burst of panic splintered her mind. Surely, there were parenting courses she could take. Nausea blossomed up her throat and she raced to the bathroom barely making it to the porcelain before her stomach heaved. Ten minutes later, she couldn’t decide whether her reaction was pure nervousness, hysterical hypochondria, or actual morning sickness. The phone rang, and she crawled over to the bedside table and slouched onto the bed. “Hello.” “Dee? Are you okay?” Alex’s whiskied voice proved as unsettling as the word baby. “I’m fine. What’s up?” Guilt assuaged every synapse, but she couldn’t tell him over the phone, not now, not until she had a plan. “Thought I’d take you out to lunch?” “What?” She straightened as icy shivers ran up her spine. “What do you mean, take me out to lunch? Where are you?” She bit her lip to quell the panic-stricken escalation of her voice. “I’ll be there in a few minutes. You sound hysterical. Stay put.” She stared at the portable telephone as if answers proved forthcoming from the cold, beige plastic. Dial tone pealed an accusatory warning at her shrill squeak. “Alex?” She buried her face in her hands. “Oh, God, he’s here. In Barbados. Oh frigging hell, what am I supposed to do now?” Dee sprang to her feet, took a racing step forward, halted, and whirled. “I’m a mess. Shower. Perfume. Dress.” She bounded to the bathroom on fast forward and ran through the motions. Toweling off frantically, she caught a glimpse of her naked body in the mirror and froze. Was her stomach bigger? Would he know instantly? She dragged her hands down her belly flattening it with her palms. The doorbell rang. She was alone in the house. Dee threw the walk-in closet doors open and tore through the hangers looking for something loose. She snagged article after article of clothing, discarding each one while muttering, “Frig, frig, frig.” “Dee?” His voice in her bedroom. She poked her head out, and the look on her face must have been disastrous, because the look on his was pure panic. His long stride ate up the space between them.

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“Sweetheart.” Large hands cupped her face, and blinding blue eyes raked her features, assessing each one. “What’s wrong? You look like the world’s caved in on you.” He pressed soft kisses to her jaw. “God, it’s good to see you.” “I’m naked.” And I’m pregnant. Had she said the words aloud? Yes. The stunned expression on his face told her she had, the first part anyway. “What?” Fingers tightened around her chin. He blinked. “What? So you are. Naked, that is.” His hands dropped away, and an endearing flood of pink chased his bronzed skin. He turned around. “Sorry, I’ll leave while you dress. I’ll wait downstairs. You sounded so strange on the phone, I guess I over reacted.” One hand tangled in his longish brown hair. The silken strands separated around slender copper fingers, the workings of each digit proved unbearably tantalizing, mesmerizing. It took long seconds after the door closed behind him before Dee managed movement. Torn between wanting to look good and hiding any weight gain, she chose a lilac floral sundress with a dropped v-waist, and open-toed highheeled sandals. Added height for a burst of false bravado. Winding her way down the wooden staircase, she clutched at the banister for support. He waited at the foot of the steps, cobalt gaze set on her. The air conditioned coolness threatened to smother her lungs and talons seemed to clutch at her heart, squeezing it erratically. “Hi.” An irrational shyness prevented further thought, words. He kissed her on the mouth. A slow, sweet, tortuous tasting as if she were precious nectar, only their lips touching. “Hi.” His warm cinnamon-scented breath chased butterflies across her cheek, sent embers over her mouth. His smile was pure heaven, and gentle, tentative, azure eyes tested his welcome with one lifted eyebrow. Reality crashed and splintered the moment as the telephone pealed behind him. He stepped back and turned to let her move past him. “Hello,” she said into the receiver, her eyes glued to his. For a second, she didn’t take in the recorded voice. “Telemarketer,” she murmured and let the phone fall back into place. “What’re you doing here, Alex?” “Tee and Jake invited me to their barbeque, and I thought I’d stop in and take you out for lunch.”

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“Oh.” Work, she urged her brain, think, plan, anything. She snuck a peek at him, and heat swarmed her cheeks when she caught him studying her intently. She’d never seen him like this, hesitant. Again, he raked his tousled hair. “Hell, Dee. I missed you. I wanted to see you.” A lone finger reached out and traced a searing path down one cheek to the pulse beating a furious tattoo at her collarbone. “Touch you.” A calloused thumb brushed her lower lip. “Taste you.” A glorious perfect eyebrow arched. “Dee? Say something.” “Yes.” She swayed forward, and he caught her to his hard length and nuzzled the side of her neck. “Yes, you missed me?” The pad of one finger trailed along her cheekbone. She nodded. “Yes, you wanted to see me?” A whisper of a kiss replaced his finger. A lightning strike smile captured her mouth, and she turned her face into his palm and kissed the center of his heated hand. “Yes to everything.” A dizzied enchantment broadcast the conviction of her answer through every fiber, and she hugged it close trying to contain it. “So, where am I taking you for lunch?” He entwined their fingers and pulled her down the corridor. “What do you feel like eating? Seafood, meat?” A shiver of relief hit her, and she was grateful for the casual direction the conversation veered into, because the refrain in her brain meant chasing rainbows and soaring, relentless hope, unless the magic really existed. I’m in love with him. Giddiness and a heady astonishment kept her floating above the formal marble, and the words formed a halo circling out of reach. “How about someplace we can take a walk on the beach afterwards? Where we won’t be rushed?” They stepped through the door into blazing sunshine, which blinded her for a minute. She shaded her eyes and glanced up at him, her insides deliciously warmed by the heat in his, the shocking revelation of seconds earlier a hazy veil misting anything tangible. He snapped open the door of a sprucy silver convertible and waved one hand with a flourish. “Your carriage awaits, my lady.”

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“You shouldn’t have. This will run you a mint, Alex.” Dee eyed the sparkling Bentley. “It’s a special occasion.” He jaunted into the driver’s seat, waited for her to finish hooking up her seat belt, cradled her face and kissed her, his tongue branding her mouth, fingers combing through her curls. “You’re a very special lady. And today’s for us.” He captured her lips again, raised his head and growled against her skin. “The beginning of us. I want more than friendship, Dee. How do you feel about that?” “Scared.” She swallowed, hard. “What are we doing, Alex?” Unsaid truth sluiced agonizing anxiety, and an almost overwhelming compunction to blurt out, ‘I’m having your baby,’ reeled through her mind. “I’m not promising anything,” she muttered, forcing out the harsh words. “I’m not asking for promises.” He kissed her again, a playful nipping exchange. “Not yet, anyway.” His rueful, crooked grin dallied with her pulse taking it to an erratic frenzy. It was a glorious, perfect day filled with Cinderella romance moments, tender gestures, caresses, brief devilish hints of igniting passion. After an enchanting, lingering lunch at The Cliff, Barbados’s most famous romantic spot, Alex bought a purple and orange hued dragon kite with snaking, scary tails. Hundreds of kites dotted the cloudless azure sky, a singular Bajan Easter tradition. He launched the dragon kite on a powdery glistening beach, whooping and howling as it crested silver blue waves before climbing a navy sky, threatening stratospheric breakthroughs. Two young boys followed them, cheering the kite’s ascent. When it was carefully situated, a pinpoint against blue canvas, Alex set the rope spindle in their small hands and ruffled their hair. They swept him doting glances and shrieked profuse thanks. A dusky flush stained his cheeks, and he looked aside in embarrassment. Dee planted a passionate kiss on his mouth right there and then, overwhelmed by what his action portended for their baby. The thought froze her in mid-kiss and guilt collapsed around her, making her fall into him clumsily. She landed on top of him on the beach splayed across his body. He rolled them over and time stood still when their lips met, tongues taking a languid tasting, prolonging sweet torture. In perfect harmonious unison, caresses promised, touches weaved the future. When he next raised

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his head, hazy light shadowed his features playing hide and seek with his expression. She searched his face, her mind wobbly and staggered as the moment lengthened into something ethereal, elusive, miraculous. A full moon illuminated the iridescent Atlantic Ocean as the sports coupe hugged the narrow coastline on their silent ride back to Bloom Manor. A fierce tension mounted as Dee struggled to understand what was happening between them and whether it would survive the secret she kept, must keep for a while longer. Seeing him again had cemented her decision to have the baby. And sometime during the wonder filled day, she’d decided to wait until Project Parrot was over before telling Alex about their child. When he took the key out of the ignition and the hum of the car’s engine died away, her nervousness ballooned to a thready hysteria. “What’s wrong, sweetheart?” He tilted her chin up. “It was a wonderful day,” she whispered and kept her lids lowered as a hint of moisture threatened her composure. “Thank you, Alex.” “You seem sad,” he murmured. “Did I do something to upset you?” “No.” She shook her head. “Are you coming in?” “You don’t want me to.” His hand dropped onto her shoulder. “It’s okay, sweetheart. We haven’t seen each other in weeks. I don’t expect you to jump into bed with me. Hey, Dee, look at me.” He cupped her jaw. “I want us to take it slow. I’m a big fan of delayed gratification. Are we okay?” She nodded. “Good.” He brushed her lowered eyelids and hopped over the door. “Come on,” he said and tugged her out of the car. “Where’s your key?” She dug around in her purse and found it. Alex took it, opened the door, leaned one shoulder on the frame, and touched a fingertip to her mouth. “Sleep tight. I want to hear you lock the door before I leave. I spoke with Jake before booking my trip. I’m on the same flight as you in the morning. I’ll pick you up at nine, okay?” “Alex,” she began, but stopped when his fingers firmed against her lips. “Don’t,” he said, and shook his head. “’Night, Dee.” Her conscience reared like a bull bucking off a rodeo cowboy. Dousing the lights one by one, she trudged up the stairs, each step growing heavier and her soul wearier. What had prompted Alex to make this trip? He’d given her no warning, she hadn’t a hint as to his intentions, never expected him to show up. This last nightmare week had wreaked havoc and normality now

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seemed a distant cousin. It had taken the whole week to work up the courage to take the pregnancy test. Even though the outcome was certain, she’d refused to contemplate the future, the changes to her ordered world. Unsteady from hearing the almost fatal outcome of Tee’s illness, she’d approached David and Sir Arthur with a change in the plans for Project Plucked Parrot. Neither man welcomed her accelerated timing. Both agreed to it only after Dee informed them she would go ahead with or without their co-operation. Needless to say, two unhappy males waited for her in Trinidad. Certain Clive Newel would balk at the changes to his plans, and since he was in Jakarta and incommunicado, she persuaded them not to communicate with him. Last weekend, at Parrot’s Retreat, she made hot chocolate for Alain on Saturday evening, and he slept like a baby through the night. Dee explored the mansion, located the safe, and took a video sweep of each and every room. Flood’s team was pleased with the results, and so was she. Then Alain called on Wednesday his voice so nasal and hoarse she barely recognized it. Psyched for the coming weekend, for a few seconds she was angry with him for being sick. Every day since then, scheduled events morphed daily with her substituting and adjusting frantically. When it appeared Alain wouldn’t be well enough to meet her at the luxurious villa this weekend, they reluctantly cancelled her trip. Now, here it was Friday night and she was indeed flying to Trinidad in the morning. With Alex. The following morning, Dee grimaced at her reflection in the mirror over the bathroom sink. The bags under her eyes accentuated purple shadows from a night spent tossing and turning in her large canopied bed. When sleep claimed her around two-thirty, images of bloody ghoulish specters burned beneath her eyelids, and she woke to retching nausea. Halfway through a particularly violent spasm, the telephone rang. Head buried in white porcelain, she’d let the machine handle it. A cup of soothing, fragrant Earl Grey calmed her roller coaster stomach to the point where she felt almost human again, but definitely not feminine and attractive. Nerves jangled as she played the voicemail. Alex’s chipper, deep-timbered morning greeting exacerbated an already vociferous conscience, and she vacillated between never wanting to face him again and desperately craving the comforting shelter of his arms. The voicemail

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message repeated, asking her if she wanted to hear the message again or delete it. Dee hit the delete button. She’d stored Alex’s mobile number in her directory months ago when he’d phoned to tell her Tee was safe and living temporarily with Jake’s family at Brodick Castle in 1501. Dee had deliberately kept him on the phone asking how they time traveled for the simple pleasure of listening to his smoky drawl as he explained the miniature trunk Douglas Graham sent for Jake was magical. Lady Elaine, Jake’s Elfish mother, designed the trunk after her relatives spirited her newborn son away. When Jake opened it, he and his family were re-united at Brodick Castle in the year 1501, with Tee and Alex along for the ride. She shook her head to clear the fog enshrouding her brain, which gave her a dulled slow motion viewpoint on the world. The doorbell pealed precisely at nine, and it irritated her, his habitual precise punctuality. His handsome features beamed sunny good cheer, and he swept her into a thorough, passionate embrace, coaxing away fear and dejection. They barely made it to the gate on time. Disheveled, bemused and more than a little overwhelmed, she took the seat next to his. Alex dominated the twenty-minute plane ride, cocooning her possessively, twining their fingers together, feeding her bits of toast and marmalade, and sneaking soft kisses. She’d climbed on the scale that morning and was aghast to discover a ten-pound weight gain. Eschewing jeans, she picked the loosest sundress in her closet, a scooped neck violet and white print with a short-sleeved matching jacket. They collected the rental car Alex arranged and headed down the highway to St. Ann’s. “You’re quiet today, Dee.” He snagged her hand at a traffic light and kissed her palm. “Am I moving too fast?” “You have to admit, it seems rather sudden.” “And or but?” “What?” She touched his shoulder. “The light’s green.” “Your tone of voice usually precedes an and or a but. Is something bothering you?” “What do you want from me?” “This is hardly the time or place for a serious discussion.”

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“You started it,” Dee muttered, annoyance rising. “Why are you with me?” “I want to be with you. I told you in April, I think we have something special and I want to see where it will go.” He tunneled his fingers through his hair. “I know we started off badly, and you have no idea how much I regret not being honest with you.” Another red light. He captured her hand again and nibbled the tips of her fingers, one by one. “No more lies between us, Dee. I want us to date with a commitment in mind. I think I’d enjoy waking up next to you every morning, and I’m looking forward to the day I can do that. I know it’s too soon to discuss moving in together, but I’ve begun re-arranging my practice. I could easily run my law firm from Barbados. You’re shocked,” he stated, and flashed his crooked grin. “Never thought I could shock Desdemona Bloom, Attorney General.” She risked a glance, and his somber, intense expression chilled an arctic circle around her heart. Alex didn’t know about Tee. Jake hadn’t told him. Another secret, another vital puzzle piece she had to withhold. Every word he said speared a hole in her chest. Honesty, commitment, no more lies. Her lie of omission about the baby hung like a hurricane with undecided direction. They arrived at Jake and Tee’s house. Dee hopped out of the car and pressed the gate buzzer, and instead of getting back in, she pasted a grin on her face and waved Alex forward. He shot her a worried dart and drove the car up the driveway. The barbeque was well underway. Everyone from J’Ouvert morning was there. Jake took Dee straight to the porch. Tee grabbed Alex and had him moving around tables before he could even voice greetings. Good humored ribbing met her ears, and she replied in kind before Jake guided her to a secluded corner. “We’ll talk tomorrow. I think Tee will listen to my idea about Gwyneth.” “Really? Why the change of heart?” “Long story, but I’m grateful for it, whatever the cause.” He kissed her cheek. “Keep your fingers crossed for us.” “Of course.” The others hadn’t noticed Dee and Alex had arrived together. She dove conversationally into an animated group, and Michael automatically handed her a glass of red wine. She fumbled for an excuse.

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“I’ve a bit of headache.” She gave him back the glass. “I’ll see if Tee can brew me a cup of tea.” She made her way to the kitchen. Tee and Linda were busy setting food on platters. “Dee.” Tee wiped her hands on a green and white checkered dishtowel and hugged her. “You haven’t called for a long while. I’ve been worried about you.” She held Dee away from her. “You look tired. Are they working you to the bone?” “Something like that. It’s good to see you, Cupcake.” She kissed her friend’s soft cheek. Exhaustion lined the corners of Tee’s eyes, and she was paler than normal. “You’re tired too. I can tell. Let me help.” “No, Linda and I have everything under control. Go. Socialize.” “I came in for a cup of tea. I’ll help myself.” Jake meandered into the kitchen, his features stoic, but Dee noticed he studied his wife’s face and posture intently. He whispered something in Tee’s ear, and she flashed him irritated grimace and said. “I’m fine. Don’t worry. Take Dee outside, and make her socialize, Jake. I swear she’s becoming a hermit. It’s that damned job.” “Orders, Dee.” Jake cupped a hand under her elbow and murmured. “She says I’m hovering too much. If I stay, she’ll get vexed. I have Linda watching her closely. She’ll get me if necessary. Bring your mug of tea with you, and let’s leave her for a while.” “She looks tired,” Dee said, as they walked down the hallway. “Has she seen a doctor?” “Yes, we’ll speak about it tomorrow.” Jake’s onyx irises merged with his dilated pupils. Before he finished his sentence, they stepped onto the patio. Her feet refused to budge when Alex casually strode in her direction and draped a possessive arm around her shoulder. “Making a statement?” One of Jake’s dark eyebrows quirked. “Yes. Have something to say?” Alex’s deep baritone crawled into her soul, and his fingers cupped her shoulder firmly. For a second, no words could get past the molten lump of tears constricting her throat. She was afraid if she spoke, they’d spill down her cheeks. Whereas the last time they saw each other, she’d felt numb, distant, now conflicting emotions slammed through her, desire, need, and a strange tenderness as she studied the father of her baby.

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“Alex.” Dee finally managed. “Don’t.” She covered his fingers with one hand and squeezed lightly. He frowned and shot a glance at Jake, a question in his brilliant blue eyes. She shook her head. “I’m not sure if I approve of the two of you hooking up.” A fierce slash formed a V between Jake’s eyebrows. “No one wins if it doesn’t work out.” “Not your choice or your business. I’d suggest you bide your time and not jump to conclusions.” As if to punctuate his words, Alex tilted her chin up and kissed her soundly, full on the lips. When she lifted her shuttered lids, the stare of curious onlookers sent shivery tingles across her flesh. Michael’s pointed scowl made her sigh. Alex glanced at her mug and raised an eyebrow. “No wine?” “Tea,” she said defensively. “I’ve a bit of a headache.” “It must have come on suddenly,” sarcasm laced his voice. “Alex, please.” They spoke like strangers. She knuckled the sharp sting at her temples. Michael swept in to the rescue. “Dee, I have a friend who needs a real estate lawyer in Barbados. Who can you recommend?” As he spoke, Michael edged her over to the rattan sofa and engaged her in a focused conversation about Barbadian lawyers. Jake led Alex over to the bar. The other women gathered around the buffet table set up at the end of the porch. Her stomach rumbled a hungry complaint. Dee made a beeline for the food and piled a plate high. She and Michael settled on a loveseat halfway down the length of the patio. “I think Dee’s boobs are bigger.” Rosie nudged Daphne. “Is that even possible?” Daphne grabbed their used paper napkins a second before they took flight in the wind and scrunched them into a ball. “No doubt, she’s put on weight, but hell, who wouldn’t with the amount she has on her plate? A half a rack of ribs, one chicken breast, and she almost fought Michael for that last piece of blackened salmon.” Dee heard every word. She gave them the finger. “Don’t you talk about my best friend that way,” Tee wriggled between the two women and pursed her lips at them. “She’s working too hard and not

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getting any of her usual exercise, that’s all. Although I must admit, I really didn’t think it was possible for her breasts to get any bigger.” Dee glanced down at the loose sundress and realized how ineffectual it proved as a disguise for her weight gain. She sighed. Her stomach growled again and she wolfed down her food, finishing every morsel. When Dee looked up, Alex’s piercing blue eyes met hers. The moment stretched out and still, he gazed at her. “Finished?” Michael asked. Dee shifted to him breaking away from Alex’s spell. “Yes.” “Thank God, I thought you were going to eat the plate, too.” Michael gathered her dinnerware under his and strode away. A solid cover of smoky gray clouds blanketed the sky. The steady dripping of a gentle rainfall murmured across the patio, mingling with the strains of a David Rudder calypso. The air held the green smell of freshly mowed grass. Seated at the edge of the porch near the dwarf gardenia plant, the white and yellow flowers released a sweet fragrance, teasing Dee’s nostrils, but not in a pleasant flirting. Sourness filled her throat and nausea threatened. “Cigar, buddy?” Jake waved a fat stogie at Alex. As soon as he lit the bloody cigar, she raced to the powder room, not even capable of making it to the guest bedroom. Dee emptied the contents of her stomach, and washed out her mouth. She pulled a Kleenex out of the gray rectangular container and wiped her lips with shaky fingers. “Dee, are you okay?” Alex. She groaned into her hands. He repeated his soft question. Knowing Alex’s stubborn bent, Dee realized she needed to answer him. “I’m terrific, Alex. Go away.” “I’m waiting right here for you.” She took one look at her reflection and squeezed her eyes shut. A bat out of hell looked better. Dee scowled and with slow, reluctant movements opened the door. Alex shot her a glance, scooped her up, and ate up the distance to the guest room.

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“Put me down.” The strain of keeping so many secrets chipped away at her resolve, and Dee relaxed, burrowing her nose into his linen shirt. He smelled so good, woodsy, and musky. “In a minute, as soon as we reach the guest room.” Alex set her on the bed. “Were you just sick to your stomach?” “Cigar smoke bothers me sometimes,” Dee answered. “I’m fine now.” “I don’t remember that at Carnival. Obviously, Jake doesn’t know either. Sweetheart, what’s wrong? You’re very quiet today and even before we boarded the plane, you seemed ill. Are you coming down with a stomach flu?” She couldn’t do this, couldn’t sit there and pretend everything was hunky dory. She grabbed the first thought entering her mind. “It’s that time of the month. Do you mind if I lie down for a while?” The brazen lie scored a ragged wound in her center. Of all the lies, why fix on this one, it only served to compound the confusing web of her deceit. His bronzed skin stained a deep crimson and he patted her awkwardly on the back. “Should I ask Tee to come in?” “No,” she said and shook her head. “There’s Midol in the bathroom. I’ll take a couple of pills and lie down.” He grazed her cheek with his knuckles and brushed a kiss on her forehead. “Lie down. I’ll bring the pills and a glass of water.” Five minutes later, she watched him edge the door shut shooting her a worried glance before his face disappeared. For the second time in recent months, Dee broke down and sobbed. She bawled her heart out, crying inconsolably and not even sure what caused her tears. Misery, guilt and uncertainty dogged every muffled sob, and hiccups marked the end of her outburst. She managed to repair her face with fresh make up. But she didn’t want to see Alex again and remained in the guest room curled up in a wicker chaise lounge, hugging a fat, squishy pillow wallowing in self-pity and dejection. Tee knocked on the door, and asked, “Can I come in?” “Sure, door’s open,” she answered. “Is something wrong?” Her face wore a puzzled, concerned expression. “No, not feeling particularly social, that’s all.” Dee forced the corners of her mouth up, hoping it passed as a smile.

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“It’s Alex, isn’t it? His being here has upset you. I didn’t invite him. Honestly, I had no idea he was coming.” “I came with him, Tee. He and I spent the day together yesterday in Barbados.” Dee figured she had to come clean, or Tee would niggle at her until she revealed too much. She sighed and launched into a shadowed explanation. “He came to visit me in April and he apologized about Beverley. We’ve been communicating, emails, phone calls. Yesterday, he showed up and took me out to lunch. He says he wants a relationship with a commitment in mind. Oh hell, Cupcake, why am I bothering you with all this? You’re the one we should be concentrating on. I’ve been so worried since Jake told me about the cancer. I promise you I’ll find a way to heal you.” “Shush, darling. Stop. We’re going to talk about that tomorrow. Today, I refuse to think about it. Okay? I think you and Alex could be great together. I know you’ve always dreamed of being Attorney General, but you can have both—can’t you?” A few more tears escaped, Dee sniffed, grabbed a couple of Kleenex, and stabbed them at her eyes. “I don’t even know if I want that anymore. Blasted, frigging hell. I hate being confused. I wish things had stayed the same. He’s so damned nice to me. We flew kites yesterday and talked. It was like I was living someone else’s romantic dream. I hate feeling like this. All fluttery and betwixt and between, like I’m riding a fine line and everyone’s waiting for me to fall and break my neck.” “Oh, darling.” Tee hugged her fiercely. “You’re in love, and you don’t even recognize the symptoms.” Her mouth twitched at the corners as she pulled back and stared at Dee. “I have to admit, I kind of like this, seeing you unsure for the first time in your life.” “Well, if this is love. It stinks.” Dee glowered at her friend and wished her to the dickens and immediately guilt flooded her mind at the hasty thought. “Did you feel like this with Jake? One minute I’m mooning over the man, and the next I want to kick him in the butt. If that’s love, then Hollywood’s sure led us down the garden path and slammed the door in our faces.” “Has he asked you to marry him?”

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“Are you nuts? Frig, Tee. I can barely get used to the idea of us having a relationship. Marriage is out of the question. And he hasn’t mentioned a word, thank God. I have my position to consider.” “You just said you weren’t sure you wanted it anymore.” “I didn’t say I was ready to give up my dreams,” she snapped. “I need time to think. Time without Alex. It’s difficult to be rational when he’s around. And there’s still that thing with Beverly in the back of my mind. Alex and I are so different. He’s addicted to material things, his frigging, precious Rolex. And you saw Beverly. She’s tall and thin. No hips. And I’ve put on ten pounds. “ “Sometimes you’re incredibly naive, Desdemona Bloom. You’re still fighting your feelings for him, but he isn’t, not anymore.” A saucy grin peppered Tee’s lips. “I left Alex trying to persuade Jake to call the doctor. He’s eaten up with worry about you, and he’s chomping at the bit. I wouldn’t be surprised if there’s a ring burning a hole in his pocket.” Dee’s mouth slackened into a moue of protest, her lips opened and closed, but no words came out. “You’re speechless.” Tee cupped a hand over her mouth, but chortles spilled out. “Dee Bloom speechless. Oh God, I wish I had a video camera.” Dee inhaled, ready to let out a stream of self-righteous explanations when a whiff of Tee’s rose perfume reached her nostrils. She pinched the bridge of her nose, hoping to stem the rising nausea. “You’re imagination is running wild. I’m not speechless, and Alex doesn’t have a ring in his pocket. For a sick woman you sure know how to torment someone else. Oh Jesus, I’m sorry Tee, I shouldn’t have said that. Cancer isn’t funny.” “At least it’s an honest reaction. I’m tired of Jake tiptoeing around me, afraid to let me see how scared he is. Every time I look up, I catch a look of sheer desperation in his eyes, as if I’m already dead.” “Tee?” “Shush, I’m not going there. Not today. Why don’t you curl up and grab a few winks? I’ll keep the others away including Alex.” “That’s not a bad idea. I didn’t sleep very well last night.” Dee let the pillow fall away and edged out of the chair. She threw open the French doors grateful for the fresh air. “Something else is bothering you,” Tee commented. “Earlier this week, I overheard Uncle Ian and David having a heated conversation, and they

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mentioned your name several times along with Butch’s. What’s up your sleeve, Dee?” The rain continued, and a gust blew droplets on her upturned face. “Nothing. You must have not heard correctly. Uncle Ian, Tee? He’s been retired for the past five years in case it slipped your notice.” “He’s ex MI5, and as he’s so fond of saying, spies never retire, they die or they disappear. Your poker face is slipping, darling. If it weren’t for your promise to return to 1501, I’d start worrying right away. You have that stubborn set to your jaw, and you won’t look me in the eyes. I’ve enough to worry about, Dee. Promise me you won’t do anything rash as far as Butch’s concerned. Promise.” “You’ve nothing to worry about, I promise. Now, go back to your guests, and let me get some rest.” She stepped back and played with a musical jewelry box on the dresser. “Say the words.” “I promise I won’t do anything rash about Butch.” Carefully laid plans could not be in any way construed as rash actions. Dee opened the box, and the strains of, ‘Somewhere My Love,’ played as a miniature ballerina twirled. “We’ve never had secrets, but I think you’re keeping some dark ones now.” “This is getting us nowhere, Tee.” She snapped the lid of the jewelry box shut, cutting off the ballerina’s dance. “Can you make my excuses to the others? I really am not feeling well. I need some rest.” For a long minute, Tee searched Dee’s features. She blew out an exasperated breath, scooted forwards, and hugged her. Dee’s lower lip quivered, and she bit it hard hoping the pain would stop the tears. “Don’t worry, Cupcake, I’ll pull through.” Dee whispered, and she squeezed Tee tightly. “You are not to worry about me anymore. Promise, no matter what happens?” Tee pulled back a few inches and gazed into Dee’s eyes. Willing herself calm, Dee met her gaze. Whatever Tee saw must have been enough to allay her concerns. She kissed Dee’s cheek and said, “Night Dee. I love you. We all do. Don’t forget that.”

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Those parting words soothed away some of her agitation. She swallowed three pills before realizing they were the PM kind, and within twenty minutes slumber claimed her consciousness. Jake cooked pancakes for breakfast in the morning. Tee took one look at them and ran from the table. Dee wanted to follow her, but swallowed the bile in her throat. “I guess that wasn’t a good idea.” Jake collected Tee’s plate. Dee gave him her own, too. “Let me make her a cup of tea,” she suggested. “Where’s Alex?” She followed Jake into the kitchen. “He’s staying at the Hilton.” “Who’s idea was that?” “You were fast asleep, and Alex didn’t want to wake you. We both agreed it might be better if he stayed at the Hilton.” “Was he upset?” “No, more frustrated than anything else. Do you know what you’re doing getting involved with Alex again?” “Nope. But, I’m not worried about Beverly.” “Or anyone else?” Jake lifted an eyebrow. “You know him better than almost anyone else. Should I be?” “No. Alex is a one woman man. I’ll be honest. I’ve never seen a woman last more than a few weeks, but when he’s with a woman, he’s focused entirely on her. That answer your question?” “Yes. Time to focus on Tee. What’s up?” “I told Tee you know everything, and I also told her about my idea. I think she’ll agree to try it. Go easy on her. She cries at the drop of a hat these days.” “Hormones,” Dee explained, remembering her tearful sobbing the day before. “I heard that, Desdemona Bloom. I’ll have you know, being pregnant is not as wonderful as I thought it would be.” “Sorry, Cupcake.” Dee hugged her around the waist. “How about a cuppa?” “Just what I need.” She smiled. As Dee poured the fragrant steaming liquid into a teacup, she continued. “Jake told me about you going back to 1501. Dee—”

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“Hush, not another word.” Dee cut her off and continued rapidly, “Before you begin, let me say my piece. You couldn’t stop me from doing it if you tried. I’ve already arranged everything. The government believes I’m going to a safe house to prepare for Butch’s trial, and they don’t expect me to return to office for several months. My career will not be affected.” “You always contract the illness or the injury you’re healing. What if you get my cancer?” “That’s the whole point of returning to 1501. To learn from Old Gwyneth how to control my talent.” “Promise me, you won’t chance it if you don’t think it will work.” Dee simply looked at Tee. “Cupcake, how can you ask me that? If the positions were reversed, could I stop you from helping me?” For long moments, the question hung in the air, and then both Dee and Tee began crying and hugging each other, and murmuring a constant barrage of indecipherable phrases. Jake watched until both women threw themselves at him, and sandwiched him in a fierce embrace. He prayed, aloud. The Lord’s Prayer had an amazing ability to soothe, Dee decided. The phone rang, interrupting the special moment. Jake answered. “Mathews speaking. Hi, buddy. Where are you?” Tee started the toast going. Dee listened to Jake and Alex’s conversation. “When does your flight leave?” Alex was at the airport. Rejection and hurt curled her fingers and her nails dug into her palms. “Okay, buddy. It sure was good to see you again. You didn’t have to stay in a hotel last night. I hoped you’d stay, and we could smoke a couple cigars and polish off a bottle of single malt.” “Jake, let me have that phone.” Tee held out her hand. She wriggled her fingers, “Come on, now.” Her husband gave her the phone. “Alex Mayfield, I know your flight isn’t until this afternoon. Get in the car and be here in ten minutes. I’m making brunch, and I won’t take no for an answer.” Dee held her breath. “Good. You made the right decision,” Tee said.

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“Here, darling.” Tee gave the phone back. “Won’t you be sick again if you cook?” “Actually, I only throw up once every morning. After that I’m fine.” “Lucky you,” Dee muttered. “What?” “Nothing, Cupcake. Want me to lay the table?” “Please, outside on the porch.” As Dee finished setting the last knife in place, the gate opened. This brunch promised to be primitive torture. Alex did not go into the kitchen as she expected. Instead he strode straight onto the patio. Her toe ring jingled in time to the flip-flopping in her stomach. “Good morning, sweetheart. How’re you feeling today?” He brushed her lips fleetingly. A peculiar tension strung the air taut. “Alex.” Sunlight silvered the gray in his hair. “If this is uncomfortable for you, I’ll leave.” “No, it’s okay. Stay.” She managed a smile. “Why does everything feel different today?” “You tell me. Are you sure you’re not coming down with something? Jake said you slept straight through. That’s over twelve hours.” He wore a Mayfield Magics t-shirt. She slept as often as she could in the one he’d given her on J’Ouvert morning. “What?” “Sorry.” Dee gazed at him. “I’m just tired and a little over emotional. Can we slow things down a little, Alex? Give me a couple of weeks to adjust to this,” she said, gesturing awkwardly. “What are you saying exactly?” He folded his arms over his chest, and his brow furrowed. “Let things go back to the way they were. You know, emails, calls.” “You don’t want to see me in person.” His harsh accusation made her jerk backwards. “It’s not that. I have a rough couple of weeks coming up, and I may be sequestered with the legal team for about ten days. I can’t make a commitment until that’s over.” “Sweetheart, why didn’t you say that in the first place?” he grumbled, reached over and pulled her against him. His mouth descended, and a heated

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tangle of tongues blurred thoughts and reactions until she melted, joints buckling in sheer bliss. “Morning, Dee.” He bussed the tip of her nose. She bent down, scrambled the napkins she’d let fall, and sighed. “You’re staring at my chest. Do I have ketchup or something?” “Jake told me about your pee wee league.” Dee pointed at the t-shirt, grateful for the unplanned distraction. “How old are the kids?” “Just turned five or halfway to six. It’s the most relaxing thing in the world coaching soccer for that age group.” “Why?” Dee wrinkled her nose. “It’s hilarious.” Alex grinned at her. “They’re so pleased when they make contact with the ball that they stop dead and search for their parents. They wear this, did you see that Dad, look.” “I guess they’re not too coordinated at that age,” Dee mused. “That’s an understatement, believe me. Though the girls are usually better, and that so galls the boys.” She glanced up from fiddling with a napkin to find his eyes fixed on her. Tee swept outside with a platter in each arm, and Jake followed with another. The smell of cooked bacon and toasted bread preceded them. The morning sunlight edged the wrought iron fence, and leaves brushed the white paint, their surfaces dappling in the wind. The smell of freshly brewed coffee wafted to Dee’s nostrils. “Coffee, thank God.” She hurried to pour a cup from the machine on the buffet table. “How are the lads, buddy?” Jake asked. He deposited his tray and helped Tee with hers. “Toran’s enjoying the part-time work with the security company. Jarlath’s interning with my firm. Bran managed to snag a fall job with NASA, and Athairne’s decided to go straight semesters to graduate faster. Quinn’s joined the UFC, which I’m opposed to, so we’re having some heated discussions these days.” “Sit guys.” Tee waved a hand. They all complied. “Mexican scrambled eggs, spicy sausages, honey bacon, English muffins, and bagels. For you, Dee, tomatoes, onions, and mushrooms over kippers.”

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Lately, fish held no appeal. “Thanks. That headache from last night is still with me. I’ll stick to coffee and a muffin. Sorry, Cupcake, I should have told you.” The shock on Tee’s face made her scuttle for a distraction. “What strange names. Who are these lads?” “They’re St. Michael’s graduates. Alex mentors them while they’re in college,” Jake answered. “What’s the UFC, and why do you disapprove?” “Ultimate Fighting Championship,” Alex explained, as he heaped a mound of eggs onto his plate. “They fight without equipment, and there are no rules. It’s a mixed martial arts style of fighting. Have you seen the Brad Pitt movie, Fight Club?” Jake nodded. “It’s loosely based on that.” He added ten rashers of bacon and ten sausages to his plate. “You can see why I disapprove.” Dee stared at his plate. “No wonder you made so much, Cupcake, you anticipated Alex’s appetite.” Alex’s complexion glowed with rosy color. “I’m hungry. I didn’t eat last night.” “Why not, Alex? There was lots of food.” Tee sounded affronted. “I lost my appetite.” He met Dee’s eyes. “You’ve certainly regained it.” “Don’t tease, Dee,” Jake reprimanded. “I eat the same way. While St. Michael’s was a great environment for us, it was always short of funds. Food was stretched every which way possible. Usually, you pinched your nose and ate.” “I made Alex’s favorites,” Tee volunteered. “I like feeding him. It’s gratifying. Eat up.” She grinned. One foot in mouth. Dee tried to make up for her insensitive comment. “Your lads, are they mentorees?” She wrinkled her nose. Alex shrugged and nodded. “They have strange names.” “The lads were newborns when they arrived at St. Michaels,” Alex replied. “All five arrived around the same time. Our Priests are Scottish with a penchant for Gaelic names.” Other foot in mouth. They must have given the boys their surnames too, Dee realized. She glanced at Alex.

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As if he read her mind he said, “I had a note pinned to my clothes with my name on it. Alexander Mayfield. They found me in a church. I was five months old.” Dee wished the earth would open up and swallow her whole. Everything turned topsy-turvy in less than a moment. Alex the arrogant, named by a note, mentoring college kids, coaching a peewee league, and loving it. “Did you ever….” Dee trailed off. “Try to find my birth parents?” His tone was soft, gentle. Dee nodded. “Every orphan does at some point in time.” Alex shrugged. “It’s an irresistible urge. I don’t know why it is that you feel compelled to find the people who didn’t want you, but you do.” The phone rang. “I’ll get it.” Dee flew out of her seat before anyone could react. She raced to the kitchen. It was a telemarketer. She had to tell Alex about the baby...after Plucked Parrot finished, Dee resolved and wished she’d hadn’t claimed menstrual cramps as an excuse yesterday.

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The Amber Room “I love this setting.” Dee smiled at Jake. “It’s so tropical. The Verandah is my favorite lunchtime Trini restaurant. It’s the perfect setting, an eighteenth century French Creole plantation house and this wonderful courtyard. Of course, the terrific food only accentuates the leisurely ambiance.” “Here, this is for you.” He slid a royal blue velvet pouch knotted with a gold rope along the table. “What is it?” “The trunk. Tee’s three months along, and she’s weaker every day. It’s an effort for her to get out of bed.” He tugged on his earlobe. “It’s killing me.” “I re-arranged everything last week. I’m set to go to Brodick Castle next weekend.” Dee stroked the back of his broad hand. “I wish I knew how long I have to be there, in 1501, I mean. I promise, Jake, I’ll come back as soon as I can.” “Thank you, Dee.” He gulped down some water. “I put a locket with a miniature of my mother in the pouch. The way the trunk works is as follows. You open it and say the words that are carved into the underside. It’ll take you to Elaine wherever she is. I included a phonic interpretation of the Gaelic phrase. It’s takes a little while to master it. Practice till you feel comfortable. If you don’t say the right words, you’ll end up wherever and whenever you’re thinking about.” “What do you mean?” “If Jack the Ripper and London are in your thoughts, you’ll end up in London’s East End circa 1888 and probably close to one of the murders you’ve read about.” “That’s a tad scary. I mean it sounds simple enough, but what if something goes wrong and I end up someplace else?”

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“If you repeat the phrase correctly, you should be fine. If you mispronounce something, don’t panic, just try again. One thing, though, if someone else is with you when you open the trunk, they’ll be along for the ride.” He opened his menu and snapped it shut. “Do you mind if I skip lunch? I’m not hungry.” “Of course not. I have a full schedule this afternoon, and grabbing a bite at my desk will make things easier. I’ll get something from the nearest drive thru.” Dee rose and slipped the napkin onto the table. She put the pouch in her purse, and Jake walked her to the car. She spent the afternoon at the Barbadian Embassy focused on minor legislative issues. Her last meeting finished before five and within minutes, she headed to the north coast highway. David and Sir Arthur, the only members of the team who knew of her newest change to the Plucked Parrot’s plan, both called with advice and warnings before she reached the world’s largest traffic circle, the Savannah. As she wound her way around Trinidad’s version of central park, Dee left a voicemail on Henry Inglefield’s private line, informing him she’d be time traveling too Brodick Castle at the conclusion of the weekend. Friday afternoon traffic snarled the streets leading out of Port of Spain, the capital of Trinidad. Frustrated commuters blared horns, and the occasional shouted argument erupted until she hit the quiet of the suburbs and minutes later, the rural mountainous majesty of the Northern Range. A single lane road cut a narrow swath through virgin equatorial forest intermingled with evergreen tropical pine on the left and muddied chestnut cliffs on the right. The journey to Parrot Retreat’s gates took less than half an hour minutes. Once through security the scenery morphed, the cliffs now made of innumerable shades of blue-gray dappled shale. Yellow orchid flowers trailed down the azure stones, glimmering in the golden dusk light. Dee rounded a ninety-degree bend, and the peninsula housing Butch’s vacation home came into view with the Atlantic Ocean as a thrashing backdrop. Twenty minutes of mountain driving exhausted her energy. Her vehicle stuttered up the steep, winding asphalt as she struggled with the unfamiliar clutch. Communication with the rest of the Plucked Parrot team had been curtailed to a minimum for the last three weeks, but David informed her Butch was still in Thailand, and Clive remained

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incommunicado somewhere in the Far East. The feeling of unease plaguing Dee since leaving Port of Spain acclerated exponentially with each u-turn. She gripped the steering wheel and stabbed the window button. The glass squeaked as it rolled down, and she inhaled slowly, filling her lungs with the comforting aroma of pine mingled with the tacky salt of the sea. Her fingers tapped in time to the beat of, ‘Six Feet from the Edge.’ The concrete fortress that was Parrot’s Retreat loomed ahead flanked by rocky cliffs dropping forty feet to white crested waves pounding slick jagged boulders. Dee decreased her foot’s pressure on the accelerator and angled the vehicle to the right. The car backfired when she stepped on the brake. The sound echoed around the narrow horseshoe bay, mimicking an Al Capone mob-hit. Alain’s Bug screeched to a halt besides her. A fanciful pair of canary antennae bordering the top of its windshield jerked back and forth when he slammed the door shut. “I love this place.” Alain lifted his head and flung open his arms in a wide embrace. “Don’t you?” He sprinted to her car, opened the door, lifted Dee out of the car, and spun her around and around. “You’re making me dizzy.” She grabbed his bulky shoulders and held on for dear life. “Put me down, Alain. We need to unpack the groceries.” “Did you bring marshmallows?” Alain complied with her order and set Dee down as if he were placing a leaf on a cloud. “You bet,” she said, smiling at him. “Come on, let’s get inside. I think we may be in for a storm tonight.” She pointed upwards. “Those black clouds are racing across the sky.” A vicious gust nose-dived over the wide promontory. Dee’s flared cotton skirt swooped and swished, and her curls lashed the skin on her face. “Let’s hurry, Alain, rain’s coming.” Fat, heavy raindrops splattered the balcony in front of the kitchen as they unpacked the groceries. “We made it in just in time,” she remarked and stared out the sliding glass doors. “It’s only been raining five minutes, and already the balcony’s covered in water.”

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Behind her, Alain giggled. Two large, orange-scented palms covered both of her eyes. “Close your eyes Dee, I have a surprise.” His gruff pronouncement ended in a high-pitched squeal. “Keep ‘em shut. No peeking.” His hands left her eyes, and she heard the slap of his flip-flops on the tiled floor, a heavy thud, and then ripping sounds. Alain loved surprises, both receiving them and giving them. “You can open now,” he crowed gleefully. A beautiful cake in the shape of a palace sat on the antiseptic kitchen countertop, a detailed miniature with three blue panes on either side of the main entrance. Two, two-storied sections flanked the main three-storied structure. “Do you like it? Huh, Dee, do you like it?” “It’s beautiful.” The cake blurred and she blinked rapidly to clear her vision, wondering for the zillionth time how a monster like Butch Reniere could father such a gentle bear. “I love it.” She tiptoed and threw her arms around Alain’s neck. “It’s absolutely perfect. Thank you.” “It’s a Russian Palace, Tsarskoe Selo, the summer palace of Tsarina Elizabeth.” Alain beamed at her. “One of the rooms is The Amber Room, inside it’s yellow. See? It’s hollow here.” Dee peeked. It was indeed hollow, and inside, the icing was a lovely brownish yellow. She frowned. “How come you picked this?” “You don’t like it,” he wailed. “No. I love it, I do. I’m curious, that’s all. It’s a brilliant choice. How did you think of it?” He shuffled his feet. “You can tell me. We share secrets, remember?” Alain’s face lit up and he relaxed. “I heard Papa telling an important friend of his that it was the eighth Wonder of the World. The Amber Room, not the palace.” “How lovely,” she said. “I’m sure no one else has ever received the eighth Wonder of the World as a birthday present. Thank you.” “See.” His club of a finger pointed at the rooftop. “It says, Happy Birthday Dee, love Alain & Mimi.”

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“Thank you, Alain. It’s the prettiest cake I’ve ever had.” She kissed his cheek. “Shall we stick it after dinner?” “Okay.” His shoulders slumped, and he let out an audible sigh, his hazel eyes glued to the cake. “You have a shower, and I’ll cook us dinner. Then we cut the cake and open the presents. Is that a plan?” “Okay.” Without another word, he whirled out the room. Dee stared at his receding form. Alain’s complex nature never ceased to surprise her even after all these years of friendship. Autism wound its way around synapses, twisting his brain’s functions unpredictably. On the one hand, he was a brilliant pianist able to replay a tune after hearing it only once. Yet anything out of his normal routine terrified him, and colloquialism and slang baffled him. He took everything literally. The Amber Room, now why would Butch even know about that? Dee wondered. Reniere was definitely not the type to be interested in history, unless he could turn a profit from it. She shrugged away the thought. Time to focus on Plucked Parrot plans. Her kitchen disasters had proved legendary, so as a precaution she draped paper towels over the icing palace in case anything spattered while dinner broiled. Dinner was halfway done before Alain re-appeared. “Where were you?” She smiled at him and gingerly eased the oven door of the stainless steel stove shut. His grin proved infectious; it lit up every feature on his face. He hugged his hands behind his back, and the little-boy smile turned devilish. “Happy Birthday to you, happy birthday to you,” he belted out the refrain. In keeping with his talent at the piano, his was a Michael Bolton croon, bluesy, powerful. As he finished the tune, he whipped his hands forward and presented Dee with a square, pink, purple, and white wrapped box with a massive curly-cue silver bow. “Open it, open it.” He clapped his hands together. “Yes, do open it, Desdemona. Many Happy Returns.” A glacial ice cube stretched Dee’s gullet to bursting, yet she could not swallow. The familiar gravel voice paralyzed her limbs. Butch was in the Far East, the Far East, not here. Her mind went into lockdown. She was breathing, but air did not make it to her lungs. Her smile froze in place.

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“Papa.” Alain spun around. He shook his head, and his coarse auburn curls swished around a thick neck. “Why are you here?” Alain’s bulk blocked Butch from view. Dee’s hands fisted, squishing the oven mitts between them. To hide her expression, she whipped the oven open, catching the heavy door before it made a noise, and bent over, head down. Heat seared her skin, literally. The top element glowed red-hot, and marbled fat in the T-Bone steaks sizzled and popped. A drop of hot grease scalded her cheek. She rubbed the spot. Dee eased the door closed, pasted a smile on her face, and straightened. Butch faced Alain. He had come in through the sliding glass doors. His clothes were rain spattered, and a few small circles of water dotted the tiles behind his boot-clad feet. The briny scent of the sea mingled with the cooking food. “Mr. Reniere, what a surprise.” “How often must I ask you, chérie? Call me Jean-Paul, I insist. After all, today you are officially over the hill, n’est pas? Thirty, isn’t it?” Butch’s oilslick smile oozed slime. Dee managed to swallow. “Papa, why are you here?” Alain’s bushy eyebrows drew together. He cocked his head and stared into the distance. She knew that look. Alain thought he was guilty of some error, but couldn’t pinpoint it. A swell of soreness hit Dee’s chest, and fierce, protective anger threatened her composure. She slapped the mitts onto the counter. Butch glanced at the leaf patterned cloth and then at her. Dee smoothed the gloves, keeping her fingers moving to hide their trembling. “I’m sure your Papa forgot something and came to pick it up, isn’t that so Mr. Reniere?” She chose her next words carefully. “Your Papa promised you Parrot’s Retreat for the weekend for your birthday. He wouldn’t take the promise back, would you, sir?” “Open your present, Desdemona. Alain, give her the gift.” Butch’s eyes flicked over her body, lingering at her breasts. “Dee likes to open her present after she blows out the candles.” Alain placed the gift-wrapped box on the counter in front of the paper-towelconcealed cake. “Light the candles, Alain,” Butch’s eyes never left her face.

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“Papa, we have to eat dinner first, then the cake, then the present.” Alain explained. His gaze swept from his father to Dee and then back again. He cocked his head. “I bought the present. Mimi went with me.” He shook his head. “It’s from me, Papa, not you.” Dee fingered the tiny white packet in her pocket. It was enough to put one grown man to sleep for eight hours, not two. She had other packets in her luggage. Polluting the water supply with sedatives was not scheduled until next weekend, and when she insisted on changing the timing to this weekend, David had nixed the idea. No time for the careful preparation necessary for such a step. Butch’s watered-down blue irises contrasted demonically with his eyes’ spidery-red streaked whites. His bloodshot eyes were a result of what, Dee wondered, drugs, alcohol, both? A band of sweat covered her forehead. Behind her, the microwave dinged. She jumped. “Dinner’s almost ready.” She jabbed the half-moon open button, and the door sprung forward. Two large russet potatoes hissed at her. Using a pointed knife, Dee prodded the brown skin. She snapped the door shut and pressed the number four on the LCD panel. The oven hummed and the glass dish revolved. Dee swiveled, cupped her palms around the kitchen counter edge, propped one bare foot on a cabinet ledge, and smiled brightly. “I’m afraid there’s only enough for Alain and me, Mr. Reniere. The pizza place down the road may still be open.” He had disappearing lips so thin they were almost indistinguishable from his skin. His mouth widened inch by inch, each newly bared tooth peppering sweat over fresh patches of her skin. His lascivious smirk crashed an avalanche of sheer terror through her veins. “Papa doesn’t eat pizza, Dee.” Alain clumped over to stand by her side. “But you can’t stay, Papa. It’s tradition, right Dee? It’s always me and Dee on her birthday, ‘cause we do mine too. It’s tomorrow.” “Mr. Reniere, did you want something?” “Assuredly, ma chérie, for once my imbecile son is correct.” Dee squeezed the underside of the granite counter so hard a fingernail snapped and she gritted her teeth, pained anger threatening an explosion.

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“That present is his.” Butch’s head inclined toward the striped box. “This, chérie, is from me.” He pulled a long, narrow, aqua-blue box from his shirt pocket. “Mr. Reniere, what a surprise.” “You will insult me gravely if you do not accept it, ma chérie.” Butch’s gaze slipped to Alain. “You are fond of my son, n’est pas? You want him to remain happy?” Alain’s strawberry blond eyebrows met. He looked from his father to Dee, and back again. “Papa, where is my present?” “Desdemona.” Butch’s tone deepened. “Of course, if you put it that way.” She kept her smile fixed in place and took the box. He brushed his palm across her fingers. Butch’s skin was damp. He smelled, no reeked, of sex. A wave of nausea hit her. She babbled to cover her revulsion and fear. “A Tiffany box. That says something.” Dee tugged at the ribbon. The bow fell apart, and the ribbon slid off the blue box. She lifted the lid. A pave diamond-encrusted heart dangled from an intricate platinum chain. It winked at her. “Mr. Reniere, I couldn’t possibly accept this. It’s against the rules for my position.” Butch’s fingers captured hers. Fright froze the blood in Dee’s veins, and the pendant slipped from her hand. She stepped back, and Butch took one end of the chain in each hand, corralling her within his arms. “Lift your hair, chérie.” Dee met Alain’s hazel eyes. She focused on his dilating pupils and lifted the hair off her neck with one hand. The other clenched into a fist at her pelvis. “I like this new length, chérie. Long hair is trés sexy.” Butch’s moist breath swept across her nape. Faint sprinkles of spittle wet her skin. She bit the tip of her tongue, sawing it between her teeth, and still the bile rose. The snap clicked shut. Butch spun her around, his hands cupping her shoulders. “Bien, you are most beautiful, ma chérie,” Butch lowered his voice. “It is polite to offer thanks for such a gift, n’est pas?” Before she could answer, Alain elbowed his way between them and glowered at his father. “Papa, Dee does not like men to touch her. Only men

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who are her brothers, like me.” He shook his head. “And Jake. And Harry, and Michael—” “Enough, imbecile.” Butch slapped Alain’s hand away from his forearm. “Cretin, out of—” Smoke alarms screeched into operation, drowning out Butch’s words. Ceiling and wall sprinklers sprang into action, shooting jets of water in every direction. Black smoke curled out of the Viking stove, spilling through the seams. Dee took off, her bare feet slipped on the wet floor. She landed on her bottom, and planed over the tiles until her toes smacked the oven. Snatching a dishtowel off the aluminum bar on the oven door, she cracked it open. Thick, viscous smoke whooshed into her face, stinging her eyes and sending tears streaming down her cheeks. Butch shouted French at no one in particular. Alain yelled, “Fire! Fire!” Dee covered her hand with a dishtowel and felt for the broiler pan. She grabbed it, the heat burned her fingertips, but she managed to shove it onto the top of the stove. White foam attacked the burnt steaks. Alain had the fire extinguisher in his hands. He sprayed wherever he spotted smoke. Soon thick froth covered Dee’s left cheek, the Viking stove, most of the floor, and the island. The alarms fell silent, the sprinklers stopped raining, and an eerie quiet descended. “I put out the fire,” Alain said, his shoulders back, square chin lifted, and hazel eyes dancing a jig. “Did you see, Dee? I put out the fire.” He did a little soft shoe and smiled gleefully. “You did, my brave Alain, you most certainly did. Mimi will be so proud of you.” Dee braced one knee on the floor and fought desperately to control her crazed pulse. Alain placed the red cylinder onto the island counter, and grasped her elbow with both hands. “Your face is black, Dee.” “From the smoke, Alain, I’m fine. No need to worry.” She patted his thick, muscled forearm, turned on the tap, moistened the dishcloth, and wiped the soot and foam from her face. The roar of thunder resonated through the kitchen. A whistling blast of cold wind flicked Dee’s curls across her nose. Her head jerked up. Seven

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enormous men armed with stubby guns had taken up wide leg stances in front of the open sliding glass doors. “Sir?” The tallest man stepped forward, his gaze fixed on Butch. “The alarm?” “Minor accident, Carrington. Leave.” Butch’s gaze remained fixed on Dee, his arms crossed over his chest, odd spindly legs wide apart. Cold blue eyes studied Dee like a forensic entomologist examining a pinned and dissect-ready cockroach. “Yes, sir.” The men did an about face and marched outside to the balcony. Carrington pulled the doors closed, locked them with a key, and then he punched in a code on a digital pad. As he straightened, icy emerald eyes met hers, and to her astonishment, she caught a hint of concern in the brief interplay. Nerve wracking seconds ticked by as she tried to make sense of the thug’s concern. For whom? Her? Alain? Himself? Butch cleared his throat. She turned to face him, and the blood congealed in her veins. He wanted to hurt her, would enjoy it. It wasn’t desire or even lust she saw in his glacial, distant pale eyes, but rage, sheer, unadulterated, vicious rage. He was the kind of man who tortured cats, set their tails on fire. She recognized the evil in Butch in that instant and fought not to react when an icy shiver slithered up her spine. Acting purely on autopilot, her hands reached behind her neck. With trembling fingers but a neutral face, Dee unclasped the chain, and the pendant dropped into her moist palm. “Perhaps you could put this into safe-keeping, Mr. Reniere.” Dee let the chain fall onto the white counter. It rattled. She looked him in the eye, flinching inside, but her attorney general mien remained intact. “Chérie, it is not wise to refuse a birthday gift.” Butch’s French accent and soft, charming voice proved a menacing combination. Her temples grew damp. “Jean-Paul, I can only wear this necklace when I visit Parrot’s Retreat.” Dee smiled in what she hoped was an alluring manner. “Surely, you understand my position?” She’d flirted with him, albeit in a tentative, stiff manner during the last three social occasions they’d both attended; the Westmoreland cocktail party and two others where she didn’t know he’d been invited. The last two times proved unnerving, particularly when he served up intimate details of her everyday activities in a casual, offhand manner. On the last occasion, he’d

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used every opportunity and excuse to touch her. Lizard-reptile brushes of her bare shoulder, rubbing a thumb across her palm, and the cruel amusement she caught in his withering stare — that scared her more than anything else. She hadn’t breathed a word to anyone on the team. For a large man, he moved surprisingly fast. Suddenly Butch had her hand in his. He kissed the knuckle of each finger, watery blue eyes staring into her, leaving a moist trail with his hot, open mouth. “Chérie, it pleases me to hear my name from your lips.” Dee extracted her hand from his; tugging the tips of her fingers free and prayed her rapid two-step to Alain disguised the shudder of revulsion that wracked down her body. She twined her fingers in Alain’s and turned to Butch. “Did you find what you came for?” She arched an eyebrow. “We don’t want to keep you, I’m sure you’re very busy.” Dee pointed one hand in the direction of the messy kitchen. “And we have a big mess to take care of.” “Alain tells me you will spend next weekend here?” His fingers toyed with the diamond heart. “Perhaps we can have dinner together, celebrate your birthday then?” “I have a little black dress that would look great with that beautiful heart.” Dee trailed a finger close to the edge of the chain. “What a pity though, I have no earrings or bracelets that would match it. All my jewelry is yellow gold, you see.” “I see, chérie, I see.” He clicked his heels together and bent low. His slimy hand captured her free one, and he brushed his lips across her knuckles. Hysterical laughter rumbled up Dee’s insides. She released the comfort of Alain’s clasp and pressed a fist against her mouth. Her teeth dug into her lips. “I’ll send someone to clean this up.” Butch waved in the general direction of the stove and freed her hand. “No, please. Alain and I will clean it up. I insist.” “Very well. Au revoir, chérie. Until the weekend.” He whirled around, and took long strides to the front door. “Jean-Paul.” Dee called out. She scooped up the heart and sped after Butch. “The necklace.”

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She pried open his hand when he whirled around, dropped the jewelry into his palm, and closed his fingers around it. “Keep it safe, and should the piece develop relatives, I’d love to meet them.” “Ah, chérie. I can hardly wait.” One of his thick fingers stroked her cheek. “Dee,” Alain’s deep voice splintered her tension into fragmented relief. “I’m hungry.” “Next week, Jean-Paul.” “I will put this away first, and then return to make my farewells.” She threw herself into the cleanup to pull her scattered senses into some semblance of control and refused to let him enter into her thoughts. Working together, Dee and Alain had the kitchen spotless in less than an hour. She was in the middle of chopping an onion when Butch re-appeared in the arched doorway. “Papa, why did you come back?” Alain asked. Butch mumbled something inarticulate under his breath. Dee’s mouth thinned when she made out the word imbecile. “My hands are full of onion,” she said, in a bright, cheerful voice. “Are you leaving?” “Oui, au ‘voir, chérie. Until next weekend.” Butch sketched a formal bow. Her skin crawled. Dee waited until she heard the faint click of the door. She wiped her hands on the dishtowel. “I’ll be right back, Alain.” Dee checked the living room. It was empty, and the steel front doors were closed. The hallway was deserted and the door to the basement shut tight. A button on the black key pad adjacent to it glowed red. The green button parallel to it was dark. Dee hurried to the bedroom focused on washing away the stench of his touch. She showered and changed into black sweatpants and an oversized t-shirt. When she returned to the kitchen, Dee whipped up tuna sandwiches, and they washed them down with lemonade. The icing on the Palace cake had melted into a grayish white. “Your cake isn’t pretty anymore,” Alain said mournfully. “It’ll still taste good,” Dee reassured him.

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She distracted his attention by presenting him with a small, chocolate marshmallow cake bearing twenty-four yellow candles. They lit them, screwed their eyes shut, held hands, and blew for all they were worth. “Dee, can I tell you my wish?” Alain plucked a marshmallow off the cake and popped it into his mouth. “It may not come true if you say it aloud,” she cautioned. “Every year, I wish for Papa to be a good man. But, Mimi says it’ll never happen. Papa has evil in his heart.” A band tightened around her chest. “How about some hot chocolate while we open the presents?” Alain smiled slyly. “There aren’t any presents here for me.” “I need to go to my bedroom.” She hopped off the kitchen chair. “The kettle’s full, just flick the switch. Okay?” There were no windows in the long corridor leading to her room, airplane-emergency-style floor lighting the only source of illumination. She passed the basement door and hesitated. If you see an opportunity, take it, David’s words filled her brain. Butch must have opened the safe for her birthday present. Their plans called for this to happen next weekend, but there was Tee to consider, and fate chanced this lucky break. Dee shut the bedroom door, took out her cell phone, and sent an email to David, an encoded communication requesting the code to the safe. She zipped open her carryon and lugged out a large canvas bag, hauled it over her shoulder, and headed to the family room adjacent to the open kitchen. “The water boiled.” “Great. Sit tight, and I’ll make the hot chocolate.” Alain opened his presents before Dee opened hers. She loved watching the childlike joyous expression that lit his face with each gift. The electronic hand-held Sudoku enthralled him. Dee pried his attention away from that to open his second gift. He immediately donned the new Hawaiian print Tommy Bahama shirt. She sat cross-legged on the rug waiting for Alain to tear open the last present. “It’s such a small box, Dee.” “Come on, open it.” “No, you open yours first.” His lips turned down at the corners. “I only got you one.”

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“I bet it’s a good one, though.” Dee plucked the silver ribbon off the striped box. She stifled a laugh when she realized why Alain had taken so long to wrap the box. The entire roll of scotch tape secured the paper. She tore off the gift-wrapping and lifted the lid of the black box. “It’s lovely.” Dee bit her lip as liquid misted her eyes. Inside the box lay a gold filigree brooch in the shape of the five-petaled bloom of the Pride of Barbados, the national flower of the island. “I’ll wear it to work every day and think of you every time I touch it.” “It’s not shiny like Papa’s.” Alain’s forehead wrinkled. Dee knelt and kissed first one cheek then the other. “I love you, Alain. You are the brother I never had.” She rested the brooch in the center of her palm. “This is the best birthday present I’ve ever received.” She swiped a hand at the corner of her eye. “Your turn, come on.” Alain was ecstatic when he unwrapped his new iPod Nano. His intuition with machinery never ceased to amaze Dee. “Let me make you another hot chocolate to take to bed. It’s late and I’m tired.” Dee made him another cup of hot chocolate, slipped the entire packet of white powder into the drink, stirred it, and covered the surface of the mug with miniature marshmallows. Alain gathered up his gifts and his hot chocolate. They each retired to their respective bedrooms. As soon as she shut the door, Dee checked her cell phone. The last text message held the combination to the basement door and the safe. She replaced her steel band earrings with the hoops Newel had provided, the jump drives heavier than she expected. The sheen of sweat covering her entire body turned into a coating of frost under the air conditioner’s vent. It did nothing to slow the blood doing an Indy 500 in her veins. Dee waited twenty minutes and slipped out the doorway. The first combo on her cell phone was for the basement door. Before fear halted her actions, Dee punched in the numbers, checked them twice, and then pressed enter. The confirming beep lifted every hair on her body perpendicular. Nothing. She forgot to breathe. Then, one slow second at a time, the door swayed open. The phone vibrated on Dee’s thigh. The convulsive

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movement sent her pulse into overdrive. She slipped her hand into the side pocket of her sweatpants, curled her fingers around the smooth rectangle, and pressed end, not bothering to check the message. Dee stared at the narrow, steep staircase hugging the wall. She edged inside. Once her eyes adjusted to the dim lighting, she took the steps with rapid, but cautious movements. When she reached the bottom step, a short narrow corridor faced her. Built-in storage drawers lined one wall, and open shelves the other. The hallway ended in massive steel doors. A soft click came from behind. Dee whirled around and peered up the stairs. Shadows bobbed and weaved above, but she discerned no ghostly figure, no one following her. Her tongue snaked out to moisten parched lips. Dee inched forward until her fingers met the chill of damp metal. The keypad adjacent to the door glowed. She swallowed once and nearly choked around the constriction in her gullet, rubbing her damp palms up and down the cotton sweats, before hitting the display button on the cell. She typed in the illuminated combination, checked it, and stabbed the enter key. The heavy door groaned open cleaving the deafening eerie quiet. For a few seconds Dee’s limbs refused to obey mental commands. Then she slid inside the interior of the safe, swept the miniature flashlight from her pocket into her hand, and flicked the on switch. Dozens of small screens lined one wall of the safe, each showing a different view of Parrot’s Retreat. The massive thug, Carrington, from earlier, smoked a cigarette on the front porch. The tip glowed red with each inhale, and he blew perfect gray circles in the air. Two other men paced the far corners of the patio, ten steps forward, swivel, ten back. She ignored the myriad screens and beamed the narrow cone of light in a wide arc. Two shelves on the right held a long row of DVD cases, and a desktop PC tower stood beneath a wide, flat-panel screen. The screen was dark, so Dee hit the spacebar. The screen saver was a collage of photographs, all of her face or figure. The center picture sent her fingers to her throat. It was a shot of Dee wearing the necklace Butch gave her earlier. Her knees buckled, and she leaned on the metal desk for support. Muted whispers directed her gaze to one of the screens. Butch spoke with Carrington and gesticulated at the front door. Sweat peppered her forehead. Dee dug her nails into her palms and braced a hip on the steel

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shelving. It didn’t stop the violent trembling that seized her whole body. She cleared her mind, and went through the series of actions practiced over the last three weeks, taking off her earrings and removing the jump drives. She inserted one into the USB port in the front of the PC and typed in the commands Clive had given her. While she waited for the files to copy, Dee spotted the Tiffany box and remembered the GPS. She pocketed the platinum heart, leaving the box in position, reminding herself it was always good to have a fallback position. Air never hit Dee’s lungs until she swiped the magnetic tool over the drive. Out of the corner of her eye, she noted Butch and Carrington still conversed on the shadowed patio. A furtive movement caught her attention. A car crept up the driveway, silent and unlit, coming to a halt below the patio where Butch stood. Within seconds, Dee closed the safe and raced up the narrow stairs. One foot slipped off a step’s sharp edge. She hit the rough concrete wall and scraped the pads of her fingers trying to steady herself. As she opened the basement door, Dee heard murmurs coming from the front of the house. With shaking fingers, she scrambled the basement door shut and took a flying sprint down the corridor. The door to her room stood ajar. She stopped dead. Fear gouged out her breath. The murmured voices grew in volume, and she plunged into the room. “Dee,” Alain’s husky voice came from balcony. “I couldn’t find you.” She shut the door and collapsed against it, one knee folded, and Dee held onto the handle for support. Her tumultuous emotions rioted, and the tuna sandwich forced its way up her throat. She cupped a hand over her mouth, fled to the bathroom, and emptied the contents of her stomach into the sink. Alain followed her inside and rubbed her back until the convulsions stopped. “Did the food make you sick?” “Yes.” The room spun. She twisted the brass tap and water splashed over her hands. She patted the liquid on her heated cheeks and opened her eyes. The reflection in the mirror sent Dee into a spasm of dry heaves; Butch’s demonic blue eyes studied her intently. “Dee’s sick, Papa,” Alain said.

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“I can see that.” The corners of Butch’s lips curled down, and he shuddered visibly. “I’ll have Carrington ring for Dr. Letterman.” He whirled around and strode through the doorway. “No, don’t,” Dee muttered. She grabbed the towel and dragged it over her face. Butch halted, slowly turned, and raked her with a suspicious head to toe stare. “I must go to the hospital. I’m allergic to Chadon Bene. I need a particular antihistamine immediately. Alain can drive me. I’ll get someone to pick up my car tomorrow. Excuse me. I’m going to be sick again.” She closed the bathroom door, shutting them all out, and crumpled onto the plush purple carpet. Outside the door, Butch said something in French. Dee waited a few minutes, rose, flushed the toilet, splashed more water on her face, and opened the door. “Dee, are you better?” Alain was the room’s only occupant. “I need to go to the hospital. Help me to your car.” She clasped both hands around his forearm. Dee thought of the pouch with the magical trunk. “I have to get my keys,” Alain said. “Go. Get them and come back for me.” Dee waved a hand at the door. As soon as Alain left the room, she ran over to her carryon and extracted the pouch. Dee fitted it under her waistband. She slipped her socked feet into her sneakers. Alain burst into the room, car keys dangling from one hand. “I’ll carry you.” “It’s okay, I can walk.” She curled her hand into the crook of his elbow, and together they tottered to the open front door. Butch was on the porch with his thugs. Parked besides her car and Alain’s was a Mazda 929. Dee mimicked retching sounds in her throat and cupped a hand over her mouth. “I don’t believe my son should drive you to the hospital, chérie.” Butch stayed in the shadows. She couldn’t make out his features. “Carrington will take you. St. Clair Emergency Center, n’est pas?” She nodded. “Alain will come with me.” Alain helped her into her car and slid inside next to her. Carrington started the engine.

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Her senses went on alert when Alain stifled a wide yawn. Glazed hazel eyes met hers, and he gave her a lop-sided grin. Another yawn commanded his mouth and he surrendered to it exhaling loudly. “Did you have the hot chocolate?” she whispered. “Yep, while I was waiting for you. We were supposed to have some Palace cake and you forgot.” He yawned again. By the time they got to St. Clair’s Emergency Center, Alain was fast asleep and snoring un-rhythmically. “Shall I help you inside, Ms. Bloom?” “I’ll be okay on my own. Why don’t you take Alain to his mother’s? I’ll get the Embassy chauffeur when I’m finished.” “Mr. Reniere instructed me to remain with you at all times.” Carrington exited the front seat and opened the passenger door. He held out a hand. Those strange eyes of his twinkled like a Tasmanian devil’s, and all she could concentrate on was eluding him. Dee rested her palm on his for a second, slipped out of the vehicle, and walked up the stairs on her own steam. The Barbadian Embassy had an arrangement with the center, and they admitted her immediately into a long, narrow room. She sat on the lone stretcher. “The doctor will be here momentarily.” The nurse informed Dee before spinning around and marching out the door. She jumped up from the hospital bed, pushed the heavy door closed, and returned to the cot. Dee slid the pouch out of her waistband and upended it over the covered foam. The locket fell out first, followed by the trunk. It bounced onto the hard cot and snapped open. Dee groaned. Black smoke filled the room. One blink, and vision vanished, the smoke peppered tears from her eyes, and a dull roaring accelerated to crashing cymbals. The trunk, the trunk, the words, she hadn’t said the words. Unable to breathe, to see, eyes closed, hands splayed, fingers scraping and catching on the stretcher’s cover, Dee snatched at the spot where the trunk had lain, her hand closed around something solid. Cool air rushed into the room, the thick smoke obscuring the sterile chamber thinned.

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Butch-Napped For a full week after leaving Dee and Trinidad, Alex simmered. Friday evening, he met Toran Hamil at the Boca Raton branch of 24 Hour Fitness. The recent graduate from St. Michael’s was one of the five young men he mentored. Contrary to Dee’s impression, he joined a gym for convenience not its elite status. The lads chose the gym because of their myriad varied schedules. “Lose the famous Mayfield magic someplace?” “What the crap are you talking about?” “It’s Friday night and you want to spar?” Tor’s expression turned smug. “You in a gym on a Friday night? The world’s coming to an end.” “Shut up, Tor. Get your gear on.” Alex strapped a red boxing glove around his right wrist. “Temper, temper,” Tor taunted. “What happened? A hot babe have the nerve to turn you down?” Alex’s mouth thinned, and he sawed his jaw. “Better psych yourself up, young un’. I’m in no mood for your snipes.” “Think you can take me, Danny boy?” Tor cackled. He ducked under the ropes framing the ring. “Even Quinn can’t take me, and he’s a regular with the UFC.” “Shut up and fight.” Alex joined Tor in the ring. Before he finished the curt command, Tor’s uppercut connected with the strap on his chin and snapped his head backwards. Who the crap did Dee think she was? Alex hooked a fist across Tor’s left jaw. Socialites chased him, women at his level. Alex pummeled Tor’s middle with alternate jabs. Women with movie star looks, perfect bodies. Tor’s left hook battered his temple and slid off his protective helmet. Dee’s features filled his mind. A woman with ten extra pounds refused him, Alex Mayfield, the West Palm catch of the year. Rage channeled into

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his fists. Physical reaction suppressed all brain activity. The bout escalated, hooks battered pounding jabs, reaction, pain, action, crunch, snap, all in a wily coyote cartoon leg-blurring fury. “Shit, Lexie. What the fuck’s wrong?” Tor panted, his torso cutting the rigging. “You never lose your cool.” Blood spurted from a cut on Tor’s left eyebrow, and the skin under his eye was already swollen and puffy. Bile washed over Alex’s tongue. He never lost his temper. Ah, hell. He’d come so close. Last Friday had been so perfect, and now here he was taking his frustrations out on a kid under his protection. “Watch your language in front of your elders and betters. You young ‘uns have no class. Father Murphy made us eat soap if he heard us swearing.” “Ah, shit, Lexie. You’re so old-fashioned. Fuck, is like, an adjective. You know.” Tor shook his head, and sweat splayed out in a wide arc from his dripping raven locks. “Your command of the English language overwhelms me,” Alex growled. “For the record, it’s actually a verb, not an adjective.” “Come on, man. Don’t get testy. Let’s shower up, and I’ll help you finish a bottle of Scotch.” Tor touched a black glove to Alex’s sweaty shoulder. “Deal?” “Thanks, Toran.” Alex shook his head. “I’m not fit for company tonight. Sorry ‘bout this.” He took a deep breath, and his panting slowed. “Lotta stuff going on.” He ducked under the ropes. “Alex?” Tor cocked his head to one side. “Sure you’re good?” “Jim Dandy fine.” Bitterness weighed down the corners of his lips. “I’ll call next week.” “Wait, Lexie. Don’t leave this way. Talk to me.” Tor leaned his weight on the top rope and hopped over it to the ground. “Lexie, wait man.” “Not now, Toran.” Alex glanced backwards. “I need alone time.” The minute he stepped into his penthouse condominium, Alex dialed Dee. The call went straight to voicemail. “Dee, it’s me, Alex. I need to talk to you. If I don’t hear from you by tomorrow, I’m heading your way. Call me.” She hadn’t taken a call from him since that brunch on Jake and Tee’s patio last Sunday. She’d turned his life upside down and inside out, and

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what did he have to show for it? Zero, nothing, nada. Friday at that beach restaurant in Barbados, The Cliff, the ring he’d purchased a month earlier burned a sunspot in his jeans’ pocket. Practicing untold patience, he’d set about his courtship of Dee using every weapon at his disposal, emails, phone calls at odd times, a stuffed bear when she sent a serial rapist to prison. Over the last three and a half months, they delved into every topic on the face of the earth, uncovering astonishingly similar opinions. He’d discovered subtle personality nuances, which charmed and bemused him, from her deep, unwavering passion for victims, particularly women and children, to her agonizing fear of using her witchy powers. As gently as he could, he prodded her in the direction of a victim’s advocate, knowing how rewarding and fulfilling she’d find it. The Attorney General position would shatter her. Instinctively he knew it, and the familiar overwhelming urge to protect her, build an airtight fortress around her, spurred him to examine other options. When he had visited her in Barbados after finally coming to terms with Tyler’s death and his role in it, for the first time in his life, he felt absolutely certain about his future. It wrapped around one word, Dee. Even before Carnival, even before Harrie’s labor, his future encircled hers. No doubt niggled the corners of his brain. His vision ran clear: Dee, their children, contentment. Some key element had changed between them on Friday night at the evening’s end. During their passionate interlude on the beach, he’d almost proposed, debated the question on the long ride back to her home. But the silence morphed from companionable to uncomfortable in the slice of minutes as they chased the moon’s light along the coastal highway. By the time he boarded the plane in Trinidad on Sunday afternoon, all his progress seemed to have dissipated. Every instinct told him Dee was hiding something. But what? Why was she ducking his calls? And he’d caught Jake and her whispering together before he left. They both started guiltily when he found them in a secluded corner. For irrational seconds, he suspected an affair, but one look at his friend and he knew better. Jake suffered from the same ailment capitulating him into caveman territory. They were both head over heels in love, Jake with Tee, and he with Dee.

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Desperation set him to contemplating primitive tactics, like slinging Dee over his shoulder and marrying her in a public ceremony broadcast over every major network. A statement of ownership and possession so blatant, so penetrating it couldn’t be questioned, ever. He opened the desk drawer and took out two black velvet boxes. Flipping them open, he scrutinized their contents; an antique Marquisite ring with a single, gray pearl, the color reminded him of Dee’s stormy eyes. The white gold setting of the stone mimicked the silver iridescence that sometimes rimmed her irises. The other box held a strand of perfect, luminescent gray pearls with matching earrings. He thought of Beverly’s reaction to the five-carat diamond ring and a rueful smile lifted his lips. He wasn’t sure how he knew, but Dee would love the ring, the necklace, the earrings. He called Tee and Jake next. “Mathews speaking,” Jake’s terse tone surprised him. “Jake, it’s me.” “Alex, what do you want?” “Are you okay?” “No.” “Jake, you can’t do that. What the heck is so wrong?” “Tee’s pregnant.” “That’s wonderful news. She must be overjoyed.” Alex pulled the phone away from his ear and frowned at it. “So should you, but you’re not. I’m almost afraid to ask. Why?” “Tee has Stage II ovarian cancer,” Jake’s husky voice wavered on the last word. “Shit.” Alex hunted for words. “Shit.” “My sentiments precisely.” “I’ll be there tomorrow.” “And what in hell can you do, Alex? The only one who can help is Dee.” An image of Dee’s naked body covered with bloody sweat engulfed Alex’s mind. His fingers tightened around the hard black plastic. “Is she? Going to help?” “Yes.” “I’ll be there tomorrow.” He pressed the end button.

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Alex’s next call was to Beverley. She hung up on him twice. He swallowed his ego, called again, and sweet-talked her into meeting him for a drink at Luna in the Boca Resort. Alex waited for her in the lobby. Dressed in a molded black strapless sheath, which emphasized her toned figure and golden complexion, Beverley drew the eyes of every man in the immediate vicinity. He came right to the point and offered his abject apologies for the cowardly act of breaking up with her over the phone. Beverley let him have it and vented all her pent-up rage at him. His pride took a battering, but Alex acknowledged all the hard truths she pointed out. Beverley had sold his ring and bought a sparkling platinum Rolex with the proceeds, which she gleefully flashed at him. Alex wondered what he ever saw in the woman. Nevertheless, once back home, he went online and ordered a huge arrangement of exotic flowers for delivery to her the following day. On impulse, he rang Dee’s cell phone. Again, it went straight to voicemail. He glanced at his Rolex. Almost midnight in Barbados as well. Where the hell was she? And why didn’t she answer? For months he had struggled with his feelings. She confused and irritated him. Life with her would be no even keel, but instead a series of glorious storms. Holding stillborn Tyler in his hands had changed him forever, bared his flesh to reveal what was vital in life. Love, a family, changing your corner of the world for the better. The revelation snapped the ropes that had kept him wandering these last few months and focused his determination. Dee, even if he had to humble himself he would do it, tell her how much he cared. He propped his head in his hands at the enormity of it all. Never had he said those three words, not once in his lifetime. It was not the kind of thing guys spoke about, and his only close friends were the other four from the orphanage, Jake and the rest. Crap, he was on dangerous ground, but, if he didn’t grab this now, he knew he never would. How could he ever have believed marriage to Beverley would make him happy? What a disaster that would have been. All at once, a tentative, optimistic joy settled in a small corner of his heart, sitting there waiting to burst out. It all depended on Dee’s reaction. She held the key to his future, his lost soul.

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Alex’s early morning flight left Ft. Lauderdale at eight. He worked on his laptop the whole trip and was surprised when the pilot announced they’d started preparations for landing at Piarco airport. The Trinidadian immigration officer glanced at his name and snapped to attention. “Mr. Mayfield, Mr. Mathews is waiting for you in the VIP area. He’s taken care of customs. We’ll get you stamped up, and you can go through there.” He pointed at a glass door behind him. Alex passed a newsstand, and the headlines in the paper jumped at him. “Desdemona Bloom, Barbados’s Acting Attorney General Missing—Foul Play Suspected.” Sooty spots danced a flurry at the edges of his vision, and he had to lean against the wall for balance. He snatched the paper and read the first paragraph. ‘In the wake of several kidnappings for ransom, foul play is suspected in the disappearance of Ms. Bloom from St. Clair’s Emergency Center last night. Ms. Bloom had been spending the weekend at Butch Reniere’s luxurious seaside villa, Parrot’s Retreat, when she complained of severe stomach cramps.’ The words blurred, and he knuckled one eye while his thoughts funneled upwards tornado-style. Butch, kidnapping, foul play. He repeated the words, and the bitter taste of terror coated his mouth. “Alex.” His head jerked up at Jake’s sharp bark. He crushed the newsprint in his hands and stomped towards his friend, alternately praying and cursing. “Is this true?” He held up the headline. “Yes. No. Maybe,” Jake replied. “Let’s talk in the car. Too many ears here.” They walked down the hallway and out the building in complete silence. The tropical heat and humidity of the rainy season dampened Alex’s armpits, and he shrugged off his sports coat. As soon as the car doors slammed shut, he growled, “What do you mean, yes, no, maybe?” “Dee has disappeared. But, I gave her the magic trunk yesterday.” Jake inserted the key into the ignition and turned it. The Land Rover roared to life. “Thank God.” His head slid down the passenger seat.

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“No. Maybe. The fact is Dee was at Parrot’s Retreat yesterday and last night.” Jake hit the indicator, tick, tock, tick, tock. They moved into traffic. “Alain confirms his father paid a surprise visit to the villa. Butch claims he went to give his son his birthday present. Alain insists Butch gave Dee a birthday present, not him.” “Why did you give Dee the trunk?” “She agreed to learn how to direct her skills from old Gwyneth, you remember her, Brodick’s renowned healer?” Jake darted a glance at him, and he nodded. “Dee wants to cure Tee, but my wife won’t let Dee risk her life. I came up with the idea of Dee learning from Gwyneth. Dee and I met for lunch yesterday. She said she would use the trunk next weekend. She never mentioned a word about visiting Parrot’s Retreat yesterday.” Alex leaned forward and propped his head in his hands. “We’re certain she was there?” “Alain, Carrington, and even Butch confirm it.” “Carrington?” “Butch’s main man,” Jake explained. “He’s in charge of security.” “Precisely how did Dee disappear?” “She was admitted by the hospital receptionist to an emergency clinic, and a nurse escorted her to a holding room. Ross Levine, he’s Harrie’s doctor, was the attending that night. He was looking forward to meeting Dee and insisted on examining her.” “And?” “When he got to the holding area, the room was empty but filled with black smoke that had an acidic smell.” “Exactly like the first time you opened the trunk.” “Precisely the reason I do not believe she was kidnapped. Here’s the peculiar part. I gave Dee the trunk and my locket with the miniature of my mother. I told her to focus on the painting, and say the Gaelic phrase so she would end up with Elaine.” Jake shook his head. “I rushed over to the center when Ross called me last night. The trunk was under the stretcher, but I couldn’t find the locket.” “So we don’t know where Dee is? It could be Reniere. Can she travel without the trunk?” He slapped his hand to his forehead. “Duh-uh, of course she can Tiny lost the trunk when we were returning to the present. Could she

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could be stuck in a time void, like your mother suggested last year? What about her stomach cramps? Was she faking it? Even more importantly, why was she at Parrot’s Retreat?” He shook his head. “Last weekend, I thought she was hiding something from me. She went after Butch.” “Maybe. She’s obsessed with him, that much I know. But, her sickness seems real enough. Alain said she vomited up her tuna sandwich and her birthday cake.” “What a combination, anyone would throw up after that.” “Alain says she claimed to be allergic to Chadon Bene. That’s a local herb, which Tee happens to be allergic to.” “I remember you mentioning Tee’s allergy last year. One, that’s a very peculiar coincidence, Dee suffering from the same allergy as her best friend. Two, she was sick to her stomach last weekend. She said cigar smoke made her sick.” Jake shot him a sympathetic look. “You do realize you’re listing things like Dee does when she’s upset? She’s not allergic to Chadon Bene, Tee’s positive about that. I’ve smoked cigars frequently in Dee’s presence and not once has she objected to it. Are you sure?” “It bothered me. I know you’d never knowingly smoke if it made her ill. She blew so hot and cold last weekend. I all but asked her to move in with me. And for a while there, she seemed happy. Then she clammed up and avoided me. What does Tee think?” “Tee’s very sick, buddy. She’s as weak as a kitten. Dee has to be at Brodick, she has to.” He slammed his palm to the steering wheel and silence reigned as miles and cars zipped by. “Anything else that could help?” “One other peculiarity, Alain passed out at the center. Ross examined him and ended up pumping his stomach. He was drugged.” “Butch? He drugged his own son? Why?” “The only thing I can come up with is he didn’t want Alain interrupting whatever he had planned for Dee.” Alex’s hands squeezed the blazer draped over one knee. “Rape? Crap, Jake, he could have drugged Dee too, and that’s why she was ill. A bad drug reaction.” “I’ve envisioned every worst case scenario possible. Butch found Dee searching his lair, he’s killed her, and yes, rape or sexual torture.” Jake met

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his gaze. “It won’t get us anywhere. We have to find Dee. Stay focused, think logically.” Alex nodded. “I know you’re right, but the last thing I want to do is stay calm. Beating the son of a bitch to a pulp, now that appeals.” Jake pressed a button on his visor. Alex looked ahead and realized they had arrived at Jake and Tee’s home. The wrought iron gate groaned open. “Before we go in, buddy, I need to warn you. Tee tires easily these days. She has to take frequent catnaps, and she’s always out of breath.” “I’ll notice?” A wave of nausea hit him. “Yes. She’s lost weight. Between the baby and the cancer,” Jake’s voice wavered, and he shook his head. “Don’t bring it up, okay?” “I won’t,” Alex promised. He pointed at the van on the edge of the driveway. “You have a visitor. Isn’t that Uncle Ian’s?” “It is.” Jake opened the SUV’s door and stepped down. Alex followed, wheeling his carryon behind. Uncle Ian sat on the porch nursing a tumbler filled with golden liquid. A lit cigar rested on a large crystal ashtray. Smoke curled from the red tip and a spicy aroma seeped into the air. The afternoon’s humidity rose, and a breeze attempting a cool-down gave up its futile effort. “Tee’s asleep. I told Linda not to wake her, my boy.” Ian rose to his feet. “I’ve been waiting for you.” “I’m glad you let her sleep, Ian. What brings you here?” Jake cuffed Alex on the shoulder. “You remember my friend, Alex, don’t you?” “Yes.” Ian tugged his goatee. “You’re the one who treated Desdemona badly. Jake, it’s Desdemona I need to discuss. Perhaps, this young man will give us some privacy?” “Ian.” Alex took a step forward. “I’m here because of Dee. If you have information about where she is, I need to know.” “I don’t believe I have anything else to say to you.” “I’m not leaving.” Alex stuck his hands in his linen pockets and rocked on his heels. “Not only can Alex be trusted, but he can also help. Whatever you have to say, you can say in front of him.” Ian’s stoic expression never wavered. “I understand you met Desdemona yesterday for lunch.” “I did.”

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“I also understand that neither of you had anything to eat and you gave her a small, blue pouch. What was in it, my boy?” Jake and Alex exchanged glances. Alex shrugged. “If Reniere has Dee….” “A locket with a miniature of my mother,” Jake said, and added, “My mother lives in Scotland, and Dee planned a trip there later in the year.” Ian sat down. He picked up his cigar and took a deep pull. “That doesn’t help at all. Did she tell you anything about her visit to Parrot’s Retreat yesterday?” “No, she never mentioned it.” Jake studied the grayish circles Ian blew. “You know something about her visit, don’t you?” “I came prepared to trust you with highly confidential Interpol and Scotland Yard information. You. Not this friend, Alex.” “If Henry Inglefield vouches for me, are you prepared to trust me with the information?” Alex asked. Ian looked nonplussed. “Henry would vouch for you?” “In a heartbeat,” Jake answered. “Alex saved Tee’s life on more than one occasion.” “Pardon me for a moment.” Ian pulled out his cell phone and stepped into the living room. “Obviously, this has something to do with Reniere,” Alex muttered. “She really was going after him.” He shook his head. “Crap. I need a drink, Jake. Do you want one?” He pushed out of his chair. “Yes, make it a double.” Alex disappeared through the open French doors. He returned minutes later with a bottle of Glenfiddich and two tumblers and poured sizeable measures for both of them. Ian returned at that point, he sat, re-lit his cigar, took a puff, and turned to them. “I have authorization to tell you all the details. Dee is part of a project initiated to gather evidence on Jean-Paul Reniere. The code name for the project is Project Plucked Parrot.” Ian sat back. “Bear with me while I explain its origins and the rest of the details.” Jake and Alex interrupted him several times during his outline of Plucked Parrot’s activities to date. “Let’s backtrack a moment,” Alex suggested when Ian stopped speaking. “According to the plan, Dee and Alain were supposed to spend

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their birthdays together at her family’s hunting lodge in Barbados. None of you knew of the change in plan?” “No. I checked with Henry and Arthur, they know nothing,” Ian replied. “I haven’t been able to make contact with either David or Clive Newel. They’re not answering their mobiles.” “I know Dee. She’s logical and likes a fallback position. She would tell at least one other person,” Jake mused. “I can understand why she wouldn’t confide in either you or Henry, she’ll not want to worry you or risk your health. But, she must have told someone else. Either Newel or David.” “It has to be David. Harrie and Claudia.” Jake continued, “Trinidad has only two species of poisonous snakes, both deadly. One bit Claudia, David’s wife, three years ago.” Jake held Alex’s gaze. “Dee helped to save her.” “Double whammy. David owes Dee for his wife and Harrie, her sister.” Alex closed his eyes. “We need to find him. Where is he?” “Arthur indicated David is searching Parrot’s Retreat with an Interpol NCB team and Arthur’s men.” Ian replied. “NCB?” Alex lifted an eyebrow. “National Central Bureau. Each Interpol participating country must maintain one,” Ian explained. “This raid is part of the plan but was scheduled for next Friday. I didn’t know David went ahead with it until early this morning when I called Arthur.” “When did the raid start?” “No idea.” Linda interrupted them. “Mr. Jake, can I get you and your guests some snacks? Arepas, pastelles?” She wiped her hand on her apron. “Anything you want, Linda. Is Tee still sleeping?” “Yes, she’s so tired.” Linda shook her head sadly. “I’ll be out with everything in a jiffy.” As soon as Linda disappeared, Alex stood up and paced a quick circle. “Alain said Butch paid them a visit last night, yet according to your information, he was still in the Far East. It was her birthday, and Butch gave her a present. If he put it in the safe, Dee would never pass up an opportunity like that. Who can get the combo to the safe?” “Newel, David, any one of us. There was another visitor to the villa last night. Our satellite picked up a Mazda 929 entering the estate around midnight.”

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“I phoned her twice last night, the last time just before midnight. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, suppose she had the phone on her and it rang?” Alex ploughed both hands through his hair. “What if that alerted him, and he caught her in the act of opening the safe? He could have killed her on the spot. Butch drugged his own son, probably intending to kill him. Christ, my mind’s going to explode.” “Dead wrong, my boy. Desdemona drugged Alain, not Butch.” Alex halted his spacing and stared at the older man. “I thought she was supposed to drug Butch not Alain. What makes you think she drugged him?” “Interpol uses a particular cocktail for this type of thing. We analyzed the contents of Alain’s stomach. It’s a match.” Ian’s phone rang, and he headed into the living room to answer it. “What do you think?” “I think Dee went off the plan because of something related to Butch’s visit,” Alex said. “We need to speak to Alain and David.” “I agree.” Ian strode back onto the patio, his expression grim but not defeated. “Gentlemen, the teams completed their search of Parrot’s Retreat. I asked David to meet us here. He should be here any minute.” Before they finished the snack Linda set before them, David arrived. He glowered at Alex and greeted the other men. “What’s he doing here?” David growled. “Henry vouched for his usefulness. Alex knows everything.” “Did you find anything significant?” Jake inquired. “Not significant, but peculiar. Traces of blood. Dee’s, on a wall near the safe.” “Shit.” Alex bounded out of his seat. “How much?” He couldn’t force back the memories of Tyler. “Take it easy,” David’s voice soothed. He studied Alex with a peculiar intensity for long seconds and then nodded as if satisfied with what he saw. “Enough for a scrape. As if she fell against the wall by accident.” Alex’s breathing returned to normal. “According to our analysis, the smoke alarms went off last night, around ten. We found traces of charcoal everywhere in the kitchen, enough to

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correspond to indicate a fire. In addition, the fire alarm went off shortly after ten, and the fire extinguisher had been used.” “You haven’t ever seen Dee in a kitchen, have you?” Jake grinned. “First of all, she’s possibly the world’s worst cook, and second, she forgets she’s cooking. I’m sure Dee called the fire department weekly when she was in college. I wouldn’t count that as anything serious. Go on, David.” “There was a birthday cake in the fridge. We sent digital photos of it to our labs who are analyzing it.” David grimaced. “It looks like a miniature palace, hollow in the middle, one area painted yellow.” “Who cares about a cake?” Alex sniped. “When was the last time you saw an exquisite, detailed, three story palace in miniature?” David retorted. “I’m trained to look for anything out of the ordinary. That cake’s not ordinary.” “The two of them were celebrating their birthdays, right?” Alex puzzled it out. “Dee’s a cut-offs woman, not the palace type. Logically, Alain probably brought the cake. Maybe he has an idolized version of her. Dee, the princess?” “It’s a cake, buddy.” Jake shook his head. “It’s not important. The Ramsingh murders, we need to connect on that.” “We know Butch was there last night. That much we managed to pull out of Alain.” David sighed. “He won’t talk to anyone. Keeps asking for Dee.” “Did you know Dee would be at Parrot’s Retreat last night?” Alex queried. “Yes,” David replied. “Dee suggested it since his father was away. She was insistent, said she was going ahead and if she spotted an opening was going for the safe. Don’t give me that look, Mayfield. I tried to talk her out of it. She was adamant, and Claudia supported her.” Shifting to the left, he addressed Jake. “Is your wife sick?” “Yes, very. Stage II Ovarian cancer.” “Christ, I’m sorry. I suspected as much, that’s why I gave in. Claudia said it was life or death for Tee. We owe Dee too much. I couldn’t refuse her. All our information verified Butch was in the Far East. I thought it was a good opportunity.” “And now? What do you think happened?”

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“We expected Reniere to give Dee a birthday present and knew it would be jewelry. Part of our plan was for Dee to give Alain the piece for safekeeping and force the change of password to the safe. Next weekend.” David emphasized the last two words. “Butch purchases all his jewelry from a store on the island of St. Martin. Last week he bought a Tiffany heart. We planted a GPS in it. It showed up in his safe around eleven. Dee requested the combo minutes later. I was out at a dinner party and had my phone on vibrate. My men tried to contact me, but when an agent’s in the field, his or her requests take precedence unless otherwise stated. It’s my blasted fault, I never expected Butch to show up. When they couldn’t reach me, they sent her the information. Blast, if only I hadn’t told her if she saw an opportunity to seize it.” “Okay, your information and Alain confirms he gave her the heart last night?” Stale cigar smoke sifted on a moist wind. “Everything points to that.” “Why did you go ahead with the raid today?” Alex studied David’s reaction. The other man flushed before he answered. “Because what happened afterwards was not part of anything Dee and I had ever discussed. We tracked the GPS to St. Clair Medical Center, and then it disappears. The MI5 GPS implanted under Dee’s skin vanished. Same precise moment to the nanosecond. I can see them discovering one, but two? Ordinarily, I wouldn’t even countenance it, but the only logical deduction is that Butch has one or more of the hospital staff on payroll, and they managed to kidnap her. They scanned her for electronic devices, discovered both, and removed them. Even if Dee is dead, the GPS would continue to function for at least the next three weeks if it was still in place.” Alex worked his jaw as David’s words resonated in his brain, even if Dee’s dead. “What about Carrington? Why did he continue to wait for her?” Ian asked. “We don’t know, but it is something that concerns me.” David’s lips thinned. “Why?” “According to witnesses at the center, he acted suspiciously, questioning everyone, demanding to see her. If Butch has someone on the center’s staff, Carrington should have known about it.” David stood, and knuckled the

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small of his back with both fists. “If things went according to plan, then Dee destroyed all the information on Butch’s computer, and she’s wearing the backup data. Dee has all of Butch’s private information hanging on her ears.” “Wouldn’t it stand to reason that they’d find those as well if they scanned her?” “Finding any of this takes sophisticated equipment and time, a much longer period of time than the five minutes within which she disappeared. Sorry, Jake. Right now, we’re at a loss. And I can’t stay any longer, my mother-in-law’s not doing well, and I need to get to Claudia. It’s been a long couple of days.” “Before you go, David, is there anything else that was out of place? Last question, I promise.” Alex waited. “The reason the palace cake interested me is because we found a 3D photograph of a golden mirrored room in one of Butch’s desk drawers. Part of the palace was iced in the same color.” David shook his head. “There has to be a connection, but damned if I know what it is.”

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Whitebeam Healing Dee expected mirrors, a whirling portal, a Star Trek Beam me up, Scottie experience. When the trunk accidentally fell open at the Emergency Center, there was a flash of ultraviolet light, and the room filled with a cloud of black smoke tinged with an acidity, which prompted tears to form. Instinctively, her eyelids squeezed shut, and she curved a forearm over her face. The next thing she knew birds chirped and the scent of pine replaced the acrid stench. Dee opened one eye and peeked around her hand. She stood in a very pink, cheery room with a huge double bed under an open window. Sunlight streaked through the window in rays, with visible, dancing dust motes as passengers. Dee glanced at the floor. It was bare, uneven, and made of flaky stone. She shifted her feet, and a creamy powder sifted over her blue sneakers. An enormous footed bathtub, a replica of the one at her family’s hunting lodge in Barbados, stood along the opposite tiled wall. A sharp rapping caused her head to twist in the direction of the sound, which came from behind a closed wooden door. “Jamie, is that you? Did you bring pretty boy?” a deep voice growled. The door opened a tich, and a large, tanned hand wrapped around its edge. A giant of a man with classic Grecian features marred by a somewhat pugilistic nose followed the hand into the room. Straight, honey-wheat hair fell to Arnold Schwarzenegger shoulders. “Who are you?” She held up the open locket in her left hand and said, “I’m a friend of Jake’s.” Her breath caught and she swallowed and continued, “Where am I?” “Brodick Castle, Isle of Arran, Scotland.” The man examined her face intently. His bronzed, calloused fingers wrapped around her wrist in a loose, warm caress. “Lady Elaine’s locket. She gave it to her son, Jamie, the one you call Jake. He would never let it out of his possession.”

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“Jake lent it to me. His wife is sick, and I came to learn how to heal her.” “Bonny Tee’s ill?” He dropped her hand and scratched the side of his left ear. “Best you meet Lady Elaine then. Your name, lass?” “I’m Desdemona Bloom. Tee and I have been friends since we were little girls.” “Gratnach Ware Graham.” The giant sketched a graceful old-fashioned bow, his elegant movements at odds with his massive size and muscled bulk. “At your service.” “You’re Tiny Graham.” Dee grinned like a mad woman and clapped her hands together. The locket bounced like a yoyo. “I’ve heard so much about you. What century am I in?” “’Tis the sixteenth century, and we are in the year of our Lord, one thousand, five hundred, and one.” “Fifteen oh-one. This is so frigging cool.” Dee cupped both hands over her mouth. The locket hit her collarbone. “Shit, I mean shoot. Women aren’t supposed to swear in 1501, right? Don’t think less of me. I’m not a loose woman.” Tiny’s turquoise eyes flicked to her breasts. His mouth puckered, and a sensual haze hooded those amazing eyes. “Och, you’re a bonnie one, Desdemona Bloom. Are you a witch, too?” “Yes,” she murmured, more than a little overcome by the sheer sexual intensity of his gaze. “I have healing powers, and I’ve come to learn from your famous healer, Gwyneth.” Dee thought it wise to take out the ‘Old’ part of her name. “Jake told me to speak to his mother, Lady Elaine. Can you take me to her?” “Desdemona, do you possess other garments?” Tiny eyed her oversized t-shirt, black sweat pants, and dusty, powder blue sneakers. “This is it, I’m afraid.” She shrugged. “Please call me, Dee, I prefer it.” “Can you not conjure up a suitable dress and slippers, Dee?” Tiny seemed fascinated by her sneakers, his eyes kept flickering to her feet. “Tee can do that, not me. Sorry.” “’Tis best if you wait here then, Dee Bloom.” He scratched his temple. “I’ll bring the family to you.” “Before you go, Tiny, how did you know I was here? And who’s the pretty boy you referred to?”

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“’Tis is an enchanted chamber built by the fairies,” Tiny replied. “Whenever someone occupies it, the room changes shape, color, and contents. ‘Tis pink for Tee.” “Is the outside pink, too?” Enthrallment and pure thrill drove her to the window and she stuck her head through open wooden shutters. The castle’s walls were pink, but only the section relating to the bedroom. “Wow, this is amazing.” “Do you know pretty boy, Alex?” She swung around, her lips twitching at the corners. “Pretty boy? You call Alex, pretty boy? I love it. Tee told me you two bicker constantly.” “’Tis not often I meet a man afraid of horses, who cannot wield a sword. We’ve yet to make a real man out of the lad, but we’re working on it.” Tiny smirked. “I’ve a mind to marry a witch, lass. Are you available for courting?” “Pish, you come right to the point, don’t you? No, I’m not wife material right now, Tiny Graham.” “Tsk, tsk. I knew you were too bonny not to have a man claim you. I confess to not understanding the habits of noblemen your time. No wife of mine would travel alone.” “I’m not actually married.” She stuck her chin out. “Hand fasted then?” She shook her head. “Promised at birth?” His jaw took on a stubborn lock. “No, we don’t do that in my time and country.” “Explain, lass.” Tiny folded his arms across his chest and straightened. “Am I not to your liking?” Her neck craned to follow his movements, and when he propped one Shaq-sized foot on the mattress and leaned an elbow on his knee, the cut on his corded bicep strained over a three-inch carved brass clasp. Warrior maleness chased an appreciative sigh from her lungs, and she actually mewled, “Oh my.” And feminine instincts she never knew she possessed curved a dreamy smile across her face. One thick, calloused finger threaded a whispery line across her left cheekbone. “It appears you like what you see, little witch.” Good God, what the frig was she doing? Dee shook her head and rattled thoughts back into place. “You’re not letting this go, are you?”

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His long hair swirled from side to side. Jesus, the man oozed every male trait women day-dreamed about. She decided to put the matter strictly to rest, permanently. “In this time, I guess you’d phrase it this way. I’m with child.” Dee’s hands curved over her rounded belly. Tiny scowled and waved a tight fist in the air. “And the scoundrel has abandoned you? Set me to him, I’ll remind him of his duty.” “He doesn’t know, Tiny.” Dee grimaced. “I haven’t told him.” “’Tis not right, lass.” He clucked. “Any child needs his father, his heritage. What if you carry a son?” “It’s complicated, and I’d prefer not to discuss it, but I do plan to tell him as soon as I return to my time.” Temptation to share her baby’s paternity reared and swept away. Alex deserved better. “Lord and Lady Ferguson, are they both in residence?” “Aye. The Laird hunts today. I’ll fetch Lady Elaine. Stay here, lass. Do not leave the room.” Tiny turned, halted, and spun back to her. “Can you disappear like Tee?” “No, I can’t. I used the trunk to get here, but I dropped it by accident. It’s in my time. The only way I can disappear without the trunk is using my legs.” “’Tis a great relief to hear you say so.” He inclined his head and left through the open doorway. The bathtub drew Dee’s attention. It was old by twenty-first century standards, but certainly did not belong in the sixteenth century. She turned the brass faucet. Water gushed. Her fingers trailed the stream, perfect bath temperature. Dee dropped to her hands and knees and checked for the water’s source. The tap didn’t connect to anything. Where did the water come from? And heated? It must be one of Tee’s tricks, she concluded. The door groaned, she bounded to her feet, dusting her hands. To Dee’s utter delight, the woman standing just inside the room stood at least an inch shorter than she was. She could count on one hand how often that had happened lately. Giants seemed to populate the earth or her corner of it. This must be Lady Elaine. The woman’s face was infinitely ethereal. Tinker Bell’s faerie dust set her complexion glowing, and the long dark braid lying over one shoulder sparkled. “Lady Elaine Ferguson?” Dee struggled for air.

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“Call me Elaine, dearling.” She strode forwards, cupped her hands on Dee’s shoulders, and kissed first one cheek, then the other. “Welcome to Brodick Castle, Desdemona, friend of my son, Jake, and his wife, Tee. Gratnach tells me you need garments.” Her soft voice was musical. Lady Elaine clapped diminutive hands, and an adolescent female twisted around the door, carrying a heap of clothes, and dangling ballet-style slippers from one hand. “This is Margo.” The round-faced teenager dipped a curtsey, and the pile of brightly colored garments teetered precariously. “Margo will stay in a room down the hall during your visit. If you need anything, she will fetch it for you. Now, I’ll leave you to dress and afterwards, Margo will bring you down to me.” Dee followed Elaine’s graceful glide until she was out of view. “Margo, my name is Dee.” She stuck out a hand. The girl’s cheeks turned apple red, and Margo dipped a curtsey. Her expression showed the adolescent agony of acute shyness. She stared at the floor, and her cheeks continued to deepen in color. “Let’s check out the clothes, shall we?” Dee helped Margo set them down on the bed. “What’s this?” She held up a short wide dress with a wide neck. “’Tis a kirtle, my lady.” The girl’s complexion colored an even darker shade of scarlet. Dee examined a long emerald dress with spacious sleeves, a square neckline, and loose, flowing lines. “Okay, Margo, let’s get me into these things and then down to Lady Elaine. I have a lot of work to do.” A tiny line etched the space between the Margo’s chestnut eyebrows, but she complied with Dee’s order in silence. It took forty-five minutes to dress versus a mere fifteen minutes for full parliamentary, twenty-first century attire. Dee glanced longingly at her sneakers and sweat pants when Margo finally pronounced them finished. The maid’s waist-length pigtails bounced as she led Dee down three flights of rough, dark stone steps, which rounded onto a landing two flights above a cavernous hall. Stairs on the left and right of the landing hugged the walls of the castle, leading to the floor below.

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A massive red sandstone arch opened behind them into a wide corridor decorated with the head of every creature found in a temperate forest. The realistic heads proved daunting. A few stood significantly taller than Dee. They came to a pair of rectangular double doors bordered by ornate carvings, one stood ajar. “I’ll leave you here, my lady.” Margo dipped a shaky curtsey. Dee knocked on the door. “Enter Desdemona Eileen Bloom.” “How did you know my full name?” Her eyebrows lifted in surprise. “I am an Elfish princess, dearling. My gift is the knowing touch. When I kissed you earlier, I shared your most fundamental truths.” Lady Elaine patted the chair next to hers. “Sit, Desdemona, we have much to discuss.” “You can do that with everyone? Know them?” She perched on the edge of the chair, stretching her feet to touch the stone floor. “No, Desdemona, not all beings let me in. Evil will not let me see past its lies. Brilliant goodness can blind the pieces so I only see the whole.” A halo of early morning sunlight gilded Lady Elaine’s complexion, softening the bleakness glistening in her dark eyes. “Your gift is healing, dearling, and my new daughter, Tee, who can conjure marvels, is gravely ill.” “Yes. Did you know Tee had a miscarriage?” “Only after the knowing touch.” Lady Elaine held Dee’s hand between her small palms. Heat flowed and Dee’s skin tingled. “I will take you to our Gwyneth. She has much work to do with you. Fear not, you will heal your friend, and my grandchild will grace the earth before the end of Samhain.” “I’d like to start right away. I saw Jake yesterday, and he said Tee grows weaker every day.” For a brief moment, the word yesterday challenged where and when she was, and she let the confusion go and tried to focus on her responsibility. “Then, come with me. I will take you to Gwyneth.” Lady Elaine rose and linked their arms. “Our healer knows many years, and her eyesight is failing.” They reached the landing and slipped down the narrow stairs one at a time. Tiny Graham waited at the foot of the flight of steps, one knee propped on a bench in front of a long wooden table, his hand dangling. He straightened as they approached.

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“My lady, do I escort Dee to our Gwyneth?” Pure male approval twinkled in those blue-green eyes as Tiny took in her appearance in a slow, suggestive gaze, lingering on her breasts and her lips. Alex had to learn this trick, she decided, definitely unnerved. “You escort Desdemona on her return to Brodick in time for the evening meal, Gratnach. It is but a short walk to Gwyneth’s residence on Goatfell, Desdemona, and I would take this time to hear of my son, his wife, and that dearling boy, Alex.” Tiny Graham snorted. He muttered something undecipherable and stomped up the stairs to the second floor. Elaine’s black eyes twinkled, and her lips twitched. She slipped her elbow into the crook of Dee’s arm, and they walked to the doorway. “When is your babe due, Desdemona?” She choked, and her eyebrows grazed her hairline. “The knowing touch?” “Yes, dearling. When will you tell Alex?” She stumbled on the last step down the terrace leading to the Castle’s entrance. Their linked arms separated. Lady Elaine halted and turned to face her. “He will be a good father, Desdemona. However, I fear Alex will be very angry with you if he discovers by chance that you carry his child.” A gnat war started in Dee’s stomach, and stinging heat relayed through her veins, making her body burn with shame. “I’ve been a coward, haven’t I?” Elaine’s pitying smile smarted, Dee stifled a wince. They walked in silence for a good ten minutes, each woman lost in her own thoughts. Dee took in the scenery on the walk up the steep hill. The scent of pine and the bracing fresh mountain air proved invigorating. She caught sight of a gorge with a narrow waterfall in its center ejaculating a frothy stream out of gray mountain rock onto dense emerald trees. Pine needles and bark carpeted the forest floor. Conversation picked up again and Dee found Elaine’s curiosity about the future insatiable. Finally, she asked the question burning her mind. “Why haven’t you visited Jake and Tee in the future? You would love to see it, I’m positive.” “My father cursed me with these words,” Elaine replied. “All portals destroy your life’s essence,

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Save one of this world yet not, One life giving and growing, Without blood or skin, Free yet controlled, No heart pumping.” “That doesn’t make any sense.” Dee frowned. “My husband, Kieran, will never let me risk my life to travel the times, because of the curse. Thus, I depend upon your mentor, Douglas Graham, to keep my stolen son and his kin safe.” “Is Tiny, Gratnach I mean, related to Douglas?” “Yes, dearling, Douglas is Gratnach’s uncle.” “Douglas is a warlock. Is Tiny?” “The gods gifted Gratnach. He has Mars’s strength, Mercury’s speed, Minerva blessed him with wisdom, Eros with a powerful lust, and Aphrodite with a sway over the passion between male and female. But for all that, he is a mortal man.” He put a spell on her. Dee gritted her teeth. Eros and Aphrodite, no frigging wonder she reacted like an adolescent. God help twentieth century women if Tiny ever changed times permanently. That sparked a question. “Does that means he can’t travel through time at will like Douglas?” “Nay, ‘tis not precisely so simple. Gratnach is not a man bound to a particular time.” “Oh.” Dee stopped to catch her breath. They had climbed steadily for thirty minutes. “Do you know why Douglas looks after the nine of us?” “That is a question for Douglas, dearling, and well you know it.” Elaine shook her head, and a devilish smile curled her mouth, making her skin crinkle at the corners of her dark eyes. “It was worth a try,” Dee muttered. “I think we tried every form of that question as kids. Douglas never answered anything. He pushed us when we reached a fork in the road, but nothing else. I’m not complaining though, Elaine. Douglas kept us all safe.” They reached a level tablet of land, a grassy meadow with yellow and white daisies sprinkled in high, jade grass. At the far edges, knots of gray, weathered rock faced them forming a striate of grooves at least ten feet high. A smattering of pine and strange spindly trees ringed the mottled cliff face.

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“What are those trees?” Their graceful, arching branches stirred a heady excitement in Dee’s blood. “Desdemona.” Elaine took her hand and stroked the soft pulse at her wrist. “Those are Arran Whitebeams, the rarest of all trees both in your time and mine. The magic that lies within the Isle of Arran interbred the Arran Whitebeam with the sacred Rowan tree to sow what you see before your eyes, the Scottish Whitebeam. The tree only exists in this one place on our earth. Gwyneth will teach you the strength of this tree, its bark, its sap.” “Every hair on my body is standing on edge, Elaine. The trees are calling to me. How can that be?” “Dearling, you are a healer. The tree connects you to mother earth, to the core burning deep inside our world that distils the impurities mortals litter.” She cupped Dee’s shoulders and kissed first one cheek, then the other. “I give you my strength today and each day of your stay. The power you need will grow from the potency of us all. Ask. Take, Desdemona. Save my daughter, my grandchild, and the others coming.” Elaine turned her around and pushed her forward. “Go. Gwyneth will come for you.” Dee walked, hands outstretched to the nearest graceful Whitebeam. She never heard Elaine leave, so mesmerized was she by the tree. The first contact sparked and calmed, hypnotizing her into a rhythmic stroking of the damp, orange-hued bark, so slender, so elongated. The fragile tree grew on a rock clinging to a patch of soil and sphagnum moss. White flowers dotted the tree, set on bases of four or five large, broad green leaves. Each flower consisted of a clump of several white, thick stamens, each an eighth of an inch wide with a furled bud at the end. The blossoms perfumed the air with a pure, clean scent, like laundered linen mated with wind and grass and earth. A finger fluttered up the nape of her neck. Dee felt as if her feet had grown roots, and the papery skin touching hers anchored her to the soil. “You have no faith in your gift, little one.” The whisper resonated through the Whitebeam tree, rustling its leaves. “A healer drains the impure. Like the Gods’ river, it must flow, never stopping, an eternal channel to our earth mother’s core. She cleanses, purifies, and returns the pulsing energy.” The hand cupped her nape and urged Dee to turn. Gwyneth looked like an aged version of Galadriel in Lord of the Rings. Straight, thick silver hair

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fell to her waist. Gwyneth stood six feet tall, a commanding warrior presence, not at all like Dee had imagined. Her lined features, stained nutbrown by sunlight, made her lawn eyes gleam like a cat’s. By the time the sun waned, a bare half-ball glowing golden on the horizon, Dee’s mind could take no more. Nothing she’d ever learned during her twenty-nine years prepared her for Gwyneth’s view of life, for all the bizarre concepts taught to her in a few hours. Now she understood why Douglas never allowed her to learn the mortal approach to healing. It would have taken years to strip away such flawed theories. “Gratnach approaches,” Gwyneth said. “You will return each day for two full sennights. One day, child, you will be my equal. Share your gift with others, and guide them as I will guide you.” Gwyneth pressed a velum packet into Dee’s palm. “Brew this after the evening meal. ‘Twill calm your mind for rest.” Dee opened the small envelope. It contained dried leaves and flowers, all from the Whitebeam tree. She raised her head to ask Gwyneth about the tea and her pregnancy, but the healer was no longer there. Tiny strode towards her over the crest of the low hill in the distance. He arrived in mere minutes. “Lass.” Tiny touched a finger to her arm. “Shall I carry you?” “Of course not, I can walk,” Dee automatically replied. “Dee. A pouf of sea breeze would blow you away.” Tiny puffed a demonstration, his aqua eyes twinkling. The strange sexual pull he oozed earlier seemed dimmed, there, but not pulsing like an irresistible lure. She blinked a couple of times, trying to revitalize dazed spirits. “There, I’m still standing even after such a mighty wind.” Dee smiled through her exhaustion, folded the envelope closed, and stuffed it into the pocket of her wide robe. “Whitebeam tea, I see.” Tiny scratched his temple. “We’ll naught be seeing much of you tonight. You will sleep the sleep of faeries, lass. Dreams to release your wisdom.” “Have you had the tea before?” Tiny took her hand and nestled it in the crook of his elbow as they started down Goatfell. “Aye. I trained with Gwyneth as a lad.” “You did? Are you a healer, too?”

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The temperature dropped as the sun dipped, and a cool wind circled them. Dee shivered. He stroked a finger down her arm, and warmth covered her flesh like an electric blanket. Tiny unclipped the brooch holding a green, white, and red-checkered plaid at his shoulder. He draped it around Dee’s neck and dropped the brooch into a pouch at his waist. “Not like you are, or will be. You have one talent which surpasses all others.” Tiny shrugged. “I have an affinity for many, but do not excel at any particular one.” “What else did you study?” “Painting and engineering under Master da Vinci.” “My heart just stopped.” Dee put a hand to her chest. “You know Leonardo da Vinci?” From that point until they strode through Brodick Castle’s red-bricked, arched entrance, she peppered Tiny with questions. He seemed amused by her growing awe. The massive oak doors stood open, and the cavernous hall teemed with activity. Men shouted, women murmured or sang, children shrilled and laughed. Dogs barked, noses pointed at arrogant cats cleaning themselves while perched on dark planks of wood nestled high off the ground. Elaine’s petite form directed traffic from a dais centered in the middle of the far wall. She spotted Tiny, and her gaze fell to Dee. Light from the glowing torches above rippled across Elaine’s fine features cloaking her with a silvery iridescence. The baby moved. Dee’s hands circled the small mound at her waist, and she stared at her belly covered by the thick, green woolen robe. Tears pooled in the corners of her eyes, tears of weariness, tears of regret, tears for Tyler who, with the scant knowledge she gained today, would be alive. No wonder Harrie hated her. Dee’s lips trembled, and she bit the lower one until she tasted blood. “Desdemona.” She looked up at the sound of Elaine’s voice. “You are fatigued.” She pulled one of Dee’s hands over the other. “Your babe and you need rest. Gratnach, escort Desdemona to the fairy room and see to her care. I will send up Brodick’s Broth. Drink the Whitebeam tea in your bed, dearling. You need its restoration for the morrow.”

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The rest of the night blurred for Dee. Somehow, they were in the pink room, and Margo led her to a strangely shaped wooden chair that was not there before. The pretty maid sat on a stool adjacent to Dee, and gave her a small, round loaf of bread and a heavy iron bowl filled with a thick, creamy broth. It took a few seconds before Dee realized, she was supposed to drink directly from the bowl. Spirals of hot steam wafted up to her nostrils, the aroma one of rich cream tangled with smoke. The soup tasted of potatoes, carrots, leeks, and fish. She drank every drop and ate even the smaller crumbles of the bread. By then, the soothing scent of the Whitebeam tea filled the chamber. Dee sipped it and even before finishing the small mug, yawned two or three times. After that, Margo unlaced her dress and bid her a good night’s sleep. Dee stripped, pulled her cotton t-shirt over her head, and flopped onto the mattress. The minute her head hit the pillow, she fell asleep. Birds chirping woke her from a dreamless slumber. Sunlight warmed the blankets covering her body. Dee stretched her arms above her head, pointed her cozy bare toes, and curled her hands under her cheek for an extended, delicious, stolen snooze. “Lass, ’tis rise and shine.” Tiny’s heavy hand pounded the door, and his cheerful tone prodded a groan. She pulled the pillow over her head. “Dee? Are you dressed?” “I’m asleep,” she yelled. “Come back in an hour.” “Gwyneth awaits Desdemona Bloom, and our healer’s time is precious. We are very late.” “All right, all right, hold your horses,” Dee grumbled. She shrugged on her sweat pants. “Come on in, Tiny. I’m decent.” The door creaked open. She plopped onto the bed and propped her chin on her palms, and glanced up at Tiny. “What’s wrong? Why are you frowning?” “Lady Elaine received a message from Douglas Graham yester eve. Tee’s illness worsens. Margo has packed garments and I’m to take you to stay with Gwyneth.” She straightened. “Did Douglas say what was wrong?” “Nay, lass. Simply that she needs you urgently.”

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“I’ll go to Gwyneth as I am then, Tiny. Let me get my running shoes.” She pulled on her ankle socks and tugged on the blue sneakers. “It’s warm enough during the day I won’t need the woolen robe, and Gwyneth’s cave is never cold.” “Aye, soon she’ll show you the warm spring that runs through it.” Tiny placed his hand to the small of her back and pressed her forward. “Douglas sent another magical trunk. I’ll bring it for you in a sennight. We’re to travel to your time together. Douglas requested this.” “Will I know enough after only one week?” Dee halted and turned to him. “Gwyneth told me yesterday I needed two weeks to perfect my craft.” “’Tis only Gwyneth who can say, lass.” They made the journey up Goatfell to Gwyneth’s cave in silence. Dee’s thoughts jumped everywhere - Alex, Tee, Jake, Alex, Harrie, Tyler; vicious litanies of hope, fear, despair, and determination. Five days went by where the cycle repeated at the odd moments she was not training, practicing a new skill, or snatching a few hours of exhausted sleep. Midway through the fifth day, Gwyneth paused in the middle of a heated instruction, and cocked her head to one side. “It is as I feared,” Gwyneth spoke softly and closed her eyes. “You must go. We have no more time.” Every hair on Dee’s body rose, sending shivers over skin. “It’s too soon, isn’t it?” It felt like a too-small rubber band squeezed her chest, slowing the blood flow in that area. “I don’t have enough control.” Each word morphed the image of Tyler’s lifeless features into Tee’s. “I do not know if you will survive the task set for you. You must leave now, child.” “Thank you, Gwyneth, for all you’ve taught me.” The healer cocked her head to the side, once, twice. “Go.” Dee nodded, focused on the uneven stone floor, and walked towards the arc of light that marked the cave’s entrance. The sun shone so bright, she had to shade her eyes to divine Tiny’s position. He jogged forward and captured each of her hands in his. “We must travel to The B&B in Tobago. Now.” His aqua eyes and the taut line of his stubborn jaw reflected nothing but empathy. “Bonny Tee’s illness….” His voice wavered, and he blinked away moistness limning his turquoise eyes. “We must go. Now.”

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Knights to the Rescue “Did you know Butch is involved in child pornography?” Ian asked. “This is the first I’ve heard of it.” Jake tugged his earlobe. “Everyone speaks of Butch’s money laundering through the gambling clubs, but I’ve never heard a peep about him peddling child pornography. Where did this come from?” Alex took one look at Ian’s face and answered for him. “Dee. Dee uncovered this. Why is she obsessed with Reniere?” “For the record, we didn’t force Desdemona into acting as bait. She volunteered, and when we refused, she told us she would go it alone if need be. Henry suspects Butch either raped or molested her as a teenager,” Ian replied. “That’s not possible,” Alex snapped. Ian took a pull of his cigar and blew three smoke rings. “It’s the only explanation that makes sense.” Although he loved the scent of a cigar, the aroma of Ian’s sent his gut roiling; Alex took a shallow breath. The house phone rang, once, twice. “Linda will get it. She’s in the kitchen.” Half an hour later, the housekeeper strolled through the patio doors and bent to whisper in Jake’s ear. His eyebrows slashed together, he jumped to his feet, and vanished into the house. “Something wrong?” Ian asked. “Tee’s sick.” “I assumed she was pregnant again. I don’t classify that as being ill, however.” Ian’s cell phone rang. He unclipped it from his belt, stood up, and walked to the far side of the patio. Alex took the opportunity to escape to the TV room and checked his office voicemail. After he finished replying to the urgent messages, he glanced at his watch, almost five thirty. It would be dark within the hour.

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He and Jake both privately agreed that the disappearance at the same exact time of the two GPSs proved Dee had arrived safely in 1501. Consternation and doubt plagued the positive reinforcement of Jake’s clear vision of Dee and Tiny together in the pink room. Something marred whatever his friend had seen, something he avoided sharing. Irrational and unexpected jealousy punched a hollow in his gut. Tiny and Dee together. Jake made no mention of any others. Blast, why hadn’t he jumped at the chance and proposed two weeks ago? A sudden, ego-deflating balloon knocked his self-confidence sideways as he remembered the women fawning over Tiny in 1501 and in the year 2007. Brooding only served to exacerbate unanticipated insecurities. He didn’t have a timid bone in his body, and he sprang to his feet, self-irritation propelling his feet into motion. An eerie silence pervaded the house, exaggerating unwanted emotions. He headed for the patio and spotted Jake pummeling the aerial roots of a Banyan tree, fists flying. Alarmed, Alex jogged through the open French doors leading to the pool and halted a couple of feet shy of him. “What happened?” “Tee,” he growled, his knuckles bloodied on impact with the trunk. “Says she’s dying and wants to go to The B&B.” Alex snagged his arms under Jake’s shoulders and dragged him back against his chest. “Easy, easy,” he crooned. “Easy. This won’t help Tee.” He blinked away threatening tears and swallowed. “I have no idea what you’re feeling right now, but it must be as close to insanity as a man can get.” Jake’s taut body crumpled. “Let me go, Alex. What the hell am I supposed to do now?” His forehead collapsed onto the trunk. “Dee’s our only hope.” He turned around and sank down to the lawn. “I have to find her.” “If anyone knows where Dee is, it’s that Douglas Graham. I’ll fly to Barbados tonight and see what I can worm out of him.” Alex sat next to Jake and leaned back on the Banyan. “We’ll find her, buddy, I promise.” “I called David. He’s arranged for Tee and me to use the US Embassy’s helicopter. I’m meeting him at the helipad for six-thirty. Suppose I lose her, Alex? Shit, I don’t care if we never have a child, all I need is Tee.” “Keep moving. Focus on one task, finish it, and go on to the next. That’s what I’m going to do. I’ll call you the minute I have news.” Alex squeezed

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Jake’s shoulders even though he knew it was a futile gesture. “It will work out. It has to.” “Use my car,” Jake suggested. “Keys are in the garage. Are you leaving now?” “I’ll have to fly standby, so the sooner I get there the better.” Alex stood up. “I’ll call you.” He couldn’t get a flight out and stayed overnight at the Piarco Airport Hotel. Alex thought of the last time, he’d seen Dee at brunch the day after the barbeque. Disappointment and something stronger, a poignant sense of loss, tightened his chest when she mentioned menstrual cramps. For weeks he harbored a secret hope Dee carried his child, and until that moment, he’d added up all the physical symptoms, the nausea, her weight gain, the round, luscious mounding of her breasts, her pendulum swinging emotions and come to the wrong conclusion. He couldn’t imagine Jake’s suffering, vibrant Tee’s spirit snuffed out, not even a child as a legacy of her time on this earth. Suddenly, Alex understood Harrie wanting to sacrifice her life for her son’s, but he also agreed with Jake. They could always have another baby. To choose would be to play God. It was his last thought before fatigue claimed him. Faint sunlight whispered through the dust-splotched window of the room. Six Feet from the Edge blasted from his vibrating cell phone on the bedside table. He lunged for it and flicked it open. “Alex here,” he croaked, his dry throat protesting speech. “Turn on the TV. Where are you?” Jake barked. “Piarco Airport hotel, I couldn’t get a flight last night. What channel?” “Six. Call me afterwards. I have the phone on vibrate. Tee’s asleep.” Alex pressed the power button on the remote. “More on Acting Attorney General Bloom’s kidnapping after these commercials.” He shed his clothes, unzipped the carryon, stuffed the dirty garments into the netted side of the suitcase, and dug out fresh jeans, underwear, and a polo shirt. A twenty-something male reporter dressed in a fitted longsleeved khaki shirt and white pants held up a microphone and intoned, “Chanel 6 News learned from reliable sources that Scotland Yard and Interpol have surrounded this house in Tobago.”

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A shot of a pale candy-cotton Gingerbread house framed by a white fretwork fence centered on the top of a hill filled the screen. “The house is reportedly owned by Harriet Lloyd, a well-known local artist. Authorities will not confirm reports that an unidentified armed group in this house is holding Ms. Bloom hostage. Barbados’s Acting Attorney General has been missing for over a week. Scotland Yard and Interpol are assisting local security forces in the search for Ms. Bloom. The army has secured the entire area. More as events occur. Stay tuned to Chanel 6.” Alex lowered the volume. He hit the last call button and got a message indicating that the number was out of range. After trying Jake’s number several times, he grew frustrated. He dialed directory assistance, but The B&B wasn’t listed. Finally, Alex phoned Jake and Tee’s home. Their housekeeper, Linda, answered. “Hi Linda, it’s Alex Mayfield. I need to get Jake, and he’s not answering his cell phone. Do you have the number for The B&B?” “They only got their phones yesterday, Mr. Alex,” Linda replied. “I have the number right here. Miss Harrie phoned to find out where Miss Dee was, and I had to find it for her. The number is 639-6098.” Alex wrote down the number, his mind buzzing with the implications behind the housekeeper’s words. “When did Harrie phone?” “Early this morning. I wasn’t here last night when you all left, but Mr. Jake left me a note saying he and Miss Tee were at The B&B, so I knew Miss Dee would be there too.” “You told her that?” Terror bunched his neck muscles. “Sure, I know Miss Tee needs all her loved ones around now, her being so ill and all. Miss Harrie’s such a good friend to her.” For a few seconds after he hung up, Alex stared at the phone and prayed his first instinct was wrong. Harrie’s anger must have waned by now. She wouldn’t harm Dee. He phoned The B&B. Jake answered. “Is the report true? Is Dee at Harrie’s? Did she betray Dee to Butch?” “Calm down, Alex. Yes, the army has surrounded Harrie’s place. I don’t know if Dee is there. She used the pirate’s trunk to travel to 1501. Dee was there for the week. She and Tiny showed up here, at The B&B, early this morning. Harrie arrived later with the dogs. She flew into a rage and called Dee a murderer. Harrie actually physically assaulted Dee.”

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“What? Is Dee hurt?” Fear cordoned Alex’s breathing. He felt a little reassured by Tiny’s presence. The warrior had been bred to chivalry and would die protecting either Dee or Tee. He might just as easily seduce her, Tee being off limits, of course, as the Laird’s wife. “We were all so shocked by her assault that she managed to land a few blows. Tiny restrained Harrie, and she seemed to calm down. Tiny insisted that Dee eat before seeing Tee. He said she’d need her strength. Somewhere along the line Harrie left The B&B without anyone noticing.” Alex’s gut wound as tight as a baseball at the thought of Harrie, unpredictable, furious, unstable. Tee had told Jake about Dee’s visit to her, and he shared the knife incident with Alex yesterday. “It couldn’t have been more than an hour later, when Carrington, that’s—” “Butch’s security guy,” Alex interrupted, pacing a furious circle around the room. “Yeah. He and about fifteen armed men stormed the place. They took Dee. Knocked Tiny and me out, tied up George, Ashraff and all the staff. They cut all communications and short-circuited the electrical poles. Shot up all the vehicles.” “Dee? Did they hurt her?” Jake’s hesitant silence churned through the airwaves. “Answer me,” Alex shouted. “One of the men smacked Dee on the back of her head with his gun. She passed out, buddy. The only consolation I have is Carrington was furious with the man who did it. He took charge of Dee after that.” He saw red, literally. Long moments elapsed as he battled for control. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.” Alex caught the first morning flight to Crown Point Airport in Tobago. He slid into the driver’s seat of the rental car, turned the key in the ignition, and drove like a local. He cut the twenty-minute ride to The B&B in half. Gunshot holes littered every vehicle in the parking lot, the canary wooden walls of The B&B, and the front doors hung askew. Butch’s thugs had destroyed the lobby, shot up the original art on the walls, and decapitated the head of the once elegant giraffe.

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Jake came through the arched doors as Alex skidded on slippery wood. He righted himself and looked down. Blood. An ugly splotch of dark red blood. “Dee’s?” Alex clenched his jaw, staring at the large, wet stain. “Tiny’s and George’s.” “Tee?” Jake’s eyes squeezed shut. Ashraff appeared next to him. He shook his head. “Miss Tee’s unconscious.” “Where can we talk?” “Kitchen, they trashed most of the other rooms downstairs.” Jake led the way. They sat on benches opposite each other over a wooden picnic table. Ashraff wordlessly slapped down mugs filled with hot, sweet, black coffee. “Boss, yell if you need me. I’m going to start the cleanup.” He left. Tiny stomped through the doorway before Alex could utter his first question. “’Tis deplorable circumstances under which we renew our friendship.” He clamped a hand on Alex’s shoulder and sat down. “They shot you,” he stated, staring at the white gauze strapped around Tiny’s bare left shoulder. “Not my sword arm.” He lifted the uninjured limb. “’Twill not hinder my performance in battle.” “Good. Any news, Jake?” “No, it’s still a state of siege. No communication with anyone inside Harrie’s house.” “Why there? Did someone see them go there? That location makes no sense, not for a man like Butch, who likes his enemies to disappear quietly and be found much later, after his alibi is firmly established.” “Interpol and Scotland Yard monitor Butch’s phone lines on all his properties. A call was placed from Harrie’s house to Parrot’s Retreat, tipping them off about Dee’s location here at The B&B.” “Harrie phoned Linda early this morning. Linda assumed Dee was with you and Tee. You left a note saying you’d be at The B&B.” Alex crushed the white napkin he’d taken off the table.

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“Linda told Harrie,” Jake said, his voice bleak. He choked out a strangled laugh. “What’s the chance of a coincidence like that normally?” “God rot Harrie’s soul,” Alex cursed. “As soon as Linda told me, my gut clamped tight.” He shook his head. “I knew.” “Why did you phone Linda?” “Couldn’t get through to your cell, and The B&B isn’t listed. I got the number from Linda. That’s when she told me.” “The cell doesn’t work if you’re out on the point. I took a walk to clear my mind earlier.” Alex drummed his fingers on the rough wood. “Why did they leave all of you alive, Jake? You’re witnesses, you can identify them.” “They were hooded, masked, and uniformed in black military gear and boots. I recognized Carrington’s stance, and you can’t hide those green eyes of his. But, you know better than I, neither of those are positive proof it was Butch’s men.” “Did they speak?” Tiny shook his head. “Nay, they used hand signals.” “My every intuition tells me they’re not at Harrie’s. It’s a ruse of some sort.” “I agree, and we can find them, Alex. Tiny has a trunk. Mine is in Trinidad.” “Aye, but we will not know the terrain, their strength.” Tiny grimaced. “’Tis like a hen walking into a foxhole. Lady Elaine instructed me on the use of the trunk, but I cannot think of any way to get to Dee without alerting them. Can you?” Alex fiddled with his mug. The black liquid eddied and swirled in the cup. “David said Dee’s wearing the evidence they needed to convict Butch on her ears. Tiny, did she have on earrings?” “Earbobs?” He cocked his head. “Her hair covered her ears. I cannot remember. We spent very little time together.” “Don’t beat yourself up,” Jake said morosely. “I didn’t notice either.” “Okay, let’s assume Dee’s wearing them. What’s the first order of day with a captive?” “Disarm,” Tiny answered. “Remove all possessions. Get the prisoner to a secure location. Where would they take her?” He glanced from Alex to Jake.

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“Back to Parrot’s Retreat. The security there is second to none.” “They’ll figure out what the earrings are eventually.” Alex pushed the bench away from the table, straightened, and paced the length of it. “Quick, Jake, call Ian and find out if the safe’s been accessed since they took Dee and if there’s any traffic on the way to the villa.” The ton weighing on his chest lost a couple of pounds. “Hell,” he slapped the wooden table. “We’re frigging idiots. The GPSs, either the necklace or the one they implanted in Dee. Get David to track them. Now.” Exuberance lit his soul. “You may have something there.” Jake pulled his Blackberry out of his Polo shirt pocket, set the cell phone in the middle of the table, hit Ian’s phone number and the speakerphone button. The phone rang and immediately went to voicemail. Jake left an urgent message at the beep. For a few interminable minutes, each man swore and glared at the phone. “How long was Dee in your time, Tiny?” “Six days.” “What was she wearing when she arrived?” “The same as when we came here, long black leggings—” Jake interrupted him. “Oversized white t-shirt, Fruit of the Loom kind, black sweatpants—didn’t see the brand, but powder blue sneakers with fluorescent double Ds on the left side.” At Alex’s surprised stare, Jake added, “Tee put the Ds on for her.” “Pity the trunk isn’t a two pronged approach. If it were, we could split up, one going for the sneakers and the others for the safe. Do you think we should try?” “I remember a certain person who vanished and was never seen again the last time that happened. Do you forget so easily, pretty boy?” “Shut up, Tiny.” “Stop bickering. I need to check on Tee. Come get me when Ian calls back.” Jake hurried out of the room. Forty minutes later the phone finally rang, but it wasn’t Ian calling. “Jake, is that you?” “Who’s this? Jake stepped out for a moment.” “Alex Mafield, is that you? I thought you were in Barbados.”

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“David, hold on.” He cupped a hand over Tiny’s ear and whispered, “Get Jake, fast.” He turned back to the earphone. “David, we need to speak with you and Ian. Where is he?” “In a meeting, he asked me to find out what Jake wanted.” “We need some information. Hang on, Jake’s coming through the doorway.” “David.” Jake took an audible breath. “Sorry about that. We need to speak with both you and Ian. I don’t think Dee’s being held at Harrie’s place. I think she’s at Parrot’s Retreat.” “Ian is tied up and will be for a while. Why do you think that?” Jake explained their reasoning. “But, there’s one way we can be certain. The two GPSs, can you activate their tracking?” Muttered, foul curses filled the next ten seconds. “I cannot believe I overlooked that. Hang on.” Fingers pounded a keyboard in a furious two-forefinger attack. “Shit. Nothing. Neither of them.” Clear, unadulterated frustration laced David’s snarl. “Where did they place the GPS?” “Left buttock, close to the seam.” “Dee had on sweats. We’d never have noticed any cuts or bandages,” Jake muttered. Alex ignored Tiny’s obvious bewilderment. “Anything else you need to know?” “Has the safe been accessed since Dee’s kidnapping?” “One second.” Rhythmic clicking punctuated an extra-lengthy sixty seconds. “No. Is that it?” “Have any vehicles approached the villa?” More typing, followed by an indrawn breath. “Yes, a Mazda 929 is at the entrance to the private gate.” “Right now? Wait, is it the same one from the night Dee was there?” Mere inhales elapsed before David’s terse answer. “Yes, to both questions.” “How long does the drive take?” “Between fifteen to twenty minutes.”

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“Alex, here, David. Ian said that night Dee was at Parrot’s Retreat, you texted the safe’s combination to her cell phone.” Alex tried to level his soaring hope. “Can you do the same for us in half an hour and send it to Jake’s number?” “You’re civilians. Technically, I can’t do that.” “You damned well owe it to Tee,” Jake snarled. “You know she has ovarian cancer. She asked me to bring her to The B&B to die. The only one who can save her is Dee. Tee slipped into a coma half an hour ago, David. Don’t tell me you can’t do this.” “It’s done.” There was no hesitation in David’s gruff voice. “I know about watching a wife almost die. You’ll need the combination to the basement door, where the safe is located, and to the safe itself. I don’t believe they’ll keep her there, but that area is almost impossible to break into. Every room at Parrot’s retreat is tied to an electronic lock that can only be opened with a code. I’ll get the information for you. What else do you need?” “You do not know me, David. My name is Gratnach Graham and I am assisting Jake and Alex.” Tiny interjected. “Can you tell us anything about the terrain surrounding the villa and the structure of the actual building?” “I have blueprints reconstructed from Dee’s photographs, notes, and memory. I’ll email them to your cell phone, Jake.” Tiny rubbed his palms together and grinned. “Aye, now we can plan a battle.” “I don’t like what I think you intend,” David cautioned. “Your opinion doesn’t count,” Jake growled. “Is there anything else you can think of that could help?” “I can, for a minute or two, shut down all security at Parrot’s Retreat.” David offered. “If you need me to do that, text me XS. Remember, it will only last a couple of minutes at the most. Their backup generator will kick in.” “Thanks David. One more thing, don’t mention it to anyone else.” “Notice I haven’t asked how you plan to get in or where you are. The less I know the better. By the way, I will send you the number for one of those disposable, untraceable cells with the blueprints. Nothing incriminating goes over my regular line. It’s monitored. Good luck.”

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“Thanks, bye.” Jake snapped the phone shut, he shifted right and faced the occupants of the kitchen. “George has the standby generator working. The Point of Sale printer in the bar area isn’t damaged. We can download the blueprints there and go over them. I estimate we have less than ten minutes to develop a plan.” Mid-afternoon sun in the tropics, even in the rainy season, taxed energy reserves. At exactly seventeen minutes before three, someone accessed Butch Reniere’s safe. “Concentrate on that, Tiny,” Jake pointed to the photograph of the safe’s doors lying on the library desk next to the miniature pirate’s trunk. “Go ahead, flip it.” Tiny complied. A blinding streak of white light seared their vision. Their eyesight deteriorated when stinging, thick, charcoal smoke erupted and stole the breath from their nostrils. Alex’s eyes automatically closed and black spots whirled when he opened them. He brushed Tiny’s elbow who clutched the pirate’s chest firmly in his hand. Dressed in a similar manner, dark sweatpants, black t-shirt, and rubber-soled sneakers, they moved forward in unison. Tiny slipped the trunk into his pants pocket. The soft murmur of male voices reached Alex’s ears. He touched a finger to Jake’s shoulder. Tiny had already picked up on the sound. Alex pointed ahead. A vertical crack of light, floor to ceiling high pierced the funereal darkness directly ahead of them. Alex started forward. Tiny’s fingers tightened around his bicep and dragged him back. He nodded a warning and glided forward as if he had winged feet, soundless, blurred movement faster than the eye could follow. Before Alex blinked, Tiny was back at his side. He held up two fingers, made a sitting motion, and mimed a ‘yackety-yak’ gesture with one hand. Alex nodded his understanding, and pointed at a narrow staircase hugging the far wall. At the top, a similar crack of light showed, illuminating a heavy door that stood ajar. Tiny led the way, surefooted, noiseless, swift. Alex followed, and Jake took the rear. Something thudded from the direction of the safe. Tiny

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reached the top of the steps, tucked his head around the doorframe, and slipped through the narrow space. Alex and Jake were next. A corridor, lit by airplane style emergency lighting along the baseboards ended in darkness to the right and a tunnel of light far in the distance to the left. Alex turned right. Interspersed at precise, equal, distances waist high to the floor, a row of green lights glowed as far as he could see along the wall on his right. The pattern repeated on the left wall. One lone red light winked where the darkness became absolute. The other two faced the opposite direction. Alex tapped their shoulders and when they turned then pointed to the row of lights. Jake’s chin dipped twice, and he stepped forwards. Tiny and Alex followed. When they reached the red light, a deep bellow of rage echoed through the house. A door one down and across stood slightly ajar. Alex strode to it, turned the handle, and it opened. He scurried inside the room, Tiny on his heels, followed by Jake. A nightlight in an electrical socket at the far end of the room lifted the darkness. They left the door open a faint crack, and Alex set his eye to it. Another bellow punctuated the dead silence. Alex recognized the words as French but didn’t understand their meaning. He turned to Jake and lifted one eyebrow. Jake shrugged. Tiny’s head cocked, and he listened with intent concentration. After a couple of minutes, he crooked his finger, and Jake and Alex followed him to the far end of the room. “He says, ‘I don’t want to go. You cannot make me.’” Jake put a forefinger to Tiny’s lips and held up the cell. He texted, “Alain, son. No love.” Tiny nodded. The shouts and hollers grew closer. Alex sped to the door. What he saw made his jaw drop. Alain Reniere’s bulk rivaled Tiny’s. He fought the four men restraining him with every body part, twisting, jerking, wrenching, biting, trying to remove the weight of the two men securely locked onto each arm. Alain’s legs were free. Grouped around the red glowing dot, which winked between their movements, the men struggled to contain him.

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A shout from one of the men brought two more running down the hallway. One joined the fray. The other shook his head and twisted his machine gun forward, feet planted. Alain kicked and wedged his foot halfway up the wall above the security door panel. He jumped upwards, yanking one arm out of the two men holding him on the left side, emitting a ferocious growl. For a whispered breath, escape seemed possible, but the unmoving man took a lazy step behind Alain. He cracked the butt of his gun across Alain’s skull, once, twice. On the third whack, Alain’s head went slack, and his knees buckled. With deft fingers, the man punched in a code on the door panel. Alex inched backwards, holding the door closed without allowing it to click shut. The men dragged Alain into the room. For about five minutes, they heard muttered universal expletives and short barks of laughter. Alex watched the men exit the room, close the door, and then the leader punched in a keypad combination. They waited until the men’s muttered conversation faded. Alex edged the door apart. The hallway was empty, and silence once again reigned. He texted “XS” and slashed a finger across his throat. Jake nodded and entered the same message on his cell phone. Staring at the glowing red button, Alex forgot to breathe waiting for it to go dark. Seconds drew into short lifetimes, each measured by death, Tee’s, Tyler’s, Dee’s, theirs. His dry throat convulsed when all the lights in the hallway blinked off. All three men moved at once, rushing out the door. Alex headed for the spot where the red dot last glowed. He turned the door handle, shoved it open, and sprinted into the room. Noise was not a concern anymore, speed and time were. “The trunk, Tiny, get it ready,” his loud whisper echoed. Tiny closed the door behind them. The absence of light halted any action for a second until Jake and Alex flipped their cell phones open. “Left Jake, I’ll take right.” “Dee, Dee,” Alex whispered. He tripped and fell over a thick leg. The tiny pinpoint of light from the phone showed a trussed Alain. “Tiny, stay with him.” His knee bumped into a metal bed frame. Alex leaned one hand on the mattress and faced his cell screen up the bed. Dee’s gray eyes, wild and

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dilated with fear, blinked rapidly at him above silver duct tape. Manacles bound her hands to opposite steel bedposts, her bare arms spread wide to bursting. The light followed her nude torso down to toes pointed to lessen painful stretching. Each ankle bore a manacle, her legs spread eagled. “Crap,” Alex muttered. “Tiny will the trunk work on this?” He beamed the phone’s light at Dee’s ankle restraint. “It did once before, when—” Horned sirens drowned his words. Lights flared brilliant white, blinding them to the room’s contents and size. Footsteps pounded from the hallway. “Help me with Alain.” Jake snagged a hand under each of Alain’s armpits. Tiny grabbed his feet, the trunk held between his teeth. “For God’s sake, don’t drop that trunk, Tiny,” Jake barked. They threw the unconscious Alain onto the mattress, and his legs fell across Dee’s knees. Jake leaned his forehead on Dee’s waist. “Touch Dee,” Tiny commanded. He stretched out a hand and snaked his fingers around her right ankle. Jake grabbed Dee’s left ankle. Alex curled his arm over her naked breasts. Tiny set the trunk on Dee’s rounded belly. The door burst open, and a spray of gunshots hit the wall above the bed. Tiny flipped the trunk open, and Dee’s stomach undulated, a wave-like ripple side to side. The trunk wobbled.

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Babies & Bonds Dee’s numb arms plopped onto a soft, warm mattress. Her vision blurred at the edges, and she blinked. Dusk’s shadows shrouded them. Far objects came into focus only with exertion: a dresser, a black and white photograph of George’s mother, and a leopard spotted orchid flower hanging from a green branch with needle leaves. Another blink, and Alex’s cobalt eyes, pupils dilated dark with anxiety, met hers. He reached an arm behind Dee’s right ear and dragged a soft, mustard chenille throw from the pillow. Firm fingers tucked it over her shoulders, and flicked it down her body. The fire-ant pins and needles in her hands settled into warm tingles, and she tugged at the corner of the duct tape. “That won’t work, Dee.” Alex’s warm palm covered her hand. His finger caressed the curve of her cheekbone. “Close your eyes, sweetheart, and I’ll take it off.” When her eyes widened, he stroked one lid closed and brushed a butterfly kiss on the other. Then, he ripped the duct tape off. His hand feathered the area, soothing the bruised skin. “Sorry. I had to be cruel to be kind. Forgive me?” She burst into tears and cupped her hands over her face. One dangling manacle banged the tip of her ear, and the other knocked her funny bone. She grabbed her elbow. “I hate this bed,” she wailed. “I hate this place.” “Tiny, get Alain out of here,” Jake barked. “Dee, you’re hysterical. Get a hold of yourself. Tee’s dying. Do you hear me? Tee’s dying, and she needs you. Now!” A fist struck the mattress, and Dee turned her face on the pillow, letting her hands go limp. Jake’s expression epitomized the prehistoric caveman, sable pupils dilated and fierce, brows a black slashed V, mouth open, and teeth bared.

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She rolled in his direction and braced on a tingling elbow. “I know. Let me dress and I’ll go to her right away.” “Tiny insisted you eat before,” Alex interjected as he knuckled Dee’s cheek. “Shouldn’t you have some sustenance before you start?” He seemed so concerned. She hesitated. “Dee, do you need something?” Jake’s low growl snapped the situation into focus. “No.” She shook her head. “Time is not on our side. Thank you for making sure Alain came with us.” Dee jerked her chin at Tiny, who smiled as he carried Alain fireman-style through the doorway. “I need clothes, sweats, and a t-shirt.” Jake hauled his sweatshirt over his head and dropped it on the bed. He snagged the pants down his hips, footed the legs over his sneakers, and gave it to her. That left him standing in boxers, running shoes, and socks. When they made no move to leave, Dee raised an eyebrow and asked, “Privacy?” Alex lifted one leg over the other into a standing position. He rested one knee on the mattress edge, and bent to cup her chin so their gaze met. “I’m here for you, Dee. Will you be okay?” Her eyelids drooped. “I’ll be fine, Alex. Please leave, we need to hurry.” She used Vaseline to get the manacles off her wrists. The ones on her ankles had somehow disappeared. The extra-large sweatshirt and bulky pants hid her swollen belly. Dee’s teeth sank into her lower lip at the thought of Alex’s reaction to the baby. Using newly learned skills, she focused on Tee and the coming ordeal. Evening shadows hinted at the fringe of the hallway as she headed to the lobby. George’s welcoming smile smoothed the burrs of her mushrooming angst. “Welcome back, Dee. We’re all so relieved you’re okay.” “Thank you, George. Where is Tee?” “She’s in the Brodick Suite. I’ll take you there.” Dee surveyed the damaged lobby. She shook her head, “I know the way, and I’d like the time alone to ready myself. I’ll see you later.” She visualized each stair as a series of stepping-stones forming a safe path across a sickened, polluted river churning to a boil, spewing infection,

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and disease. As the water level escalated, treacherous whirlpools exploded, pulsing higher and higher. Earth’s molten core liquefied virus, bacteria, pus excretions reforming, transforming into stones thickening, elongating, creating. Jake sat on the mattress, bathing Tee’s moist, pallid face with a white cloth. He looked up as Dee entered, his onyx eyes bleak, every feature drawn. Anxious, pleading lines creased the corners of his mouth, and worry snarled the skin on his forehead. “Leave me.” Dee set aside the image of Jake, one hand tightening around the knobbed bed head, the other fisted at his thigh, fear limning his black eyes. Tee’s emaciated frame threatened her newly won control. Dee willed failure away. She focused on Jake’s retreating back, his sagging shoulders, despair evident in his every movement. She turned off all the lights in the room and opened the opposite facing French doors on either side of the bed. She shed her clothes and walked out onto the balcony. Atlantic Ocean waves crested and broke, silver tipped by the fading sunlight rising and falling in rhythmic harmony with the darkshadowed moon’s ascent. She inhaled. A long deep pull of nature’s aromatic blend, tang and brine, pure, fresh. Dee took another unsteady gulp of air and exhaled, casting off human frailties with each pant, each expunged breath. She closed her eyes and melded moist salt air, lapping waves, and smattering sand into impenetrable fortification, armor for the coming trial. Her hand traveled in an unconscious cadence, circling protection around her belly, drawing strength from the new life sprouting there, roots clinging to bare rock, Whitebeam strength stirring within. Certainty burst forth, a glowing ball threading through every pore, every vein, setting each extremity a-shiver. The pads of her fingers sparked, and her feet embered heat. Dee slid onto the mattress and wrapped her arms around Tee. She shifted so they faced each other, rounded bellies touching. The purification process began and ended with the Whitebeam tree. Its power wove through her, a steady stream of light pulsing, cascading. Her hands stroked Tee’s pelvis, massaging impurities letting the foreign substance flow through her, replaced by a cleansing river. Dee plunged into the water’s mantra, ceding control to its magic. Swirling visions flowed

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through chants, morphing into snaking rivers, each multiplying Medusa wise, merging into one channel running clear, clean, whole, in perfect harmony. Time elapsed, sifting, shifting. Fear vanished. Serenity descended enshrouding the two entwined figures, weaving the sleep of innocents, exhausted regenerating childhood slumber. Night brightened into faint sunshine. Cool air grew warm, moist. Silken skin soothed a hypnotic caress from her eye to her jaw. “Dee.” A slow, contented, sigh escaped her lips. Her lids fluttered open, and she met Tee’s tawny, uncertain eyes. “I’ve been sick?” Tee’s brown ringlets slid over one almond shoulder. Dee twirled a satin strand around her forefinger. She smiled and nodded, and knew when Tee’s memories returned. Two deep lines etched the space between her friend’s hazel eyebrows. Dee rubbed her thumb there, smoothing the skin. “I went to Brodick, to 1501. Gwyneth taught me how to channel my healing talent.” She had to bite her lip to stop a wild victorious scream. “I cured you. I did, and I won’t contract ovarian cancer, Tallulah Mathews. I’ll be fine.” “Sure?” Dee felt Tee inhale and hold it. “Positive, Cupcake.” She grinned. “I did it. Oh, frigging hell, I did it, Tee. I know how to make this work now. Oh, God, all my life I’ve hated this blasted gift. I’ve always been so scared that I’d die one day or kill someone trying to heal them. But, I did it right. I know how to do it now.” “You never told me. I didn’t know you hated it. Could you have died before?” Tee’s eyes glistened with moisture. “It doesn’t matter anymore. Don’t you see? I can handle it now. And you’re fine. Your baby’s fine. It’s a Cinderella ending, Cupcake. We should be on a trampoline jumping for joy.” “Whoopeee.” Tee snuck her arms around Dee’s shoulder and squeezed an exuberant hug. Her eyes widened and dropped down to the space between their chests where their rounded stomachs met. “Dee?” Tee’s fingers shook as she drew back and her hand followed the line of Dee’s belly. “We’ll have babies around the same time, Cupcake. I’m pregnant, too. Could life get any better?”

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A rash of deep coughs broke out behind Dee’s back. She froze. “Baby,” Alex roared. “Baby.” Tee’s eyebrows widened, her lips curled up at the corners, and she chucked her chin up. “Why are you two standing there, Jake?” “Tee?” He stepped forward, his eyes never leaving his wife’s face. “Tee? Are you okay, babe?” He sat on the mattress, his shaking fingers feathering a naked shoulder. “Dee?” Jake’s face turned to her. “Is Tee okay?” His anxious features tightened awaiting her answer. “Tee is fine, Jake. We’ll do the tests, but I’m sure the cancer’s gone. Look at her. She’s glowing with health, and the baby’s fine, too. I promise.” Dee flashed him a shaky grin. She heard Alex’s indrawn breath behind her back. The slight noise felled her newfound confidence and shattered her warrior’s pride. One lone tear cascaded down her cheek. “Don’t cry, Dee.” Jake flicked a calloused finger and sent her tear flying. “You worked a miracle. You should be happy.” “I am.” Her voice broke. “I am, really.” She buried her face into the pillow. “Dee?” Tee tugged her arm. “Dee?” “I’m okay,” she hiccupped. “I’ll be fine, go away.” She pointed a finger at the door. “Go. Frigging hell, Tee, leave me alone. Get out, all of you.” She hid her head in the pillow and wracked out two sobs. Dee heard carpeted footsteps heading in the direction of the entrance to the room. She waited a few seconds after the door clicked and lifted her head from the pillow. The mattress depressed to her left. She squeezed her eyes shut, and her cowardice washed humiliation across every inch of her flesh. “For some strange reason when we first met, I thought you were the most honest female I’d ever come across.” Dee peeked at his profile. Alex’s face held no expression, but his blue eyes dripped a glacier as they wandered over her swollen belly. “Now I know you’re nothing but a lying conniving bitch who intended to deny me my own child.” Alex’s furious words sank daggers into her spine. Dee slowly angled her chin to his voice. “I was going to tell you.” His white polo shirt was unbuttoned and wisps of brown hair peeked out from the v-shaped collar.

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“When?” The fury in that one word made Dee realize the futility of any others. “It doesn’t matter, does it? You’ve already judged and sentenced me.” She shook her head. “Nothing I say or do will make any difference.” “That’s my child you’re carrying,” Alex shouted. He pointed a finger at her stomach. “My child.” His fists clenched, and he leapt off the mattress and paced a furious circle in front of the bed. “My parents didn’t give a crap about me. I’m an orphan, an orphan. My own mother didn’t care enough to raise me. And you’d have my child and not tell me. Damn you, Dee. Damn you.” His blue eyes burned, and he punched the dresser’s mirror. It shattered and shards splintered the back of his hand. Blood spurted from multiple cuts. Alex didn’t seem to notice, and his incensed gaze fixed on her in the mirror’s distorted reflection. Dee gathered the sheet around her naked body. She stood and faced his back never breaking their interlocked eyes. “What do you want?” “Legal claim.” “Marriage or a paternity acknowledgment?” “Both, in writing, witnessed.” “Done.” She sighed, hitched up the linen, and spun around. “Let me know the details.” “Dee?” The gentleness of his tone pooled moisture in the corners of her eyes. She halted in the doorway, but didn’t turn around. “What else?” “Did healing Tee do anything to, to you or the child?” “No. Is that it?” “Yes.” She closed the door and crumpled down the frame to the floor. “I’m not going to cry, I’m not going to cry.” She pulled the sheet over her face. The door opened, and before she had a chance to raise her head, strong arms lifted her off the floor. “Stop crying. I’m sure it’s not good for the baby.” Alex’s terse comment choked off her tear ducts like a desert sandstorm smothering an oasis. “Put me down.” Every muscle tensed. He kept on walking. Flecks of red stained the white sheet at her knees. “Where are you taking me?”

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“Hell if I know. Shut up.” “Put me down, Alex Mayfield, right now.” Dee jabbed the side of his neck with a pointy fingernail. They turned a corner and ran into George and Ashraff. George’s sandy eyebrows rose, he glanced from a bloodstained sheetclothed Dee to Alex. “Um, we were just coming to fetch you.” “Alex.” She set her mouth to his ear. “Put me down, this is embarrassing.” “Um.” George pushed his spectacles up his straight, regal nose. “Sir Arthur Flood, Clive Newel, and a few other gentlemen are waiting for you in the library, Dee.” “I need to see them, Alex.” Dee wriggled her legs. “I have the evidence against Butch Reniere.” His cobalt eyes met hers. “You went after Reniere knowing you were pregnant?” Alex enunciated each word a hair’s breadth above a whisper. Dee’s squirmed. She addressed the pulse at the base of his neck. “There are only so many ways a person can say I’m sorry.” “Start a sorry list. You’re good with lists, aren’t you? I have a feeling you’ll be compiling a few. George, tell Flood and Newel they can meet with Dee tomorrow. She needs to rest. Where’ve you put us?” Azure eyes bore into hers. “In the Claridges’ Suite.” George’s pale skin colored deep pink. “Opposite end of the hallway.” He pointed a finger over Dee’s shoulder. Alex whirled. Fading sunlight lit the corridor as they passed open doors leading to a balcony. Transparent chiffon curtains billowed over Dee’s forearm, caressing a shivery tingle. He halted in front of a whitewashed door. After a few seconds, she risked a glance. Alex’s jaw worked in cadence with his Adam’s apple and the rise and fall of his chest. She straightened, ramrod stiff, and twisted out of his arms, stumbling to catch her balance against the doorframe. Alex lifted one foot and turned. The expression on his face compressed the air in Dee’s lungs. “I am so furious with you right now,” he snarled spacing each word separately. “You have no idea.” His lips curled into a disgusted sneer. “You have every right to be angry.” The words rushed out of her mouth. He pressed two fingers to her lips cutting off Dee’s reconciliatory apology.

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“Not another word.” Alex shook his head. “Not another word. Tomorrow, we settle this.” Swiveling, he stalked down the hallway and disappeared at the head of the staircase. Dee shuffled about and thumped her head on the door, once, twice. She stared at the wood grain, here white, there devoid of paint, a patchwork much like her life. On a long bankrupt sigh, Dee opened the door and went straight to the bathroom to start a tub bath. As the water ran, she vacillated between composing the perfect apology and the futile reality that Alex would never accept it. The hot, rose-scented water relaxed her sore muscles, but her chaotic rambling thoughts set them rigid again. Sleepy and weary, she climbed out of the tub and toweled off. Shrugging into an oversized sweatshirt, she clambered onto the high bed, and turned off the light prepared for a sleepless, tortured night. A persistent rapping on the door awakened her. She sat up amidst sun-warmed bed sheets, knuckled her eyelids, and blinked at the brightness of the room. “Dee? Are you awake?” “Yes. Come in.” Ashraff carried a tray into the room. “Breakfast, Dee, although it is almost noon. Would you like this in bed or on the table?” “How about the balcony?” She pointed at the open French doors. “Sure.” He vanished through the ballooning curtain-framed doors and returned a few seconds later. “I’ll pick up the left-overs when you’re finished. Let me know if there’s anything else, you need. Oh, I forgot.” He set a plastic bag on the alcove desk. “Tee sent some clothes for you.” “Thanks, Ashraff. Are the others up?” “Now stirring. Same as you.” He grinned at her. “I’ll leave you to your meal.” After Ashraff left, she got out of bed and changed from her sweatshirt into the long, chintz, empire-style dress Tee had sent. The scoop-necked elasticized bodice revealed too much of her increased cleavage. As Dee walked to the balcony, she tugged the cotton fabric up. It sank right back down. She lifted the silver dome off the plate, closed her eyes, and sniffed. The aroma of broiled kippers, tomatoes, mushrooms, and onions made her mouth

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water. She sent a silent prayer of thanks for the obliteration of morning, noon, and night sickness. Dee unrolled the white napkin on the left side of the plate savoring the scene before her, putting off dealing with her deceit and Alex’s well-deserved anger. A tamed Atlantic Ocean lapped at creamy sand. Fluffy cumulus clouds dotted a powdery blue sky, and sunlight tipped the dancing purple bougainvillea flowers climbing the corner wall. A door slammed in the distance. Mere seconds later, Alex strolled onto the balcony. Dee’s head snapped up, her hand shook as she poured the orange juice. Silence. “It’s overflowing.” She glanced down and jerked the pink jug upright. Pulpy orange juice seeped outwards in a rough circle on the white tablecloth. “Sorry.” She clamped her lips shut and cringed for apologizing like an idiot for an accident. “Unlike deliberate deception, accidents happen by error. Tell me, Dee.” He rotated the chair opposite her and straddled it. “How were you planning to handle the ‘who’s my father’ question when our child is old enough to ask? Did you ever think about me?” His voice ratcheted up a notch, and Alex jabbed a forefinger at his collarbone. “I’m an orphan. An orphan. I don’t know who the hell fathered me or bore me. They didn’t care enough. That child.” He pointed at Dee’s stomach. “Is mine, will know my love, will live with us. Do you understand?” No matter how fast she breathed, there didn’t seem to be enough air in her lungs to stop her rising panic. She nodded. “Good.” Alex’s Adam’s apple slowed its frantic bob. “Jake’s taking care of all the legal arrangements. When we fly back to Trinidad today, we’ll have a civil ceremony. If you want anything else, plan it, and let me know when to be there.” “Ceremony?” She stuttered, her fingers twiddling a polka rhythm. “Wedding,” His tone double-dared opposition. “Okay.” She drew the word out uncertain what her role was or would be. “Good. I’ll let you know the details as soon as they’re arranged.” Alex rose and spun the chair around. He left without another word.

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She stared at her congealing breakfast for an indeterminate time. If Dee were in Alex’s position, she would want legal claim on the baby, so she understood his need to marry. Was that the extent of it? she wondered and remembered his angry words. The child will know my love, will live with us. He lived in Florida, and she was Barbados’s Acting Attorney General, distance alone worked against them, far less all the other factors. The only aspect working in their favor was time. They would have time to work things out, at least three months if not more. A baby needed its mother. The father was unessential for the first few years. That thought boosted her wilting spirits, as did the idea of having someone she could rely on. Unlike Tee, Dee had no natural maternal instincts. Her mind wandered to that perfect day on the beach in Barbados, the dragon kite, the young boys. She yearned to recreate the fragile, budding trust begun then and vowed to make it happen, even if it meant shedding every remnant of pride holding her together. When she finally made her way downstairs, Dee found an army waiting to see her, literally: Clive Newel, Sir Arthur Flood, and several other government officials from different countries. Alex insisted upon accompanying her to the library. She sat on the loveseat and plucked her earrings out of the dress pocket. “Here, I copied the directories to the jump drives. From the date listed, I presume it’s the Ramsingh murders from start to finish.” Dee dangled the hoops, and Clive Newell took them from her hand. “You didn’t stick to the plan, Ms. Bloom,” Newel rasped, his tone angry, hostile. “I got the evidence, didn’t I?” Dee flinched when Alex’s hips nudged hers. “Gentlemen, I suggest you make this quick.” Alex interrupted. “Dee and I leave for Trinidad.” He checked his watch. “In approximately one hour.” “I’m afraid that isn’t possible,” Clive stated. “Desdemona needs to be in protective custody until we have Reniere under lock and key.” “Have security accompany us.” Alex folded his arms across his chest. “Who are you?” Clive asked. “By what authority do you make this pronouncement?” “In less than three hours, I will be Ms. Bloom’s husband.”

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“Is that so?” Clive glared at Alex. He shifted in his chair and addressed Dee. “Is this true?” “Yes. Although, Alex, we could delay the ceremony until Butch is captured.” Dee darted him a glance and immediately retreated. “Or, or, we could have the ceremony here.” She smiled at the various men glowering at her. “I’m sure you can pull some strings and arrange it.” Arthur Flood tugged at his graying auburn goatee. “Actually, that’s a rather good idea. This location is almost perfect as a defensive position, an isolated promontory with only one way in or out. Your thoughts, Clive?” For mere seconds, Newel’s expression slashed resentment and fury. His features assumed a careful neutrality so quickly, Dee wondered if she might have been wrong in her interpretation of his earlier grimace. “Most of my security personnel are already here,” Clive mused, one finger tapping his pointed chin. “If we move her to another location, we run the risk of an attack. It’s doable.” “I don’t give a crap about what’s doable,” Alex snapped. “Get someone here who can legally marry us, and have the paperwork expedited. The ceremony will take place before sunset this evening.” “What’s the hurry, Mayfield?” Newel lifted an eyebrow. “It seems there is no desperate rush for consummation.” His eyes fixed on Dee’s swollen stomach, and his voice sneered insolence. Surprised by the contempt in Clive’s voice, Dee searched his features. They were blank. Sir Arthur’s clipped, authoritative tone permeated the quiet. “Desdemona, we will need to debrief you formally at some point in time. I suggest you compose a report while everything is still fresh in your mind.” “I’ll make the arrangements.” Clive pushed out of his seat. “Don’t leave the building.” Five minutes later, Dee and Alex were alone in the room. She snuck a peek at him. He was leaning forward, elbows resting above the knees, hands dangling between his legs. Dee couldn’t see his face, but the profile he cut was razor sharp, taut as a strung bow. The silence prickled static electricity. “How could you, Dee?” He swung about. She lowered her gaze. “I don’t know. It seemed the right thing to do. You, Beverley. I thought we were a Carnival thing. I didn’t think you’d want the responsibility.” Dee raised her head and met his angry blue eyes. “I

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was wrong. I knew it the day we flew the kites. You probably won’t believe me, but I decided to tell you that day as soon as I had the evidence on Butch. I knew you’d never let me go ahead with the plan. The baby’s safe. I’m sorry, Alex.” “Sorry isn’t good enough,” he barked. “What will be?” For long seconds, she held his gaze, but dropped her eyes in the face of his unrelenting fury. She shifted to the edge of the sofa and levered to a standing position. “Where the hell do you think you’re going? I’m not finished.” Alex sprung to his feet and towered over her, his jaw working. The pulse jumping at his neck proved fascinating. “I’m going to lie down for a while. I’m tired.” Dee walked past him. Every muscle complained when she trudged up the stairs to her room. The tears fell, coming like a tropical monsoon, blurring the oriental pattern of the rug lining the middle of the wooden steps. True exhaustion set in the minute she sat on the bed. She shucked her shoes, curled into a fetal position, hands under one cheek, and surrendered to the welcome oblivion of sleep. “Wake up, Dee.” She blinked and twisted to Tee’s voice. “Hi.” Dee dug her elbows into the mattress. “What time is it?” She looked around. The bright, sunny day had deteriorated. Tee forced one French door shut and latched it. Black storm clouds raced the waves to the shore. Dee heard the rain thundering up the beach and smelled the brine in the air as the other door banged back and forth. Tee wrestled with it and managed to secure it in place. “Around five.” She turned around. “The judge is here, as is the local parish priest. Everything’s ready except we need the bride. That’s you, darling. I got you a dress.” Tee carried a large white box to her side. She perched on the edge of the mattress and lifted the lid. Dee shuffled back to the headboard and sat up. Tee dangled a pewter satin dress with cap gypsy sleeves between her hands. “I think it’ll look great with your eyes.” “It’s a waste of money. It’s not as if it’s a real wedding. Alex won’t give a rat’s ass.”

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“It’s your wedding day, Dee, and we’re treating it with the respect and honor such an occasion deserves. I will not have you hate the memory of it. Go shower, and then I’ll do your makeup.” When Dee opened her mouth to argue, her best friend in the world, the woman who knew her better than anyone else, put up a forestalling hand. “Not a word. Don’t even think about arguing with me. I’ll win anyway, and you’ll be angry and resentful. Go with the flow.” Dee scowled. “I want to go on record as protesting all of this.” She waved a hand at the dress but headed for the shower. An hour later, she surveyed her reflection in the mahogany-framed, fulllength mirror. The dress fitted to her rib cage. Its sweetheart neckline somehow managed to amplify her breasts in an appealing not vulgar display, or so she hoped. The sleeves brushed her biceps, flaring and fluttering with every movement. Tee gave her pearls the exact shade of the gown, a single gray strand, which twinkled an iridescent Persian blue when it caught the light. Matching drop earrings completed the ensemble. Antique in its design, both necklace and earring were mounted in an intricate Marquisite design with subtle fairy weaves. “Where did you find this?” Dee admired the delicate details. “It’s absolutely beautiful. You know my taste so well.” “Alex gave it to me to give to you. That velvet box has a twin. I saw it on his dresser.” Confusion stuttered her pulse into an erratic hammer. She met Tee’s amber tipped eyes in the glass. “You think it was intended for me?” The lawyer in her had to have an answer. “He said he bought in April after he visited you. I was right, darling. It’s been burning a hole in his pocket.” “He was so angry with me,” she whispered. “What, how is he now?” “He and Jake took a long walk on the beach.” Tee smoothed a curl behind Dee’s ear, holding their gaze in the mirror. “When he came back to The B&B, he said he needed a favor and showed me the jewelry and asked me if I thought you’d like it. I told him, it was perfect and that you’d treasure it.” Tee rubbed an open palm over her shoulder. “It’s going to be fine, darling, just peachy.”

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The tremulous smile grabbing at her mouth had her lips totally confused, unsure whether to quiver, turn up or simply twitch. Dee covered her best friend’s warm hand and two pairs of eyes misted in the mirror’s reflection. “Okay. No crying. You are not going down the aisle with red eyes, Desdemona Bloom. Tell me one of your dirty jokes.” Dee grinned at her and went into her latest repertoire. They nibbled on freshly cut pineapple, sipped tonic waters and lemon, and giggled for the rest of their preparations. Dee specified light makeup, so Tee rimmed her eyes a smoky gray, ivory sparkling powder dusted the arch of her eyebrows, a light coating of mascara defined her long lashes, and a coat of lip-gloss finished the picture. “Sit, Dee.” Tee pointed to a chair, and picked up a gardenia and ivy circlet from the dresser. She fitted the wreath so the top layer of her hair curled over the yellow centered white flowers and tied it securely at the back of her head. Dee squirmed as the long gray and ivory ribbons attached to the back of the wreath streamed down her back, tickling her skin. “You look beautiful, darling. You’ll knock Alex’s socks off.” “No frigging chance,” she muttered under her breath, but smirked when Tee tsked. “Here.” She handed Dee a bouquet, which matched the floral garland. Dee grasped the flowers and brought it to her nose. The heady gardenia scent teased her rioting nerves into full-fledged rebellion. “I’m going to sneeze all the way to Alex.” Tee squeezed her shoulders and met her eyes in the mirror. “You are going to walk downstairs like a queen. This ceremony will be hauntingly beautiful, and you will behave accordingly. Try anything else and you’ll be very sorry, Dee. That’s a promise. Smile.” Dee bared her teeth, and they both burst out laughing. The lobby was deserted. “Where is everyone?” Her eyes swept the room. “Outside.” “It’s going to frigging storm, Tee. How the hell are we supposed to hold a ceremony outside?” She dug a clenched fist into her hipbone. “No swearing. We procured a tent. March.” Tee shoved the middle of her back, and she stumbled forward.

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An Arabian style tent covered the outdoor patio. Its sides were open, and the breeze whooshed through. Cool beach sand met her bare feet. She cupped a hand over her mouth and whispered, “Tee, we forgot shoes.” “Do you think I would forget shoes? Alex insisted on bare feet.” “He did?” Her forehead throbbed under the wreath. “Your future husband planned the whole ceremony right down to your bare feet. You’re one lucky woman, darling. The man’s a romantic dream.”

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Ruby Red Lips “I do.” Dee spoke the two words softly. Alex’s warm fingers slid the wedding band onto her hand, the platinum ring caught a stray ray of the fading sun, and the metal winked its sturdy brilliance. The beautiful, antique ring he’d slipped onto her finger before the ceremony began held a peculiar fascination, her eyes repeatedly returned to it, and she angled her finger this way and that, enjoying the play of dusky light against the blue-black hues of the solitary pearl. The single band below it held v-shaped carvings, which grooved into the engagement ring, a perfect, interwoven fit. His bronzed skin glistened in the eerie light dusting the tent, and fine gold hairs shimmered on his rippling forearm. A tug on Dee’s wrist brought her gaze to Alex’s cobalt eyes, blazing loaded questions. The calloused pad of his thumb grazed her lower lip. Her pulse escalated in an unsteady rhythm, jumping in her throat like a leaping rabbit. “Alex?” She wasn’t sure of the question, knew his response wouldn’t settle a whole litany of other insecurities. He entwined their fingers, one pair at a time. “Come, walk with me, wife.” The last word lingered on his tongue, almost as if he treasured it. Fat, cold raindrops assaulted their skin the minute they set out of the tent. Alex glanced up at the angry storm clouds racing the thundering surf to the beach. “Maybe not such a good idea.” He flashed his crooked grin at her, tucked a damp ringlet behind her ear, and all her anger melted like an ice-cream cone in noontime Florida summer heat. Alex’s long fingers fluttered across the sensitive skin at the underside of her wrist. He shifted Dee forwards and whispered in her ear, “Our suite, I’m not in the mood to socialize—are you?” Dee bobbed her head and nodded, and then she rolled her eyes. “No, no socializing, please.” She picked up her skirts and followed him into the

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lobby. Alex’s long stride ate up the distance to their room. As soon as he shut the door, Dee asked the niggling question racing a predatory circle in her brain. “Why bare feet?” She still had her dress raised and looked down at their naked feet. His long toes, like his piano player fingers, perfect, copper hued, and her short, plump ones, the pinkies too small to really count. “You’re five foot nothing, yet you’re the armed attorney general to the hilt.” He put up a restraining palm as she opened her mouth to add the word, ‘acting.’ “It’s in your every motion. Shoulders squared, pelvis thrust forward, Napoleon on the warpath. Sit.” Alex gestured to the chaise lounge. Bemused and befuddled, she complied and raised her eyebrows. “I don’t understand.” Alex knelt at her side and lifted her bare foot onto his linen clothed thigh. A lone finger trailed along the arch, singeing each slow inch. Her breath hitched, and she had to swallow twice to draw in air. “It’s not the first thing I noticed about you, but it stuck in my mind. Most women paint their toenails red or pink, or something equally obvious. Not you.” His hand caressed one heel, and Dee creamed for him, her stomach whirling a dizzied, sexual Ferris wheel. “Your toenails are pale blue, and you wear a toe ring with two silver bells. I want to make them jingle.” Alex tugged the ring and flicked the bells into musical peal. “This belled toe has a starring feature in all my fantasies.” His thumb circled over to her big toe, and then his impossible, beautiful blue eyes met hers. “I didn’t like you, you know. Couldn’t stand you on sight. I hate short, belligerent women with breasts so magnificent you can come when you see them bare, wet, steamy.” “Alex?” She slid to the carpet, kneeling besides him. His gaze remained downcast and his mouth tightened. The baby undulated, and the gray satin material of her wedding dress rolled a wave across her stomach. His eyes flew to hers, fierce, driven. “Was that the baby?” Alex’s voice fell away, and Dee nodded. She took his hand. “Hold it here.” She spread his fingers over her rounded belly. “There, can you feel it? There, right there.” She pressed his fingers into fluttering flesh. “Sometimes, I swear I see a knee, but that’s probably some stupid maternal quirk.”

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“What’s it like?” His fingers caressed the curve of her taut flesh and then froze against the sucking indentation sweeping below Dee’s skin. “I feel it. It’s so hard, so quick. Strong. Somehow, I thought it would be soft, gentle. Does it hurt?” He ploughed one hand through his hair. “Okay, all of a sudden, this is so real. I need to take a step back. We need to talk.” “I’m not sure I’m going to like this.” “I’m dead certain neither of us will. We’re married.” “You wanted legal claim. I didn’t have to do it, but I understand, and I figured it might make up for everything.” “There’s no way in hell, Desdemona Bloom, you weren’t marrying me. Don’t deceive yourself on that point. I am a father.” He shrugged. “Or I soon will be. Yesterday, I wanted to throttle you to within an inch of your life.” Alex let out a long sigh when he noticed her face crumpling. “I know, you’re sorry and all the rest that goes with it. “I am. Really.” “I figure we’re at a fork in the road.” Alex shifted his eyes away from hers. “I intend to be a real father to our child. Growing up in an orphanage isn’t as bad as it’s portrayed. But growing up knowing your own parents didn’t want you, that’s tough. It took me a long time to learn to like myself. My child is going to know love from the get go. He’s going to grow up knowing he’s cherished. I’m going to be a great father or die trying.” “I’m glad at least one of us is confident about being a parent.” Dee sat back on her haunches, leaning her temple on the bedframe. “I started reading a couple of books about parenthood. There are more undefined areas than there are rules. I’m hoping someone will write the definitive manual, and we can follow it.” She clasped her hands together and wrung them. “I want to explain why I didn’t tell you before. No, please, let me finish.” She felt his intent gaze on her and swallowed a couple of times before finding the nerve to continue. “Alex, I never pictured being a mother or even a wife. All my life I had one dream, being Attorney General. But, the closer I got to it, the more it seemed unattainable. That Carnival Monday morning, Tee and I had an argument, and it was then I started to realize I’m not AG material.” She glanced up at his muttered expletive and understood the significance of it. “You knew, too. Then or later. Later. I see. When?” “Your emails.” He seemed reluctant to admit it.

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“It’s okay. I’ve accepted it now. But, to get back to why I didn’t tell you. Subconsciously, I think I refused to face it. I simply put it on the back burner and never thought about it. When I was packing for my first weekend at Parrot’s Retreat, I came across my stash of emergency tampons, and it hit me. You arrived unexpectedly in Barbados the day after I took the test. I wanted to tell you, but I wanted to get Butch, and I’d already given up on my dream to be AG. Can you understand? I wanted to reach one of my goals, to succeed in some small way.” “My Attorney General in a bind.” Alex snagged her hand and knotted their fingers together. “Dee, I want us to build on what we began that Friday in Barbados. We have a baby coming. I care a great deal for you. I want us to forge a partnership, a real marriage. What do you say?” Dee scowled at him. “Frigging hell, Alex, I want that, too. But, I don’t know how to be a mom. I can’t cook, plants die if I even look at them, and Douglas sets out my clothes ‘cause I have no dress sense.” She shook her head. “I wasn’t supposed to be a woman. And definitely not one with these frigging breasts.” Dee gazed at the offending mounds mournfully. “I think they might be getting bigger. That’s all I need.” She sniffed and tried to sit cross-legged, but her stomach got in the way. “This is all your fault.” “What a catalogue of woes.” Alex lifted an arrogant, perfect eyebrow. “Don’t.” She leaned across and set her two fingers on the offending arch. “I hate that smug eyebrow, that ‘I’m so handsome’ look.” “You think I’m handsome?” “Stop trying to be coy. The whole frigging world thinks you’re God’s gift to women.” Dee thunked her head against the footboard. She sent Alex a piercing look. “By the way, just so you know, if I find you with another woman, I’ll kill her, and then I’ll cut it off. And that’s a promise.” Her mind immediately went to Beverley. “And I can fight. I may be small, but I’m strong.” She cut a sideways glance at him. “Why are you smirking?” “I have the perfect solution to all our issues.” His grin took over his face. Dee’s hands tightened into fists. “If you never refuse me sex, then I’ll not need to seek satisfaction elsewhere.” The eyebrow did its thing.

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“What? Anytime? Any place? I just lie down and spread my legs?” Dee pushed onto her knees, her flagrant, defiant gesture ruined by Alex’s arm around her waist, helping her stand. “This is….” His lips covered hers. He took his time, exploring the outside of her mouth, tracing a slow, hot tongue around the outline. His tongue flickered a moist sweep over the seam, lingering at the corners, a nip on the left side, a suckle on the right. Dee cradled his face and speared his lips. He retreated, feathering warm breath in one long pull on the center of her mouth. His head dropped and stubby skin roughened the nape of her neck. “I lead, remember. You smell nice, kind of lemony.” “It must be the soap. You always smell the same, kind of smoky and spicy.” “It’s sandalwood oil. I’m glad you like it.” His lips nibbled a lightning bolt up her neck. “Alex?” The word whispered into his mouth. He slicked his tongue under hers and drew it forward, testing the tip with his teeth. He lowered them to the bed and shifted Dee into a full frontal straddle. “Are you wearing underwear?” The huskiness in Alex’s voice shrouded her skin in sizzling sensation. “Sweetheart, look at me.” His thumb rubbed the cleft of Dee’s chin. “Are you wearing underwear?” Dee shook her head once. His eyes blazed bright and true blue, skittering her pulse. “Alex?” “What, sweetheart?” Another drugged unhurried kiss raised heat, searing prickling, embered skin. “The thing is, I’ve only had the five orgasms in my life. I mean ones with a real person,” she amended. “And I’d like to get in a few more in tonight, if you don’t mind.” Chortles choked out of him. Alex doubled over to the side and plopped back onto the pillow, tears streaming down his handsome face. “It’s not funny.” She crossed her arms. “I mean, can’t we just get to the good part?” She grouched. “Oh, good God, woman. You need to learn how to relax. Foreplay is fun. Most women can’t get enough of that part.” He dashed a hand across one, damp, bronzed cheek. “You married an impatient woman. I haven’t had the benefit of years of sex like you. So I want it now.”

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“I don’t think so.” The corners of his lips danced a little salsa. “Well, the only way you’ll get me to wait is to tie me up.” She pursed her mouth. He was on her in an instant. Before she could blink, her hands were tied to the headboard, and he’d knotted her feet to either side of the foot of the bed. “Alex?” She tugged at the cotton drapery ties. “And I think a blindfold is also in order.” Her last image of him was the wide slow smirk spreading across his face. Then silence. “Alex? This isn’t fair. It’s my wedding night, and I’m blindfolded.” The silk handkerchief slipped, and Dee peeped over its burgundy edge. “What are…?” Her voice trailed off. “That’s more impressive than I remember.” Her eyes followed Alex’s hand as it stroked over the glistening head of his engorged cock. “How many do you want?” He sat on the edge of the bed and tugged the silk material up over her eyes. “Damn it, Alex, can’t you be serious?” “How many?” “I can’t see. It’s stifling.” She shook her head. “How many what?” “Orgasms.” A rough tongue flicked her left nipple and rattled nerves. “How many do you want?” His breath moistened the tip into fire and ice. It hardened into an aching arrow string, pulling for release. Dee arced upwards, thrusting the nipple forward. His mouth closed over it, and he drew the whole areola in, nibbling in a slothful circle, one slow sip at a time. “How many? Five? Ten? How many, Dee?” Alex’s lips traced such a languid path up her neck, his tongue darting into the wild pulse beating at her throat, feathering a soft tickle at her nape. He reached Dee’s ear and nipped the lobe, short, sharp, then soothed it with wet laps. She tried to rub her sticky thighs together. “How many? Shall we aim for ten?” He nuzzled the sensitive curve of her shoulder. She sighed and leaned to the left, giving him more access. “No,” Dee managed. “Don’t like even numbers.” “What?” His lips turned up on her cheek.

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“I don’t like even numbers. Ten, eight, car salesmen use those kinds of discounts to try and intimidate women into paying more.” “What?” Alex sounded amused. “I did some research before I bought my Hummer.” The loud chuckle sent a whirling minty breath to her nose. “You drive a Hummer. Now why doesn’t that surprise me?” He barked out another laugh. “What kind of discount did you negotiate?” “Thirteen point seven nine.” She smiled at the memory. He hooted. Dee heard skin slapping against skin. “You are perfectly delightful, sweetheart.” Alex caught her chin, and kissed her soundly. A hard, moist smack. When he lifted his lips, she answered, “Thirteen. I like the number, thirteen.” “Thirteen it is.” His hand cupped her breast. “Alex.” She crinkled her nose. “I don’t like the blindfold. It makes me nervous.” “Why?” He tweaked the other nipple. She jumped. “Because I can’t tell where you’ll touch next.” “That’s the whole point, sweetheart. Now, relax, lie back, and enjoy.” “It’s hot in here.” “And going to get much hotter soon. As a matter of fact, I expect you to burst into flames by the time I’m finished.” The mattress creaked, and the wood groaned under his weight. Dee wriggled her bum, searching for contact, and she squealed when Alex’s tongue slipped along her folds. “I think we’re going to do this by exploring the four senses.” “Five,” Dee corrected. “Smell,” he blithely murmured, his lips tingled and vibrated against her flesh, scalding a path down Dee’s center. Fingers parted slick skin, and he sniffed, a long, audible inhale. Wet liquid trickled from her center and all her synapses sizzled with eager anticipation. “Here you smell like a peach.” A calloused finger pad trailed upwards. Another sniff. “Definitely peachy. God, you’re so pretty here. I think you have the prettiest pussy I’ve ever seen. Remember the tequila? You smelled so good. We need to do that again.”

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He used two hands now, and splayed Dee’s moist flesh apart. Lightning lit the spot, when he flicked it with his thumb. “Again.” She tugged the cloths binding her arms, arching upwards. “Again.” Her feet drummed on the bed. “Please?” “Your wish is my command.” Alex rested his forehead on Dee’s thigh and traced a gentle finger around the nub. “Harder, harder,” she gasped, grinding against his palm, relishing the firm pressure. Two fingers slid into her and he scraped his thumbnail over that wonderful sweet spot. “Alex,” she screamed. “Harder, Alex.” She dug her heels into the mattress and lifted her hips off the bed. Blinding, selfish oblivion streaked through every vein. The sound of rain spattering onto the French doors brought back a muffled reality. Alex tugged the blindfold off. He grinned at her and tossed the maroon material to the side. “Maybe I should have used it as a gag.” “What? Why? Oh God, the balcony doors are open. Quick, which side are we on?” She struggled to sit up and leaned on her forearms. “Was I very loud?” “Let’s just say, your lungs are very healthy.” “Untie me.” She cocked her heat to one side. “How late is it? Everything’s pretty quiet. Maybe everyone went home.” “There are over fifty armed men guarding The B&B, sweetheart.” He loosened the cotton from her feet and set his fists on his hips. “I’m certain I’m going to regret untying your hands.” He did anyway and slid off the bed. “Come on, get under the covers.” He slipped the bedcovers down, picked up a fat pillow, and cuffed it into submission. “Alex?” Dee rubbed one wrist. “What’s wrong?” “You need your rest,” he said. “Which side do you want? Do you realize we’ve never spent an entire night together? I’ve wanted to wake up with you in my arms for a long time.” He had no intentions of making love to her, she realized, and all the champagne excitement bubbling inside fizzled into flatness. “What was all that about never refusing you sex?” Dee glanced down at her swollen, protruding stomach. “It’s me, isn’t it? Because I’m fat.”

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“God, no.” Alex climbed onto the bed, knees first. He pressed a soft kiss on her navel. “I’m afraid of hurting you and the baby. I think we should see a doctor first.” He tucked her head against his hard chest. “You have a raging erection.” Dee twirled a finger around the head of his shaft. “This is our wedding night. You promised me thirteen orgasms, and I’ve only had the one.” “We can see a doctor tomorrow. I can wait one more day.” “What do you think Tee and Jake have been doing since this morning?” She lifted an eyebrow. “Tee’s seen all the doctors. And Jake sure isn’t acting the sexual martyr, now is he?” She bent her head and closed her lips over his cock. His thighs muscles stiffened under hers. “Sweetheart, you don’t need to do this.” Alex tugged her hair. She looked up and licked around the satiny head. “You taste salty. Come inside of me, Alex. It feels like heaven.” His movements were frantic. He pulled Dee up and kissed her like he was starving, cradling her face between large, heated palms, tongue plunging an insistent rhythm. Cupped hands shifted to her breasts. He weighed her globes, sifting each in his hands. “Mine,” he said, and his possessive growl curled around her skin, skimming fire. “These are mine.” His blue eyes lifted, and met hers steady, firm. “At the barbeque, I had this vision of you pregnant. Then I thought of Tyler’s little face, and hell, I’m dead scared, Dee.” “Alex, I’m a healer.” She nudged his chin. “If I’d known what I know now, Tyler would be alive. I learned a lot from Old Gwyneth. I’ll be fine. Besides you still owe me twelve orgasms, and I aim to collect.” She tilted her head to one side. “Lighten up, Alex Mayfield. I’m not made of glass.” “You’re all geared for battle, Attorney General.” Alex saluted. He shrugged down the bed and lifted her across his thighs. “Think you’re in charge simply because you get to be on top for the next few months?” “Do I?” Dee did the eyebrow thing and wriggled her hips upwards. She wrapped her hand around his smooth, pulsing flesh and slid around him. His hard cock stretched her soft tissue, teasing tremors, igniting an inferno of desire.

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When he rolled and tugged her nipples, the sweet, painful ache fogged her brain, and she rode him, plunging up and down, sliding quicker and faster as her juices flowed, grinding hard. He pumped upwards, meeting every downward thrust, flexing, and filling. Her flesh clenched around his, a fevered burning centered on that slick spot. “Harder,” Dee moaned. “Touch me, please.” “Here?” Alex grazed a fingernail over her slick nubbin. “Yes, don’t stop.” As the blinding orgasm exploded, her walls tightened, spasming his hot cock, and she went limp, surrendering to the fireworks blazing beneath shuttered lids. Impatient hands grasped her hips. Alex plunged deeper, furious fierce penetration, pounding, insistent rhythm. “Yes,” he shouted, shuddering under her hands. He flicked his thumb over her core. “Alex,” she screamed and collapsed on top of him. Sated and spent, she collapsed onto his sweaty ribcage. Their pants slowed, and the position grew uncomfortable. Afraid to put any pressure on her stomach, she propped her forehead on his chest, and when the temptation proved too great, licked his slick skin. Still inside of her, he rolled them on their sides, and they faced each other, her one leg thrown high over his hipbone, her swollen belly brushing his sternum. “I had a vision of this on Carnival Monday when Michael said you’d ride a man like Napoleon.” He rubbed the underside of one breast. “You do.” “An attorney general and Napoleon, I like the sound of that.” Dee grinned and leaned into the caress. “Eleven more to go.” “You like me playing with these, don’t you?” Alex cupped one breast and lifted his mouth to it. “They’re finally becoming an asset. They’ve always been the bane of my existence. I’ve had to work so hard to prove I have a brain. Men take one look at me and never speak to my face again.” She felt him sliding out of her. “What’s that mournful sigh for?”

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Inexplicable shyness struck her, but she resolved to begin as she meant to go on. “I like it when you’re inside of me. All those romance novels I’ve read make you think a man can stay much longer.” “Basic biology, sweetheart, but it’s nice to know I feel as good to you as you do to me.” He lifted onto one elbow. “I’ll get a washrag for you.” “I can do it myself,” she muttered. “But, I want to. Think of it as part of my reward.” He disappeared into the bathroom and retuned seconds later with a warm, moist towel. After sponging them both clean, he tossed the cloth onto the rug, slid into bed, rearranged both their pillows, lay down, and tucked her under his arm. His hot muscled skin smelled of spiced musk, and beneath his ribcage, his sturdy heartbeat provided comfort, contentment. He pulled the sheet over them, securing it under their backs, and toyed with her hair weighted by its increasing length into waves rather than curls. “What happened with Old Gwyneth in 1501? Can you tell me or is there some sort of healers’ society code of silence?” “Not that I know of,” she smiled, and told him about the Whitebeam trees, the Galadriel-like warrior, and attempted to explain as much as she understood of the process. “Will you heal more people now?” “You don’t want me to,” she said, hearing the tense undertone in his voice. She angled her cheek to meet his eyes, which held a mixture of apprehension and doubt. “Why?” “You have to ask? Hell, that night with Tyler, when you made me promise not to interrupt, and I gave my word, knowing full well, that there was no way I would keep it. Not if you were in any danger. I don’t know if I could ever go through that again, Dee. And I’d fight you tooth and nail on it. I’ve never seen anything like that, and I never want to see it again.” “It won’t happen again, not like that. Don’t you see? Before, I didn’t understand how to purify the corruption, eradicate it. Instead, I took it on myself, and my body absorbed it, but because I heal so quickly, I survived where someone else wouldn’t.” “That’s why you limped after Richard’s mother’s accident?” “Yes. But, Alex, I’m not going to go off willy-nilly healing Tom, Dick, and Harry.” Confident and newly secure with her gift, she propped up on her

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elbow to reassure him. “Gwyneth says each person finds the right path for the gift of healing. I have so much to learn, but at least I know how to learn now.” Her gaze dropped to her belly and rose. She guided his other arm to the round mound. “I have different priorities now. My, no, sorry, our baby.” She covered his hand and took a deep breath. “You.” She looked him straight in the eyes. “My husband and our child.” “What about Butch? When they finally get him?” “I’ve been thinking about that. It all depends on how long it takes to process the information I stole. Clive says it may take months to decode everything.” “I know, and until then, you and the baby are in danger. You do realize that?” “Don’t look like that. I have no intention of running any more risks. I did what I was supposed to do. But, you have to understand, once the trial starts, I will have to play a major part.” She locked on his eyes, searching for clues. “Hell, sweetheart. Until now, this has been your sole goal in life. I’m not going to deny you that satisfaction. I have a proposal for you. You’re five months pregnant. I asked Arthur for his best and worst case scenarios with the decoding. He estimates between two and twelve weeks. By then you might have given birth to our son.” “I can work and look after a child. Women do that you know.” Dee glowered at him. “And I fully intend to.” The last word he uttered all of a sudden impacted. “Son, do you only want a son?” Every feminist muscle drew her features tight, her shoulders squared off, and she sat up. “Of course, not.” That blasé, debonair West Palm Beach lawyer tone grated. He caught the fury clouding her eyes and edged up against the headboard. A false macho smile claimed his lips. Cobalt eyes darted anywhere but her face, searching for a way to get that foot out of his mouth. “I’d love to have a little girl with stormy gray eyes and platinum ringlets. A sweet little thing, the image of her…”. An alarmed panicky expression shadowed his face as his gaze fixated on her naked breasts. He jerked forward, shoulders taut, eyes blazing. “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. God, no. We can’t have a girl.” He raked both hands through his hair. “She’d have breasts like yours. I know what men

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like me do to breasts like yours.” His frantic eyes met hers. “Men like me want to screw your breasts. That’s it.” Alex stood up. “No girls, no girls. I need a drink. Christ, no. I need a bottle, no—a case, a case of Scotch.” “Where are you going?” Dee slid to the edge of the bed. “To find a bottle of Scotch.” He glared at her. “Jesus, Dee. How could you do this to me?” “You can’t leave right now.” “Why the hell not?” Alex paced a furious line along the foot of the bed. “It’s the twenty-first century. We can find a way to fix it so we’d only have sons. Kill all the X chromosomes. Jesus, it is the X isn’t it? Shit!” His perfect hair, which always fell back into place, every strand aligned just so no matter how many times he speared it, now looked like the old geezer’s in Back to the Future. She bit hard on her lower lip and listened to his frantic recounting of every Biology 101 lesson related to sperm meets egg, sperm fertilizes egg. When her stifled laughter made a painful stitch develop, she stuck a pillow hard over her ribcage and held up a hand. “Alex,” she choked out, and a few guffaws escaped. “We can’t change the sex of the baby now. It’s already a he or a she.” He stopped mid-step, and a grimace, contorted somewhere between absolute horror and hysteria, battled for control of his features. “You’re naked. Come back to bed. They’ll do an ultrasound soon, and we can find out if it’s boy or girl. Then we can worry about it.” She patted the mattress, and her tone was that soothing one used to coax a pet to tranquility. “Come back to bed.” He stared unseeing at her mouth as if he had trouble understanding her words. She waited for more, and it seemed as if a garish yellow light bulb blinked above his head. He straightened, his thoughtful expression dissipated, and brilliant blue eyes narrowed in conquering delight. “We can find her a convent, with nuns,” Alex declared. “That’s it. Nuns.” His stance morphed from no-victory-in-sight defensive, to I’malready-in-the-end-zone-with-the-ball triumphant. “You went to a convent, didn’t you?” He sat on the footstool. “I’ll start looking for one tomorrow. Do they have Internet access here?” Dee decided shock tactics were necessary.

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“Tee says Jake thinks she gives the perfect blow job.” Dee folded her arms under her naked breasts. “What?” He stared at her as if she were a pink-striped elephant. “Tee says Jake thinks she gives the perfect blow job.” “Pregnant women are crazy,” Alex muttered. “You know how competitive I am. I can’t have Tee best me. So come back to bed, and let me practice.” “You and Tee talked about this?” “More like I asked questions and she answered. I got a book about it.” “A book? I am married to a woman who’s five months pregnant and who happens to be Barbados’s Acting Attorney General. We’re hiding out in Tobago until the violent, sadistic criminal hunting her is captured. I’m going to be punished for all my sins by having a daughter with magnificent breasts. We need to find a convent tomorrow, and she’s reading a book on blow jobs!” “The Perfect Blow Job,” Dee corrected. “Perfect. I’ve been wondering, is a combination of tongue and hand best, or should we try it both ways and then together?” She crooked her finger. “I bought red lipstick.” His blue eyes burgeoned heated desire and shifted to her mouth. “Why didn’t you wear it before?” “The book says scarlet lipstick and nothing else.” “It does?” “Chapter Two. Ruby Red Lips—both ways.” Dee stood up and walked across to the mirrored dresser right in front of him. She picked up a gold lipstick tube, pulled off the top, and slowly turned the base until the fire-engine-red pointed tip protruded. She traced the outline of her mouth, filled in the center, and smacked both lips together. She licked her lips, turned around, stalked over to Alex, and knelt at his feet. “Practice time.”

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Tiny Does Lost Alex woke spooning his wife’s naked back. He nuzzled Dee’s neck and she snuggled closer, her bottom cheeks cocooning his morning erection. A gusty, brine-filled breeze sent her lemony ringlets into a soft flutter, tickling his skin. He eyed the cotton sheet covering her distended stomach. No doubt, this reeling disbelief would eventually dissipate. A thrill of pride and joy ran through him. He had fathered a child. When the lads arrived at St. Michaels as newborns, Alex manipulated events to ensure that the five of them, The Fab Five as Jake called their group, became the lads’ big brothers. He never admitted his weakness for newborns and toddlers to anyone, but being a mentor required constant contact with the lads. It gave him a legitimate excuse to indulge in their company. Jesus. One thing to be a mentor, another to be a father. Such a rollercoaster of events within what? Five short months. Five months. He grazed a forefinger over the side of her belly. He had four months to cement her to him. Four months to woo her, make her fall in love with him. Hell, as he now knew only too well, that’s not how it happened. Either it did or it didn’t. Fate. Alex knew the precise moment he’d begun falling in love with Dee, when she asked him not to interrupt with Harrie no matter what happened. At that point, they’d been together a total of seven days. Made love twice. All his life he’d studied patterns, knew how relationships evolved; attraction, dating, live together a few years, if things were in harmony get married. All of his prejudices went up in smoke with one look at her bluepainted toenails. He prayed the Gods were on his side. She cared about him. She wouldn’t have married him otherwise. At his core, he knew Dee stood loyal

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and steadfast when she gave her love. What she’d risked with Daphne, Harrie, Tee, and scores of others he didn’t know about proved that without a smidgen of doubt. She claimed the baby and her husband, him, as priorities. Yet, she still wanted to prosecute Butch. Ah Christ, there had to be a compromise that would work. She mumbled something under her breath and then repeated it with a long sigh, that wonderful mouth working into a soft, sexy, pout. His erection burned as his shaft engorged. And when the tip of her very pink tongue poked out of the almost closed O of her mouth, semen leaked, his cock twitching against her bottom crease. Last night was glorious, heaven and hell inspired. Her curiosity insatiable, her imagination twisted devilish by the merest suggestion. Over and over, he caught glimpses of a wild creature straining the bounds of selfimposed chains. He wondered where she’d hidden the PBJ book and surveyed the dresser but found no sign of anything other than a few magazines. At one point, she lamented the physical differences in the quantity of orgasms between the sexes, and he marveled she didn’t realize her passionate nature. She came at the drop of a hat. They’d reached the number seven for her last night before succumbing to exhaustion. He studied his Perfect Blow Job wife with a mixture of lust and tenderness. “What other tips did this book have?” Alex kissed a moist path up Dee’s neck. “Shut up,” her grumpy tone belied the way the corners of her mouth lifted. “That’s no way to greet your new husband.” He nipped her ear lobe. “You’re a morning person,” she groaned and rubbed her toes over his calf. “I knew it. Don’t talk to me until I’ve had three cups of coffee.” “I thought coffee wasn’t good for the baby.” “My clerks threatened to quit after my second day without my morning coffee. Go back to sleep. The baby needs rest.” “The baby has very convenient timing.” Dee tensed in his arms, and she twisted to face him. “What?” Alex looked into her startled gray eyes, wide and glinting slick fear. She held herself still and as straight as the line dividing a road. Her expression set Alex’s gut into a roiling coil, and he shook her shoulder.

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Something hot and wet trickled onto his thigh. He looked down, and the blood in his veins stopped flowing. “Dee.” He touched a shaking finger to the warm, viscous scarlet stain. “You’re bleeding.” She leaned back, his arm fell away, and she lifted onto her elbows. Alex stared at the growing circle of blood spurting between her legs. He bounded off the bed, raced for the bathroom, and returned with an armful of towels. “Don’t panic. The thing is not to panic.” He snatched a pillow from behind her head and shoved it under her bum. “No panic.” Alex stuffed the towels between her thighs. He sat on the bed, grabbed the phone, and pressed zero, all the while the word no screamed loud and clear in his brain, ringing on and on. “Front Desk.” George’s cheery greeting snarled in Alex’s throat. He gripped the phone harder and barked, “George, call an ambulance. Now. Dee’s bleeding.” “Bleeding,” George repeated. “Oh, no. Please, not again.” “George. Get to it,” he roared. They processed them so swiftly at Tobago’s General Hospital that it seemed as if no time elapsed before an attendant wheeled Dee into a small room with Alex on her heels. All the while, he tried not to think, halted every new thought as it formed. He’d never felt terror before and it pervaded every muscle, every nerve. It seeped through his pores, and the stench filled his nostrils. Nausea dogged his every step. The instant he saw that circle of blood, details receded, evaporating. Trace anger vanished and guilt waded in overtaking all emotion, a smothering tornado pending disastrous touchdown. He had to wrestle into oblivion the image of Dee, naked, coated in a scarlet sheen, arms around Harrie, but then the other more horrifying one took its place. Tyler, Tyler, damn it, Tyler. A plump, matronly nurse greeted them and set about her duties with quick, efficient movements. She swathed petroleum jelly over his wife’s belly and wiped off the excess. When the nurse set the monitor on her stomach, Dee turned to Alex. He twined her fingers in his and squeezed his reassurance, praying, begging, making bargains with any deity listening. Make them okay, keep

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them alive. Images of Tyler’s innocent features blanketed the pleas, negating any positives. Despair rode in like a marauding, pillaging destroyer. The black and white screen above them flickered. A shadowy conical image flashed across it, showing a tiny shape curled into a fetal position. “It’s sucking its thumb.” The words jumped out of Alex’s mouth. “It is, isn’t it?” He looked to the nurse for confirmation. She nodded. “Yep. You’d be surprised at how common that is.” “In the womb?” Alex clamped his lips together, as a shiver of awe swamped him. “You can see the heart beating.” Dee pointed at a small pulsing shadow. “Do you want to hear it?” The nurse smiled. “Yes.” Her eyes never left the screen. She tucked the earphones into her ears. Gray eyes widened and a beatific smile graced her mouth. “You have to hear this, Alex. It’s our baby.” “A beautiful healthy boy.” The nurse pointed at a miniature penis. “My, that’s quite definite, isn’t it?” “Is it supposed to be so small?” He felt vaguely insulted on behalf of his son and leaned forward to get a closer view. “That’s not small at all, believe me. Your son is well developed. You did say six months?” “Not quite, more like five months, ten days.” “You may have your dates wrong. He’s an inch longer than a normal six-month fetus, and his head is quite large, almost as big as a full-term infant. “What’s that?” Alex pointed at a large, dark patch at the baby’s back. “That’s the placenta, and unfortunately that position means a total Placenta Previa. The placenta is implanted over the cervix.” The woman offered a sympathetic smile. “I’m afraid you’re in for a couple of very quiet months. Best stock up on the DVD’s and books if you’re a reader. The doctor will give you detailed instructions. I’ll send the prints directly to Dr. Jardine, he’s The B&B’s resident physician.” They were both silent on the ride back to The B&B. Dee’s whole posture changed. The spirit seemed to evaporate out of her with every mile they traversed. Alex’s brain couldn’t settle. Wild visions spiraled, and he rode a tidal wave, vacillating. One second, overwhelmed with dread, the next focused on making things right, willing Dee and the baby to live.

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“It’ll be okay, sweetheart. Our son will be fine.” The words wrapped around Alex’s tongue, and disbelief constricted his throat. Tyler’s face swam in front of his pupils. “If it comes down to me or the baby, I want the baby to live, Alex. I couldn’t go through that again.” She stared ahead, her wide gray eyes unfocused, glistening with unspoken guilt, remorse. Her words squeezed off his circulation. “You can’t ask me to do that, Dee. We can always have another baby.” “You saw his little heart beating. He wants to live. Do you think Harrie will hate me more if we made his middle name Tyler?” She lifted her gaze to his, and Alex hated the resigned acceptance he read in her stormy eyes. “Stop it right now. You are not going to die and neither is our son. Don’t start composing your will today.” He thundered. “You are going to live and give birth to a healthy boy. Do you hear me?” The ambulance jerked to a stop in The B&B’s parking lot. Alex scooped Dee into his arms and marched to their suite. As he settled her on the bed, Jake strode into the room. “Flood and Newel need both of us. We have to decide what to do about this new development.” “I have to go, but I’ll be back,” Alex kissed her forehead and rubbed the lines creased there. “Think positive thoughts.” His words made no impact on him, and although he tried desperately to concentrate on the heated discussion about Butch, Alain, and the outcome of their rescue, he might as well have been sitting next to Dee staring at her belly. Try though he did, Tyler’s sweet face became cemented on his pupils, a screensaver popping up as a set time elapsed. Sometime later, George stuck his head into the library. “The doctor’s on his way up to see Dee.” “Thanks,” Alex said, and his mind went blank, fear shrouding rational thought, any thought. Years of civilized training drummed into him by the priests forced him to say, “I’ll be a while.” He took the stairs two at a time and entered the suite as Dr. Jardine spoke. “No unnecessary movement. None. Brief showers. No baths. No walking and absolutely no stairs.” The doctor surveyed the room. “Maybe they can move you to the ground floor.” “I suppose that means I can’t fly back to Barbados?” Dee’s voice held a hint of hysteria.

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“Absolutely not. No automobiles either.” Jardine’s bushy black eyebrows formed a straight, intimidating line. “This can’t be happening. I have to prepare for the most important trial of my life.” Dee’s gaze stabbed at Alex. “Well, are you happy now? You’ve gotten everything you wanted. Me not working. Your son.” “I did not want you unable to work, but I am thrilled we’re going to have a son.” Alex knew when Dee’s spunk returned, her spine turned into a solid plank, and those gray eyes sparked silver darts. “Doctor, a package arrived from the hospital.” George held an oversized brown envelope in his hands. “Where is your medical room, Brown? You’d better have completed it. That was the pre-requisite for my agreeing to be The B&B’s on call physician.” Bushy eyebrows met at the verge of the bridge of the man’s nose. “It’s on the first floor as you instructed. If you’ll follow me.” George’s long-suffering tone prompted the doctor to say, “That’s good, lead the way.” Alex waited until the door closed, and then he strode over to the bed and sat. “Feeling better?” He tipped her chin up, and assessed the thunderclouds gathering in her gray eyes. Dee nodded, but her lower lip quivered. “I don’t know about you,” he volunteered. “But I feel as if I’ve been rung through the dryer. Two days ago, I was frantic about you, your safety, Butch, the whole thing. Then, finding out about the baby threw me into next week. Yesterday, after the wedding, I had this picture of us in five years. A house, two kids.” He speared a hand through his hair and added, “Though now maybe, they’re two boys.” “It scares the frigging daylights out of me, thinking about the years ahead. Even next month is terrifying. I’ve done something wrong, Alex. I thought I’d learned how to control my powers, but this shouldn’t be happening. I don’t know how to stop it. I’ve been trying to figure it out. I think, no, I know, I must have been pregnant when Harrie went into labor. She had placenta previa. I screwed something up when I saved her. With our baby.” A lone tear dripped down her cheek, and her small, pale hand caressed a gentle circle on her stomach. “It’s my fault. I was so scared. If I’d

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learned how to control my powers earlier, if I hadn’t hated them so much, if I wasn’t such a coward. ” He gathered her into his arms and stopped her words by peppering kisses over her face. She wouldn’t meet his eyes, and his heart cleaved in two. “I saw what you did for Harrie, sweetheart. You went into it not knowing what would happen, if you’d survive. That’s not the act of a coward. That takes incredible courage.” “What if our baby is like Tyler? Oh God, Alex.” She covered her face with her hands and shook her head. “I don’t think I can survive that. Oh, sweet Jesus, no wonder Harrie hates me. I never understood how she felt until now. How does she even get up in the morning? Alex, I don’t know what to do.” She stared at his chest. “We both want our baby to live, right?” She nodded, her gaze glued to his. “We’re going to take this minute by minute. No matter what, we’re going to be positive. Look at me, Dee. Jardine wants you quiet for three months. You’ll have a C-section, our son will survive. Come on, where’s my Attorney General? That’s it. Square those shoulders. Sweetheart, you’re not in this alone. I’m here. Lean on me. Hell, curse me, be angry with me. Just wipe that defeated look off your face. Think of our son, his future.” Wavering gray eyes met his, and her lips flattened, firming. “Yes? We’re agreed.” A tentative smile quirked her mouth, she sniffed and said, her voice strong, positive, “Agreed.” “That’s my sweetheart.” Pride swelled his lungs. “This changes things about the prosecution.” Her whole demeanor shifted, and with each decisive phrase, her features brightened. “I’m not going to play a major role in the prosecution. Gervase Scott can take my place. He’s detail oriented and ambitious. Won’t miss the chance to skewer Butch. They can FedEx my laptop.” Her eyes flew to each electrical outlet. “Once Internet access is restored, why I could almost be there.” “They can video cam the actual trial to you,” he suggested. Her eyes widened in pleasure. “Brilliant, Alex.” Dee clapped her hands. Her shoulders squared off in that determined manner. A mischievous smile

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widened her succulent mouth, and Dee eyed him speculatively. “Did you know that The PBJ book has twenty-four chapters?” His blasted cock strained to Dee’s succulent mouth as if it were already suckling the head. At that precise moment, the doctor re-entered the room, clutching a few sheets of paper. “It’s definitely placenta previa, young lady, whatever I said before goes double now. You look the impatient sort.” His walnut gaze swept from Alex to Dee, and he shifted, body posture deferring to the other male in the room. Alex winced and shook his head as a militant hostility sparked in his wife’s eyes. “And what are your instructions as related to sex?” He grimaced at her little-girl-innocent tone. Little did the good doctor know the venom beneath it. He considered pre-empting her strike and decided not to dampen her spirits. “What?” Dr. Jardine blustered, too shocked to do anything but rake Dee with disbelief. “I can’t believe my ears. Are you mad? Absolutely no sexual contact. No pressure at all on the uterus and definitely no penetration of any sort.” His eyebrows formed a V, and he shot Alex an affronted glance. “Do you understand, young man?” “No sex of any kind.” Alex’s lips turned up as he nodded. “I understand perfectly.” “What about my husband?” Dee stared at her fingernails. “Oral sex, as in a blow job?” Dr. Jardine gurgled and choked. Alex groaned. Dee smirked and both brows lifted. “Well, Doctor, is that permissible?” The doctor took a large white handkerchief out of his shirt pocket and wiped his perspiring skin. “My wife’s bedtime reading is interesting material, Doctor. I believe her latest book is entitled The Perfect Blow Job.” “Blast,” Jake sputtered from behind Alex. Alex swiveled. “You gave it away?” Jake barked the words at Tee. Both of them stood just inside the suite.

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“I ordered my own copy on the Internet.” Dee’s eyes twinkled a merrygo-round. “Sent it to your office, Jake. I asked your secretary to hold it for me. It was well thumbed when I picked it up.” A shadow crossed Jake’s face. “Ms. Yearwood?” His sable eyebrows lifted to the heavens. “My fifty year-old secretary? The one who serves on all our church committees?” He slapped a palm to his forehead. “I’m never going to be able to look her in the eyes again.” “Ms. Yearwood told me she bought three different shades of red lipstick.” Dee’s lips twitched, and she chortled. “Do you know, Alex, this could be a looong couple of months. As Tee will verify, when I’m bored, I’m very dangerous.” The dazzling smile Dee flashed him sent a wave of admiration through Alex. The Attorney General was back in full force. “I don’t know about this generation.” The doctor shook his head as he stomped out of the room, old-fashioned black satchel swinging. “There is more than one doctor on this island, I hope,” Alex mused. “I don’t like that one.” “Neither do I,” Dee agreed. “Alex, I need to speak to you.” “We’ll leave you two alone.” Jake cupped Tee’s elbow and guided her out of the room saying, “Do you think Ms. Yearwood really read the book?” “Three different shades of red lipstick?” Tee giggled. “You bet, darling. You forget, I have ten shades.” As soon as everyone cleared out of the room Dee burst into contagious guffaws. Alex joined her on the bed and hugged her. “Did you see the look on Dr. Jardine’s face?” She giggled again. “I wish we’d had a camera. I thought he was going to have a heart attack.” “Me, too.” “You did notice the good doctor didn’t say no,” she said with a wide grin. “I don’t think I can handle more than three blow jobs a day,” he countered. “Three?” The corners of her lips turned up and a faint sparkle lit her cloudy eyes. “I think we may need more lipstick.” “Come here.” Alex lifted her onto his lap. “Keep our baby safe inside you, and I’ll handle the rest. Deal?”

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“You’re staying then. Not going back to Boca?” Her fingers played with the buttons on his shirt. “Of course I’m staying. We’re married, sweetheart. For better or worse, in sickness and in health—remember? Hell, Dee, I planned everything out before the barbeque. I can run my practice from here. Once the Internet connection is restored, it will be a piece of cake.” He twirled a platinum ringlet around his finger. “If I have to stay in bed, I’ll go mad with boredom, but I do have to hand over to Gervase.” “Shush, you don’t have to make any life-altering decisions right this moment, sweetheart.” He combed his fingers through her silky hair. “Let’s concentrate on getting through the next few months. One thing at a time. Okay?” “But, I can’t leave everyone hanging, Alex. I have to make some decisions.” He kissed Dee’s forehead and set her cheek against his chest. Her body relaxed into the embrace. “Gervase is good. He’ll take the ball and run with it. It’s not fair to him to do anything other than resign. As soon as I get my laptop, I’ll email my resignation to the Prime Minister.” He made a note to delay giving her the laptop for a few days. “That ultrasound was amazing. Didn’t his heart sound strong?” She traced a circle around a taupe button, slipped it loose and then slid it through the embroidered opening. “Seeing it beating made me think about my life, about all the things I thought I needed. I want our baby to live, Alex. Desperately. And, I find I’m selfish enough that I want to live, too. I want to see those perfect little fingers, to see life in his eyes. I’m so scared it will be like Tyler. I can’t handle that.” “It won’t be.” Alex combed her hair. “I keep seeing that black spot pulsing. What do you think he’ll look like?” “Frigging hell, like you of course. I have no intention of birthing a boy as short as me. Suppose he is?” Her voice wavered and she continued, “I wonder if growth hormones are as dangerous as they’re painted.” One finger tapped his chest. “The nurse said he was big for five months, so I doubt we have to worry about him being short.”

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“I suppose so. Did you know autism can only be diagnosed after a baby’s born?” Her chin took a decided dip. “You’re thinking of Alain, aren’t you? Don’t dwell on the negatives, sweetheart. I read somewhere that babies in the uterus respond to positive recordings.” He said, lying like a seasoned politician. He kissed the crinkles at the corner of one eye to make up for it. “Tell me why Butch is so important to you. I want to understand this obsession of yours.” Dee’s movements stilled and the muscles in her forearms tensed under his rhythmic stroking. She took a deep breath and studied his chest intently. “Butch sodomized Alain. I’m not sure when it began, but I discovered it when Alain was seven.” Angst formed a tourniquet around his chest. “How? You interrupted him, didn’t you?” The wild light in her gray eyes answered his question. “Did he see you?” She shook her head, her lips clamped tight. “You were thirteen. You took it away from Alain.” Silence. Her chin bobbed, once, twice. “I saw it all, but I was too scared to stop him. I didn’t figure out how for a good eight months.” She twisted in his arms and her chin angled. “He won Sundays with Alain in the divorce. I stayed over every Sunday night, and took away the memories. I didn’t know how to stop Butch.” A tear streaked her cheek. He kissed it away. “How did you stop him?” “How come you’re so sure I did?” She hiccupped. “Because you’re my Attorney General, sweetheart. You’d never let him get away with it.” He knuckled her cheek. “I made him impotent. I’m not sure how it happened, but that image, when I first saw him….” she muttered, bit her lip, and raised her gaze to his. “I know he couldn’t get it up later, but then he started doing other things. Butch likes pain.” “Crap.” His cock and balls mirrored the condition in empathy. “Okay. First, promise me, you’ll never do that to me no matter how angry you are. Second, tell me how you did it.” “I don’t know. I’ve never been able to do it again. Not even after Daphne’s rape when those men went free. You’re safe, Alex. Besides why would I want to do that to you? It’s very definitely the part of being married that I like.” A shaky grin lit her mouth for a few moments, then it faded.

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“Are you sure Alain has no memories?” “No. I’m not sure at all. I know he’s afraid of Butch. Alain gets this look when Butch is around. I can’t describe it. It’s a combination of fear, retreat, and surrender. I hate it.” Dee’s sigh whispered across Alex’s shoulder fluttering his linen shirt. “Alain’s so lost. I did something wrong, because he was normal until I healed him. He was so young, only seven.” He thought of the ultrasound, their son’s heart pulsing, and a fierce burning for revenge ravaged the bottom of his gut. “Is that when the autism started?” “I don’t know when it started, exactly. Mimi, Alain’s mother, attributes his autism to his chickenpox inoculation. I’ve read about that, and it is a popular theory.” She shook her head. “I caught Butch on Alain’s seventh birthday. The chickenpox shot had been years before. His autism started the day I took away Alain’s memories. It was me, not him.” He brushed her trembling lips with his. “That’s why you went against the plan. It was Alain’s birthday and you wanted him to be happy.” Dee worried her lower lip, and he saw the moistness pooling in her eyes. “You probably think I’m nuts, but I think of Alain as the little brother I never had.” “I think you are an amazing human being.” He met her gaze, and tipped her chin up. “Amazing, sweetheart.” Her lashes spiked down and Dee’s cheeks grew rosy. A knock sounded on the door. “Come in,” Alex called and stilled Dee’s movements out of his lap. He stroked her shoulder. “Is this a bad moment?” George stuck his head around the door. “No, come on in.” “Tiny’s coming back.” George beamed the news. “He’s finished his spot on Lost and he’s due back at The B&B in a couple of days.” “Tiny’s on Lost?” Dee squealed and clapped her excitement. “Frigging hell. Whom is he playing? Is he a villain?” She bounced up and down in Alex’s lap. “How did he get hired?” “Reporters interviewed him right after the rescue, and the director of the latest episode happened to be in the bar here at The B&B. He hired him on the spot. They made changes to the script and while you were with Tee and helicoptered him up to Englishman’s Bay. He’ll be there off and on for the

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next few weeks, but he refused to fly again. Apparently, he’d never flown before and it doesn’t agree with him.” “Damn,” Alex muttered, “Tiny, a TV star. After being in the twentyfirst century for what? All of ten seconds? That man is an egotistical maniac.” “I can’t believe you’d say that.” Her fingers did a war dance across his rib cage. “The man oozes sex appeal, he’s got a body like a Greek God, and thigh muscles that make you want to….” A dreamy smile captured her lips and the expression on her face matched the half-lidded haze in her eyes. “Really. How nice for you. Exactly what do you want to do to his thigh muscles?” He’d ream the giant the minute he saw the son-of-a-bitch. “I thought you and Tiny were friends. He said you were. “ “Right, friends with particularly attractive thighs. What the hell is wrong with my thighs? Just because I wasn’t born with a blasted horse between my legs.” She draped a hand over his mouth. “Tiny’s thighs are too bulky. Yours are perfect.” He glared at her, not appeased in the slightest. “Perhaps I misunderstood Tiny, but he did ask me to tell you about his return.” George hovered in the doorway, rocking back and forth. “And Dee, I thought you knew he was starring on Lost.” “Who cares?” Alex frowned and placed his hand on her hips. “It’s a television show for Christ’s sake. Who cares?” “It’s Lost!” George and Dee chimed in unison, both glowering at him. And Alex thanked God and George for the light diversion under such dire circumstances.

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Baffled by Brodick “Harrie came to see me yesterday.” Dee’s nails dug into her palms, and she inched forward on the chaise lounge. “She says she’s ready to forgive me. Did you know they buried Tyler’s ashes on this beach, and planted a tree over it? A Poui tree.” “George takes care of it.” Tee’s soft voice floated on the cool morning breeze. “Why didn’t anyone tell me? Harries says she visits it every day.” Dee rubbed her bare arms and shivered. “We’ve been here for six weeks. How come I didn’t see her before?” “You’re not supposed to get upset.” Tee reminded her. “Alex is uneasy about her being here after she called you a murderer and her tipping off Butch about where you were. I’m surprised Harrie’s ready to forgive you. She still seems very angry to me.” “She’s bringing the golf cart around,” Dee said. “Tiny’s here. He’s going to carry me to it and bring me back up after we visit the grave.” “Dee, the baby. It’s a big risk to take.” “Not really.” She grimaced. “I walk more to go to the bathroom. And I haven’t bled once in six weeks. I need to do this.” “Jake and Alex’s fishing trip is today,” Tee accused. “You planned this, didn’t you?” She nodded. “I’m coming with you,” Tee stated. “Just in case. Tiny will come, too.” “No, Harrie and I are doing this together, just the two of us.” A frisson of anxiety pooled in Dee’s stomach. Thundering, determined footsteps sounded from the hallway. “Och. What a bonnie sight.” Tiny’s lilting voice purred, and he stood, arms akimbo, dwarfing the doorway. Sun streamed in from the opposite

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window outlining his large form. “My two sweetling witches. Och, lassies, you two make Master da Vinci’s Madonna a pale shadow.” “Such obvious flattery will not work.” “Ah, Tee, but it works wonders with all the other lassies.” Tiny winked at the two of them. “A man doesn’t need to do much courting in this time. On many occasions none at all.” “Harrie’s waiting, but when I come back, I want to hear all about this Lost thing,” Dee said as she mimed quotation marks. “You have very peculiar women in this time, lassies.” Tiny lifted Dee as if she weighed no more than a downy pillow. “All your wonderful conveniences seem to spawn such avarice.” “I understand what you mean. And you’re dealing with actors. They’re supposed to be very egotistical. Thank you for doing this.” “Truthfully, I needed to get away from that bunch. Actors all seem a mite touched in the brain.” Tiny’s long strides brought them to the dining area. At the edge of the patio, Harrie sat in a golf cart. A ribbon-tied bundle of white daisies lay in the tray by the steering wheel. Kazak sat in the back seat ears pricked, large head cocked to one side, while Ludie lay sprawled across the white plastic bench, graceful head propped on front paws. “Do you have your cell phone?” Tee asked. She patted the pocket of her dress. “Right here. Now, don’t worry. We won’t be long, will we, Harrie?” “I’ll drive slowly because of the baby,” Harrie’s musical voice tinkled on a dry, hot breeze. “Ten minutes there and back, thirty minutes at the most.” Tiny settled her into the front seat. Harrie pressed the pedal, and the cart swung, arcing in the opposite direction. Dee waved over her shoulder at Tiny and Tee, who stood watching their departure. For several minutes, they crept along the surf’s edge without speaking. “It’s hot out isn’t it?” she muttered. The silence strung out, and she cut a glance at Harrie. Her face had grown angular in the last few months. She had not a spare ounce of flesh, lean to a painful fragility. “Thank you for doing this with me, Harrie.” They rounded a ninety-degree bend and came up on a simmering river emptying into a lapping ocean. The cart took up speed. Dee gripped the hard plastic seat and shifted.

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“Aren’t we going a little fast?” Harrie slammed the pedal and the cart raced. Seconds later, she lifted her sandal-clad foot off the accelerator and the vehicle crawled to a halt. Tears streamed down her face, and she stared straight ahead. “I can’t do this.” “Harrie?” A frisson of dread snaked up Dee’s spine. “I’ve hated you,” her shaky murmur took the sting out of her words. “But, all the hating in the world won’t bring back Tyler. Why Dee? Why couldn’t you let me die? Every morning when I wake up, I pray for death. For an end to the pain. I wanted to betray you, to take you to Butch, let him hurt you. But, I can’t hurt your baby.” She shifted and finally met Dee’s gaze. “I can’t blame you any more. Something’s wrong with me. Everyone I love dies.” “Don’t say that, Harrie. It’s not true. I couldn’t save Tyler, Harrie. And I’ll regret that to my dying day. I know I’m to blame for that. If I’d accepted my powers earlier, if I’d learned how to control them instead of fighting them….” A hiccupped sob broke off her words and she pressed a fist to her mouth trying to regain some semblance of control. “I’m sorry, Harrie. Sorrier than you’ll ever know. I wish there was something I could do to make up for all the pain I’ve caused you. Anything, just tell me what to do.” The climbing temperature and humidity curled sweat down Dee’s back and the sun’s rays raked scorching licks over her bare shoulders. Tears mingled with perspiration on her cheeks as she waited for Harrie to respond. “Every day, I ask God, why am I alive? And he doesn’t answer. You think he has a reason, Dee? That there’s something left for me to do.” Dark clay eyes held dreary despair and hopelessness. “I can’t paint anymore. At first, that’s all I could do. Paint. Tyler, Dad, my baby boy. I could paint life into those blue eyes, reflections of sunlight, warmth, love. Then it went away, and I stare at empty canvases not knowing what to do.” She grabbed Harrie’s hand and cradled it between hers, squeezing her cold flesh, and hadn’t a clue what to say, what to do. “My powers went away too. And I’m glad. I hated it, hearing the pain of others, hearing evil thoughts. Do you think God’s punishing me for hating them? Maybe he punished both of us for hating parts of ourselves, and Tyler bore his anger. Today, when I woke up, someone called to me. It scared me. I’m drawn to him, and he serves that devil Butch. I’m losing my mind

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because I wished you harm, and I betrayed you to Butch.” A wildness captured her auburn irises and her nails dug into Dee’s palm. “Why else would I hear Carrington’s thoughts? Why else would he plead for my help? Am I going crazy?” “Carrington?” Dee’s voice came out a croak. “He needs your help? Think, Harrie. What did you hear? Tell me exactly.” “No words. I saw what he saw. A dark, smoky hall filled with men. Noise, loud shouts, raw meat. And the smell. Even now, the stench is overpowering. I’ve never seen anything before. Why is this happening now? What does it mean?” “Have you spoken with Douglas?” Only their mentor might know what Harrie’s vision meant. Dee was stymied. “That’s the really scary part. He saw Douglas in a cage, hanging above the hall.” “What?” A glacial chill took a hold of her, and shudders wracked through her along with a sharp, penetrating lance, a dagger stabbing her pelvis. Dee flinched as a moist wind whipped the curls across her face, blinding her for a few seconds. “Harrie, are you seeing this now?” The pain made it difficult to concentrate, and Harrie’s fragile features wavered, separating and melding back together in the wrong places. Burnt mahogany eyes floated where a chin should be. A mouth opened and closed without sound, and a strange eerie hammering battered her eardrums. Brown and black spots formed a diaphanous curtain, draping her vision as another knife scraped her insides. “Something’s wrong.” Her tongue grew, swelling to fill her mouth, choking her. She snatched at the tray crumpling the daisy bouquet, and fought to stay conscious, upright. Vaguely, Dee realized, Harrie had reversed the cart, and it raced down the beach. Doggy barking penetrated the whine of vehicle’s sewing machine engine, and another stinging spasm speared her womb. Voices broke into her fogged trance, and she squinted, making out Tiny and George running in their direction, arms waving. A ninety-degree turn as Harrie angled the golf cart up an incline, Dee ground one foot onto the dashboard and gripped the seat with both hands. The car jerked to an instant halt, and she fell sideways, hitting her temple on the metal bar. “Harrie,” she groaned. “Harrie, help my baby.”

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Strong arms scooped Dee up. Muffled shouts reached her ears. Tiny’s face swam before her eyes. She gripped his shirt and managed. “The baby.” “I have you, lass.” Vision dawned with crystal clarity. “No, you don’t understand.” A contraction cracked across her pelvis halting her breathing and liquid oozed between her legs. “Lass, tell me that’s not what I think it is.” Tiny’s voice rose with each word. “George, drive this bloody thing fast and smooth.” He folded his long form into the back seat. Somehow, Harrie was in the passenger seat and George took over, setting the golf cart in motion. He sped down the beach cranking the cart over the undulating sand. A mournful howl keened and faded, growing dimmer as the vehicle zipped along the sand. By the time they reached The B&B, two more contractions wrenched her uterus, and Tiny’s complexion grayed darker with each one. He rushed into the building and up the stairs, taking them two at a time. “Tee, Tee,” Tiny shouted. “The babe is coming. Tee.” Tiny set her gently on the bed and rushed to the bathroom. She heard the sound of violent retching. A modicum of strength returned and her fogged mind cleared a tad. Tee waddled into the room, cheeks pinched. “Contractions?” “Three in the last ten minutes.” “Okay, take a four-breath inhale. Now.” The last word was a commanded yell, and Tee started counting. “One, two, slower, three, four. Blast.” “I swear, Tee, you don’t.” Dee’s head whipped up. She followed Tee’s gaze and looked down. “Oh God.” Blood pooled between her legs, blossoming over the white cotton sheet. “Lie down, get your feet up, and I’ll get the pillows,” Tee ordered. She hurried to the bathroom and returned with towels. Dee slipped pillows under her bottom and her knees. Tee pressed the damp towels to her soaked underwear. “I think this is it, Cupcake.” Dee swallowed three times, and it did nothing to halt the swelling burning in her chest.

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“It’s not stopping.” Tee stared at the thick, spreading ruby stain. She ran to the bedside table and hit the speaker button. Dial tone sounded. “Lie down, for God’s sake. Lie down.” She pressed zero. “Front—” “Dr. Jardine, an ambulance now, Ashraff. And get a hold of Alex right away.” “George has already called both. The ambulance should be here any minute. It’s too soon, isn’t it? She’s not even eight months.” “Dee’s only three days away from seven and a half months. Send up chipped ice and some clean towels. Hurry.” The phone went silent. Another contraction caused Dee to curl into an instinctive fetal position. “Breathe with me, Tee.” “One, two, three, four, hold it, hold it.” Tee instructed. “Now let it out, one, two, three, four. Damn it, I don’t know if this is right. I haven’t started the Lamaze classes yet.” Panic clouded her features. “Calm down,” Dee coaxed. “I’m lying in bed. My legs are elevated. The bleeding will slow. It always does. Cupcake, I need you to calm down.” She felt the strangest tranquility, a numbing indifference. “Tee, look at me. Look me in the eyes now. Good,” she praised. “Good. I signed a waiver six weeks ago. I need you to make sure it’s honored. Tee, are you listening to me?” Tee slipped onto the mattress at Dee’s side, and tears streamed down her face. “Don’t. Please don’t ask me to do this. I’m begging you.” “I’m thirty years old. My son hasn’t lived yet. I named you as the executor of my living will. I’m a lawyer, it will all hold up. If there’s a choice between the baby and me, you have to choose him.” Something threatened her throat, and she swallowed a sob. “I’d like his middle name to be Tyler. Alex can give him any first name he wants. Will you and Jake be his godparents? It would mean a lot to me. If you can persuade Harrie to be co-Godmother with you, that would be perfect.” “Oh, God. I can’t, I can’t.” Tee shook her head and buried her face in her hands. “You can, for me. It’s all I ask.” She slumped back against the pillows. “I’m kind of dizzy. How much blood have I lost?” Tee removed the towel from between Dee’s thighs. Her teeth sank into her lower lip. “A coffee mug? A soup bowl?” she asked.

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“A large soup bowl.” “In the dresser first drawer is a packet with white powder in it. Dissolve it in hot water and bring it to me.” A watershed of giddiness made the room whirl. “You’re going to need to help me drink it. Don’t let me pass out until I finish it.” “Keep talking to me. What is this?” Tee went to the bathroom. “Tiny’s fainted, I think.” A ghost of a smile traced Dee’s lips at those words. She heard the water running and then a muttered oath. “Get up, Tiny,” Tee barked. “I need help.” “I’m not so good with female maladies, bonnie Tee. It sets me to vomiting.” Tiny’s voice shook at the end. “Almost done.” Tee came back into the room, stumbled, and her face froze. She swallowed and eyed the towel between Dee’s legs. “Two large soup bowls, Dee.” Tiny staggered through the doorway, his skin wan, Adam’s apple bobbing. “Put two pillows under Dee’s back, Tiny.” He lumbered over to the bed and did as Tee ordered. Tee edged upwards and lifted the mug to her lips. “Drink. What is this, Dee?” “Whitebeam tea,” Tiny answered for her. “I have more, lass. I’ll get it straight away.” The greenish hue left his face. “I know Gwyneth uses it with difficult birthings.” “Is this going to stop the bleeding?” Tee fed her some more tea. “I don’t know if this is enough,” she replied. “Maybe if Tiny has a lot more.” By the time Tiny returned, Dee had finished the whole cup, and the contractions were pounding her quicker than Tassa drums at Carnival. “How’s the bleeding?” Her voice seemed unconnected to the rest of her. “I think it’s stopping. That has to be a good sign. Tiny’s making another batch of tea,” Tee said, as she chucked her chin. “Your eyes are closing. Stay awake.” “Trying,” she mumbled. “Pain isn’t so bad any more, not as sharp.”

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“Dr. Jardine’s on his way up.” George burst into the room. Ashraff followed him with a tray full of cloths and a bucket of chipped ice. He set it on the edge of the bed. “Drink. Finish the tea before he gets here.” Tee jiggled the cup against her lips. Seconds elapsed, Dee’s eyelids grew heavier. She licked dry lips, and tried to concentrate. “When did the contractions start?” Dr. Jardine barked as he rolled up his sleeves and covered the distance to the bed. “About an hour ago,” Tee answered. “The contractions are coming almost every two minutes, and they’re about a minute in duration.” “Show me all the towels. I need to get an idea of how much blood she’s lost.” Dr. Jardine placed a stethoscope to Dee’s stomach and put his ear to it. He listened while gazing at the second hand on his watch. Tee showed him the heap of towels in the trashcan. He nodded. “The fetal heart rate is irregular, and you’ve lost too much blood. I need to take him now, if he’s to live.” Dee caught sight of Alex’s anxious face. “Alex?” She stared groggily over the doctor’s shoulder. “Alex, are you there?” She squinted trying to get his wobbly features in focus. “Repeat that, Dr. Jardine,” Alex said. He rushed around to the other side of the bed. “It’ll be all right, Dee,” he whispered, tucking a wet curl behind her ears. “I want to push,” she gasped. “Everybody out,” Dr. Jardine ordered. “Young man, I need to do an emergency C-section, now. Mrs. Mathews, can you assist me?” “I’m staying. If Tee can’t do it, I can assist you.” Alex and the doctor waged a battle with their eyes. Dr. Jardine nodded. George and Ashraff gave her a thumbs up on the way out. Tiny jogged through the doorway. “Hot water, clean towels.” The doctor slipped on surgical gloves as he snapped out orders. “I’m going to give your wife a modified epidural. What that means, Desdemona, is that you will feel a little pain during the surgery. Mrs. Mathews, there are surgical masks and caps in my bag. Everyone

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wears them and gloves. Wash up first. Soap to the elbows, five minutes each hand.” Everything slowed down and Dr. Jardine’s words began to slur, sounding like they were playing at the wrong speed. Dee stared at Alex’s strong, brown hand holding hers. “Turn onto your side, and arch your back for me, Desdemona.” She complied, and after a while felt a pop in her back. Everything numbed including her mind. Alex wiped her forehead with a damp cloth, and Dee searched for Tee. When she met her tawny eyes, Dee croaked, “The will, Tee.” Dr. Jardine set up a tent with a sheet. “Is she referring to a living will, Mrs. Mathews?” “Yes.” Tee looked at Alex. “I’m sorry, Alex. Dee only told me about it when the bleeding started. I’m the executor. If it comes down to a choice between her and the baby, we’re to choose the baby.” “We can have another baby. I want Dee alive. Do you hear me, Doctor?” Alex said the words through clenched teeth. “Please?” she pleaded. Alex’s eyes glistened, and he shook his head. “No.” “Do you have the document in your possession, Mrs. Mathews?” “No, I don’t.” “Then it cannot be executed, and the next of kin, that would be you, young man, can make such a decision. But only if your wife is not capable.” He made a swift swiping motion, and a huge pressure burst in Dee’s pelvic area. A languid exhaustion set in, and her eyes refused direction. The room dipped and straightened. “Try to keep her talking, young man.” “What do you want to name him, sweetheart?” Alex cupped her chin, and his lips came into focus. “Tyler, his middle name,” she panted. His thumb smoothed her cheek. “I know we talked about that before. I think he needs a strong name, especially if he’s going to be as big as the nurse thought. How about Brodick?” Dee couldn’t stop a broad smile. “Brodick Tyler Mayfield.” She nodded. “I think I might want to sleep now.” Her dry throat cracked. “Wake me up when he’s here.”

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“Give her some chipped ice, and put a cool cloth on her forehead,” Dr. Jardine commanded. “Keep her awake.” Dee scowled and grumbled. “I’m tired.” Alex slipped a spoonful of chipped ice into her mouth. She sucked on it gratefully. “Almost there.” Dr. Jardine never looked up. “Is the ambulance here?” “I’ll ring George and find out.” “They’re all waiting outside the door,” Alex muttered. “Go and ask, Tee.” Dee didn’t even see Tee leave. There was a huge plopping scoop, and Dr. Jardine held up a long, bloodied, squirming, infant. He set the child on Dee’s chest and dug goop out of his mouth. Apparently, Brodick objected strenuously to the action. He screwed up his tiny face, opened his mouth, and bellowed. Dee fell in love. All her drowsy fatigue dissipated. “He’s got your lungs.” Alex met her eyes. “Isn’t he beautiful?” she whispered. “Why is he crying?” “He’s early, but he appears healthy. I’d say he weighs about six pounds. Until a pediatrician checks his vitals, he needs to be in an incubator.” Dr. Jardine worked non-stop below the tent, hands grabbing and discarding various instruments. “I’m going to use one long temporary stitch, and then we head straight to the hospital. You’re hemorrhaging, Desdemona, and we need to stop it.” “The ambulance attendants are on their way up,” Tee volunteered. Tears dripped down her cheeks. “He’s gorgeous, Dee, Alex.” “Mrs. Mathews, wrap the baby in a clean towel and take him down to the ambulance. Who will accompany us?” A bushy eyebrow lifted, and Dr. Jardine cut to Alex. “I will,” Alex said. “Why can’t I hold him?” Dee scowled when Tee lifted Brodick off her chest. His arms and feet failed, and he howled in outrage. “We need to get you cleaned up and downstairs. I want you as still as possible, and no pressure at all on your uterus. You can hold him later.” Two men in green scrubs wheeled a stretcher into the room. While they worked, Dr. Jardine continued his instructions.

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“I’ll meet you at the hospital.” He whipped his gloves off and tossed them into the wastepaper basket. Once they were settled in the ambulance, the paramedic bundled Brodick into Alex’s arms. He handled his son with an easy confidence Dee envied, cradling his head with one hand. “He’s sucking his whole hand.” Alex leaned over so she could see. “I think you’ll need to feed him soon.” “I’m not quite sure how it works. How come you know how to hold him?” “I grew up in an orphanage, Dee. Babies were the best part of the whole experience. We always had newborns.” Alex lifted his gaze from his absorbed scrutiny of Brodick’s features. “They fascinated me. I loved the way they smelled. Newborns love being held, they snuggle as close as they can get.” His expression arrested, and a look of disbelief flashed across his features. He stared at Dee. “You’ve never held a newborn?” She shook her head. “I’ve never held a baby, period.” “Never?” Both eyebrows lifted. “Not once?” “They make me nervous,” she mumbled. “I like kids from about nine and up.” His shoulders shook and Alex hooted. He didn’t stop laughing until they wheeled her into the hospital room. A nurse took the baby to the pediatric ward, and they hooked Dee up to an IV and a whole bunch of other sensors and monitors. She didn’t notice Alex’s absence until they finished working on her. Dr. Jardine came in as they all left. He went over her vitals, checked her pulse, and scribbled on the PDA. Alex strode over to stand by her side. “Normally for a C-section, I’d keep you in hospital for only two days, but you’ve lost a lot of blood so I’m recommending you stay for a full four days. The hemorrhaging stopped while you were in the ambulance. I must say, you’re in remarkably good health considering everything. I’ve never seen anything like it. Your pressure’s back to normal, and your CBC— complete blood count—is perfect. Still, the IV will stay in until tomorrow morning. I’ll decide then if you need any more.” “What about my baby?” “They’ll bring him to you as soon as he’s been checked. Do you plan to breast feed?”

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“Yes,” Dee stuttered, hoping she could manage it. “The nurses will help you with that.” He stopped working. “Congratulations. I’ll see you tomorrow.” Alex perched on the edge of the parked gurney. He brushed his lips across hers. “Thank you from the bottom of my heart, Dee.” Heat flushed her cheeks, and she fiddled with the plastic neon-orange ID bracelet. “Do you mind if I go check on Brodick?” His soft, stroking caress soothed away some of her anxiety. “No, go ahead.” Alex slipped off the cot. At that precise moment, a short, wiry, nurse came into the room carrying a blanket-wrapped, squalling bundle. “He’s got healthy lungs, love. Hasn’t stopped exercising them. And he’s worked up an appetite. Chart says you’re going to breast feed. Would you like some tips?” She settled Brodick into her arms. “Yes,” her voice came out as a croak. “Oh, will you look at the size of those?” The nurse winked at Alex. “I’m sure most men envy you. Your breasts are bigger than his head.” She tsked. “Sometimes a baby has a problem with the nipple.” Brodick’s face angled towards Dee’s breasts. His lips curled into an open pucker. With unerring certainty, he rooted for her nipple and latched on. Dee flinched and stared at her hungry son, his tiny jaw working. He ate with loud vacuuming wet sucks, and one fist kneaded the side of her breast. She glanced up to discover the nurse had left, and Alex stared at Brodick and then her, a rapt glow in his eyes. “Does it hurt? Do you mind me watching?” “No, I don’t mind.” She thought about it. “When he first latched on, it burned. Oh look, Alex, he’s falling asleep. See, liquid is leaking out the side of his little mouth. Do you think he’s finished?” She wriggled. “What’s wrong? Are you in pain?” “The other one hurts.” “Sorry about that, love.” The nurse returned and a brisk pace brought her to the cot. “Got the one side, did he? Always do both breasts. Most babies get everything from one in the first few minutes of suckling. Now, don’t just yank him off. Break the suction by slipping your little finger into

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his mouth. There, that’s it. Now switch sides. Your husband can burp him when he’s done. I’m on duty until nine. Ring if you need anything.” Dee felt like a hurricane had whipped her upside down. “She’s a whirlwind, isn’t she?” Alex’s lips twitched. “She talked so fast I almost didn’t keep up with everything.” “Alex, will you stay for a while?” Dee gulped. “How do you burp a baby? All of a sudden, my heart’s yammering away, and I feel faint. Where does he sleep? I roll around a lot. I’ll crush him and kill him. Frig, I mean shoot, yes shoot. I don’t know how to change a diaper. Who’s going to bathe him? He could slip and fall. Wet things are slippery. Why did I ever think I could do this?” Alex nudged her hip with his and slid onto the cot. He slipped an arm over her shoulder and rubbed a lazy circle on Brodick’s cheek. “Shush, Dee. You’re going to be a great mother. We’ll figure things out as we go along. Take one day at a time.” He kissed the corner of her mouth. “There must be manuals. And support groups on the Internet.” Dee caught the amusement twinkling in Alex’s brilliant blues. “I’m babbling, aren’t I?” “I’m thoroughly enjoying see my superior, confident wife discomfited. Motherhood should prove a humbling experience.” Alex touched his lips to her temple. “I’ll arrange to stay the night. Maybe they can wheel another stretcher in. I left Jake making the security arrangements with Flood and Newel. Tiny is standing guard outside.” “You spoke with Tiny?” “Yes, you’re very lucky I’m too distracted and awestruck to be as angry with you as I should be. You know I don’t trust Harrie. You’re alone with her for five minutes and you go into labor. What were you thinking of, getting out of bed? Thank God, everything turned out all right.” Alex’s eyebrows met in the middle of his forehead. “It wasn’t Harrie’s fault. She didn’t do anything. We were talking, sorting things out, and the contractions started. ” She frowned as vague recollections of their conversation seeped into her dazed wonder. “ I need to talk to her. She was telling me something. Something important, I think, but I can’t remember what exactly.” “If it was important, it’ll come back to you. I want to talk to her, too, before you do. I won’t have her upsetting you.”

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“I’m fine, Alex, and it’s okay for me to get upset now. We have our perfectly healthy son.” She traced a finger along Brodick’s downy cheek. “He’s beautiful. Brodick Tyler Mayfield. He looks like you. Does this feel real to you?” She met his gaze and knew her smile grew broader and sillier by the moment. “We’re parents. I’m a mum.” “And I’m a father.” He shook his head and repeated the words. “I’m a father.” A contented silence engulfed both of them as Brodick yawned, emitting a deep rumble at the top, his little mouth and nose laying a loose claim to her swollen nipple. “This changes things, Dee, as far as security goes. Until Butch is captured, neither you nor my son is allowed to be alone. Tiny wrapped up his job and he, Jake, and I will stand guard over the two of you.” “Is that really necessary? Flood and Newel’s men are here.” “Butch could be on the run for a while. This is an expensive operation to maintain. Jake and I fully expect them to scale back soon.” Alex dipped his thumb into the cleft in Dee’s chin and shuffled the pad around the rim of the indentation. “Do you remember the five graduates from St. Michael’s I mentor, the Lads?” “The ones you mentioned when we had brunch with Jake and Tee?” She asked, thinking, The day after I knew you’d captured my heart. “The lads with the strange names?” “They’re second year college students who are into martial arts and boxing.” Alex kissed her forehead. “I asked them to come for the summer. I can trust them with you and Brodick. They’ll share guard duties with Tiny, Jake and I.” A white-coated doctor rapped on the door to get their attention. “Mr. and Mrs. Mayfield?” “Yes,” Alex answered. He stood. “Are you the pediatrician?” “Dr. Christine Jenner.” The tall, statuesque blonde extended a hand. “Alex Mayfield. My wife, Dee Bloom. I presume you’ve already met our son, Brodick.” “Nice name. Yes, we had Brodick in the incubator for less than an hour, purely precautionary. He weighs six pounds and is as long as a regular newborn, even though he is…” Dr. Jenner checked her PDA. “Almost six

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weeks early. No signs of jaundice. He’s active and healthy. You can take him home when your doctor releases you. I anticipate no problems.” “Really?” Dee’s lips trembled. She felt as fragile as a butterfly seconds after metamorphosis. “Thank you.” “I’ll check him every day and update you if necessary. Good evening.” Dee burst into tears as soon as the doctor left the room.

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Hog Heaven “Did you notice his mouth?” Toran Hamil asked. “Shush.” Tiny put a finger to his lips. “I don’t think he’s noticed as yet.” Disturbed by their murmurs, Alex turned from his fascinated study of his son. “What did you say?” “Nothing ‘Lexie.” “’Lexie,” Tiny hollered. “’Lexie.” He slapped a hand to his thigh and chortled. “There’s no’ much choice between Pretty Boy and ‘Lexie.” Jake joined them in the newly established nursery. “What did my godson do today?” The three males studied the alert baby lying on his back in the blue and white cradle. “Learned to suck his thumb.” Alex frowned and cocked his head to one side. “Crap. How did I not see it before?” Dragging his son’s finger out of his mouth, Alex stared at his son’s lips. “He has Dee’s mouth. A real girl’s mouth, all pouty, and red, and full. A man can’t have a mouth like that and not get into a ton of fights.” “We’ll start him in the boxing ring as soon as he can stand.” Toran volunteered in a resigned tone. “He’ll have to learn street smarts early. I can only begin to imagine the teasing he’ll get. At least, he has a strong, manly name.” Brodick’s brown eyebrows slashed downwards as he stabbed his thumb towards his face and missed his mouth, once, twice. He cooed and suckled when he finally captured the digit. “His hair’s coming in.” Jake ventured. “He doesn’t look like Friar Tuck anymore.” “Brodick wants the rattle, ‘Lexie.” Toran held out his hand. “Give it to me. I want to show you something.”

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Alex passed the soft blue and red checked cloth rattle to Tor. The young man wrapped Brodick’s fingers around it. The baby burbled and opened his hand, and the rattle fell to his side. His blue eyes followed it, and he stared at the object. It jiggled about. “It moved. Did you see that?” Toran’s voice rose in excitement. “He did it this morning, too.” Alex exchanged an uneasy look with Jake. “It did move. Didn’t it?” “Looked like it,” Jake said. “Has Dee noticed anything?” “Has Dee noticed anything?” Alex planted his hands on his pelvic bones and glowered at his best friend. A strong morning glow lit the room, and he narrowed his eyes to ward off the glare. “My wife has a wall-sized chart of what a baby’s supposed to do each month of his life for the first two years. She ticks off everything Brodick does. We now have an Excel chart of his growth, his weight. Yesterday, she burst into tears when he failed to put on the necessary seven ounces for the week. I married a logical, unemotional woman who never cried. Now I’m living with a woman who sobs at the drop of a hat.” Alex speared his hands through his hair. “She’s driving me insane.” “Och, ‘twill be worse today. Four more books arrived. One of them is sexual development of boys.” Tiny sighed. “She’s badgered me into reading it and setting up a list of what’s normal year by year. It took me an hour to convince her it didn’t need to be done by month.” “Look, look at the rattle.” Toran shook Alex’s arm. The rattle lay squarely on Brodick’s fat belly, and his blue eyes crossed trying to focus on it. Alex’s gut clenched. “None of you moved it? Tiny?” “Nay. I think your wife hasn’t begun to drive you crazy. When she hears about this, I wouldn’t want to be in your boots,” Tiny drawled, and he shot Alex a pitying look. “Not a word to Dee. Not one frigging, word.” The rattle lifted and fell back onto Brodick’s tummy. He cooed, his lips widened, and it rose again, a little higher this time before thudding softly down. Brodick gurgled in delight and smiled gleefully into his father’s horrified eyes. “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. What the hell will she do?” Alex rocked back on his heels. “There are no manuals for this.”

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“Knowing Dee, she’ll write the definitive manual.” Jake’s dry tone matched the grim set of his mouth. “Speaking of your wife, where is she?” “On a conference call with Gervase Scott and the rest of the team,” Alex answered. “Butch is rumored to be in Columbia. The whole Plucked Parrot project is officially on hold, and she’s furious. I forgot to tell you, two days ago, they identified the mysterious 929 that entered the compound the night Butch had Dee. You’ll never guess. It belongs to Hans Schmidt.” “Hell of a coincidence.” Jake tugged on his earlobe. “Which one of you five is on Harrie duty today, Tor?” “Jarlath until six,” he replied. “Quinn has tonight. We’re keeping our ears to the ground, but there’s absolutely no word on Carrington and the rest of Butch’s men. Not a trace. Honestly, I don’t think she’s in any danger. This island is one quiet, lazy community. No one even runs a red light.” “As serene as Tobago seems, there are strange undercurrents. Those break-ins at Harrie’s place, for instance, they worry me. Nothing stolen, but someone wanted her to know he’d been there. And those messages on her answering machine.” “Harrie isn’t exactly the sanest woman I’ve ever met, Jake. Ever think it could all be her imagination?” “You heard the voice messages, Tor. Definitely male, and definitely not Harrie or anyone we know. My gut tells me these incidents have something to do with Butch.” Carpeted footsteps sounded, and Jake turned around as George cleared his throat behind them. “Something up?” “Jarlath’s on my cell.” He handed it to Jake. “He couldn’t get through to yours.” Jake walked over to the window. The rattle fell over the side of the crib and onto the floor. Alex picked it up and thought longingly of a little girl with gray eyes locked up in a convent for life. “George?” He put the rattle on the changing table out of Brodick’s sight. “You babysit Brodick every day.” He twisted around and found George’s hazel eyes glistening with sympathy. Alex groaned and prayed for a miracle. “Out with it, what has my son done?” “It’s not wise to put objects in Brodick’s crib if there are strangers around.” George gathered the rattle, a set of plastic toy keys, and an ugly stuffed ladybug. He set them three inches away from Brodick’s right

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shoulder. George captured the boy’s gaze by drawing his forefinger slowly back and forth and then lowered it to the three toys. At first, Brodick studied each individual object. Each one jumped and twitched as his focus changed. That wicked rosebud mouth pouted and babbled, and the three toys rose in the air, and spun half a circle before dropping to the bed. “Crap.” “Brodick started doing this about two weeks ago.” George offered. “I thought you knew.” “Not a chance,” Alex muttered. “We’ll keep this from Dee for as long as we can.” Jake snapped the phone shut, strode over to them, and handed it back to George.. “What’s wrong?” The B&B’s manager pocketed his cell. “Jarlath smelled gas outside Harrie’s cottage. It looks like she tried to kill herself. He took her to the hospital. She’s under psychiatric watch, locked cell, monitored room. She’s unconscious.” “I don’t buy that.” Alex’s eyes crossed. “I’m not Harrie’s biggest fan, but even I can see the difference in her over the last month. She’s getting on with her life. Hell, she adores Brodick. Have you seen that painting she did of Dee with him? That’s not the work of woman planning to kill herself.” “Look ‘Lexie, I didn’t want to break this to you, but the woman claims she can hear the thoughts of others. She’s not living in our world, man. I mean, I get it. Her husband dies, then her son, then her father. All in less than two days. Who’s to blame her if she wants to end it all?” “Sorry, Toran, but you’re dead wrong. Even at her lowest, Harrie isn’t capable of suicide. Alex, I’m heading to the hospital. There has to be something we don’t know. I think someone’s trying to harm her.” “I’ll come with you. It’s time you five learned the truth. Harrie can,” Alex enunciated the words slowly, “actually hear the thoughts of others. Tee can conjure objects out of thin air, and my wife’s a healer. The three women are witches with different powers. We’ll talk it over when Jake and I get back. For now, keep those blasted toys out of my son’s sight.” Alex snatched the toys one by one from their whirring speedy circling above Brodick’s chubby belly and set them under a blanket on the dresser

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on the opposite side of the room. They left the teenager and George arguing over the baby’s talents and the three witchy women. “Arthur Flood called me a few minutes ago,” Jake murmured as the two men strolled to the parking lot. “He and David have been tracing an Interpol leak. Apparently, Carrington’s a mole and someone fingered him. Newel’s been informed. He didn’t know Carrington was a Scotland Yard undercover operative.” “Did you?” Shock halted Alex’s footsteps. “Of course not. I would’ve shared that with you. Hell, we probably wouldn’t have had to rescue Dee and Alain if we’d known that.” “Crap, this puts a whole different spin on everything, including what Harrie told Dee just before she went into labor. Did Butch find out? Is that why he vanished so cleanly? Why tell us now?” Alex speared his hands through his hair. “They thought Carrington had gone with Butch, but now they know he hasn’t. An operative spotted Butch in Uruguay day before yesterday. And Carrington’s implanted GPS stopped functioning two days ago. Arthur mentioned the signal vanished exactly like the heart necklace Butch gave Dee and her implant. You know what that points to.” “Frig,” he muttered, opened the car door, and tossed the keys across the vehicle’s roof to Jake. “You drive.” Once they were en route to the hospital and he had sifted through the recent events, Alex spoke, “Dee left that necklace with Margo at Brodick Castle in 1501, and when she went through the healing training with Old Gwyneth, the implant in her bottom dissolved.” “And although we rescued Dee, the trunk didn’t travel with us.” “I know. I know. Another blasted thing to worry about. Carrington has the trunk, he must.” “And he’s not in our time. That’s why his GPS isn’t functioning. But, where the hell is he?” “The dark hall Harrie keeps seeing. The break-ins. The man’s voice on her answering machine. Carrington? Could it be? How?” Jake switched off the car’s engine and pulled the key out of the ignition. Deep lines furrowed his forehead. “And is any of it related to Butch? Newel notified you yesterday that he can’t continue security for Dee, but get this Alex, he didn’t tell Arthur. Why? The three agencies are supposed to be

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running this together. You and I knew the funding for Dee’s security would run out, but we should’ve had months notice, not two days. I have a nasty feeling we’re being setup, and by the way, Arthur is furious with Newel.” “None of this is good. Let’s go talk to Harrie.” Jarlath waited for them outside the entrance to the psychiatric ward of the hospital. He straightened from his slouched position against the doorframe. “Where is she?” “In there, but she’s out cold. They found bruises on her neck and a cut on her temple. The doc thinks someone knocked her out and then forced her head into the oven and turned on the gas. I swear I watched that house every minute she was inside.” Long, black hair twirled when the lean youth shook his head. “On St. Michael’s honor.” He formed a V with his forefinger and his middle. “Normally, I’d hang out with her in the house. She hardly eats these days, so I make her PBJs and warm milk. Don’t look like that ‘Lexie, the English like milk warm. Then I sweet-talk her into nibbling on the sandwich. Today, she said she wanted to paint. She hates an audience when she’s painting, so I went outside and picked Avocados and worked in the garden.” “Stop beating yourself up, Jarl. We think there’s more to this than meets the eye, and I don’t believe there was anything you could do to stop it.” Jake squeezed his shoulder blades together. “Did the doctor say how long Harrie’d be unconscious?” “The rest of the day. He thinks she’ll sleep through the night.” “Come on, let’s head back to the B&B.” Halfway there, Jake’s cell phone rang. While he conducted a murmured conversation, Jarlath gave Alex a minute-by-minute report of Harrie’s activities from breakfast that morning to when he found her head in the oven. One peculiar detail caught Alex’s attention, and he filed it for later investigation. He summarized their activities to date and managed to shock Jarlath into silence for the rest of the ride when he explained the three witchy women. Alex’s stomach did a jackknife when it occurred to him that he only knew three of the nine. As they pulled into the B&B’s parking lot, Jake snapped his phone shut and his grim expression prompted Alex to ask, “What? That was Flood, wasn’t it?”

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Instead of answering his question, Jake ordered, “Jarlath, get the lads and Tiny. Meet us on the beach. Try not to let Tee or Dee notice.” Ten minutes later, Alex sat on a large black rock almost at the end of the promontory. The other males took up various positions in a small circle lazing on warm, volcanic boulders. “Hans Schmidt’s visit to Parrot’s Retreat bothered Flood and David,” Jake began. “They investigated him. Schmidt was a German officer in World War II. He was part of the St. Petersburg siege and a member of the team charged with dismantling the famous Amber Room. When they crated the treasure, Schmidt and his team took it to Konigsberg Castle, AKA, Kaliningrad. That was the last place and time anyone ever saw the Amber Room.” “The Amber Room,” Tor said. “I’ve never heard of it.” The swirling breeze dipped a couple of degrees when thick smoky clouds shaded the blazing sun. A couple of brave Pelicans whose coloring mirrored the clouds hopped along the treacherous boulders skimming the peninsula, their cries almost lost in the low roar of crashing waves. “Do a little research on the Net,” Jake suggested. “It was called the World’s Greatest Lost Treasure and, unofficially, listed as the Eighth Wonder of the World. The Amber Room was part of a Russian palace, called Tsarskoe Selo.” “The cake,” Alex mused. “Dee’s birthday cake. David said it bothered him, because it was a perfectly detailed palace.” “Precisely. David’s experts identified the cake as a miniature replica of Tsarskoe Selo.” “Dee told me Alain learned of the Amber Room when he overheard his father discussing it with another man. Schmidt. Had to be. Why?” “No record of any conversations between Butch and Schmidt exist, but that doesn’t mean it didn’t happen. And we know his car was present the night Butch visited Parrot’s Retreat, the night Dee broke into his safe.” Jake braced on his elbows and bent one knee. “Schmidt’s family is in arms and ammunition. He has old money, lots of it. He went into politics after the war. And get this, every diplomatic posting of his follows the path of the Amber Room. St. Petersburg, Konigsberg. He had positions in Argentina, Uruguay, Paraguay, all countries settled by fleeing Nazis. He met Butch in Columbia two years ago.”

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“Butch had dealings with Tony,” Alex said. At the puzzled frown on Toran’s face, he added, “Tony was Tee’s first husband. Tony was born in Uruguay and did extensive business in Columbia, all of it criminal.” “And he is,” Tor prompted. “Dead, divorced?” “Disappeared,” Jake growled. “As it turned out, they were never legally married.” He shot Alex a fierce scowl. “We’re pretty sure he’s alive and living it up somewhere. He had extensive contacts in the Middle East and the Arabian gulf.” “Yeah, only a frigging Sheik could afford to buy this Amber Room if it was the eighth Wonder of the World. And they’re kings aren’t they? Can do anything they like,” Tor sneered. “The lad has a point,” Tiny drawled, stroking his chin. “More than a point. David discovered Butch is obsessed with the Amber Room and has a mini-version of it. When the CIA raided Parrot’s Retreat, they retrieved photographs of the miniature.” Jake rose and arched his back, hands curled over lean pelvic bones. “Arthur thinks the reason Butch is still after Dee is not simply revenge. She must have picked up something that night unknowingly. When she arrived in 1501, Tiny, did she have anything unusual?” “She had Jake’s locket, shoes on her feet, and the clothes on her back. Nothing else.” A stray wave splashed the rock behind Tiny and sprayed chilled brine over them. “While you were speaking with Arthur in the car, Jarlath filled me in on Harrie’s activities today. She received a package by courier early this morning. From Alain. What was in the package, Jarl?” “I gave it to her and went outside. It wasn’t big. About yay high.” He measured a space of about two feet square with his hands. “Think it’s important, ‘Lexie?” “Alain is Butch Reniere’s son. He and Dee are very close. Since the night we rescued them, Alain hasn’t been himself. His doctor says his autism is more pronounced, and his communication has regressed extensively. Alain spends most of this time doing Sudoku puzzles or playing the piano. Why would he send a package to Harrie?” “Have you told Jarl about the witch thing?” “He knows. But you others don’t know this, Jake and I now think Carrington is somehow behind the break-ins at Harrie’s and the voicemails.”

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Alex summarized Arthur’s recent discoveries, the trunk’s magic powers, and the GPSs in the necklace, Dee, and Carrington. “’Tis necessary to search Harrie’s cottage and speak with the boy, Alain.” “You hit the nail on the head, Tiny. Is Alain still in Trinidad at his mother’s?” “Dee spoke with Mimi, his mother, a couple of nights ago.” Alex speared his hair. “If we could get Dee and Alain together here, maybe she could coax something out of him. Shall we split up? Lads, keep the guard going on Harrie.” “Pity Alain isn’t doing well. He could fly over here himself.” At Toran’s puzzled frown, Alex added. “He once flew Dee to Trinidad. Back then, his autism didn’t affect his piloting abilities.” “Something else bothers me,” Jake shaded his eyes from the sun and peered back at The B&B. “Let’s head back. I think I have a visitor.” “I see.” A black Hummer with the Interpol logo graced the parking lot. “What were you going to say?” Alex and Jake forged ahead of Tiny and the rest. Clive Newel’s grim mouth and tight stance accelerated their movements. The Interpol official walked a furious circle at the edge of the dining patio. “He bothers me, Newel.” Jake angled his chin at the man. “We haven’t heard from him in weeks. Why not?” “Dee’s spoken with him. There’s no real need for him to speak with either you or me. I think you’re becoming a little paranoid, Jake. Newel’s completely committed to the project. He’s working with Dee to get it back on track. Take it easy, will you?” “I had a vision of him with a gun. Didn’t think much of it at the time. After all, he is high up in Interpol, must own a dozen guns.” “Your visions are never wrong. But, you’re right. Newel must own a dozen guns.” “I know, but one other thing bothers me. Why didn’t he tell Arthur about withdrawing his men?” “Stow it for later. The breeze is blowing his way.” Jake nodded and picked up his speed, his expression neutral. As he neared the Interpol executive, he extended his hand. “Clive, good to see you. What’s up?”

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The men greeted each other, shaking hands. “Nothing good, I’m afraid. We finally broke the encryption on the information Dee copied. It’s not the Ramsingh murders.” Newel massaged the back of his neck. “It’s damned peculiar, unbelievable really.” Every hair on Alex’s body vaulted to attention. “European experts verified everything, hence the delay. We found authentic photos of the Germans dismantling the Amber Room from St. Petersburg. You’ve heard of the Amber Room?” He halted his frenetic pacing. When they nodded, Newel returned to his rhythmic striding. “There are pictures of numbered crates, all labeled in German.” He stopped and frowned. “You don’t seem surprised.” “Let’s continue this in the library,” Jake suggested. On the way there, Alex gave Newel an edited explanation relating only the information Clive already had regarding Dee’s birthday cake. When they reached the library, Alex and Jake took the two overstuffed armchairs. Newel sat on a canary and white striped sofa opposite them. The wind died down, and the temperature spiked. Alex turned the overhead fan to high, and a steady hum accompanied the circulating air. “Jake.” Dee raced into the library, breasts bouncing, bare toes wriggling as if ready for a marathon. “Tee’s in labor. She seems okay. Actually, she’s maddeningly calm. She’s repacked her suitcase for the hospital, and for some idiotic reason, she decided to change the color in the nursery to pink.” “Okay.” Jake’s face drained of color. “Tee’s in labor.” “Go. Your wife needs you.” Alex clapped him on the shoulder. “Come on, you have to stop her.” Dee tugged at Jake’s hand. “Stop her?” His complexion held a greenish hue. “You can’t stop labor.” “No, she’s painting the room. As in, Tee has on overalls and is up a ladder with a roller and tray of Candy Cane pink paint.” She dragged him into the hallway. Alex watched them leave, grateful it was Jake not him. “I need to speak to your wife.” “Let me drag her out of Jake and Tee’s hair, and we can ask her about the cake and what happened at Parrot’s Retreat. How about a couple of sandwiches and a cold Heine?”

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“Sounds wonderful, I’ve been traveling since early this morning.” “I’ll be back in ten minutes,” Alex promised. He asked Ashraff to deliver a tray of sandwiches and drinks to the library and mounted the stairs mired deep in thought. Rearranging the various pieces of the puzzle, he shifted them chronologically, then individually. No bulbs exploded into light. It took a full fifteen minutes before he could persuade his wife to leave Brodick. The boy had found his feet and felt a need to suckle his big toe. According to Dee’s charts, their son wasn’t supposed to do that until he had attained the ripe old age of four months. Elation sent her into a teary babble and excited thoughts of a genius IQ. Alex fixed Brodick a warning gaze and scrambled all the toys onto the changing table while Dee ticked off the ‘Finds Feet,’ checkbox on the wall. George took over babysitting duties. On their way downstairs, he swiftly précised the situation, including Jake’s suspicions. Dee didn’t seem surprised, instead wore that far off expression, which meant her agile mind had taken flight. A large platter mounded with French fries and half a sub-like sandwich lay on the coffee table in the library. Clive Newel dipped a fat slice of potato heaven into thick ketchup. “I see you got the lunch.” Alex surveyed the four sets of the B&B’s trademark English Ploughman’s sandwiches. He opened a frosty green bottle on one of the trays. “Want one, Dee?” “Yes, please. I’m even beginning to like beer.” She colored, and for some strange reason Alex couldn’t decipher, felt compelled to explain. “Beer is good for breast-feeding mothers. Helps with the let-down reflex.” Alex groaned and offered the flushed Newel an apologetic smile and another Heineken. “What other information is on the jump drive, Clive, besides the 1941 pictures?” “A video sweep of the reassembled Amber Room taken this year with a top of the line digital camera. As far as the experts can tell, it’s not CG, it’s the real thing.” “Holy Moly.” Dee cupped a hand over her mouth. “Somebody actually has the original Amber Room?” Alex rolled his eyes. His wife was experimenting with different phrases, determined to banish swearing from her vocabulary.

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Chewing furiously, Clive nodded. “Then it’s stolen property, right?” Dee’s mouth pursed, and a reflexive grin swamped Alex’s. He loved trying to figure out his wife’s whirring brain. He even enjoyed her bemused preoccupation with their son, although lately he yearned for his share of her attention and felt damned guilty about that. “Looted technically. Not something we can prosecute Butch for,” Clive said. “The Russians would love to recover the Amber Room, especially the new criminal ruling class. It’s somewhat of an obsession for them.” “Let’s leak this to the press,” she suggested. “Let the Russians go after Butch. Let the media believe Butch knows where the Amber Room is, and we’re close to finding the location.” “Is Schmidt working with Butch or against him?” Alex asked. “Do we know where Schmidt is right now?” “Schmidt?” Shocked wariness preceded Newel’s exclamation, and Alex noted his stiff rigidity as he forcibly halted further reaction. “Who’s Schmidt?” “Hans Schmidt, the German Ambassador to Trinidad. We just learned his car was at Parrot’s Retreat the night of my wife’s kidnapping.” Newel arrested his dismayed expression before it captured every feature save his flattened lips. “Ah, yes. I, too, recently learned about that. But he’s not a player.” Newel waved a dismissive hand. “Schmidt’s a buyer, he’s not important. Butch is the only one who knows where the Amber Room is. This recent attack on you, my dear, and the fact he wants you alive, suggests you have information he wants.” Newel’s reptile-hooded gaze swept each individual in turn. “You must have taken something else from Parrot’s Retreat, my dear. Something important.” “I didn’t.” Her forehead creased. “Oh, no. I took the Tiffany heart…” Dee couldn’t stop the slight curve of her mouth, and she cut a glance at Alex, who stifled a chortle. Her acting abilities had him hard pressed not to laugh aloud, and his lips twitched while he awaited her next move. “Where is it?” Newel barked. “I need it. Right now.” He pasted a frightening imitation of a smile on his face. “Please, my dear. It’s evidence. Will you fetch it for us?” Snake oil slickness rode his coy, pleasant tone. “I can’t,” she said. White teeth worried her lower lip. “I, I lost it.”

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Bravo, sweetheart, he longed to applaud. “We can’t locate it. The GPS isn’t functioning. Where were you when you lost it? You still haven’t told us where you were for that week you disappeared.” Thank God they’d prepared a cover story for that week, albeit a tamer version of the one his wife preferred. “Sailing the Grenadines.” Dee’s clipped, terse tone held a hint of anger. “It fell overboard. That’s probably why the GPS isn’t working.” Newel jumped to his feet, hands fisted, features contorted. “That GPS is waterproof. Only incineration could destroy it.” “I don’t have it, and I don’t know where it is.” Dee stood up, arms akimbo. “Besides, Plucked Parrot was all about putting Butch away. The Amber Room can’t do that. It’s not important.” The sneering curl of Newel’s thin lips flared a blatant rejection of the last three words as they echoed in the menacing quiet of the canary library. “I think you’ve questioned my wife enough, Newel. And I don’t like your accusatory tone. Let’s go, Dee.” Alex cupped her elbow and they left the room together. On their way up the stairs, she said, “Well, what do you think?” “He’s involved up to his slimy neck. Did you see the surprise on his face when I brought up Schmidt? I can’t figure out why he thinks the necklace is important. Wasn’t it his job to implant the GPS? He must know there’s nothing else in it.” “Was Parrot a ruse then for the Amber Room? His whole focus today was that,” she said, shaking her head. “He’s not interested in Butch after all. Frigging hell, what a fool I was. Could he have known how obsessed I was with Butch, Alex?” Chastised eyes met his, and he tried to hide the sudden suspicion her question spurred. “Let’s not jump to conclusions, sweetheart. I think we should phone Arthur and let him know about Newel’s visit and our doubts about his role.” He opened the door to their suite, and led her to the chaise lounge. “Does Newel’s career ride on the success of Plucked Parrot?” Alex sat and pulled his warm wife onto his lap, amazed at the irresistible temptation she had become. For a man who loathed public displays of

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affection, when Dee entered his presence he had to touch, claim, needed—, no yearned for, physical contact. “I don’t know. He came to see me two days after the Prime Minister announced my acting appointment. I know the AG refused to cooperate with him. Clive said this project was his only failure.” She frowned, fiddling with his collar, fingering the cotton point. “What do you think of my idea about leaking information to the press?” “It’s a great idea, but Newel’s not going to act on it. I can guarantee that. Sorry, sweetheart. Let’s talk to David, maybe he’ll go for it. “That’s a good tack. I really can’t stand to see Plucked Parrot fail. It’s my only accomplishment as Acting Attorney General.” The slow down-curl of her mouth sent arrows into his chest. “I think Brodick is a pretty important accomplishment.” Alex knuckled her velvety cheek. “You know what I mean.” “Yeah, I do. “I want to check on Tee.” She hopped up. Alex pulled her back down. “Jake will call with any news. No interfering, woman. Besides, we need to check Harrie’s place, and you need to speak with Mimi, see if we can visit Alain.” “Okay, I’ll check on Brodick first.” She stood. Alex bounded to his feet. “I’ll come with you.” “He should be waking up,” Dee checked her watch, Alex’s old Rolex. She had a rubber band tied around it to keep it on her small wrist. He snagged her hand and placed an open kiss on the throbbing pulse at the underside of her wrist, licking a slow circle. “How was your check up? What did Jardine have to say?” His lips skated up her arm. “Do you know Dr. Jardine’s growing on me? I never thought that would happen. I’m fine. Dr. Jenner says Brodick is growing like a weed. Wait till I tell her about him finding his feet.” They reached the nursery. Alex swept Dee into his arms, bent her backwards, and kissed her with three months of sexual hunger driving his need. Brodick’s bellow broke apart the kiss. Dee swept through the doorway.

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“Mum’s here, baby boy.” She rushed over to the crib. “Thanks George,” Dee said as he left the room. The second her arms wrapped around their son, his howling softened. She smiled and nuzzled Brodick’s cheek. He watched his wife flick open her blouse, sit in the rocking chair, and snuggle their son to her breast, which was indeed bigger than Brodick’s head. Every time Alex saw this scene, he had the same reaction, a rock hard erection, guilt, and jealousy. He was envious of his own son. For the billionth time, Alex wondered what it tasted like, and whether he was a disgusting pervert for having that thought. Dee hummed and switched sides. Brodick, the devious imp, curled his little fingers around her luscious breast. “Alex, I’ve been thinking.” “My gut works into a Carrick Bend whenever you say that.” Alex shifted on the low trunk, stretching his legs. “What’s on that ticking mind?” “Why can’t you say a knot? Why do you have to specify the tightest kind of knot?” She fastened her blouse. “Let me burp the little piglet.” Alex held out his hands, and as soon as he tucked Brodick on his chest, he sniffed the back of his neck. “I love the way his neck smells, too. I wish I could bottle it.” She squealed when Brodick let out a truck driver’s belch, long and wet. “Frigging hell, I mean gee, that makes me jump every time he does it. I bet he’ll have a deep voice. Where are you going?” She followed Alex out the doorway and down the stairs. “I figure to take my son for walk on the beach and have an adult conversation with my wife. One where she will not mention our son, not for the whole five minutes we’re out there.” Alex smiled to soften his words. “That won’t be easy,” she grumbled. “This is the woman who told me a few weeks ago, ‘I am not going to be one of those doting mothers who brag about every little thing their child does.’” Alex lifted an eyebrow. They reached the beachfront. Dee’s chin jutted out, and she halted for a few seconds, lifting her cheeks to the afternoon sun while the wind rustled her hair. She met his gaze, her gray eyes somber. “I can’t do anything by halves, Alex.” She stroked the forearm holding Brodick. “It’s either a hundred and fifty percent or nothing at all. I’ve gone

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overboard, haven’t I? I’m so scared every time something new happens with Brodick, I panic a little.” “Come here.” He pulled her to his side and kissed the top of her forehead. “You are a terrific mother, and even the doctor agrees, our son is blossoming.” For a second the whirring toys lit his mind, but he blanked the thought. “Did you realize that we’ve known each other for ten months, we have a baby, and we’ve been married for almost three months?” “Yes. So?” Her brow puckered. “And we’ve made love on less than five occasions?” Alex tipped her chin up, and searched her silvery gray eyes. “It’s time, Dee. I want to make love to you tonight. Are you ready?” Her fingers brushed his lips. “I read about this, the wife getting so caught up with the newborn that her husband feels neglected.” “Dee—” He broke off, when she pressed his mouth with lemon-scented fingers, the innocent touch somehow titillating. “Shush, I’m more than ready. I’ve been an idiot. Okay, you have permission to berate me if I praise Brodick more than once an hour?” She angled her head and waggled her eyebrows. “You should aim for something more realistic, like six, and then wean it down to one.” “Done.” Dee beamed at him. “And as for tonight, I’ll consult the PBJ book. Maybe we can practice Chapter Three tonight. We only got to lesson two in the Perfect Blow Job. You should have let me try more, you know. Jardine never actually said no.” The wind blew her ringlets about, and somehow Brodick snagged one in his fist. “He’s fighting sleep, the little bugger.” She curled her arm around Alex’s waist and squeezed, darted a glance at him from under impishly raised eyebrows and said. “I don’t think I’ve ever felt so happy. You, our son, the beach. If anyone had told me at Carnival time we would be here, married.” She tapped his chest. “I would never have believed them. I don’t think the person I was then could ever have stayed still long enough to stare at a baby sleeping for hours at a time. Or let my husband tie me up on my wedding night.”

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“I know what you mean. Nine months ago, letting someone wrap a rubber band around my Rolex and treat it like a cheap Timex would have horrified me for a week.” “You’re wearing crumpled jeans these days, too. And you forgot to shave today.” Dee scraped her thumb over his jaw. “You’re very sexy when you’re scruffy. I like it.” “And you’re starting to lose an oomph off that fierce control edge. We’re having separate sinks though, wherever we live.” Alex shuddered. “I’m going to patent a toothpaste container you can’t mangle, and one where the dammed stuff can’t go anywhere but on the toothbrush.” “George is waving to us.” She jerked her chin towards The B&B. “Oh, it’s probably Tee. Let’s go.” “Our little piglet is fast asleep.” She frowned up at him. “Why do you call our son the little piglet?” “He hogs the food.” Dee blinked. “He hogs the food? Oh? Ooooh.” An interested gleam rimmed her eyes silver. “I hadn’t thought of that.” Her head tilted to one side. Alex grinned. The clock tick-tocked, and his wife’s imagination had punched into triple time. His cock preened at the thought. They wound their way to George. “Did Tee have the baby?” George shook his head. “She’s in labor, but it’s progressing nicely. I hope Jake survives it.” At Dee’s puzzled frown, he added. “I phoned Dr. Jardine’s regular nurse. Jake’s fainted twice so far. Dr. Jardine is threatening to have him removed from the delivery room, and apparently Tee’s picked up some of your more colorful vocabulary.” “Osmosis,” she said, shaking her head. “Too many years of exposure.” George’s mouth tightened. Alex recognized the slight grimace. “Out with it, what’s happened?” The other man shot him an apologetic dart. “Harrie’s conscious. She’s asking for Dee.”

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Carrington Conspiracy Alex held a gurgling Brodick in the crook of one arm. One station down, a hospital employee used a machine to mop the hallway. The antiseptic disinfectant aroma tickled Dee’s nose. She tiptoed to brush a kiss on her husband’s stubbled chin and Brodick’s forehead. “Have you met Harrie’s doctor?” “No, when we came earlier Harrie was unconscious, and we were anxious to get back to The B&B. That must be the doctor.” He jerked his chin to the left. “Mrs. Mayfield, thank you for coming. I’m Jamie Clark, and Harrie is under my care.” A white coated female approached them. She shook Jamie’s hand and assessed her, a strong woman with a body builder’s hard muscled form, a tad taller than Dee. She tried not to gawk at the vivid blue streak slashing through otherwise silver hair. “Dr. Clark, this is my husband, Alex Mayfield.” She shifted to his side. “And who is this angelic bundle?” Jamie Clark dimpled at the baby and tickled his chin. “Our son, Brodick. How is Harrie?” “To my surprise, quite lucid considering what she’s been through. Obviously, she’s still in this ward not because I’m concerned about her mental state, but simply because I didn’t want her moved. She won’t tell me what happened, and I’m required legally to report any suspected criminal action to the police. As I told Jarlath, the young man who brought her in, someone knocked her unconscious. The cut on her temple is not the result of a fall, and it’s definitely not self-inflicted. Someone wanted to harm your friend. The fact Jarlath found her head in a gas oven proves that.” The doctor shook her head. “It suggests murder, you realize that?” Dee nodded.

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“Dr. Clark, can you hold off speaking to the police until we’ve talked to her?” Alex asked. “I don’t know if you’re aware, but Harrie recently had a triple tragedy, losing her husband, her baby, and her father in less than two days. We’re not sure how she’ll withstand a police interrogation.” “Jarlath informed me of her recent circumstances. And I am a psychiatrist first and foremost, Harrie’s mental and physical state are my primary concerns. That’s why I called you first, that, and Jarlath’s belligerent persistence. Go ahead, she’s in room 1501. Take your time. I can call the police tomorrow.” “Thanks, Dr. Clark.” Harrie’s appearance shocked Dee into complete silence. Her gaze swung to her husband. Clashing emotions littered Alex’s brilliant eyes, anger, fear, guilt. Dee knew she echoed each of them. All of Harrie’s lovely long, Titian ringlets were gone, shorn to ragged, inch-long spikes. It made her angular features pinched, severe, shattering glass frail. The white gown lit her skin almost translucent, and a blue-tinged funeral pallor haloed her paleness. She did not look up on their entrance, but touched chin to chest, as if lost in thought. “Harrie.” She cupped a hand over a thin shoulder, muscles tensed beneath her fingers, and a shuddering wrack exploded Harrie’s slender form. “Are you all right? Who cut off your hair? What happened?” Dee’s knees started to buckle. She edged onto the hospital bed scrambling Harrie’s hand between her palms, rubbing, trying to warm the chilled, damp flesh. Thin fingers stilled her agitated movements. “You brought my godson. He’s growing like a weed.” A shaky hand reached out and tweaked the boy’s plump foot. “Hi, cutie. How are you?” “Want to hold him?” Warm color suffused her pale skin as every feature brightened, lips curving, burnt clay eyes glowing with vitality, life. She held out both hands, and Alex settled his son in the crook of her arm. “Harrie, can you tell us what happened?” “Alain.” She tore her gaze away from the baby and met their glances. “I know what his father did to him, Dee. It’s simmering on the edges of his mind, and he’s trying to cope with it. I’m not sure if I did the right thing, but I helped him put it into words. Then he went silent, and I was so worried.”

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“Alain’s in Tobago?” Alex said. His gaze swept from one woman to the next. “I don’t understand.” “No, this was all mental, wasn’t it? When did he start contacting you?” Harrie nodded in response. “A few days after you went into labor. He went silent two days ago.” “I’m going to call Mimi when we get back. I’ll find out how he is and call you. Okay?” “Thank you, I’m so worried.” Harrie kissed the tip of Brodick’s nose, and the baby’s eyes crossed as he tried to focus. “Harrie, what happened today?” Alex asked, his tone impatient. “Today, for the first time since…,” her voice went to a whisper, and she stroked Brodick’s cheek rhythmically, soft, soothing brushes. “He died, Tyler came to me. His presence filled the hole in my heart. I was so overwhelmed. He won’t come to me again. I just know.” She lifted a shoulder. “My hair, I cut it after his visit. I needed to. This morning, a parcel came from Alain, and just looking at it made me feel sick. I knew something was dreadfully wrong then. I tried to find Alain, but I couldn’t even sense him, nothing. ” Bewildered mahogany eyes struggled for clarity. “I didn’t understand at first. Then I realized that the beauty of the thing must have captivated Alain, but it held the stench of the devil. I couldn’t even touch it. Then a man came out of my bedroom. He’d been there all along, I realize now. He was in a rage. He hit me, and I was dizzy. It’s confusing after that, but and this is the part I can’t explain. He came—Carrington. He and the man fought. I think I must have passed out. I vaguely remember smelling gas and feeling woozy. I knew I had to get out, but I couldn’t move. He, Carrington, he went outside, he was screaming without sound.” Her forehead creased. “That doesn’t make sense, I know, but that’s what I saw. He tripped Jarl and yelled about the gas. I saw Jarl look at the house.” She shook her head. “Then I woke up here. He saved me, Carrington, and I think Tyler summoned him.” Her eyes cut to Alex. “Your husband is now convinced I’m a madwoman. Seeing a dead husband and being saved by Butch’s thug.” “You’re wrong, Harrie. Everything you saw confirms what we’ve recently learned. Jarl told us about the parcel. You were alone in the house when the parcel arrived?”

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“Yes, Jarl was in the garden. After Tyler came to me, I was unnerved. Then the parcel came. I don’t know if it was because I was so distracted, but I had no idea someone else was in the house. I was totally unprepared. I never expected anyone to attack me.” “Can you tell us what the man who hit you looked like?” A peculiar smile settled at the corners of her mouth. “Over there.” She inclined her head to the table adjacent to the hospital bed. “I sketched him as soon as the nurse brought me supplies. I don’t know him. I’ve never seen him before today. It’s still today, isn’t it?” She wrinkled her nose. “Yes, it’s around mid-afternoon. No one expected you to wake up until tomorrow morning.” Alex’s muffled curse cut off Dee’s words. “What? Who is it?” “See for yourself.” He sidled the sketchpad in front of her. “Clive.” Perpendicular hairs grew tauter along the back of her neck. “How could he sit and eat a sandwich with us? He thought he’d killed you, and then he sat and drank a beer and ate?” Rage suppressed astonishment. Scarlet fury spiked Dee’s mind. “Frigging hell, Alex. We left him at The B&B in the library.” She sprang to her feet. “We have to get back. Now.” “I’ll call George and the lads. Dee, you stay here with Brodick. I’m going alone.” “Like hell you are,” she shouted. “I’m not some little woman you leave behind.” “You stay here, safe, with our son.” His skin turned almost purple. He spun around, and dashed out of the room. “Can you watch Brodick?” Dee snapped, and she whirled about before she even heard the answer. “Of course. You’ll have to run.” “I know.” She burst into a sprint and caught up with Alex as he was sliding into the driver’s seat. “Dee,” he began. “Harrie’s got Brodick. I’m coming with you no matter what you say. Give me your cell, and I’ll call the lads.” She held out her hand, fingers wriggling with impatience. “You’re so blasted lucky we don’t have time to argue about this.” He slapped the phone into her palms and scowled at her. His mouth flattened into a frustrated line.

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Dee wasted no time and pressed George’s speed dial button. “George, it’s Dee. Is Clive Newel still there?” Her blood ran cold when she heard his answer. “Oh, no. When? Are you sure they left together?” “What?” Alex’s foot slammed on the accelerator, and the car jerked around a hairpin bend. Air rushing through the open car windows washed heat and humidity across exposed skin. “Hang on, George.” She covered the receiver with one hand. “Head to the airport. Alain flew in today. He met up with Clive at The B&B, and the two of them left for the airport a few minutes ago.” “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph!” She flinched when he slapped his hand on the steering wheel. “Calm down, Alex and keep your eyes on the road. We don’t need an accident right now. Frig, I hope Alain’s okay. What does Clive want with him? Do you think he’ll hurt him?” “The man tried to kill Harrie, Dee. What do you think?” “Hurry.” “Call the hospital. Find out what was in the package.” “Should we send the lads to Harrie’s place first?” “They went earlier. Didn’t find anything out of the ordinary. Newel has whatever it was. His visit was a fishing expedition. Dee, he’s behind all of this. He must be, and somehow it’s all connected to the Amber Room.” “I can’t believe Mimi let Alain fly his plane here. God, I hope he’s okay.” Anger tinged fear made the pulse at her throat feel like an arterial balloon. “Harrie, it’s me. Quick, what was in the package Alain sent?” “A miniature of The Amber Room. I looked it up on the Net. There was an engraving below the entrance in Russian, I think. And a date, 1775. When is my godson going to be hungry?” Dee tugged the Rolex forward. “Soon. There’s expressed breast milk at The B&B. I’ll call one of the lads and have them bring it over.” “Aren’t you on your way there?” “No, we’re heading to the airport. Alain’s with Clive Newel, and they’re headed there. Why?” “Alain’s not with that man, Dee. He’s at your Hunting Lodge.” “In Barbados?” Her brow knitted together, and she stared at the black phone as if it had answers. “I don’t understand. How? When?”

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“Carrington.” Alex cut the ignition, and the roar of a jet’s engines revving drowned further conversation. Dee snorted in frustration and looked up as the car door slammed. She fumbled with her seat belt and managed, amidst clipped cursing, to follow her husband. Alex raced to the sole person behind the Crown Point Airport’s long reservation counter. “Did two men, one in his fifties, around five foot seven, the other six four, stocky reddish hair?” Alex speared his hair. “Saw the older man.” The gangly, boyish man clamped his lips shut, and brown eyes looked to the aluminum ceiling as a thundering roar swelled over the building’s roof. When the noise dimmed to a loud murmur, he grinned at them, pointed towards the ceiling, and continued, “He’s on his way to Barbados.” “When’s the next flight?” “Tomorrow.” Alex’s shoulders slumped at the man’s cheerful reply. “Crap.” “We might as well head back to The B&B,” “Can you think of any reason Alain would suddenly come here?” “For the miniature?” Dee suggested and threw her hands up. “Or Harrie’s mental connection to him? I’m as lost in this as you are.” Alex’s cell died as soon as he turned on the car’s engine, and a search for the phone charger proved futile. They argued and speculated all the way back to The B&B, and none of their wild, careening explanations seemed even mildly plausible. Jarlath, Harrie, and a wailing Brodick in an orange and white jeep with a steel roll bar pulled alongside their SUV. Dee literally sprinted out of the car and yelled as she raced to her son, “I cannot believe Dr. Clark let you out. You should be resting.” “I tried to tell her that,” Jarlath said, fisted hands positioned on his narrow hips. “My godson’s hungry.” Harrie thrust the baby into Dee’s outstretched arms. Brodick quieted and rooted against her chest. Toran, Bran, Quinn, Tiny, and Athairne, all of them speaking at once, greeted them as soon as Alex opened the splintered double doors. “Quiet,” he roared. Brodick promptly howled.

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“Dee, get him settled and come back down.” George joined them. “Dee, you stay. I’ll take Brodick.” “If he gets hungry, there’s expressed breast milk in a blue jug in the fridge.” Toran gagged. “No, there isn’t,” Bran disagreed. “Thank God you won that argument, Tor. Yeech, you drank breast milk.” Dee glared at them both. “Frozen bags in the freezer, George. You know what to do.” “Yes.” A bellowing Brodick and George disappeared down the hallway. “Library.” Alex pointed. “Not a word from anyone until I say so.” When they were all seated in the library, Alex ordered, “Tiny, start.” “Newel arrived here near luncheon. He wanted to talk to Dee. I told him you were at the hospital visiting Harrie, and the man looked about to swoon. Turned an interesting shade of green. His manner disturbed me. After his hasty leave taking, I followed him to the parking lot, and when he opened the carriage door, ‘tis then I saw Alain. I know the lad is simple, lass, but his eyes, they were vacant, staring. I raced after them but to no avail. Shortly after that, you called.” “Why do you think he’s at the Hunting Lodge?” Dee turned to face Harrie. Her friend eyed their audience uncertainly, and milk chocolate eyes darkened with worry asked an unspoken question. “It’s okay. They know about us, the trunk, and Tiny.” “We’re cool with it. It’s like Buffy meets Charmed. And we’ve loads of questions.” “Stifle them, young un’,” Alex commanded and cut Toran a stern glance. “Harrie?” “I can’t hear Carrington’s thoughts. I see what he sees. Glimpses. I’ve no idea if it’s past or present, but this time, I’m certain he’s there. And Douglas knows.” Harriet flicked an imaginary speck off the pink collar of her t-shirt. “I think he’s safe, Dee. And I think Carrington took him there.” Alex interrupted then and explained Carrington’s real role. “It’s such a relief to know he’s not evil. You’ve no idea how I felt knowing the thoughts of a murderer drew me in.” Fragile fingers fluttered at her long neck, and saucer brown eyes blinked gratefully at Dee.

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For an instant, the shadows lifted from those dark depths, and Dee decided, tonight, tonight she’d take away some of the pain. Soul-deep gratitude for all her blessings, all the love in her heart burned for expression. She raised misty eyes to meet Alex’s molten cobalt gaze and promised him the world. “Who’s Douglas?” “A non-existent warlock, our wives’ mentor,” Alex’s droll pronouncement preceded an arrogant lifting of one eyebrow, daring her to deny it. “Douglas does exist. Alex just hasn’t met him yet, and seems to resent him for some strange reason. I should phone him and make sure Alain is okay. Before I do that, have you any idea why Carrington picked you?” Rosy color blossomed over Harrie’s perfect peaches and cream complexion. “I met him on the beach. The dogs made friends with him. Kazak adores him.” Alex visibly blanched. Harrie’s Rottweiler growled the minute he scented Alex. The dog had a definite aversion to most males. “And Alain, why did he help him?” “Carrington had an autistic older sister. He hated Butch. The miniature…,” she muttered, and plucked at a pearl button, brown gaze drifting right, a trifle unfocused. “That was my next question. Series of questions. Why did Alain send the miniature to you? Did Newel take it? Do you have any idea where he is?” The questions flew fast and furious from Alex’s lips. “Alain stole it from Butch, and Carrington knew where he hid it.” George interrupted them, bursting into the room sans Brodick. “Tee had the baby, a girl. They sedated Jake and gave him a cot at the hospital.” Coherent discussion fractured. George presented a box of Cubans and offered a stogie to each male, and everyone adjourned to the patio bar. Dee requested a cold Carib for her milk. She took a large swig of the icy malt and licked her lips, thoughts centered on Tee, Jake and the baby. Alex pulled on his cigar and blew out a perfect ash circle. “Isn’t anyone worried about Butch being on the island?” Harrie asked, and took a tiny sip of her white wine spritzer. Dee sputtered and choked. Toran pounded her on the back, which prompted a mini coughing fit.

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Alex spat out his cigar and bounded to his feet. “What!” he roared. “Where? How do you know?” Long, tanned fingers gripped Harrie’s shoulders, and he shook her. “Stop it, Alex,” Dee said. She tugged at his hands. “Let Harrie explain.” “The last time I saw Varick.” Pink stained Harrie’s cheeks, and her hand circled the base of her neck. “His name’s Varick Carrington. Last time I saw him, he told me not to worry if he disappeared suddenly. Butch owns a divers’ shop near Man O’ War Bay, and he shacks up with a woman who lives on one of those small islands near there. Varick was certain Butch was holed up there. Since Butch disappeared, he’s been searching through his files, and he found out Butch bought a pirogue a few months ago in this woman’s name.” “What’s a pirogue?” “Local fishing boat, handles the Atlantic swells,” George replied. “When was the last time you saw him?” Dee read the blatant speculation in Alex’s brilliant blues and gave an imperceptible shake of her head. Now was not the time to delve into the details of Varick and Harrie’s relationship. “Two days before you went into labor,” Harriet’s voice was barely above a whisper. “He came by the house.” “Do you think he found the trunk?” “The trunk?” Her eyebrows lifted. “Jake’s time travel trunk?” “When we rescued Dee and Alain, it was inadvertently left behind. No one knows what happened to it. Carrington’s been trying to communicate with you and warning you. When Flood told us Carrington worked for him, he said there was a GPS implanted somewhere on his body, and it stopped functioning a few days ago.” Alex gave her a brief summary of their suspicions. “It’s possible I guess. He never mentioned anything. You think he’s in another time?” “His GPS vanished the same way the necklace did when Dee went to 1501. I don’t know enough about how the trunk works to say definitively. Tiny? What’s your opinion?” “Lady Elaine warned me of time voids. If the chest is opened by one without knowledge of how to use it, the chest and the traveler are suspended in a void bridging past, present, and future.” Tiny scratched his ear, mused in silence for a few seconds, turquoise eyes following the ceiling fan’s peach

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blades. “My lady murmured something about a silent veil. Old Gwyneth rides time, lass. Did she say anything?” “No, the time I spent with her was devoted to healing.” “A silent veil,” Harrie repeated. “Maybe that’s why I see what he sees, why I can’t hear him.” “And only two days ago, you told me that the presence you felt after the break-ins was comforting not dangerous.” “I’ve always felt that, Jarl,” Harrie agreed. “I told all of you I was in no danger. Could the language on those messages be in ancient Gaelic? You know some phrases don’t you?” “I don’t, but Tee does. You kept them didn’t you, Tor?” “Frigging yeah. Tee had the baby. Why don’t we head over to the hospital? I’ll play her the tapes.” “I hate to infringe,” Dee said, worrying her lower lip. “But I’m dying to see the baby.” “And we can’t go much further right now.” Alex rose, and rocked on his heels. “What’s on your mind? You have that look on your face.” She snuck her hand into his. “Nothing.” He kissed the tip of her nose and added. “Let’s head to the hospital. You lot—use your own transport. Let’s get going, sweetheart.” Not ten minutes later, Dee studied her husband’s scheming features as the car snaked around crooked bends landscaped by emerald Poinciana trees draped in clinging, netted vines. Shadows of near dusk settled under Alex’s arrogant cheekbones, which accentuated his boyish handsomeness. Pensive azure eyes swung her way. Heated, fierce desire counterattacked the joyous contentment threatening a misty unraveling of her very soul. Unbelievable, how much this wonderful man meant to her. Somewhere along the line, she’d ceded control of her heart to his. That didn’t undermine her ability to read his intended deception. The minute Alex had Jake alone; the two men were headed straight to Man O’ War Bay. And she would be following in their footsteps. “We’ll make it a quick visit, so you’ll be back in time to feed the baby.” Devil she would. “You’re so considerate.” Cobalt eyes raked her. Frig. She’d poured it on too thick.

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The hospital nursery was located on the third floor. They exited the elevator to find a large rectangular glass panel opposite. Above the glass the word ‘Nursery,’ appeared. Nose pressed to the cool surface, Dee noted five baby cradles, four blue cards pinned to their backs with one lone pink card acting as a dividing line in the room. “There she is.” She pointed. “She has a full head of black curls. I wonder what color her eyes are.” “Blue, almost navy.” Jake’s hoarse voice came from behind them. Alex turned and gave him a bear hug. “Congratulations. How are you feeling?” “I’m never doing this again. What a nightmare.” Jake tugged his earlobe. “It was a helluva experience. Completely draining. And scary. I can’t believe people go through this more than once.” “She’s lovely, Jake.” Dee tiptoed to kiss his cheek. “Isn’t she?” He beamed. “You should see her little fingers and toes. They’re fascinating.” Dee and Alex exchanged smug, superior glances. “Tiny, George, and the lads are downstairs. Apparently, there’s a new, gaggle of hot nurses to check out.” “What’s her name?” “Gwyneth Elaine Desdemona Mathews. Helluva mouthful, but it has a nice ring.” “I told her she didn’t have to include my name. That woman is as stubborn as her stallion. Where is she?” “Down the hall, second door to the right. What’re they doing with my kid?” He stomped off to the entrance to the nursery. “They’re probably taking her to Tee for a feeding,” Dee said. “Let’s go and see her quickly.” “You go, I’ll wait for Jake.” Torn between wanting to see Tee and needing to know what Alex had planned, Dee huffed. “Fine.” He couldn’t leave her without a ride back to The B&B, and he wouldn’t be so impolite as to not see Tee, she reasoned. Muttering a few choice words about the male sex, she marched down the corridor. Harrie, the lads, George, and Tiny joined her as she rounded a disinfectant laced corner. “Where’s Jake and Alex?”

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“Coming. Have you seen Gwyneth? It’ll be lovely for you and Tee to have children so close in age.” A yearning sadness hollowed Harrie’s almond-shaped eyes, and her cupid’s bow mouth did a little wistful curl at one corner. The large picture window behind her shoulder captured the sun’s descent and threw her features into a silhouetted relief. Dee captured Harrie’s hand and twined their fingers together one by one, chanting a mantra as she slowly tugged her friend’s ache into her bloodstream. Dee only let go of her hand when Tee transferred a beatific, sleepy newborn into Harrie’s arms. Caught up in her thoughts and her determination to ease Harrie’s pain, it took a while before Alex’s absence registered. She surveyed the crowd around the hospital bed and ground her teeth together.

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Cockroach Catastrophe “I think we made a clean getaway.” Alex surveyed the hospital parking lot. “It killed me to leave Tee and Gwyneth.” Jake tugged on his earlobe. “Hell, man. I have new respect for you. Natural labor is bad enough. You watched them cut Brodick out of Dee. I don’t know how you did it.” “Neither do I, but I’d do it again in a heartbeat. That woman is my whole world. When she all but ordered me to let her die and the baby live….” He spiked his hands through his hair. “Jesus. That was the worst moment of my entire life.” He shook his head. “None of that matters now, anyway. Now, we need to get Butch so I can stop living in fear. Let me bring you up to date on what we figured out this afternoon. Then I’ll tell you what Flood discovered and outline the plan.” They conducted a murmured conversation as the car’s headlights pinpointed the dark asphalt path, winding up hair-raising twists and turns. When Jake flicked the wiper into motion, a creaky scraping punctuated their conversation on each down sweep. “Damn. Fog. I don’t think I’ve ever seen fog in Tobago before.” “Where’s Tiny meeting us?” “Ashraff has a cousin who lives one village up from Man ‘o War bay. When Tiny was working on Lost, he stayed with him during the week, so we’re meeting at his house. In his last phone call, he and the cousin had just returned from surveying the island where Butch is supposed to be living. And he had shocking news. Newel didn’t leave for Barbados as we originally thought.” “What!” The shout exploded from Alex’s lips. “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. This complicates things.” “According to Tiny, two strangers rented a fishing boat this morning but refused a local skipper. Tiny and the local fishermen are tight, and he asked

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them to follow them and keep him informed of their position. They anchored the boat in Englishman’s Bay and met with Newel on the beach just before sunset.” “Did Newel have the miniature with him?” “No sign, but he used an Interpol vehicle to get there and parked it in the woods. Tiny is probably searching it as we speak. What news from Arthur?” Jake flicked on the brights as they turned onto a rural road with no lighting. “Clive and Schmidt were both posted to Uruguay two years ago. Butch doesn’t seem to know the two men know each other. Flood and his team believe Butch knows the location of the Amber Room, and he’s put it up for sale. Schmidt’s interest in the treasure is widely known and Butch is ready to sell.” “Why the cloak and dagger? No one has anything on Butch, not anything that would stick anyway.” Jake hit the accelerator as the car as the road took a sharp, steep incline. “Butch’s sick obsession with pre-pubescent boys tripped him up. He killed the young son of one of his new Afghanistan warlords. Didn’t know the boy’s identity until after he’d used him. What Newel had Dee steal was a DVD of the boy’s rape and murder. He wanted it so he could blackmail Butch into giving him the location of the Amber Room. Unfortunately, before he could use it against him, Carrington recovered it. Now Carrington and the DVD are gone. Butch decided to go to the ground with the warlord’s money. The Afghan warlord suspects Butch killed his son, and he’s issued a jihad for him.” “Newel’s been planning this for a long time,” Jake mused. “Dee?” The question hung in the air. “Setup. Completely. The mysterious ailment that made the previous Attorney General step down turned out to be arsenic. Obvious when you look for it, but with all those rumors of him being gay….” Alex let the words hang. “Everyone attributed it to AIDS, and the party didn’t want to be embarrassed so they hushed everything up. Her appointment?” “Carefully manipulated. I love the woman, but even I knew the minute I met her. She’s no AG. A competent, compassionate victim’s lawyer and advocate, but….” He lifted one shoulder. “Does she?”

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Jake didn’t finish the question, and he didn’t have to. “I’m not going to be the one to tell her. It’s one of the reasons I didn’t want her along tonight. Newel is a vindictive son of a bitch. I saw it earlier. I’m not letting him spit that at her.” Jake’s cell phone rang. “I’m putting you on speaker, Tiny. We’re minutes away. What did you find?” “The miniature Amber Room in the trunk of the car. It’s almost completely destroyed, but there’s thin strips holding it together.” “He means film, like microfiche, but thinner and with strips of metal running through it.” Another voice broke in excitedly. “And it’s burned in places. Smells of acid. We got a glimpse of this Newel. His hands are splotchy and burned, like acid burns.” “I presume you’re Ashraff’s cousin,” Jake said. “Yep, you be The B&B’s boss?” “I am. Jake Mathews. We’re at the village crossroads now, which way?” “Three lefts and then take the first right. Everyone misses it the first time. It’s almost perpendicular to the main road.” “Okay, we’ll see you in a few minutes.” Jake hit the end button. “What do you think?” “Son of a bitch, Butch burned the location of the Amber Room into that miniature.” “I’d bet you any odds Alain overheard something which made him realize the miniature was important to his father. Harrie said she helped him voice his anger. Maybe this was his way of hitting out at his father.” “You think Alain destroyed it? Makes sense.” Alex agreed. “It’s a perverse vindication in a way, the one thing that could finance Butch’s escape from certain death. We’re here.” Dee waited until both car doors had slammed shut and only cicadas’ warbling disturbed the gloomy night silence. She threw off the musky blanket and uncoiled from her cramped fetal curl on the floor of the rear seat. In three slow, cautious moves, she snaked her eyes over the rounded edge of the passenger headrest. Faint lights twinkled through falling raindrops and fluttering leaves far off to the right. The outline of a timber cottage blotted the background of dense tropical rainforest. Faint patches of fog drifting upwards wove between pale Guava tree trunks.

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Gathering her courage, she opened the car door. The slight creak of metal on metal seemed like an ear-splintering roar to her ears. Another loud click shattered the quiet when she closed it. Dee bit her lip and tiptoed forward, hunching her shoulders in a futile effort at disguise. A concrete bed raised the hut off a forest floor carpeted deep with fallen leaves and frail twigs. One snapped under her sneaker-clad foot. A million expletives swept her anxious brain. To the right of her, a frog croaked a loud perfect gribbet, scaring her into a tumbling flutter, and she landed hard on a slender tree-trunk. Leaves rustled sounding like a rumbled explosion, and droplets rained a thick stream, soaking her thin t-shirt. Clouds crept across the area, and visibility shrank to zero. She shivered and skulked along, one palm up until her flesh met wood. Dee stooped and pressed her eye to a narrow slit in the hut’s planked wall. Feet, four pairs, all wearing running shoes. She hadn’t known Alex even owned a pair, but she loved his feet, his elegant toes. With unerring certainty, she identified his un-socked feet in Nike swoops, dark blue on white. Frig, she couldn’t hear a word. A cell phone rang, answered with a low rumble. Jake’s voice. Nothing audible. Long minutes went by, and she missed Alex’s Rolex. Muttering under her breath, she stood upright, and sidled along the length of the cottage. Light streamed from an open back door, and she bumped her nose twisting away from the rays. The rain slowed, stretching the quiet into a trap waiting to betray her presence. A shoulder clad in black fitted the edge of the doorway, and Alex took up a familiar leaning stance, arms folded, one foot propped over the other. If he leaned back one more inch, she would be in his line of sight. The thought sent her scrambling backwards, and a well-trod path between the trees beckoned. As she tripped along the soft earth, the trail angled down, and a salty wind licked at her lips. Waves crashing onto firm sand came into view. Their silvery foam caressed a dappled path over beige-flecked beach as foamy ocean swept down the sand under gravitational pull. A wooden boat bobbed and jerked with the ebb and flow of the sea, long, about twenty feet, curved at the front, with twin propellers at the stern tilted out of the water.

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Before rational thought halted her actions, Dee rolled her jeans above her knees, shucked shoes and socks, held them high above her head, and waded in the direction of the pirogue. She dumped the sneakers into the boat and tried to lever her body over the side. It took seven attempts, but she made it, falling onto a rough plank that served as a seat. The bottom of the vessel squelched between her toes, and she shuddered in revulsion. The wind picked up, the boat crested a wave, and Dee slid forward. Her big toe met something firm and sharp, and she squealed and stood too suddenly. Her movements sent the boat into a furious sideways rocking, and she toppled, falling face down. Instinctively, her hand jerked outwards to break the impact, and a sliver of wood pierced her thumbnail. “Frigging hell, blast, damn, damn, ouch.” She sucked on the thumb, but it didn’t help. Loud male conversation punctuated the silence and sprinted her pulse into a deafening throbbing in her ears. Her eyes darted around, and she spotted a net and a cover of some sort. Tarpaulin. She curled into a ball as far to the front of the boat as possible and pulled it over her. She fought not to gag as the rank stench of rotting fish overpowered her senses. Before she could make a movement, the boat tipped to one side and bodies began to board. Something slimy crawled across her arm. She squeezed her eyes shut, and prayed. The thing began a tortuous, frightening ascent up her chest. When it met the pulse at the base of her neck, she begged God to strike her unconscious. A whistling noise pierced the night, and the boat’s engines roared to life. The monster crawled up her neck, and when a long, thin, whip like thing fluttered her lips, her eyelids flicked up, and she stared at a beady cockroach, twin antennae dangling demonically. She opened her mouth to scream, and it fell in. She shrieked and spat and hit her hands every which direction, slapping her chest, her arm, anywhere the foul thing had touched, all the while screeching and repeatedly running a finger around the inside of her mouth in case it had gotten back in. “Shit. Shut up, Dee.” Strong arms held her fast to a warm, insect free linen flavored t-shirt. She licked the cloth, trying to clean her tongue. Surely she’d taste that roach for the rest of her life. She didn’t even realize she was still slapping at the creature until Alex caught one hand and said, his hot breath fanning her ear, “Be quiet. At once. Do you hear me?”

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He shook her and asked the question again. She nodded into his chest. “Turn the boat around,” Alex ordered, shook her one last time, and held her away from him. “How did you get here?” Each word pelted accusation and rage. She cowered and raised her hands to block out his face, changed her mind, stood shakily and lifted her chin. “Back of the car.” He looked right at her and said the f-word. The quiet expletive took the fight right out of her. She sat down and said, “If you drop me off on the beach, I’ll wait in the hut.” “It’ll take us twenty minutes there and back. The moon will be full by then. There won’t be enough cover.” Tiny’s reasonable tone earned him a glower from Alex. “Okay, we continue.” He sat next to her. “Give me the rope.” “What are you going to do?” “Tie you up and gag you. I should have known better than to expect you to behave like any other reasonable woman. Put your hands together.” She did as he requested, humiliation grinding into every pore in time to the boat dipping in wave trenches and rising on crests. Her head ducked, she stared at her hands and waited. Seconds ticked by, and he never moved. He sighed, long and heavily. “Jesus, Dee. You scared me half to death.” His grouchy rumble never sounded so good, especially when he scooped her into his lap and kissed her soundly. All trembly and wobbly inside, she leaned on his chest and inhaled his strong, sandalwood aftershave. Touching a tentative finger to the base of his throat, she murmured, “It was stupid and impetuous, and I’m sorry.” “You’re not a child, and I shouldn’t have treated you like one. I’m sorry too, sweetheart.” “Alex?” She raised her head and looked him in the eye. “Just in case you don’t know it, and in case anything happens, I love you.” He appeared completely taken aback. He opened his mouth, shook his head, and clamped his sexy lips together. That crooked, rueful grin she adored captured his mouth. “Hell of a time to mention it, but the feeling’s mutual, sweetheart. I love you, too.”

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“Cut the lovey-dovey stuff, and let your wife know our plans. Dee, I will tie you up unless you agree to do as we say.” Jake’s low growl brought her back to reality. “I agree.” The outline of a craggy island appeared, and the silhouette of one long, lone rock blotted the ominous dark sky. As they neared it, moonlight raked it top to bottom, and it flashed that worldwide symbol of every road-rage warrior, the finger. “When we round the rear, I’ll cut the engines. The current runs into the only patch of sand on the island. We’ll beach the boat there. Butch’s house is on the lee side. We can approach it without him noticing until we hit the electronic perimeter he’s set up.” “He has electricity?” she whispered. “Listen.” A persistent whirring sound formed a background to the rhythmic slapping of ocean against rocks. “That’s his generator. He has three.” As Tiny predicted, the sea swept the boat into a narrow inlet bordered by dangerous boulders with sharp angles. “Newel’s here.” In the patchwork light provided by moon-shaded clouds another boat became visible, stowed midway up a steep, coarse graveled beach. “He should be halfway there by now. The others are watching the house. The minute Newel trips the perimeter, they’ll alert us.” Tiny jumped into the water after he finished speaking. All the men wore thigh-high rubber boots, and they followed him into the ocean, pushing and pulling the boat until they could wedge the stern between two large rocks. “Where are your shoes?” “Bottom of the boat. I’ll put them on.” She found them, didn’t bother about the socks, and held her arms out when she was ready. Alex lifted her onto the beach. “I’m not leaving her here, Jake. I’ll lag behind you a good fifty yards, and we’ll stay at the perimeter.” Alex twined their fingers together as he spoke. Nature’s music undulated as they ascended the rock-strewn trail. Waves crashed and splat on stones, the wind whistled through snags and cracks in the volcanic rock, and the occasional owl hooted while wings beat and flapped. The incline graduated, and the climb tested even the fittest amongst

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them. Her chest pinched, and she took quicker, shorter breaths to fill her lungs. As Dee feared the top would never come, the slope widened into a craggy plateau. A generator’s whine grew louder, and in the strange, dancing half-light, she made out Jake answering his phone. Alex loosed her hand and strode forward. He and Jake conversed in low murmurs. Something passed from one to the other and then the two of them were alone. “Where’s the house? I can’t see it,” she said, when she stood next to him. “Around the corner. Jake will call when it’s safe for us to round it. Newel’s right ahead of us. When he breaches Butch’s security, floodlights will blanket the area around the house. He and his men will be easy pickings. Jake and the others will use the confusion as cover to approach from the opposite direction. We’ll follow as soon as the alarm dies down.” She snuck her hand into his palm and rested her head on his shoulder. He dropped a kiss on her temple, and in the midst of all the danger and uncertainty, she felt safe, secure, loved. It seemed in no time at all they were scrambling around the cliff corner and rushing from shadow to shadow. The heavy boulders hanging above them loomed at precarious angles, threatening rockslides. Concentration camp floodlights speared blinding light into the scooped out middle of the black plateau. Carved into one side of a jagged outcrop, a concrete house merged and faded into the stone. Dee squinted and shaded her eyes. Dotted, silhouetted figures raced up the steep incline leading to the fortress. A loud, prolonged rattle echoed around them, and splinters of stone jumped and kicked a dusty trace in its duration. “Bullets?” Dee cupped her hands and tiptoed so Alex could hear her question. He nodded, and she noticed the binoculars hanging around his neck. He urged her forward, guiding her around the rock circle. As they approached the house from the left, she spotted Jake and Tiny, followed by two others. More bullets shattered the night accompanied by the sound of glass splintering. One by one, the floodlights went out, and the blackness blinded even more than the blaring light.

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Alex hung behind a large boulder and pulled her behind him. Noises came at them from every direction. Shouts, hollow grunts, guns exploding, muffled curses. Dee felt turned upside down, as if she’d been on that carnival ride where they lock you into a spinning, rotating cage. Balance left her, and she clung to the loop of Alex’s jeans and closed her eyes to shut out the dizziness. “All clear,” the shout rang out in a deep, British-accented bellow. She opened her eyes, and the pitch darkness blanketed them no more. Soft lights began winking on, powerful torches held in the hands of commando-clothed men, dozens of them. “Who are all these men?” “Flood’s agents. Your Douglas Graham apparently knows him. Tell me, is there anyone’s life he doesn’t meddle in?” “From London?” She ignored his petulant remark. “On Barbados in training. They helicoptered over earlier.” “Oh, you had this well planned.” She tipped her head to one side and considered this most macho aspect of him. “I like you all take charge and military.” “Come on. Let’s find out what happened.” They had to wait to get all the details until they were back at The B&B. The Yard men refused to answer any questions and deferred them to Arthur whose absence strained her reality further. Jake and Alex spoke with the men’s superior and seemed satisfied, but disinclined to share. Disconcerted when Alex requested she ride with the others while Tiny and the troops’ commander took Jake’s SUV, she banked her growing frustration, knowing her impetuous actions required a modicum of humility. She wriggled in her seat and speculated the whole forty-minute trip in the back of a pin-drop quiet truck filled with twenty intimidating swat-teamuniformed men who didn’t even appear to breathe far less converse. Tensed shoulder muscles relaxed when they came to a halt in The B&B’s parking lot, and Dee cricked her head from left to right. The men disbursed, their silence broken as they trudged down the path to the bar on the beach. A combination of mounting anxiety, adrenalin, and a tortuous need to see Brodick safe and asleep sent Dee straight for the nursery. She made a

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whole litany of promises standing in the darkened room watching his little chest rise and fall. Remembering the nasty cockroach, she brushed her teeth and gargled. After dropping her clothes into a Salvation Army pile, Dee showered, and changed. For good measure, she brushed her teeth again and gargled twice. As she headed down the stairs, the sleepy atmosphere of The B&B morphed. Electricity and a hint of dangerous excitement came from a steady murmur of voices, and she followed the noise to the library. The grandfather clock announced the time, two in the morning. Dee edged into the room, greeted the lads, Tiny and George, and took a seat on the couch. Beer and whiskey glasses filled various hands. The five college students surrounded a mounded bucket of gooey, buttered popcorn. Large assorted hands snatched mouthfuls so fast and furious, she only captured hard, burnt kernels when her fingers scraped the slick bottom of the container. Alex entered the room, long hair damp from his shower. “Where’s Jake?” “Went to the hospital.” Boisterous conversation dwindled to murmurs, which diminished to an occasional hoarse whisper. One by one, pairs of curious eyes focused on Alex as he inserted his long form between Dee and Tiny. He scowled at the other man, draped a possessive arm over her shoulder, and pulled her so close she might as well have been sitting on his lap. She lapped up every minute and flashed him a grin so exuberant, so filled with happiness, glee, and adoration it almost embarrassed her. She’d become the nemesis of her existence, an adolescent in the throes of a painful crush. And she was married to him, the poster-handsome hunk everyone else mooned over. “Newel shot Butch. He’s in surgery, but as of now, the surgeons aren’t hopeful.” Okay, fantasies and real life clash. Visions of happy ever after plunged into grim legal quagmire. “Clive?” Anger and determination steeled his answer to crisp, tense words. “On his way to London. Flood and his team are anxious to pick him apart.” “Do we have any answers?” She scrutinized his features, looking for clues.

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“Some. Clive’s been after the Amber Room the whole time.” She held herself still, remembering his terse remark about her not being AG material. And she wasn’t. The acceptance sliced apart her long buried inferiority. “Who else was in on it?” “Flood’s been investigating a leak for over a year, but it was David who pinpointed Newel. Apparently, Newel ran a masterful campaign to have you appointed as Acting AG. He was behind the AG’s arsenic poisoning, and he knew about your obsession with Butch.” His fingers stroked her bare shoulder, a firm, reassuring caress. Even though the movements proved strong, positive, she read a certain hesitance and question in his wonderful blue eyes. Dee reached up and touched her fingers to his jaw, hoping the gesture answered his doubt. Her gaze swept to Harrie’s bent head and her cropped hair. It was all she could do not to wince aloud. “Any word on Carrington?” Grateful mahogany eyes connected with hers. “Officially, he’s AWOL.” The pad of Alex’s calloused thumb rubbed a steady, circular rhythm over her collarbone. “What happened to Alain? Is he in Barbados?” “Yes,” Dee answered Toran’s question. “Douglas left me a message. He said, Alain is Brodick safe.” She snuck her arm around Alex’s waist when he jerked in response to her words. “Is he?” That lone, sweet eyebrow lifted, and he didn’t finish his query. “That’s all he said, but I’m pretty sure, Douglas took Alain to Gwyneth.” “Can she cure him?” “If she can’t, no one can. Harrie, have you heard from him?” “I don’t hear from anyone, anymore. Not really.” “But, Carrington?” Dee frowned. “I don’t hear him. I see what he sees. I haven’t been able to hear anyone for over a year now. It started when I ….” Harriet shrugged and clamped her lips together. Jarlath, the sensitive one, jumped into the fray. “So this Douglas is a warlock you say? What does that entail?” “Oh, much the usual,” Dee remarked, waving blue-painted fingernails in a circle. “You know, spells, time travel, knowing the future.”

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“What did she say,” Toran asked Jarlath, Viking bushy eyebrows claiming the heavens. “She said Douglas is a war—” Alex cut him off. “Shut up, Jarlath.” “This explains Brodick’s ability to—” “Frig. Shut up Tor,” Alex snarled. Dee glanced from one to the other. “Brodick’s ability to what, Toran?” “Nothing,” Toran stammered, his dark gaze fixed on Alex. Dee shot her wonderful husband a speculative glance. “Oh no, you’re not getting away so easily, Toran Hamil. I will hound you until you give me an answer, so you may as well spit it out now. Not another frigging word, Alex. By the way, you must stop this new habit. I quit swearing. You can, too.” Toran and Jarlath tried to sneak out of the room while she was scolding Alex. “Toran,” she yelled and pointed to the sofa. “Sit. Talk. Now.” “Brodick can make things move,” he grouched and cradled his head in large hands, looking as mournful as Kazak denied a bone. “What? So, he can wave a rattle. He’s way advanced for his age. He found his feet, you know.” Smug triumph crept into her posture, and her shoulders jiggled a little as she squared them. Rigidity captured Alex, and his whole body tensed into a concrete platform. Surprised, she turned, and the look on his face sent her apprehension into a suicide dive off a cliff. “What? What are you not telling me? It’s about Brodick. Oh, God.” Her nails clawed at her throat. “He has an incurable disease, and you just found out.” Terror had her muscles shuddering. “Stop it. Dee, there’s nothing wrong with our son.” Alex speared his hair with both hands. He only did that when he avoided an issue. Now, she was petrified. She grabbed one hand. “Tell me,” she hissed. “Brodick seems to have powers of some sort.” Alex wouldn’t meet her eyes, and his words penetrated seconds later, like a ricocheting bullet finding a victim. “Powers?” Her gaze swept the room and everyone avoided her piercing stare. “What kind of powers?”

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“It’s way cool. You should see it, Dee.” Toran babbled, oblivious to the mounting tension in the room. “He sort of makes his toys into a what’d you call it? Oh yeah, a fu—I mean a frigging Ferris wheel. He circles them into the air. But, his concentration doesn’t last long.” “Shut the crap up,” Alex snapped, and his hands tore apart his alwaysorderly hair. “And just how long have you known about this?” The words came out like a rattlesnake’s attack. She bounded to her feet, hands fisted on her hips, glaring at her blasted husband, and a million worries combed through her mind. Dismay damped down anger, and a fraught disarray claimed her brain. “My baby can move things.” She thunked down, her bottom hitting an exposed spring in the sofa. “Alex?” “Come on, sweetheart.” He tugged her upright. “We’ll catch up with all of you, later.” Alternately cajoling and bullying, he guided her up the stairs to their suite. At the door, Dee stopped. “Tee, Alex. It’s almost dawn, and Jake isn’t here. Suppose something’s wrong.” “Open the door. We can phone the hospital.” George sat in the rocking chair holding Brodick to his shoulder, bobbing back and forth. “Shssh.” He put a finger to his lips. “He just dropped off.” “Thanks,” Dee whispered. “How much did he eat?” “A full bottle,” he answered, and transferred the baby to her arms. “Eight ounces.” She couldn’t stop the squeal of pleasure. “Piglet,” Alex murmured behind her. “I told you.” “G’night Dee, Alex.” George slid silently out of the room and shut the door. “Let me put him down.” Alex held out his arms. Dee kissed her son’s cheek and reluctantly surrendered him to her husband, who settled Brodick gently in his crib. “Come sweetheart.” He drew her into their bedroom. “Brodick? Suppose he cries?” “The door’s open, we’ll hear him. Although, sweetheart, I’ll have to muffle your screams when you come, so you don’t wake him up.” His arms encircled her.

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“I’m not that loud, am I?” Dee lifted her head from his chest. “Alex, I want to tell you something.” “Dee, no matter what you say, unless of course, you’re in pain, I am making love to you tonight.” “I love you,” she blurted out, and then stopped breathing, waiting for his reaction. “So you said, earlier on the boat. Not that I wasn’t glad to hear it. Although your timing could have been better.” “Excuse me?” This was supposed to be a magic moment, and irritation laced her voice. “Are you trying to distract me so you don’t have to deal with Brodick’s special abilities?” “How did you get to know me so well?” she muttered. “Why didn’t you tell me?” “Hell, Dee. I only found out recently, and to tell you the truth, it stumped me. Then all the other stuff happened. But, it’s a fact. I saw it myself. And you know, I think the little devil’s taunting me with it. He gives me this look, like he’s playing the greatest joke in the world.” “What a rotten thing to say about a baby.” “You haven’t seen it yet.” “What are we going to do? I mean, it was bad enough growing up with the healing thing. But, what Tee had to go through? Every kid wants stuff they’re not supposed to have, but she could always get it. Frig. She loved cupcakes. At boarding school, we’d find cupcakes stuffed into the strangest places. Whenever she had a craving for them, they appeared by the dozens. Is Brodick like that? How will he ever grow up to be a normal human being?” Instead of answering, he pulled her forwards until she toppled into his arms and kissed her soundly. The tip of his tongue played heaven with her mouth, and rational thought scrambled like eggs on noonday desert stone. Rigid muscles succumbed to mindless, selfish pleasure, and she melted against him, puddling into a quivering eclectic mass of tingling nerves. “Oh, Alex, I really do love you.” Dee tiptoed to kiss him, putting everything into that kiss. She wound her arms around his neck and loved every inch of his mouth. Not her normal, frantic striving, but a slow,

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lingered seduction. Alex. Life mate. Father to Brodick. Friend. Hero. Everything Dee’s heart needed, desired. “I love you Desdemona Eileen Bloom,” he whispered against her lips. “Mayfield,” she corrected. “You’d give up your name?” Alex butterfly kissed her face, feathering a slow, rising fever through her veins. “It’s not that important anymore. Everyone’s going to know I protect my own. I’m Brodick’s mother.” She gasped as his fingers undid her blouse. “The little piglet didn’t feed tonight….” He tipped her chin up with one finger, his blue eyes searching her features. “I won’t, if you feel uncomfortable about the whole thing…?” “Heck no,” she said. “Ever since you mentioned it, I’ve been curious.” Within seconds, Alex had her on the bed, naked to match him. Their mouths came together, luxuriating, relishing in the feel of each other, stroking, drinking long sweet tastes. Heaven. Sweetest tortuous hell. Fires stoking, banking. He murmured all the while, his whiskied voice settling low between her thighs drawing honeyed moisture. Alex’s lips skittered her neck, a liquid, molten trail that sent embers and sparks across her flesh. Her nipples scraped his chest, the friction tightening them, turgid points burning. His mouth covered one, and he suckled hard, fierce. Ecstatic wave after wave crashed through her. Dee pressed her fist against her mouth. Two fingers slipped between her folds rubbing her center, the pleasure escalated becoming almost painful, she convulsed, digging her hand into her lips. Alex’s fingers stroked a demanding rhythm. Her hips matched the pace, forcing her heels into the bed, grinding into his palm. The move to her other breast left Dee bereft for long seconds. Needy. Desperate. As Alex drew the point in, his cock replaced his fingers, nestling her center and surging in. His tongue laved and circled, pulling. The hot spurt ignited spasms, blinding eruption after eruption, red-hot lava warming her from the insides. Alex thrust, diving in and out, his cadence furious, raced, and he exploded, shuddering above her, his head thrown back, victorious. Their pants filled the silence, labored, spent. The air thick, heavy, musky, and sweet with repletion. Dee stroked his back and squeezed a buttock.

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Sometime later she woke when Alex nuzzled the crook of her neck, licking and nibbling the hot skin there. “’Lexie,” she whispered. “Not you, too,” Alex grumped. “It’s bad enough the lads call me that. I won’t have my wife doing it, too.” “Only in private,” she negotiated. “Slip once,” he warned. “I won’t. I’m good at that. I stopped swearing almost overnight.” Alex groaned. She lifted one breast to his mouth. “Finish what you started.” Lust swamped them both, and he clamped his mouth over her nipple and drained her, suckling with the need of a starving man. He moved within her, hardening, thickening. Alex slanted his mouth over hers, and Dee’s brain ceased functioning. They hit chapter three in the PBJ book, ‘Flick, Lick, and Twirl—Look Ma, No Hands,’ as the sun burst over the horizon. As warm rays seeped through the drawn drapes, Brodick awoke hungry and yodeling, or so it seemed. Alex brought him to the bed, and she fed him. They all fell asleep afterwards, Brodick lying stomach down on Alex’s chest, Dee nestled under his arm. Something tickled her nose, Dee scrunched her mouth, her eyes fluttered open, and she screamed like a banshee. Hovering above her face was a carnival ride of objects, one hairbrush, her nail file, and Alex’s cell phone, all juggling a slow circle. At her scream, they thudded down, hitting one cheekbone, a temple, a shoulder. “Crap,” Alex muttered. Brodick howled his displeasure. Alex’s cell phone vibrated and rang. He snapped it up and stalked into the other room. Dee settled her son at a breast, and the room quieted. She heard Alex’s cell phone ring again about five minutes later. She lifted one eyebrow when Alex returned. He settled on the bed and tucked both her and Brodick under one arm. “First call was from Jake. Mom and daughter are doing fine. Jake’s a nervous wreck, and they’re all coming here today.” He dropped a kiss on her forehead. “Jake and I—fathers, wonders never cease.”

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“Second call?” “Arthur Flood. Newel’s dead. En route to London. They unshackled him so he could answer nature’s call. He went to the bathroom and swallowed a cyanide pill.” “Somehow, I knew we’d never get answers from him.” “You heard everything I said in the car.” His cobalt eyes strained with anxiety. “Yes.” She touched a finger to his mouth. “I knew I wasn’t AG material after you visited me in Barbados. I’m not sure when I accepted it. Our email discussions, you, finding out I was pregnant. Alex, I met you wanting to be someone I’m not. I look at Harrie who had it all, love, a husband, a baby on the way, and then she lost everything in the space of two days. I’m holding fast to what I have. A man I love more than anyone else and a child.” Her mouth pursed as words failed her. “Okay, maybe a warlock child. But, I wouldn’t trade places with God.” “Neither would I.” They traded loving looks for long seconds, and Alex bent his head to claim her mouth.

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Epilogue, End of Summer “Yo, Tor,” Jarlath whispered. “You have to see this.” “Why are you whispering?” Toran whispered back. “The old people will find out soon enough,” Jarlath said. “And they’ll put a stop to it. Especially that Dee.” Toran followed his friend through the deserted lobby and up the stairs. Silence ruled The B&B’s lobby, the only sounds the distant rhythmic pounding of the ocean, and the whirring of a lazy, wood-timbered ceiling fan. As they neared the nursery, other noises came into play, faint squeals, and thuds, delighted gurgles. Jarlath murmured, “Slip in as quick as you can, or else they’ll get out, and they’re hell to catch.” Toran raised an eyebrow. “What?” Jarlath shook his head and put a finger to grinning lips. They inched the nursery door open, and nipped inside in a flash. Pressed against the wall to the left of the door were Quinn, Athairne, and Bran. Brodick sat, legs dangling through the bars on the crib babbling away to Gwyneth in the opposite cot. She was on her back, twisted to face him, a pink bunny a tich out of her reach. Her eyes crossed, she blinked and stared at the rabbit. Another one popped up a half-inch closer. The boy chortled, and in slow motion, the new bunny ascended to join the ten others circling above Gwyneth’s cot. “It seems to be some kind of game,” Jarlath explained. “Quinn installed a camera monitor in here. We set up a watch. Going to write a joint paper on infant behavior. It started happening about ten minutes ago.” “The old people don’t know?” “Nuh-uh, and I’m not telling them.” Jarlath shook his head. “I almost wanna be there when they find out.”

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“You nuts or something?” Toran croaked. “I’m glad we leave tomorrow. Crap's gonna hit the fan.” “Look over there. That’s why we came to watch.” Jarlath pointed to the far corner. Nine cotton-tailed, pink bunnies huddled in the corner, noses twitching, bobbed tails wiggling. A tenth one appeared in the midst of the others, stunned, its eyes darting wildly. “Every time she conjures up a stuffed one, a live one appears,” Jarlath said. “They got out earlier. We captured all ‘cept for one. It’s in the gap under the stairs. Won’t budge, not even for carrots.” Alex burst into the room. He glared at them, arms akimbo, eyes almost crossed. “Can someone tell me why the hell the frigging parking lot is littered with pink rabbits?”

THE END WWW.JIANNECARLO.COM

ABOUT THE AUTHOR Jianne Carlo knows multi-cultural romance. Born to an Indian father and a Hispanic mother (intent on becoming a nun), she met and married her Dutch-bred immigrant husband in her last year at college. Their children check off the majority of the boxes under the category, Ethnic Origin. Add to this the fact Jianne grew up on a sixty-by-forty Caribbean island where the population mixture represents the world's religious, cultural, and ethnic diversity (and some mixtures no one's dreamed up) and you have a multi-cultural woman who believes the word, 'Mutt' represents the best of human nature. For the factually inclined, Jianne has a Bachelor's Degree in English and Sociology, and a Master's in Management Science with three areas of concentration, Computers, Finance, and Statistics. She's lived and worked in Canada (Ontario, Vancouver), the United States (San Francisco, various small cities in southern California, Miami, and Parkland) and the Caribbean (Trinidad and Tobago, Jamaica, Barbados, Puerto Rico, Dominican Republic, Tortola) and South America (Guyana). Her passions in life center around her proudest achievements, a happy marriage (measure of happiness varies with level of irritation), and three grown sons of the finest caliber who she's proud to call friends, although they're never allowed to forget the mom factor. Other areas of interest include, travelling, meeting new people, reading, working with all animals, Equestrian dressage, cooking, eating said food, and sipping good wine, while hanging out, ('liming' in Trini-speak) with friends. Jianne's proud to announce the only carbonated beverage she drinks is champagne. Who needs Coke? And you never want to be in the same room if she picks up a dart and aims for the target. Run for your life.

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