Savannah Breeze (32 page)

At three-thirty
I was having heart palpitations. My mouth was dry, my palms were sweaty, even my eyeballs itched. “I can't do this,” I told Harry. “I can't pretend to be a real person. I'm not like BeBe. I'm not ballsy like her. I
cannot
do this.”

“You'll be fine,” Harry said, his voice surprisingly low and soothing. “You've been Anya Bauers all week. Such a raging bitch, just the sound of your voice makes my balls shrivel. Poor old Doobie,” he said, shaking his head.

“That's just with you,” I whined. “You act so much like I imagine Doobie does, I want to throttle you. I totally get that woman's motivation now. But I can't do this in front of Reddy. I'll fall apart. He'll never buy it. And then what? What if he's got a gun or something? I'll ruin everything and it'll be all my fault.”

We were down in the master cabin of the
Reefer Madness,
getting ready for our meeting with Spencer and the man calling himself Rory Mason.

I'd put on my shortest, tightest sundress, full makeup, big flashy fake jewelry, and my showiest hat, which happened to be a hot pink Helen Kaminski number.

“You'll do great,” Harry said, looking me over. “Just keep telling yourself you really are Anya. And I really am Doobie.”

He leaned over the marble sink in the mirrored dressing room,
wet his hands, soaped them up, and then proceeded to wipe the soap in his eyes.

“What are you doing?”

Tears ran down his face. He blinked rapidly, rubbed his eyes, and blinked again.

“Christ, that stings,” he muttered.

“Oh,” I said, catching on. His eyes were now totally bloodshot and red-rimmed. He rubbed his chin, which was covered with a nasty half-inch-long stubble. And then he picked up a Corona bottle and chugged about half the beer, letting it run down his chin and onto his shirt front. He belched loudly.

Today's wardrobe selection included a red Van Halen T-shirt that had faded to a dull pink. He wore shapeless wrinkled khaki shorts and no shoes.

“You really are revolting,” I said admiringly.

“Hold that thought,” he said, slapping me on the butt.

We went up to the galley to check with Emma to see how preparations were going for our little sea cruise.

She was whirling around in the gleaming stainless-steel space, sprinkling parsley on a silver platter of mini quiches, setting out champagne glasses, and piling exquisite little brownies on another plate.

Harry snitched a quiche, chewing rapidly, and letting the crumbs drift down on his shirt. “These are damn good,” he said. “Crab?”

“Crab and avocado,” Emma said. She was all business in her white chef's coat and tight white jeans. “The brownies are amaretto espresso.”

I helped myself to one and pronounced it divine.

“Tell your friend,” Emma said. “After this goes down, I'm gonna be in serious need of a new job.”

“If BeBe says you've got a job, then you've got it,” I told her. “We've been best friends for years. She won't let you down.”

“Just don't let us down, okay?” Harry said. “And forget you ever heard the name BeBe.”

“I never heard of her,
Doobie,
” Emma agreed. She brushed a crumb out of Harry's beard. “My God, you look more like him every day.” She sighed. “Poor Doob. He hates rehab.”

“Where's Liam?” Harry asked, checking his watch. “Spencer and Rory ought to be here pretty soon. We want to get underway as soon as possible.”

“He went to pick up more ice,” Anya said. “He'll be right back.”

We heard the thud of footsteps from above deck. “That'll be him,” Emma said.

“I'll go give him a hand,” Harry volunteered.

My stomach lurched again, and I hurried back to the master cabin, where I popped two Tums that I found in the medicine cabinet. I promptly threw them back up again.

As I was brushing my teeth, I heard voices overhead and my stomach took another nosedive.

“Hey, Anya baby,” Harry called. “Get your ass up here. We got company.”

I blotted my face and reapplied my lipstick, then slipped into a pair of high-heeled sandals and put on my hat.

I could feel the yacht's engines churn to life. I glanced out the cabin's porthole, and saw the foam of water. We were underway. Showtime.

Spencer and the “client” were standing on the sundeck in the stern of the boat, watching as we slid smoothly away from the dock.

“Here's Anya,” Harry called when he caught sight of me.

I walked slowly and deliberately toward them, hoping nobody would notice that my knees were wobbling and my hands were trembling.

“Anya,” Spencer said warmly, taking my hands in his. “I'd like you to meet Rory Mason.”

Mason held his hand out and took mine and held it just a millisecond too long.

It wasn't difficult to see how BeBe had fallen so hard and so fast for this guy. His hair was much lighter than it had been in Sabrina Berg's video. It was now a pale blond that made his golden tan look even more glamorous. He was taller in person, with pale blue eyes behind horn-rimmed tortoiseshell glasses. He wore white linen slacks and a blue silk T-shirt that just matched the color of his eyes.

“Nice to meet you,” I managed to say. I was having a hard time concentrating, because at that moment I was so scared I thought I might wet my pants.

“Thanks for having me on such short notice,” Rory said. He had an authentic Southern accent, upper class, educated, not too exaggerated. “I have to tell you, I've been coveting this boat since the minute I set my eyes on it.”

My mind went blank. I couldn't think of anything appropriate to say. What if I blew it? Was he already figuring out what a fraud I was?

More footsteps. I turned to see Harry lurching toward us, a half-empty beer bottle hooked in his right hand, and a lit cigarette in the other.

“Goddamnit, Anya,” he bawled. “Get those fuckin' heels off my teak decking. How the fuck many times do I gotta tell you—no fucking heels!”

I whirled around and looked at him, then deliberately turned my back on him, so angry I could feel blood rushing to my face.

“Excuse my husband's manners, Rory,” I said evenly. “He's just distraught over facing the reality that we really are going to have to part with the
Reefer
.”

Without warning, Harry jerked me by the arm and shoved me down into a deck chair. He reached down, grabbed the shoes off my feet, and chucked them overboard.

“Doobie,” I screamed. “Those shoes cost $200.”

“Hey, look,” Harry said, turning to Spencer and Rory, who stared openmouthed at my loutish husband. “Now the bitch is just like she was when I met her. Barefoot and ignorant.”

Spencer laughed nervously. “Doobie's always kidding around. Always the entertainer, right, Doobie?”

Harry shrugged. “Whatever.” He took a deep drag on the cigarette, then flicked it over the side of the boat. “So, Rory. What do you think of our little floating palace?”

“Nice,” Rory said, trying to sound offhanded.

He was still staring at me, expectantly. I took a glass of champagne from the tray Emma was still holding, and downed it. Maybe the alcohol would steady my nerves.

“Of course, I need to look at the mechanicals and the electronics,” Rory said.

“Liam can help you with that shit,” Harry said carelessly. “Right, Spencer?”

“Shall we?” Spencer said, gesturing toward the stairs to the pilothouse. “If you don't mind though, I'll stay here. My knee has been giving me the devil lately.”

“Fine,” Rory said, turning and heading toward the wheelhouse.

When he was out of sight, I gave Harry a quick kick. “Go with him,” I whispered. “I don't want him alone with Liam.”

Harry raised an eyebrow, but he did as I suggested.

“What's wrong with Liam?” Spencer whispered.

“I don't know,” I said. “Probably nothing. I'm just nervous. I want off this boat. I want this whole thing to be over with.”

Spencer patted my shoulder sympathetically. “It won't be long. We're just going out about three miles to a place called the Hillsdale Cut. Out and back. Keep doing what you're doing, kiddo.”

I gave him a weak smile and made myself sit back down in the deck chair instead of bolting for the stateroom and locking myself inside.

Thirty minutes later, Harry and Rory climbed back down the
stairs, and headed for the bow of the boat, to inspect the engines, I assumed. Harry was being loud and obnoxious, and Rory Mason looked as if he'd like to slug him.

It was a beautiful afternoon for a cruise. The seas were calm and emerald green, and the late-afternoon sun was warm without being brutal. I was the mistress of a $5 million yacht. And I wanted to hurl.

Harry and Rory came up from the engine room and joined me on the sundeck, where Emma soon appeared with another tray of drinks.

“Appetizers in the main salon?” she asked. “The wind is picking up a little.”

“Good idea,” I said, getting up quickly.

“Fuck appetizers,” Harry mumbled. “That fancy shit's for phonies. Bring me some tequila and nachos.”

“We'll have the appetizers in the salon,” I told Emma firmly. “And you can bring Doobie some mineral water. He's had quite enough to drink today.”

“Bitch,” Harry snapped. He collapsed into a deck chair beside mine. I got up and gestured for Spencer and Rory to follow me to the main salon.

“I want to apologize for Doobie's behavior,” I told Rory, after he'd seated himself right next to me on one of the black leather banquettes in the salon. “He gets this way when he's getting ready to go back into the studio to record. I thought having the boat would help him to relax, but instead it seems to have aggravated his, um, well, certain behaviors. Which is why we've decided to sell the
Reefer.
”

“He's a drunk. A mean drunk,” Rory said mildly. “And if I'm not mistaken, he's on drugs too. And yet you seem like a lovely lady. Why do you put up with it?”

I took a crab quiche and forced myself to nibble slowly, trying to think of what to say. I gave Spencer a pleading look.

“Anya is committed to helping Doobie,” Spencer said. “And speaking of that, maybe I better go up on deck and make sure he's all right. We wouldn't want him getting up and falling overboard.”

Rory watched Spencer leave. “Seems to me it would be better all around if your husband did take a fall.”

“Don't say that,” I exclaimed. “You don't know him. He hasn't always been like this. He's creative. High-strung. His therapist says he needs total, unwavering support.”

Rory leaned back on the banquette cushions and looked around the salon. The pale eyes took in Doobie's framed album covers and platinum records, the plush carpet and the mahogany paneling, the flat-screen television and the cabinet full of glittering crystal and silver.

His hand brushed against the back of my neck. “You keep talking about what he needs. What about you? What about what you need, Anya?”

I swallowed hard and chewed my bottom lip. This was unreal. Was he hitting on me? Where the hell were Spencer and Harry?

We heard footsteps again. “Come on now, Doobie,” Spencer said. “Nobody's mad at you. We're all friends here. Come and have something to eat. Anya's getting worried about you.” Rory's hand casually dropped back down to the banquette.

Get in here, I willed. Anya is mostly worried about herself, alone with a shark.

Harry staggered into the salon and collapsed into my lap. “Hey, baby,” he crooned, stroking my face. “I'm sorry. I'll buy you another pair of shoes. I'll buy you a dozen pairs of shoes. How's that, baby?”

A look of disgust crossed Rory's face as he jumped up. “I'm just going to have a look in the staterooms now, if you don't mind.”

“Of course,” Spencer said. “I'll show you around.”

I felt limp with relief once he was gone. “Don't you dare leave me alone with him again,” I whispered.

Harry straightened up immediately. “He tried something with you?”

“He would have,” I said. “He's a slimeball. And he thinks you need killing.”

Somehow, we got through the rest of the cruise. Spencer kept Rory busy, pointing out all the yacht's bells and whistles, and I kept as far away from him as I could.

By the time we glided back to the dock at Bahia Mar, I could tell from his conversation with Spencer that Rory had made up his mind. The
Reefer Madness
would be his.

I managed to keep a smile fixed on my face as we gathered back on the sundeck and exchanged pleasantries.

“So?” Rory said, giving Harry a cool, appraising look. “Do we have a deal?”

“Talk to Spencer,” Harry said. “He's the deal maker.”

“Yes?” Rory said, extending a hand to Spencer.

“Yes,” Spencer said. “I'll walk you to your car, and we can discuss terms.”

The men were walking toward the parking lot, looking backward at the boat, talking quietly. Go already, I thought. Leave. My nerves were shot. I was ready to collapse.

“The terms are cash,” Harry bawled suddenly. “Tomorrow. No later than noon. I wanna wrap this up and get back to Nashville. Noon, you hear?”

The men kept walking without turning around. “Harry,” I said. “Call BeBe. Tell her we're even. And tell her you owe me a new pair of shoes.”

I found Emma
straightening up in the galley. “You were wonderful,” I gushed. “The appetizers were just right—elegant and understated. We really can't thank you enough for helping out.”

She held a champagne flute up to the light, polishing it with a soft cloth. “You're welcome. It's kind of my swan song, you know? You think he bought it?”

I rubbed the knotted muscles in my neck. “I hope so. Spencer just called. Rory gave him the deposit check. Fifty thousand dollars. It's a cashier's check, so I don't think it can bounce. Now all we have to do is get through tomorrow and we're home free.”

“Yeah,” Emma said softly. “I'm kinda sad about moving on. I didn't think I would be, but I am. This place has been home for nearly two years. And I'm gonna miss working for Doobie. He really is a sweetheart. Those crab quiches were his favorite. The brownies too, although, since it was you guys, I didn't use his favorite ingredient.”

“I appreciate that,” I said wryly. “So, Emma, what will you do now? I mean, until BeBe gets back to Savannah and gets Guale reopened? Have you made any plans?”

“For the short run,” she said. “One of the waitresses at the Sand Bar is getting married this week. I can stay in her condo until they get back from their honeymoon, and I'll pick up her shifts at the restaurant too. In fact, as soon as I finish cleaning up, I'm going to her bachelorette party.”

“I'll finish up here,” I told her. “You've done enough for today.”

“Well,” she hesitated. “I guess that would be all right. I'll probably just crash with a friend tonight. But I'll be back first thing in the morning to pack up all my stuff.”

“Fine,” I said. “We're supposed to close the deal by noon tomorrow.”

I took my time straightening up the galley. Everything fit neatly into its own tidy little compartment. Too bad life wasn't like that, I thought. I was spritzing the stainless-steel counters down with glass cleaner when I felt the hairs on my neck prickle.

I whirled around. Liam was standing in the doorway, his sleepy brown eyes taking it all in. He wore tight blue jeans, no shirt, no shoes. He was deeply tanned, slim, buff, and deeply troubling.

“That was some performance you gave today,” he said.

“Thanks.” I put away the glass cleaner, under the sink.

“All done,” I said brightly.

“Where's your boyfriend?” he asked.

“Harry?” I started to say that he wasn't my boyfriend, but then thought better of it. “He went with Spencer, to make sure all the paperwork is ready for tomorrow.”

Liam nodded. “Five million dollars. That's a hell of a lot of money.”

“It's not as if we're stealing it from Rory,” I said. “He stole that money from my friend. And from Spencer. Their life's savings. And he's done the same thing to other women. He's a criminal. And that money is theirs.”

He ran his hand over the gleaming countertop. “But the
Reefer
ain't theirs. It don't belong to them.”

I frowned. “I thought you understood. We're not really selling it to Rory. As soon as he takes possession of it, and his check clears the bank, there'll be an anonymous phone call to the cops. Notifying them that the yacht has been stolen. Doobie gets his yacht back. We get our money. All is well.”

“Yeah,” he drawled. “I understand the plan. I just don't know that I really want to go along with it. You know?”

I felt a chill start to work its way up my spine. “But you agreed,” I said finally. “You told Emma you'd help out. Look, if you're afraid you'll get in trouble…”

He took a step closer and ran his finger down the strap of my sundress. “Oh, I'm not afraid of trouble. Tell you the truth, it kinda turns me on. How 'bout you?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. “You getting turned on?”

I could feel his hot breath on my neck. I took a step backward, but now I was flat against the sink, with no place to hide.

“This whole situation makes me intensely nervous,” I said, telling the truth. “In fact, this conversation is really, really making me nervous.”

“You're cute when you're nervous,” Liam said, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. “In fact, you're pretty damn cute all the time. What's a hot little number like you doing with an old fart like Harry?”

“Look, Liam, what is it you want from us? Money? I can talk to Harry. Once the deal cleared, we intended to pay you for your help.”

“Money's good,” Liam said, looking down at me through those sultry, half-closed eyes. “But y'all are expecting a big payday tomorrow, and all because I took your mark out on the
Reefer
today for a sea trial. Without me, none of that would have happened.”

I took a deep breath. “Actually, we could have taken the boat out without you. Harry can run a boat. He's a charter-boat captain. But that's beside the point. You did help us out, and we do intend to pay you.”

“I had a different deal in mind,” Liam said. “Cutting out the middleman, you might say. Dealing directly with the buyer.”

“You can't,” I blurted out. “It's all set. Rory made a deal with us. If anything changes, he'll get suspicious and take off. You don't under
stand him. He's a criminal. In fact, we're pretty sure he'll try to pull something to cheat us.”

“Shh,” Liam said, pressing his finger to my lips. “You've got such a pretty little mouth. But you're talking too much. Thinking too much.” He wrapped his arms around my waist and pulled me to him, and then he was kissing me, pushing his tongue into my mouth, moving his hands up, cupping my breasts.

“Liam,” I said, shoving him away. “Stop it.”

“Come on,” he said, catching my wrist and holding it tightly. “You saying you're not turned on? You saying you haven't been thinking this whole time about how you could cut Harry and the rest of them out of this deal and keep all the money for yourself?”

“No!” I said, trying to wrench away from him.

He grabbed my shoulders and pinned me against the counter. “I have,” he said, breathing fast. “If anybody's gonna make any money off the
Reefer Madness,
it's gonna be me. If anybody's gonna sell her, it's gonna be me. Now, sweet thing. What's it gonna be? You gonna stick with Harry and go home poor? Or are you gonna let Liam show you the good things in life?”

“You can't—” I started.

“Oh yeah. Yeah, I can,” he said calmly. “And I will. You said it yourself, Rory wants this boat. He wants it bad. He don't care who he has to pay to get it, or what he has to do. It'll be easy. You tell me where Rory's staying, I'll call him tonight, tell him the terms have changed. It's you and me he's dealing with now. No broker. No Harry. And if he buys from us, the price is, say, half a million less.”

I felt myself go absolutely cold. Here I'd been worrying about Roy Eugene Moseley finding us out, and all the time Liam was waiting in the wings, just waiting for a chance to pounce. On the boat. On the money. On me.

Harry, damnit, I thought, get back here. Now.

“Whatcha thinking, sweet thing?” Liam was standing in the door
way again, his thumbs hooked in the waistband of his jeans. I could tell he was watching his own reflection in the glass of the porthole over the sink, admiring himself.

Suddenly, I started to get pissed. Oh yeah, I thought. Yeah, Liam. You are such a badass hottie. I bet girls have been telling you your whole life what a badass you are. How could anybody resist?

“I'm thinking…why not?” I shrugged.

“You're in?”

“Yeah.”

“Allll right,” he said, giving me a high five. “This calls for a little celebration.” He grabbed my hand. “Follow me.” He led me through the narrow hallway, in the direction of the master stateroom.

Oh God, I thought. He's gonna drag me into the stateroom and rape me.

“Where we going?” I asked, digging in my heels. “Look, I think you're cute and all, but I'm not really ready to take this to the next level this fast. And Harry's coming back. If he comes back and catches me with you, I don't know what he'll do. That wasn't all an act with him today, pushing me around. He's got a temper. And I'm afraid of him.”

“Shit,” Liam said. “Old fart like that? I could kick his ass up and down this boat. Relax,” he said, tugging at my hand again. “Just a little party. Nothing serious. Come on, I'll show you.”

He pushed open the door to the master stateroom. “In here,” he said. “Hell, Weezie, I'm not gonna rape you. I never had to force a woman in my life. I just want to show you something.”

Reluctantly, I followed him into the room. He pulled open a sliding door. It was a closet, full of men's clothes. He kneeled down and pushed aside a suitcase. For a moment, while he was down on the floor like that, it occurred to me, Hit him! Hit him on the head and run for your life. But before I could even look for something to hit him with, he was standing up, holding out a blue Adidas gym bag.

“What's that?” I asked.

He took the bag over to the bed and dumped it out.

“Doobie's stash,” he said, turning to give me a big grin.

It was a supersize smorgasbord of controlled substances. There was a gallon-size ziplock bag of marijuana. A sandwich baggie of white powder. And a dozen bottles of pills in rainbow colors.

“How'd you know where it was?” I asked. “Emma said Anya turned the boat upside down, looking for wherever Doobie was hiding it. And she never found it.”

“Who do you think got it for him?” Liam said. “He couldn't risk carrying stuff on him, flying down here, going through Nashville and Atlanta, with airport security searching all over his ass. And Anya watched him like a damned hawk. Never left him alone for a minute once they got to Lauderdale. This way was much easier. He'd give me a call, tell me they were coming down, and I'd take a little trip to the candy store.”

“Wow.” My mind was racing. How in the hell was I going to get out of this?

He picked up the big baggie. “Some excellent Jamaican. I scored it on our last cruise. And the coke's righteous. Doobie hooked me up with a guy who gets primo stuff. Or maybe you like 'ludes?” He cocked his head and gave me a wink. “So what's your pleasure?”

“Oh.” I winced. Think fast. Say something. “Damn. The truth is, this stuff makes me nauseous. I've been like this ever since college. I smoke the slightest bit of weed, and I puke my brains out. Same thing with coke. But I wouldn't mind a drink.”

“Not much of a party that way.”

“I don't care what you do,” I said generously. “What I'd really love is a cosmopolitan. Do you think we have the stuff onboard to make a cosmo?”

“Oh, yeah. Anya drinks 'em all the time. What a hypocrite. It's okay for her to get tight on vodka, but let Doobie smoke a little weed to relax and she freaks.”

I started stuffing the drugs back into the gym bag. “If you tell me
where everything is, I'll make us a pitcherful. Do you know if there's any triple sec?”

He reached out and grabbed the baggie of marijuana. “You sure you don't want any of this? It's really good shit, guaranteed to mellow you right out.”

“Positive,” I said. “I guess liquor's my drug of choice.”

“Whatever,” he said, busying himself rolling a joint. “Everything's in the liquor cabinet in the main salon. I'll be up in a minute.”

I found the liquor and Rose's lime juice in the cabinet under the wet bar in the salon, right where Liam had said I would. I held the cocktail shaker up to the light. It was Baccarat, with a sterling-silver top. Very nice. I poured in the vodka, triple sec, cranberry juice, and lime juice, and added some crushed ice. After a vigorous shake, I poured myself a hefty drink for courage and knocked half of it back in one long gulp. Then I took the bottle of pills I'd palmed from Doobie's stash and poured out half a dozen blue tablets. What they were, I didn't know and I didn't really care, as long as they made Liam go nighty night. I smashed the pills with the bottom of the vodka bottle, put them in the cocktail shaker, and gave it an even more vigorous shake.

Footsteps. My hands were shaking again. On second thought, I crushed two more tablets, put them in the bottom of an empty martini glass, poured out another drink, and gave it a vigorous stir.

“Here you are,” Liam said, walking into the salon. He was wearing shoes now, and an unbuttoned shirt, had a lit joint in his hand, and his eyes had gotten even sleepier, if that was possible. “Find everything you need?”

He reached out for me, and I handed him the martini glass.

“Yeah. Try this. It's kinda my specialty.”

“Pussy drink,” Liam said. But he took it and sipped. “Different. You put something different in it, right?”

“It's my secret ingredient,” I said, giving him a wink. I took a dainty sip of my own drink and waited.

He sprawled himself out on the banquette, picked up the remote control, and turned on the television. It was tuned to MTV, and a trio of Latino girls dressed in white patent-leather bikinis were writhing around on the floor in front of a huge neon crucifix, while a menacing-looking black guy dressed as a Trappist monk sang a rap version of “Faith of Our Fathers.” I wondered if Spencer had ever seen this video. I'd have to remember to ask him. If I got off this yacht in one piece.

“Come sit right here by me,” Liam said, patting the banquette.

I stayed where I was.

He took another slug of the cosmo. “Come on,” Liam drawled. “I won't bite. We're gonna be partners, right? You and me. Partners gotta be tight.”

I picked up the cocktail shaker and perched on the edge of the banquette. “Let me top you off,” I said. “Partner.”