Lancelot's Lady (22 page)

She didn
'
t know what to say.

"
It was as though he just couldn
'
t live without this woman,
"
he continued.
"
He
'
d storm out of the house and into a bar nearly every night. One time he was so intoxicated the bartender took away his keys and called the house. My mother was out somewhere, so I had to get him.
"
He let out a huff.
"
My old man bawled like a baby all the way home.
"

"
That must
'
ve been very difficult,
"
Rhianna said, picturing a young man looking out for his father.
"
He was lucky to have you.
"

They drifted into silence and listened to the sounds of the night birds.

"
What about you?
"
Jonathan asked finally.
"
Where
'
s your family?
"

Rhianna rested her chin on his chest.
"
My parents died in a car crash.
"

"
How old were you?
"

"
I was born that same night.
"
She swallowed hard.
"
When they arrived at the crash, paramedics found my father dead and my mother barely holding on. She was pregnant. With me. They took her to the hospital and performed an emergency C-section.
"
She looked away.
"
I was the result.
"

Jonathan stroked her hair and it felt comforting.

She faced him.
"
My mother died on the operating table. They said it was a miracle she
'
d even survived the crash.
"

"
She was holding on for you. She wanted you to survive.
"

A tear trickled down her cheek.
"
I guess.
"

Jonathan lifted her chin.
"
I
know
. And so should you.
"

Rhianna tried to smile through the tears. For years she
'
d told herself it was her fault that her mother had died. That maybe she would
'
ve survived if she hadn
'
t been pregnant.

Yet, Jonathan had put everything into perspective.

Her mother had wanted her, loved her.

Jonathan gently wiped away her tears.
"
We
'
re a sad pair, aren
'
t we?
"

She nodded.
"
I
'
ll say. Fate dealt us both a cruel hand and tried to squash us like bugs.
"

"
But we
'
re survivors,
"
he reminded her.

"
Yes, we are.
"

And she
'
d survived far worse than her mother
'
s death.

Jonathan stared into her eyes.
"
Someone else hurt you bad, didn
'
t they?
"

She gasped.
How did he know?

"
I
'
ve seen fear in your eyes,
"
he explained.
"
And that first time…when I wanted to make love to you, I knew someone had hurt you terribly.
"

She couldn
'
t breathe. This wasn
'
t a conversation she wanted to have. Not with anyone.

"
You can tell me,
"
he whispered.

She buried her head into his arm, unable to face him. Should she tell him? Would it change things between them if he knew how her body had been abused and used? Would he be disgusted with her?

Tell him. He has to know.

"
After my parent
'
s died,
"
she began,
"
I went to live with my aunt and uncle. Until they died in a boat accident. Then I went into foster care. The first two families I stayed with were short term, nice people, even though I was a basket case at the time. Then Children
'
s Services found me a more permanent home, a couple who claimed they might even adopt me. If I worked out.
"

She paused, gathering her strength.

"
But I wasn
'
t the problem. My foster father was. He…
"
She nearly choked on the next word,
"
abused
me.
"
Tears pooled in her eyes and she let out a sob
"
He raped me every time his wife left the house, and I was powerless against him.
"

Jonathan pulled her into his arms, rocking her like a child as she cried for her stolen youth. For the lonely child who had felt so trapped, so used. For the young woman who had been afraid of human contact. She wept until her throat ached, until she couldn
'
t shed one more tear.

Finally, she lifted her head and gazed into his eyes, fearful of what she might find there. It wasn
'
t what she was expecting. Instead of horror and disgust, she saw compassion and understanding.

"
You
'
re safe now, Rhianna,
"
he whispered, his eyes wet.
"
Nobody can ever hurt you like that again. I won
'
t let them.
"
He leaned forward and kissed her lightly on the lips.

"
You said you wouldn
'
t touch or kiss me,
"
she said hoarsely.

"
I said not while we
'
re talking.
"

"
But―
"

"
Rhianna, we
'
re done talking,
"
he said, kissing the corners of her mouth as if he wanted to kiss away every invisible, painful scar.

With a sigh, she gave in and his hands whispered against her flesh, giving her goosebumps.

There was no question that
Jonathan cared for her. But did he care for her as much as she was beginning to care for him?

Chapter 22

JT took a deep breath before picking up the phone and making the call.

"
Mr. Chambers,
"
he said when the private investigator answered,
"
let
'
s get this over with.
"

"
You make it sound like a root canal,
"
Chambers replied.
"
This isn
'
t personal. It
'
s just business.
"

"
It
is
personal. Especially when you threaten someone I care about.
"

"
I didn
'
t really threaten her. Just thought she should know why you
―
"

"
Listen, Chambers,
"
JT cut in,
"
I
'
ll tell her on my own terms. Got it?
"

"
Okay, okay. Don
'
t blow a gasket, old man.
"
Chambers paused.
"
What about my money?
"

"
I
'
ve considered your demands.
"

"
And?
"

"
And I
'
ve decided to pay you.
"

"
That
'
s a smart thing to do
, Mr. Lance.
"

JT rubbed his brow with a shaky hand.
"
You
'
ll get it tomorrow afternoon. But it will be the very last time. Understand?
"

"
That I do.
"

"
I
'
ll need some kind of commitment on your part that you
'
ll leave us alone after this.
"

"
You have my word.
"
Chambers chuckled.
"
Yeah, I guess that doesn
'
t mean much to you. What do you have in mind?
"

"
I want you to leave town.
"

"
Leave Miami?
"

"
Miami, Florida, the entire United States! I want you gone, out of my life. And I
'
ll throw in an extra fifty thousand if you do this right after you get the wire transfer. I
'
ll pay you the fifty when you send me a postcard from wherever you end up.
"

Hopefully in hell,
he thought.

"
I
'
ll book a flight first thing in the morning.
"

"
You do that, Chambers.
"

JT hung up the phone.

Could he trust the man? No. There was no trusting a guy like Winston Chambers. And no predicting his next move either.

Will Chambers take the money and disappear?

God, he hoped so.

~ * ~

On the floor above his office, Winston paced the dirty linoleum hallway of his cramped one-bedroom apartment. Outside the grimy window, a red neon sign buzzed and flickered, annoying the hell out of him. He
'
d wanted to shoot the damned thing since the day he
'
d moved in. Now he was wondering why he hadn
'
t.

From the half-open window, the sounds of dwindling traffic could also be heard. Somewhere in the night, a siren wailed and a horn blasted. No peaceful serenity here. Not in the seedy district of Miami.

Inside the apartment, month old newspapers and well-thumbed girlie magazines covered the sagging couch and stained carpet. A broken laundry basket heaped high with dirty clothes sat neglected on the floor near the bedroom door. It had been a few weeks since he
'
d taken a trip to the basement laundry room and now his apartment smelled like rotten seafood and cat piss. Except Winston didn
'
t own a cat.

A scurrying movement caught his eye.

A plump cockroach poked its head from beneath a pizza box. Hurrying toward it, Winston flattened the roach with his fist, then glimpsed his contorted reflection in the cracked mirror above the table.

He grinned.
"
Winston Chambers, roach hunter.
"

Roaches weren
'
t the only thing he liked to hunt. That
'
s why he
'
d gotten into the PI game.

He wiped the remains of the roach on a napkin and surveyed the room.
"
I certainly won
'
t miss this place.
"

There was nothing here he wanted. What he
did
want was somewhere in the Bahamas.

How hard can it be to find her?

He laughed so hard he started to wheeze.

"
Okay, Win. Let the hunt begin.
"

An hour later, he emerged from the bedroom, a bulging gray suitcase in one hand and a brown leather briefcase he
'
d bought online in the other. Over his left arm, he
'
d flung his only good suit. He set the suitcase near the door and hung the suit in the closet. Then, with a sweep of one arm, he cleared the kitchen table.

Drenched in sweat, he set the briefcase on the table and opened it. He extracted a large manila envelope. Inside were his treasures
―more than fifty photographs of Rhianna McLeod, taken at different intervals in her life.

Winston had tracked the girl down after she
'
d left nursing school. He
'
d found her living with a deaf lady who was getting on in years. That made it all too easy for W
inston to sneak in and take pictures of Rhianna. He
'
d hidden in closets, the basement and the old lady
'
s bedroom.

It was amazing the quality one could get with a decent camera and a zoom lens.

He carefully spread the photos out on the table.

"
There you are, my dear.
"
He smiled and fingered a photo of Rhianna having tea with her patient.
"
One lump or two?
"

The next photo was of a sad Rhianna. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she said a few words at the old lady
'
s funeral. Winston had sat in the back row, as bold as could be. He
'
d even offered her his condolences.

"
I
'
ll take care of you,
"
he said now, pulling a wad of cash from the briefcase pocket.

He had enough money to get him to the Bahamas and then on to his permanent destination. Morocco, perhaps. He would
'
ve gone to Haiti, but it was still in ruin after the earthquake.

It didn
'
t really matter where he went, as long as no one could find him. Once JT Lance paid him, he could live comfortably overseas. Winston would be able to start over, with his new life.

And my new wife.

"
Our wedding night will be one you
'
ll never forget.
"

Though he would
'
ve loved to sit back and fantasize about Rhianna
'
s naked body under his, he had work to do. He collected the photos of Rhianna and placed them back in the envelope. With the briefcase in hand, he left his apartment and clambered downstairs to his office. Panting, he flipped on the light and headed directly to his paper-littered desk. A few taps of the keyboard and his flight was arranged and he
'
d booked a hotel.

"
One more thing,
"
he muttered as he printed off the boarding pass.

He waddled toward an abstract painting and swung it to one side, revealing a wall safe. He entered the combination and the safe popped open. He withdrew a shoebox containing several fake passports he
'
d obtained over the years. He shoved the passports into the briefcase.

There was one other item in the box, something that would assure his success.

An unregistered Glock-17.

Winston picked up the gun and caressed it against his cheek. He couldn
'
t take it on the plane, of course, so he did the next best thing. He wrapped the gun in bubble wrap and placed it back in the shoebox. After he securely taped the box, he addressed it to himself, care of the hotel in Nassau. He
'
d overnight the package.

Then tomorrow, he
'
d find out which hotel the lovely Rhianna McLeod was spending her vacation in and do a little recon visit. And when the Glock arrived, he
'
d go after her.

Just don
'
t make me shoot you.