California Royale (18 page)

“Yeah, and I’m Meryl Streep.”

“Now there’s a fascinating comment. Are you interested in acting?”

“Maybe.” Her eyes lit with enthusiasm for a brief moment, as if a dark curtain had parted to allow light
through. The curtain closed quickly. “Hey, I don’t have to talk to you.”

“Who said otherwise?”

Amanda twisted in her chair and looked resolutely stubborn. “I was forced to come to this stupid place, but I don’t have to like it. Or you.”

“Who forced you to come here?”

“My mother.” Amanda smiled thinly. “The social worker told her it’d be good for me, and Ma never misses an opportunity to do what’s good for me. ‘Specially since she doesn’t give a damn if I’m around or not.”

The green eyes suddenly filled with tears. Shea’s throat closed with a sympathy that went much deeper than Amanda could know, and she laid a soothing hand on the girl’s arm. Amanda jumped as if she’d been burned with hot metal.

“Don’t touch me,” she snarled. “Keep your freaking manicured hands to yourself.” A tear slid down her cheek and she brushed it away roughly. “Where’s the john around this place?”

“That way.” Shea pointed toward an exit, and the girl leapt up. “Amanda, it’s okay …”

“Nothing’s okay,” Amanda shot back, and, one hand covering her face, ran from the room.

Prince Shalukan was rewriting the American Revolution. His armada of British gun ships menaced the city of Miami, which was represented by half a grapefruit he’d placed on the edge of the pool in his cottage.

“This would have changed the whole war,” he told Duke and Shea excitedly. The prince, a stocky, dark-haired little man wearing bright-print bathing trunks, waded from one side of the pool to the other, arranging
his miniature fleet. “You see, the British would have taken Miami, and then the French would have—”

“Whoa, Your Highness,” Duke interjected politely, “there’s one thing wrong.”

The prince looked at Duke, then at Shea, his expression quizzical. Shea nearly strangled on repressed laughter because she didn’t want to offend him.
Please, Alejandro, tell him what’s wrong with his battle. I can’t do it with a straight face
.

“Is a good military plan, yes?” the prince asked.

Duke nodded solemnly. “Oh, the plan’s brilliant. Only catch is, the city of Miami didn’t exist back then.”

The prince gasped. “You are joking!”

“Afraid not, Your Highness. There were only a few towns on the Florida coast at the time of the Revolutionary War, and Miami wasn’t one of them.”

“My son, he tells me the wrong history! I send him to school in America, and he still gets things all wrong!”

Shea pointed to the grapefruit. “Let’s change Miami to Boston. We’ll cut an orange in two and make one half Philadelphia and the other half New York. Then—”

“Oh, shoo,” the prince said with mild disgust. “We call it quits for the night. My mood is gone and my skin is wrinkling from too much water.” He climbed out of the pool and his valet hurried to put a plush blue robe around his shoulders.

Duke stood and helped Shea to her feet. Prince Shalukan bowed to them, and they bowed back. “Thank you for being my audience,” he told them. “I shall gladly extend a favor in return. Good night. I must go watch Johnny Carson.”

When Duke and Shea were some distance away from the prince’s cottage, they began to laugh. Clasping his side, Duke finally managed to drawl, “The British are coming, the British are coming! Close the beaches! Hide the plastic flamingos! Call Don Johnson!”

Shea covered her mouth with both hands to keep from whooping out loud. She leaned against Duke weakly, gasping for breath, and he slipped an arm around her shoulders.

“I’m glad to see you happy tonight,
querida
,” he said tenderly. “I’m sorry that you were upset about that kid with the attitude problem.”

Shea had told him at dinner about the scene with Amanda. Now she rested her head against Duke’s chest and grew pensive. “I
know
that girl, Alejandro. We’ve just met, but I have a feeling that she and I are very much alike.”

They walked slowly along the path toward her cottage. She wore a yellow strapless sundress, and he stroked her bare arm in a soothing way. “Palomino, don’t be too openhearted for your own good. You’re nothing like that troubled kid.”

“I used to be,” she murmured under her breath.

“Hmmm?”

“Nothing.” Shea paused. “She compared me to Mary Poppins and Goldilocks.”

Duke chuckled. “She’s got the name of
that
tune.” When Shea thumped his chest in rebuke, he added quickly, “Don’t be insulted. I like you that way. I like you the other way too.”

“What way is that?”

“When you’re a wild mustang.”

“Stop, I’m getting identity problems. Goldilocks, Mary Poppins, a wild mustang …”

“I’d like to get in bed with the mustang tonight.”

Shea made a soft whinnying sound. As they reached her cottage door, she suddenly clasped her hand to her head. “Alejandro, I forgot to tell you. Sally Rogers called today to let us know that she’s going to visit Jason regularly at his foster home.”

Duke chuckled in delight. “Really? I think they’re
perfect for each other—a big mouth and a bad mouth. I say that with affection on both counts.”

Shea opened the cottage door and led the way inside. “You have to admit that not all of the estate’s guests are selfish snobs,” she told him firmly.

“One out of one hundred and twenty-three. Not good bettln’ odds,” he teased. The cottage was dark, and she made her way carefully toward a lamp. Suddenly Duke grabbed her from behind and ran both hands over the front of her sundress, squeezing her breasts. She uttered small sounds of encouragement, and Duke’s voice dropped to a husky, rakish tone. “But the odds for my getting you naked and excited are
real
good, I’d say.”

Shea felt the heat begin to build inside her body and silently blessed his loving instincts. He always seemed to know when a rowdy approach suited her mood. They would tumble into bed, barely taking time to remove all their clothes or sometimes without even accomplishing that task. But tonight she felt like prolonging the wildness.

“Let’s play strip poker again,” she challenged.

“Hmmm, you love it when I talk poker terms to you.” He nibbled at her ear and whispered, “Aces high. My ace is already high.”

Her stomach tumbled deliciously at his teasing innuendo. Shea snuggled closer and pressed her rump into the tops of his thighs. “Oh, Alejandro,” she said with a sigh, “you’re not bluffing.”

They both groaned in dismay when the living-room phone rang. “Don’t answer,” he ordered gruffly, running his hands down her stomach.

“When I get a call at night, it’s usually something important.” He let go of her reluctantly, and she hurried to the phone on her coffee table. “Hello?”

Duke switched on a lamp by the couch and watched her expression become anxious as she listened to the
caller. “Oh, no.
No
. He’s right here. Wait a second.” She held the phone out to Duke, her eyes full of worry. “It’s the group home. Amanda has disappeared.”

“Amanda! Amanda! It’s Shea Somerton! If you can hear me, please say something!”

The redwoods were majestic giants that made the flashlight beams seem like pinpoints. Shea swung her light in an arc that crossed and recrossed with the lights of the five people who accompanied her. Ron, one of the estate’s gym instructors, sighed loudly.

“She must have really been upset to run away before dinner,” he muttered. “From what I heard, the fat kid never missed a meal in her life.”

Old wounds opened inside Shea, fresh and agonizing. The pain combined with her concern for a girl who reminded her of her younger self, and she came to a rigid halt. Everyone else stopped too as she shone her flashlight into the staffer’s startled face.

“Ron,” she said in a hoarse whisper, “if I ever hear you make a cruel remark like that again, I’ll fire you.”

The other search parties were already back at the group home when she and her companions returned. All the lights shone in the main house, and Duke stood in the center of a crowd on the porch. His dark gaze rose over people’s heads as her party walked out of the forest, and he left the porch to come to her. Shea shook her head as he put a hand on her shoulder.

“Nothing?” he asked gently.

“Nothing.”

They walked back to the porch, where people were helping themselves to drinks and sandwiches brought from the estate. Duke handed her a cup of coffee. “Chug down every bit of that caffeine,” he ordered.

“Yes,
hombre
.”

The cup quivered visibly in her grip, and his expression tightened with concern. “Relax,
querida
, the police will find her.”

Shea looked at him in surprise. “Do you mean you’re turning the search over to them?”

“That’s the way these things are handled, Shea. Runaways are an expected part of the routine in counseling programs like this. Hell, I ran away from more than one group home.”

“And what happened?”

“The counselors called the police, the police found me, and I spent a night in jail. Then I was either sent back to Grandpa or to the group home.”

“I don’t want Amanda to be picked up by the police. It would terrify her.”

“That kid’s been in scrapes before. You read her history. I think she’s as tough as buffalo hide.”

“She’s not. I know her better than you do.”

He frowned, looking impatient. “Shea, stop overreacting. You just met the kid.”

“I’m going to find her. I can’t believe you’re so unconcerned.” Shea knew her voice was sharp, but she didn’t care. She felt as if she were defending herself, not Amanda. In a way she was. No one, not even Duke, understood why she could empathize so well with the girl.

His eyes narrowed and the skin tightened on his face, making the scar on his nose more vivid. Shea gazed up at him staunchly. His expression would have cowed anyone but her.

“We’ve done all we can do,” he said in a low, controlled voice. “I’m not unconcerned, I’m practical. This kid will make it to the road eventually, and the police will spot her.”

“Dammit, stop calling her ‘this kid.’ She’s a human being, and she needs my help.”

She had never spoken to him so curtly before, and his reaction was swift. Disbelief shadowed his features for a moment, and then he grasped her upper arm with a slow, firm movement of his hand. The careful pressure of his fingers against her skin warned that he had been pushed too far. Duke bent his head and spoke so that no one else could hear.

“I don’t know what the hell is wrong with you, but it’s a little late for this self-righteous act. It doesn’t come across as sincere.”

His words struck her so harshly that she rested a trembling hand over the dull ache that squeezed her stomach. “You asked me to get involved,” Shea told him in a choked, furious voice. “You wanted me to bleed for these kids.” And because a cruel past was closing in on her, blotting out reason, she added raggedly, “You’re lucky that I don’t hate you for that.”

“My God,” he murmured, stunned.

Shea replayed her thoughtless words and felt as if she were freezing inside a cold chamber. The darkest pain glimmered in his eyes, and his fingers dug into her arm as he struggled for composure. She tried to talk, to say that she’d do anything to take the words back. What had she just done to Alejandro, she wondered in despair.

As Shea gazed up at him in mute sorrow, a sergeant from the county police stepped to her side. “Ms. Somerton, I heard one of your staffers say that you’re upset. Don’t worry, we’ll find the girl.” Shea nodded and numbly switched her gaze to the officer. “This area is so rural,” he continued, “that there aren’t too many places she can get to on foot. She might even come back to the group home eventually.”

“Thank you, Sergeant.”

The officer looked around. “This is some kind of interesting search party you’ve organized. I’ve never
seen so many Rolex watches and diamond rings in my life. Tell them to go get some sleep. And you do the same.”

Shea shook her head. “I can’t.”

“She will,” Duke interjected icily.

Shea jerked her gaze back to him and read the determination in his fierce expression. Angry, Duke was formidable. But she had done more than make him angry; she had hurt him so deeply that the wound might never heal. In his pain, he was incapable of compromise. The sergeant murmured good night and walked away. Shea continued to stand immobile under Duke’s bitter gaze.

“Stay here,” he said, nearly whispering in his effort to control his emotions. “When I come back, we’re going to have a
long
talk.”

He pivoted stiffly and followed the sergeant. Shea watched him tell the counselors, the estate staff, and the guests that the police were taking over now, and he thanked them for their help. She couldn’t take her eyes off his rigid back and proudly raised head; his anguish flowed straight to her and she wanted to cry.

But she knew what she had to do, and she could only pray that he would understand. She left the porch and slipped away in the darkness just as quietly as Amanda had.

He’d find her, and when he did, he’d tie her across his saddle like a captured slave. She deserved that for putting him through hell.

The black gelding Duke rode was accustomed to the mild demands of the estate’s guests, not the hard riding of a master horseman. Sweating, snorting in dismay, the gelding angled through the trees at a lope, and only Duke’s expert guidance kept both of them
from injury. Without the dawn light, Duke’s recklessness would have been even more dangerous.

When he saw the rocky landmark, Duke turned off the trail and urged his tired mount up the steep, familiar hill. “I’ll let you rest in a minute, partner,” he told the horse in Spanish, and the rough compassion in his voice encouraged the gelding to climb faster.

They topped the ridge, and Duke leaned forward as if he could already see the small glen through the trees.
Let her be there. Please
. He’d searched everywhere else.

Shea was huddled on the steps, looking almost unreal in the ethereal half-light. She had drawn up one knee and rested her forehead there, cushioned on her arm. A flashlight lay beside her. As Duke recognized the exhaustion and despair in her posture, he nearly forgot his anger.