Every Breath You Take (17 page)

MacNeil opened his mouth to make a joke but bit it back. Beads of sweat were already popping out on Childress’s forehead at the mere anticipation of another boat ride, and beneath his newly acquired tan, Childress’s skin
was turning a grayish-green. Rather than admit that he didn’t think he could handle a larger boat, MacNeil said, “Wyatt left his luggage at the hotel in St. Maarten this morning. I don’t think he plans to sleep on Benedict’s yacht tonight.”

T
HE WHARF AT
B
LOWING
P
OINT WAS BUSTLING WITH
activity. Two catamarans flying brightly colored flags and loaded with tourists were pulling away from the dock, and more tourists were lined up to board the regular ferry that ran back and forth between Anguilla and St. Maarten at half-hour intervals.

Mitchell found a parking space near the far end of the wharf where the boat he had chartered was tied up, its captain standing on the bow, smoking a cigarette. “I hope Max is as willing to follow you onto a boat as he was to follow you into a car,” he said, opening Kate’s door and helping her out. Leaning into the backseat, he picked up the end of the dog’s makeshift leash. “He’s shaking all over.”

“He’s nervous,” Kate said sympathetically. Patting the side of her leg, she called, “Come here, Max, let’s—”

The big dog erupted from the backseat in a frenzied leap that nearly knocked her over. Laughing, she staggered backward, recovered her balance, and reached for his leash.

“Let me hold on to that until we get him on the boat,” Mitchell said. Wrapping the end of the necktie-leash around his hand for better control, he tightened his grip; but he needn’t have worried, because once the dog’s feet were firmly on the ground, Max sidled up next to Kate and trotted happily beside her. “Have you always been
able to tame wild beasts, or is Max an exception?” Mitchell asked half seriously.

“Max isn’t completely wild,” Kate said, scratching Max behind his ears. “He may have been running loose his whole life, but he likes humans, which means that he was around someone who played with him and handled him when he was a little puppy. If that weren’t true—if he hadn’t been ‘socialized’ back then—he wouldn’t want anything to do with us now.” She shot Mitchell an apologetic look and explained, “My best friend and former roommate is a vet.”

They reached Mitchell’s chartered boat, and Kate’s attention turned to the task of getting Max aboard. “Let me get on first,” she said. Taking the captain’s outstretched hand, she stepped off the dock into the boat’s stern; then she turned and patted the side of her leg as she had before. “Come on, Max,” she called.

Max backed up, body trembling with fright, but just as Kate decided they would have to lift him aboard, he gave a giant leap forward and landed against her legs, knocking her into the captain, who grabbed her arms to steady her.

“So far, this has been easier than I expected,” Mitchell remarked, stepping down into the boat.

“Easier on
you
, not me,” Kate laughed, dusting dog hair off her jeans.

Mitchell chuckled at her quip and walked over to the railing to stand beside her, trapping the dog between them. The captain started the engine and Mitchell angled sideways, idly watching her long ponytail shifting in the breeze as the pier slid away and the boat picked up speed.

“Why are you staring at me?” she asked.

Mitchell was staring at her because she had the greenest eyes, the smoothest skin, and the most beautiful
mouth of any woman he’d ever known. And, if her tender devotion to a stray mongrel was any indication, she also had the softest heart. He was thoroughly enchanted with all her attributes except the last one. For some reason, that one made him feel vaguely, inexplicably uneasy. “I was thinking that you have a beautiful smile,” he replied, then he turned toward the railing and leaned his forearms on it, watching the boat’s churning wake spread into a wide V.

The unexpected compliment filled Kate with pleasure, but since he hadn’t sounded entirely pleased—or convincing—when he answered her question, she decided not to reply.

Ten minutes later, as they neared St. Maarten, the captain finally broke the silence. “Are either of you folks fans of Zack Benedict, the movie actor?” he called.

When Mitchell said nothing, Kate looked over her shoulder at the captain. “I’m a huge fan of his.”

“That’s Benedict’s boat over there,” the captain told her, pointing off to the left at a gleaming white motor yacht riding at anchor inside the harbor. “It’s called the
Julie.”

“Then it’s named after his wife,” Kate explained to Mitchell as she admired the graceful lines of her favorite movie star’s boat.

“Some tourists told me they saw Benedict aboard this morning, reading a newspaper,” the captain provided. “Do you want me to take you over there? I can get you in real close, and you could get a look at him if he’s on deck.”

“No,” Mitchell said emphatically at the same time Kate said politely, “No thank you.”

Startled by his forceful reply, Kate looked curiously at him. “You aren’t a Zack Benedict fan?”

His brow furrowed and an inexplicable smile edged his mouth while he appeared to give her question grave
consideration. “I can’t, in good conscience, describe myself to you as Zack Benedict’s fan,” he said finally. “However,” he added, “I’d be interested in hearing why you’re such a ‘huge fan’ of his.”

Kate thought he was being condescending, but she refused to back down from her statement. “I admire him even more as a person than as a movie star,” she explained very firmly. “Men thought he was ultramacho when he escaped from prison a few years ago and took Julie Mathison hostage, but women all over the world fell madly in love with him when he forgave her for leading him into a trap and getting him recaptured. When he went back to the small town she lived in and asked her to marry him, half the women in America were in tears when they saw the newsclips of how he did it.”

“Were you in tears?” Mitchell asked, turning fully toward her.

“Of course.”

“You sound like a hopeless romantic.”

“I probably am,” she admitted.

“She betrayed him,” Mitchell reminded her. “If the real murderer hadn’t been found, Zack Benedict would still be rotting in prison because he trusted her when he escaped and she betrayed him.”

“You aren’t very forgiving, are you?”

“Let’s just say I’m not a romantic.”

Although he sounded very sure of that, as Kate looked at his handsome face, she considered some of his actions the night before and arrived at her own conclusion. Smiling a little, she turned away from him and gazed at Zack Benedict’s yacht instead.

“What was that all about?” he asked with amused curiosity.

“I was deciding for myself whether you’re a romantic.”

“What did you decide?”

“I think you are.”

“And you think you can tell things about me by looking into my eyes?”

Kate nodded in the affirmative, but her answer was a little shaky. “I really, really hope so.”

Mitchell suppressed a grin at her uneasy tone and toyed with the idea of surprising her tomorrow by taking her aboard Zack’s boat and explaining that he knew both Zack and Julie well, and that he liked Julie. At the moment, however, he wasn’t inclined to say anything that would lead to a prolonged discussion of her favorite romantic hero, and he didn’t want to commit himself to any plan other than going to bed with her.

“T
HE VET’S OFFICE IS A FEW BLOCKS FROM HERE,”
Mitchell said as he helped her off the boat at Captain Hodges Wharf in Philipsburg, a bustling, picturesque little town on the Dutch side of St. Maarten. “We could walk there easily, but with your suitcase and the dog, we’ll be better off with a taxi.”

“You’re probably right—” Kate began, but her cell phone rang and she paused to take it out of her purse and look at the caller’s name. “I need to take this phone call. I left a message for a business associate to call me at this number.”

“I’ll take the dog and your suitcase and find a taxi,” Mitchell said, already walking toward the street.

Kate put the phone to her ear and covered her other ear with her hand, but there was so much background noise from street traffic and boat motors that she finally took the phone away from her ear and turned the volume all the way up. “I couldn’t hear you before, Louis, but I can hear you now. Did anything happen yesterday that I should know about?”

Following slowly behind Mitchell, Kate listened to Louis Kellard go over one day’s events at the restaurant: The vegetable supplier had delivered only half their order, and the featured evening entrée had to be changed partway through the night; the bartender had refused to serve any more liquor to an inebriated customer who made a scene and had to be escorted out; this morning his attorney
had called, threatening to sue the restaurant for causing embarrassment to his client; the wine cellar needed to be replenished before Kate returned …

Kate slid into the backseat of the taxi and Max jumped in behind her, so she scooted to the middle of the seat while she gave instructions to Louis: “If the attorney calls back, do not say anything to him, just refer him to our attorney. Which bartender was involved?” When Louis told her it was Jimmy, she said, “Tell Jimmy to exercise more tact from now on. My father told me Jimmy was becoming a prima donna, and he was thinking of letting him go. Did you talk to our vegetable supplier and find out why we got only half our order?”

While the taxi made its slow way along Front Street, which was lined with shops and crowded with tourists, Kate listened to the rest of Louis’s litany of problems, and she did her best to help solve them, but most of the time she could only answer Louis’s questions with a question of her own: “What would my father have done?”

By the time Louis was finished, Kate felt panicked and helpless. “Call me back this morning, as soon as you find out what happened to our vegetable order and why our linen inventory is suddenly so low,” she reminded him before he hung up. She ended the call and slipped the cell phone into her purse; then she glanced at Mitchell and found him watching her, his dark brows drawn together in puzzlement. “I imagine you’re wondering about that phone call,” she said.

“I couldn’t help overhearing it. I was under the impression that you’re a social worker and that your father owned a restaurant. Just now, it sounded as if you’re running it for him.”

Kate drew a shaky breath but managed to keep her voice steady. “My father is dead. He was killed on his way home from the restaurant three weeks ago. It was
late at night, and the police think it was a random, drive-by shooting, because there had been another one in the same neighborhood a few days before.”

“And you’re going to try to run the restaurant in his place, is that it?”

Kate nodded. “I quit my job at DCFS so that I could give it my best effort. I worked at the restaurant parttime during high school and college, but I’m not at all sure I know how to run it the way my father did. I’m—” She broke off and looked down at her lap, belatedly realizing that Max’s head was resting on her knee, his eyes fixed worriedly on her face.

Mitchell quietly finished the sentence she’d been unable to complete. “You’re afraid you’re going to fail.”

“I’m
terrified,”
Kate admitted.

“Have you considered trying to sell it?”

“That’s not as easy to consider doing as it seems. My father loved that restaurant, and he invested his whole life in it. He loved me, too, and because he spent most of his time there, most of my happy memories of being with him are centered right there. The restaurant was a part of both of us. Now, it’s all I have left of him—and it’s also all that’s left of ‘us.’ It’s difficult to explain …”

Surprised by a sudden desire to tell Mitchell about her life with her father, she reached out and stroked Max’s head, trying to resist the impulse. After several moments of indecision, she stole a look at Mitchell, half expecting him to look preoccupied or bored.

Instead, he was watching her intently. “Go on,” he said.

Kate tried to think of a good example of why the restaurant held such cherished memories of her life with her father and settled for the first one that came to mind. “Normally, the restaurant was closed in the afternoons between three o’clock and five o’clock, so when I was young, I used to do my homework sitting beside my
father at the bar while he did whatever work he had to do. He sat next to me so he could help me with my homework anytime I needed it. Actually, he sat next to me because that was the only way he could be sure I
did
my homework. Anyway, he enjoyed math and history and science, but I knew he hated English grammar and he hated drilling me on spelling.” With a rueful smile, Kate finished, “I hated homework, period, so I used to make him help me with English grammar and drill me on spelling, day after day after day, just to get even with him.”

Instead of commenting, Mitchell lifted his brows, silently inviting her to say more. A little surprised that he seemed genuinely interested, Kate tried to think of another example to give him. “When I was in fourth grade,” she said after a moment, “I decided I wanted to take roller-skating lessons at the rink. My father disapproved of the sort of kids who hung around there, so he enrolled me in ballet classes twice a week instead, even though I didn’t really want to take ballet lessons. The ballet school burned down the day after I started my lessons—I had nothing to do with that, in case you’re wondering.”

“The possibility never crossed my mind,” Mitchell said.

Kate realized he was completely serious and bit back a laugh at his apparent belief that she was a little angel, rather than the little brat she had actually been. “When the ballet school burned down, the nearest one was a bus ride away, and I knew he’d never let me take the bus to it, so I went on and on about how bad I felt for the ballet teacher and how disappointed I was
not
to be able to take ballet lessons any more …”

“And?” Mitchell prompted when Kate drew a laughing breath.