“You’re where?” Molly’s heart stopped. When it started beating again, it was with the hope that Cheyenne was exaggerating or making up some elaborate story to distract her from the real problem. “What’s really going on, Chey?”
“I’m serious. I’m—Jamaica—need help.” Static muffled her words, but Molly gleaned her meaning.
“Is April with you? Did you put her up to this? Did you try to go to the Bahamas on your own?” Molly didn’t mean to shout, but a surge of anger popped her top off. Her daughter had gotten herself into some kind of trouble, and Molly couldn’t help unless she understood what was going on.
“No, Ma. She’s not here. Listen to me. Someone was shot.”
When Cheyenne’s voice wavered on the word “shot,” Molly’s grip tightened on the phone. Cheyenne rarely ever lied. She’d never used to withhold information either, but then she’d contacted her father and invited him to her birthday party without Molly’s knowledge. Cheyenne was changing and Molly wasn’t certain she could trust her anymore. Though that note of fear in her voice sounded very real.
Molly’s hand was sweating. She readjusted the cell phone against her ear and spoke calmly. “Who was shot, Cheyenne?”
Sue slid off her stool and moved closer to Molly. Oscar started around the bar. Anders stood up sharply, his expression grim with concern. He ignored Selena, who was saying something to him. Feeling disconnected and outside of herself, Molly took in all of these things and more—the neon yellow Corona Extra clock on the wall beyond Anders’ head, the low-volume chatter from the baseball game on the television above the bar—through a hazy filter as she waited for Cheyenne’s reply.
“Poor Mr. Peabody!” Cheyenne’s whine snapped Molly out of her fog.
“Tell me what happened.”
Cheyenne’s voice was high-pitched and unsteady. “April and I went for a swim. And then…then a seaplane landed in her backyard, and I…I saw everything. He shot Mr. Peabody. I didn't know what to do. I hid in the cargo hold and then the man…he flew the plane to Jamaica and, oh my goodness, Ma, I’m in Jamaica.”
“Who’s Mr. Peabody? Is he dead?”
Sue grabbed Molly’s arm. “Someone's dead?”
She waved her off and covered her ear to concentrate on what her daughter was saying. The connection was still wavering in and out and Cheyenne was talking quickly.
“I don’t know his real name. He fell into the water. Oh, Ma, the man who shot him is friends with the Jamaican police. I watched them from the plane. Two uniformed officers met him on the dock. They shook hands and were laughing. Then they all went off together somewhere.”
“Did anyone see you?”
“I don’t think so.”
Raising her gaze to meet Sue’s worried eyes, Molly gave her helpless look. Oscar stood beside his wife, his face pinched with concern too.
“Where are you now?”
“In a building next to the marina. The sign on the door says Falmouth, Jamaica.”
“Listen to me, Cheyenne. I need you to find a policeman and—”
“Didn’t you hear me, Ma? The killer is friends with the police! I have some money. I’ll take a taxi to the airport and wait for you there.”
“Is there even an airport in Falmouth?”
“Montego Bay,” Anders said from across the room, and his cool, confident baritone spread over her jangled nerves like a salve.
She met his steady gaze and held it. “Is that far?”
“Maybe forty minutes by car.”
Molly’s stomach fell. She turned away from Anders and leaned on the bar because her head was spinning. “Cheyenne, the airport is too far. Stay where you are.”
“I can’t. Should I call Trevor? He’d come for me.”
“No!” Molly said quickly. Trevor absolutely could not find out about this. Molly didn’t doubt for an instant he’d use it to prove she was an unfit mother. Encouraging Cheyenne to get into a cab and find her way to the airport alone was the last thing Molly wanted to do, but what choice did she have? “Don’t be silly. I’ll come for you. Go to the airport. But call me again the moment you arrive. I’ll book the next flight to Montego Bay and give you my flight information when we talk again.” Molly thought she sounded amazingly calm and reasonable. Only her trembling hands belayed the nervous breakdown she was having inside.
“Thanks, Ma.”
“Cheyenne, please be careful.”
“I will. Hurry, Ma.”
When the line went dead, Molly set the phone on the bar and stared at it in complete and utter shock.
“What the hell happened?” Oscar said.
Molly opened her mouth but no words came out. She was still trying to process it. She looked at Oscar and then Sue. “Cheyenne says she witnessed a shooting, hid inside a plane, and somehow ended up in Jamaica with the murderer.”
“We have to call the local authorities.” Sue picked up Molly’s phone.
“No.” Molly snatched it back to stop her from dialing. “Cheyenne says the murderer is friendly with the Jamaican police. She could be in even more danger if we notify them.”
“Police corruption isn’t uncommon there.” Anders had moved around the table, still observing from across the room. “Calling the police might alert the wrong people of her presence on the island.”
“Do you believe her?” Sue asked Molly. “About the murder?”
“I believe she’s in trouble and needs my help. What do I do?” Instinctively, she looked at Anders who stood so calm and solid, like a mountain in the midst of a turbulent sea.
Pursing his lips, he gestured toward her with his chin. “Do what you said you were going to do. Go get her and bring her home.”
Molly nodded and squared her shoulders. “I need to speak with April.” Turning away, she grabbed her purse and keys from the bar. “April will know something about this. She has to.”
“Wait.” Sue stepped into Molly’s path. “That might be dangerous.”
“I’ll be fine.” Molly started for the door, thought of something, and stopped again. “Can you do me a favor?” She dropped her keys. Bending to pick them up, she dropped them again. She was visibly shaking now. “Can you call the airport and book me on the next flight to Montego Bay?”
“You shouldn’t drive. Let Oscar take you.”
“Oscar has a job to do. You both do. The bar will be opening in a few hours. I can’t take you away from your work.”
“This is more important.”
“It’s all right. I’ll be fine.” She started for the door again and dropped her keys once more. “Dagnabit!”
“Molly—”
“I can do this on my own.”
“But you don’t have too.”
“Sue, please, just book my flight—” Eyes on her friend, she squatted to pick up her keys and landed on a sneaker instead. Anders stood over her, dangling her keys. She rose to her feet with as much dignity as she could muster. Holding out her hand, she said, “Thank you.”
The expression on his handsome face was unreadable. His big hand swallowed the dangling keys and then he reached down and shoved them into the skintight front pocket of his jeans.
“What are you doing?”
“We’re taking my car.”
He turned away from Molly and exited the building. She stood staring after him.
Selena slammed her laptop closed with a loud plastic crack. “He won’t listen to me.” She rose to her feet and came around the table with her arms folded across her slender torso. “I advised him to stay out of it. If you don’t want to be the cause of the complete and utter destruction of his career, I suggest you talk some sense into him. Maybe he’ll actually listen to you.”
Anders knew he could be a stubborn SOB when he wanted to be. Molly stood beside his car trying to convince him she didn’t need his help, but she was shaking like a corn kernel about ready to pop.
Opening the passenger side door and holding it for her, he waited for her to come to her senses and climb in. “Every moment you waste arguing with me is a moment you lose trying to figure out what happened to your daughter.”
Molly shot him a scathing look and got into the car.
He closed the door behind her, walked around to the driver’s side, and slid into the seat. Pressing the ignition button to start the car, he gestured with his chin. “Tell the GPS the address.”
“Fancy.” Her sarcastic tone wounded his pride a little.
The Bugatti was more than “fancy,” it was the greatest piece of car engineering since the creation of the automobile. A brand-new million-dollar machine. The interior still had that new car smell, a heady blend of oil-rubbed leather and gunmetal. It was his dream car.
He kept his hurt feeling to himself though and thought of Molly and what she was going through. She was remarkably calm except for the slight tremble that gave her anxiety away. If anything like this ever happened to Obie, Anders would be bouncing off the walls with worry. Resisting the urge to reach over and hold her hand, he pulled the car away from the curb and started up Green Street, heading north.
“Do you believe your daughter actually witnessed a murder?”
“I don't know. It’s possible, but I think it’s also possible she’s lying to me so I go easier on her.”
“But what if she isn’t lying? Don’t you reckon you should call the police?”
“No,” Molly said quickly. “No police.”
“But—”
“Please don't make me regret getting in this car.”
“Okay. Relax. No police.”
As they drove in silence, a light vanilla fragrance drifted toward him from the passenger seat, triggering a barrage of provocative images from the night before. Damn, but he’d sworn to himself he wasn’t gonna go there. Last night was a mistake. He was only helping Molly now because her daughter was in trouble and he liked the kid. He had to remember that. In other circumstances, he likely never would’ve spoken to Molly again.
Anders drove past the quirky and colorful architecture unique to Key West, watching the late-Victorian era homes with their gingerbread accents and the simple cigar maker’s cottages give way to modern shopping centers, gas stations, chain hotels, and fast food restaurants on the eastern side of the island.
“Thank you,” Molly said, drawing his gaze. She was staring out the window. “First the tumble down the stairs, then the snake, and now this. No wonder my nerves are shot. If anything happened to Cheyenne, I don’t know what I’d do.”
“Back up a minute. What snake?”
Molly told him about the reptile in her backseat, and how she thought she’d been bit only to discover the snake wasn’t venomous. A knot formed in the pit of his stomach. Molly MacBain was having a string of bad luck lately. Something about that didn’t smell right, but he kept his thoughts to himself because she didn’t need anything else to worry about. “Why wouldn’t April call you if something happened to Cheyenne?”
“Maybe she doesn’t know?” Molly’s head came up suddenly and her lips pressed together in a grim line. “Or she’s in on it.”
“Have you tried calling her?”
“No. Everything happened so fast and I’m not thinking straight.”
“Call her. See what she says.”
April didn’t answer the phone, so Molly left a message asking the girl to call back as soon as she got the message. Still gripping the phone, Molly rested her hand in her lap. “Chey wanted to go to the Bahamas to look for some mythical buried treasure. When she told me she was in Jamaica, my first thought was that she tried to go to the Bahamas on her own and messed up somehow.”
“Would she do that? Could she be making up the murder just to cover her butt?”
“If you would’ve asked me that question a year ago, I would’ve said no and felt confident about my answer, but now I’m not so sure. My pride wants to believe my daughter would never lie to me, but she hasn’t been acting like herself lately. She’s been secretive and…and making choices I don’t agree with behind my back.”
Molly’s phone buzzed in her hand. “It’s a text from Sue. ‘No flights to Montego Bay until 7 a.m. tomorrow. Plane change in Miami. Cheapest flight is $650 per person.’ What? Cheyenne!”
“What’s wrong?”
Molly shook her head and looked away, staring pensively out the window. “It’s nothing. It’s just, Cheyenne knows I don’t have $1,300 lying around.”
“I can loan you the money.”
“No!” Molly said quickly, her pretty violet eyes going as round as plums. “Thank you, but I can’t borrow money from you. I’ll ask Sophie.”
“Sophie and Jimmy are in Greece. Why bother them on their honeymoon when I can help you?”
“Turn here.” Molly pointed to the driveway as it came up quickly.
The long, winding private drive was shrouded in tropical foliage. Anders took it slow. There were no news vans hovering on the outskirts of the crime scene, no police presence in the driveway. If a murder had happened here, no one knew about it yet.
Molly turned in her seat to study him. “Why are you helping me? I hope you aren’t feeling obligated in some way because we slept together.”
The point-blank reminder of the previous night made Anders choke on air. “That had nothing to do with it. I’m helping you because you’re a friend of my brother’s and your daughter is friends with my son.”
“Be careful, a girl might misinterpret that as a proposal.”
He chuckled, liking the way she busted his chops. Rolling to a stop in front of the Linus’ sprawling Spanish-style mansion, Anders put the car in park. A smile still tugged at the corner of his mouth as he admired Molly’s profile. The high cheekbones. The pert nose. Big violet eyes. Her full, giving mouth and pointed chin. She had a quiet beauty, the kind that crept up on you with time and proximity. The kind you didn’t see coming until it dazzled you.
Molly scoffed as she reached for the door handle. “At least I know you’re not helping me just because the sex was great.”
“What do you mean?”
“It was a disaster and you know it.”
“It wasn’t.”
She shot him a look that said cut the crap and climbed out of the car.
Anders pushed his door open too and then spoke to her across the Bugatti’s sleek silver roof. “Okay, maybe it wasn’t great. But I enjoyed being with you, Molly.”
She stared at him, her violet gaze a little wary, as if she was trying to decide if he was being sincere. He was. Admitting it surprised him, too.
Forcing himself to look away from her, he took in the white stucco structure with its white marble columned portico, terracotta roof tiles, and ornate ironwork. “Nice.”
Molly squinted up at the mansion and frowned. “Pretentious. Let’s go.”
As they stood in front of the oversized arched French doors waiting for someone to answer the bell, Anders thought of something that might create a whole new set of problems. “Does Cheyenne have a passport?”
Molly looked at him blankly. “No. I don’t have one either. Do I need one?”
“If you want to fly to Jamaica, you do.”
Her smooth brow furrowed with concern. “I—”
The door opened and a middle-aged Hispanic woman dressed in an elaborate maid’s uniform greeted them with a politeness that didn’t match the disinterested expression on her face. “May I help you?”
“I’m Cheyenne’s mother. Is April at home? I need to speak with her.”
“Miss April is not available at the moment. I suggest calling before you come next time.”
As she started to shut the door, Molly said, “Wait! It’s important that I—”
The door closed firmly in her face.
She looked up at Anders a bit stunned. His chest swelled with indignation on her behalf and he nudged her aside. After pounding on the door, he hit the doorbell several times to get their attention.
The maid opened the door again. This time, she made no effort to hide her feelings. “Keep that up and I’ll call the police.”
“Good. You do that,” Molly said, stepping in front of Anders. She was several inches shorter than the maid, but that didn’t deter her from confronting the woman. “Maybe the police can bring April to the door because I’ve been trying to get in touch with her. It isn’t like her not to call me back. In fact, if you don’t produce April within the next five minutes, I’ll call the police myself.”
The maid huffed with exasperation. “Wait here.” She shut the door in Molly’s face again.
Molly pivoted, craning her neck to look up at Anders. When she’d jumped in front of him, he never stepped back, and he wasn’t compelled to do so now. He liked standing close to her.
“Maybe we’ll get somewhere now,” she grumbled.
“Or she’s calling the cops. We can’t force April to come to the door, you know.”
“Maybe one of us should look around before they kick us off the property. Cheyenne mentioned she and April were going for a late-night swim.”
He nodded. “I’ll do it. You wait here.”
“Thank you. And Anders?”
He started to step away but stopped when she said his name. He really didn’t want to acknowledge the way her sultry voice made his belly hum. “Yeah?”
Their gazes met and something akin to static electricity crackled between them. Her lips parted slightly with a quick indrawn breath. “Be careful.”
Itching to touch her, he kept his hands at his sides and nodded instead. “I will.”
He took the stairs two at a time and headed around back. A pair of security cameras affixed to the corner of the house caught his eye. There were others on the perimeter of the property attached to strategically placed poles and he’d bet there were a dozen more just like them. If someone was killed on Linus’ estate, wouldn’t those cameras have spotted it? Taking out his phone, he flicked through his contacts until he found the number he was looking for and put the phone to his ear.
Mitch Thompson answered on the second ring. “Hey, Anders. What’s up?”
A retired Navy SEAL and Jimmy’s former CO, Thompson funded his treasure-hunting ventures by taking odd jobs and occasionally hiring himself out as a mercenary. He knew how to get things and didn’t have a problem skirting the law. Anders had never had a reason to seek out anyone with that particular set of skills, but Thompson had offered his number with the insistence Anders reach out to him if he ever needed anything. He’d had no idea he’d be taking him up on the offer so soon. Anders wouldn’t normally trust a person he barely knew with something this sensitive, but Thompson was Jimmy’s father-in-law now, which meant he and Anders were family.
“Any chance you’d be able to get me a couple of US passports?”
“For yourself?”
“No, I have mine. For Molly and Cheyenne MacBain.”
“Sure. Something wrong?”
The fenced pool sat back about a hundred feet from the house and was surrounded by dense tropical foliage. As Anders went toward it, he noted more cameras pointed in various directions. Overkill for a mansion this size, in his opinion. He’d seen less security at the White House when he sang at the president’s birthday bash last summer. No doubt he was being watched by Philip Linus’ people right now. How long would it be before they came after him? He walked a little faster. “I can’t go into it just now, but I need the passports as soon as possible.”
“Sure thing. It’ll cost a little more, but I can put a rush on it and have them to you in a few hours.”
“Do it. The price doesn't matter.”
“Text me a couple of photos. I’ll meet you at Dixie’s when the documents are ready.”
“Sounds good. Thanks, Mitch.” Anders hit end on the phone before he lifted the gate latch. The pool area and open Tiki bar were empty, and there was no indication anyone had been there recently. He headed for the palm-thatched building.
Opening the door, he stuck his head inside. “Anyone here?”
When silence greeted him, he walked deeper into the pool house. He moved a curtain aside and peeked behind it. A discarded dress lay in a pile on the floor. He bent down with the intention of picking it up but stopped when something cold and metallic pressed against his temple. He went very still as a prickle of apprehension skipped down his back. Then he slowly lifted his hands in supplication.
“I don’t want any trouble.” His deceptively calm voice belied his pounding heart.
“You’re trespassing,” the man on the other end of the gun said in a low, gravelly rasp that raised the hairs on Anders’ arms.
“I was looking for April.”
“Why?” The barrel of the gun pressed against Anders’ head.
He swallowed hard and tried to keep his breathing steady. “Molly MacBain needs to talk to her. The maid isn’t cooperating. I thought I’d have a look around.”
“She isn’t here.”
“Where is she?” Anders started to turn around, but the gun barrel pressed back, reminding him he was one wrong move away from death. Closing his eyes, he struggled to resist the ice-cold shards of fear that scraped his spine.
When the thug didn’t reply, Anders expelled a deep breath. “Look. Molly is worried about April. She isn’t returning her calls. Can you tell me why that is?”
“Linus took the girl to Paris last night. Said it was an early birthday present.”
“She went by herself?”
“Just her and Linus.”
“Molly’s daughter was here last night. Cheyenne MacBain. April just ditched her?”
“A servant was told to take her home.”
“You work for Philip Linus then?”
The gun disappeared as the thug stepped back. Anders turned around slowly so as not to startle the guy into doing something stupid. Dressed all in black from the top of his closely cropped head to the boots on his feet, the thug stared at Anders with obsidian eyes. Eyes Anders knew as well as his own. He gaped in disbelief. “Jonas?”
“Hello, brother.”