Lancelot's Lady (26 page)

Rhianna was buried beneath blankets and fast asleep. He moved to her side, then hesitated. Should he wake her? Should he tell her how he felt?

A framed photograph on the nightstand caught his eye.

What in God
'
s name is she doing with this?

Rhianna turned her head, her eyes opening slowly. When she saw him, she gasped in surprise.
"
What are you doing here?
"

Hot anger surged through him.
"
Is this a joke? Did he send you here to bring me back?
"

Rhianna blinked and struggled to sit up.
"
What are you talking about?
"

"
This!
"
He shoved the photo into her hands.

"
It
'
s a photo of my employer.
"

"
Your employer? Like hell it is! This is a photo of my father.
"

~ * ~

Rhianna could barely breathe.
"
What did you say?
"

"
You heard me,
"
Jonathan snapped.
"
This is my father. Jacob Tyler Lance.
"

"
But you said your name was―
"

"
Jonathan Tyler Lance.
"

She shook her head, confused.
"
I thought your last name was Tyler. You never once mentioned Lance.
"

"
Because,
"
he said tightly,
"
I was doing my best to get far away from it. Being a Lance comes with resp
onsibilities. And apparently I was nothing but a huge disappointment. Or so I was reminded years ago.
"

"
JT is your father?
"

He glared at her.
"
Unfortunately.
"

She grabbed her robe from the end of the bed, wrapped it around her and sat down on the bed.
"
I had no idea.
"

"
Sure you didn
'
t.
"

She caught his gaze and frowned.
"
What are you insinuating?
"

He let out a bitter laugh.
"
I
'
m not insinuating anything. I know the truth now. How you came to be
accidentally
stranded on my island. How you happen to know sign language when I needed a teacher for Misty. Jesus! I bought it all.
"

"
Wait a minute,
"
she said, trying to remain calm.
"
I
was
stranded here accidentally.
"

Jonathan acted as though he hadn
'
t heard her.

"
The bastard sent you here to spy on me. Didn
'
t he? He wants to know if by turning down his millions I
'
m able to support myself and my daughter. He wants to rub my failed marriage in my face because he predicted it.
"
He shook his head.
"
I can
'
t believe this. Does he want me back now to take over his
empir
e?
"

"
Your father is dying, Jonathan.
"
She timidly reached out, but he snatched his arm away.

"
Don
'
t touch me! You
'
re nothing but a liar, Ms McLeod. I don
'
t know how I could
'
ve been so foolish to think I had feelings for you. To think that maybe we had a future together.
I thought you were―
"
His voice cracked.
"
You
'
re no different than Sirena. You both go where the money is and to hell with anyone else.
"
He spun on one heel and left the room, the door slamming behind him.

Rhianna
'
s eyes burned with unshed tears.

What just
happened here?

She thought back to the day JT had given her the plane ticket for her dream holiday. There had been one moment when something had passed between JT and Higginson. Now she knew it had been the glimmer of conspiracy. No matter what Jonathan thought, she couldn
'
t believe that JT wanted anything other than to be reunited with his son. She
'
d seen the haunted look in JT
'
s eyes when he talked about his estranged son. He wanted resolution and forgiveness
―from a son who was incapable of forgiving.

"
I finally fall in love and now I
'
ve lost him.
"

"
I don
'
t know how I could
'
ve been so foolish to think I had feelings for you,
"
Jonathan had told her.

She could almost feel her heart ripping into shreds. Soon ther
e
'
d be nothing left of it.

"
JT?
"
she cried, clenching the photo.
"
What have you done?
"

Unable to look at JT
'
s smiling face any longer, she opened the nightstand drawer and shoved the photo inside. That
'
s when she caught sight of the Lady in the Mist print. Her tired eyes found the signature and it suddenly became very clear. She knew exactly who had painted it
―and the other eight or so paintings JT had purchased over the years.

"
Jesus,
"
she hissed.
"
How can I be so dense?
"

JT had been buying up Jonathan
'
s paintings, spending hundreds of thousands of dollars on them. Did he do it because of guilt? Or was he tryi
ng to support his son the only way he knew how?

Does Jonathan know?

She doubted it. An art gallery handled all his sales. He probably never gave it a second thought, since the money was funneled through the gallery. She
'
d hazard a guess that he would never knowingly take money from his father, even if it was payment for a painting. He
'
d feel like he was being bought off. That it was charity. And Jonathan was far too proud to accept that.

What do I do now?

She slumped on the bed, feeling drained of energy and emotion. JT must have sent her here with hopes that she
'
d figure it out and bring his absent son back. And his granddaughter.

JT, why didn
'
t you just pick up the damned phone?

The answer was clear. Pride. Both Lance men had too much of it.

She understood why JT wanted closure before he died. It was common with people who knew they were dying to reach out to lost family or friends, to attempt to fix wrongs or mend broken hearts.

But why had he dragged her into this mess?

There were two things she knew without a shadow of doubt. JT had set them up, and Jonathan would never believe she hadn
'
t knowingly deceived him.

As the winds raged outside, she crawled into bed without removing her robe. Maybe she could sleep this nightmare away. Maybe she
'
d wake up the next morning and discover it had all been a bad dream.

Maybe hell will freeze over and take me with it.

Sleep took her in its tenuous grasp and played with her pained heart in ways that only nightmares can. Between fleeting, troubled visions of loneliness and uncertainty, Rhianna slept.

Chapter 26

When Winston awoke the following morning, he went down to the lobby in search of breakfast. The hotel restaurant was small and empty except for one other table, and the waitress was slower than a sloth, which annoyed him to no end. That and the fact that she
'
d placed him beside a couple with a screaming baby when there was an entire room filled with empty chairs.

Lazy bitch doesn
'
t want to walk too far,
he guessed.

The baby
'
s screams filled the small room.

Winston glared at the parents, but they were oblivious. The mother tried to give her child a bottle, but it was swatted from her hand by a tiny curled fist.

The little bugger was a fighter.

When Winston couldn
'
t stand the crying any longer, he demanded a table in the corner.

Don
'
t make too much of a fuss, Win. Be invisible.

But even the need for invisibility had its limits.

In less than half an hour, he polished off a greasy platter of scrambled eggs, bacon, sausages and pancakes. He also finished a carafe of strong coffee, the kind that flowed thick like syrup from the spout. Food and caffeine would kick his metabolism into overdrive, not to mention keep him vigilant and on his toes. He needed all his faculties to pull off today
'
s venture.

As he was leaving, he noticed the baby had fallen asleep. The parents looked relieved. He paused a foot away and let out a vicious sneeze. He was good at faking them. A well executed sneeze allowed a PI to hover near a target and collect information. It was also great for scaring
the be-jesus out of someone―like the baby.

Grinning, he hurried from the restaurant just as the baby
'
s cries were unleashed. He loathed babies. Even more, he detested happy couples.

Returning to his room, he found a newspaper and his freshly laundered suit
inside waiting for him. He tucked the remaining Cohiba cigar in the jacket pocket. He couldn
'
t wait to smoke it. Perhaps after he and Rhianna consummated their new relationship.

The red light on the phone was flashing and he called down to the front desk.

"
You have a package, Mr. Duke,
"
the attendant said.

"
I
'
ll be right down.
"

With a smile, Winston strode out of his hotel room.

Minutes later, he carried the package containing his beloved Glock into his room and locked the door.

"
My little beauty has arrived.
"

He sat on the unmade bed, stroking the deadly weapon and checking the cartridge. He flicked on the safety. Wouldn
'
t do to have it go off prematurely. Tucking the gun into the inside pocket of his jacket, he arranged the briefcase with the folder on Rhianna on top. He closed the case and locked it.

Stripping off the tourist outfit, he slipped into the suit, selected a silk tie and tucked his fake ID next to the cigar in the jacket pocket. In the bathroom, he looked at his reflection, at the excited gleam in his eyes.

There was nothing stopping him now.

He made a quick phone call to a private airstrip he
'
d found in the island Yellow Pages. After reserving and pre-paying the pilot of a small plane with Duke
'
s VISA, he hung up, his getaway plan in motion.

He was hungry. But this time, not for food.

Twenty minutes before nine, a taxi arrived to carry him to his destination
―the Bayshore Marina. This time, he observed his surroundings on the way. The streets of Nassau were littered with leaves, tree branches and garbage, all victims of the ruthless evening storm. The city already had street cleaners out, unsmiling old men who
swept the sidewalks and cleared debris from the roads, which were still slick with rain, the morning sun still struggling to dry them.

It didn
'
t take long before Winston regretted his choice of attire. The suit and high humidity made him sweat profusely. He shifted uncomfortably in the back of the taxi and spread his hefty legs apart, praying he wouldn
'
t find a sweat stain on his crotch. Or on the back seat when he climbed out.

At the marina, he walked almost bowlegged, trying to dry the dampness between his legs. Already a prickly heat rash had formed where his flabby thighs rubbed together.

He spotted Roland Saunders with an older white man. They were loading boxes into the speedboat.

"
I hope you haven
'
t forgotten about me, Mr. Saunders,
"
Winston said evenly.

The older man glanced up.
"
You must be Mr. Duke. I hear you
'
re heading out to Angelina
'
s Isle.
"

Winston bit his tongue and nodded. Last thing he needed was another nosy parker sticking his big nose in where it wasn
'
t wanted.

"
Denny Dorchester,
"
the man said, holding out a hand.

Winston hesitated, then shook it once.
"
What are those boxes for?
"

"
Supplies for Tyler,
"
Saunders replied.

"
How come you have to drop them off? Doesn
'
t this Tyler guy have his own boat?
"

"
This
is
his boat,
"
Dorchester cut in.

"
Are you coming with us?
"
Winston hoped the question sounded friendly and not panicked, like he was feeling.

Dorchester
'
s eyes glinted, then he shook his head.
"
I have to go into town.
"

Winston could breathe again.
"
Nice meeting you.
"

He watched the older man climb the ramp. When Dorchester reached the top, he turned to look back.

Winston scowled.
Keep going, you fuck-wit.

Saunders started the engine.
"
Ready to go, Mr. Duke.
"

"
Call me Charles.
"

Saunders nudged his head toward the back bench of the boat.
"
You
'
ve got lots of room there. Jump in.
"

Winston climbed aboard and settled his wide girth into the seat. The buttons of his jacket strained against his gut. He sucked in his stomach and covertly patted the side of the jacket. As long as he kept it buttoned, the gun wasn
'
t visible.

Within a few minutes, Misty
'
s Dream slowly chugged away from the marina, and once they were clear of the high traffic area, Saunders opened the throttle.

"
Since I
'
m showing up unannounced,
"
Winston shouted,
"
tell me a bit about this Tyler guy.
"

"
Tyler likes his privacy.
"

If Saunders thought that would end the questions, he was wrong. Winston needed to know who he was up against.

"
Must be hard living out there,
"
he said.

Saunders shrugged.
"
Angelina
'
s Isle has everything he needs and wants.
"

"
Except a way to get off it.
"

"
That
'
s what I
'
m for.
"

"
What
'
s he do for food and other groceries?
"

"
I usually go out every month or so and take him what he needs.
"

"
Kind of a hermit, is he?
"

"
Kinda. Once in a while he comes back with me.
"

Interesting,
Winston thought. The island was isolated, and
that
would work in his favor. So would the fact that this Tyler guy didn
'
t seem like he
'
d offer much of a problem.

"
How many people live on that island?
"
he asked.

"
Just Tyler, his daughter and his caretakers
―the Atkinsons. Plus your friend Miss McLeod.
"
Saunders hesitated before saying,
"
Did someone in her family die?
"

"
Not yet,
"
Winston said, putting on a somber face.
"
But he
'
s not expected to live past the week.
"

Saunders gave a nod.
"
Must suck having to be
the bearer of bad news.
"

"
I
'
ve delivered worse.
"

The young man eyed him for a moment and Winston held his gaze. Saunders was curious. Hopefully, he
'
d stay that way and not become suspicious.

He yawned. He wasn
'
t much of a morning person, especially at this ungodly hour.

"
How long does it take to get to the island?
"
he asked.

"
Just under an hour.
"

Winston
'
s stomach lurched.
"
Oh shit,
"
he muttered.

Saunders flicked a look over his shoulder.
"
Something wrong?
"

"
I shouldn
'
t have eaten such a big breakfast.
"

"
You don
'
t get seasick, do you?
"

"
I don
'
t know. It
'
s been years since I
'
ve been in a boat.
"

"
Try to think of something pleasant,
"
Saunders suggested.
"
It usually helps.
"

Winston scowled. He was sick of people giving him advice.
"
How about you show me how to work this boat,
"
he said.
"
That
'
ll take my mind off puking.
"

"
Sure.
"

Saunders slowed the boat and Winston shuffled closer.

"
So this thing tells you what direction you
'
re going in?
"
he asked, putting on his best eager student face.
"
What do you do when you want to turn around and go back to Nassau?
"

Saunders gave him a crash course in watercraft operations, showing him how to use the GPS and how to accelerate, decelerate and navigate the markers in the water.

Boating for Dummies,
Winston thought.

Only he wasn
'
t the dummy. Saunders was.