Karen Harper - Drowning Tides

“With Lexi,” she muttered as they went back into the room to grab their things. She was annoyed he had not told her about the FBI earlier. What else was he hiding? She’d barely glimpsed the so-called printed invitation, but she would read it on the way.

Before they grabbed their gear, they fell into each other’s arms, holding hard. It terrified her to think this might be the last time—if, just maybe, things went wrong. He suddenly held her at arm’s length, almost as if he was thrusting her away. He stared into her teary eyes.

“You will leave here with Lexi, no matter what else happens. I said it before and I mean it now—more than ever.”

* * *

Jace had to move fast when he saw Claire and Nick emerge from the front of the club. His hands shook as he unlocked the chain around his bike. He saw Nick scanning the area, frowning, but he didn’t react as if he recognized him. Was he looking for him or a spy or stalker? It didn’t matter since they waited barely a minute before a brightly colored cab pulled up and they got in. He had to keep up with his motorbike, but at least the cab had to stop a lot, heading back into George Town.

Jace thought Claire looked pale and nervous, but why wouldn’t she? He pictured Lexi, green-eyed like Claire, though she was more blonde than red-haired. Well, strawberry blonde. And she loved strawberry ice cream and her so-called Frozen doll—what a name for a doll. She loved her cousin Jilly, the same age. Yeah, she was as close to Jilly as Claire was to her sister, Jilly’s mom, Darcy. That and his international traveling were reasons he’d never so much as considered trying to take “Princess Alexandra,” alias Lexi, from Claire when they divorced. But if Claire ever married Nick or anyone else, he’d sure sue for equal time with his daughter. But first, they had to get her back.

He swore under his breath as the cab got through an intersection when the light changed but he didn’t. Too many tourists loose in town, taking too long to cross the street, rushing back to their ships. A policeman with a pointed white cap was still holding up his line of traffic.

He revved the bike and stretched as tall as he could, trying to pick out the cab they were in from vehicles one block ahead now. He should have memorized the number on its back, 4-4 something. If they got much farther ahead, he’d have to just guess which private mansion along the area called South Sound they’d gone to, since that’s where it looked like they were headed. He prayed he hadn’t already ruined his chance to help them and save Lexi.

* * *

Claire gazed at the mansions along the South Sound. Some of them reminded her of the massive ones in the Port Royal area of Naples. Even behind privacy walls, they loomed vast, beige-and-white concrete and stucco, some with wood pillars or pastel trim. Their fronts bordered on the canal with boat access. “More like yachts, nuh,” their driver said—you might know, the same driver they’d had before, no doubt someone else on Ames’s payroll. She could see tall masts or an occasional yacht through the spaces between the buildings. The houses’ rears, where she glimpsed an occasional gardener working or a maid putting out the trash or a service or repair truck, faced the road with the South Sound, a lagoon that merged with the blue-green sea. She read on scripted signs lovely names of these huge homes like Golden Pond, Lazy Lagoon, Happy Days, Sea and Sky—and, the one they pulled into through ornate, open wrought iron gates, Nightshade.

Claire squinted, scanning the back garden area within tall walls for any sign of Lexi. A burly man, who wasn’t dressed like a gardener, stood on the other side of a shaded fountain, watching them. Could that be Clayton Ames? No, because Nick glared at the man but didn’t react.

As they got out—the driver said he’d already been paid—Claire noted the well-kept grass and flowers. The fountain in the shape of a huge, fluted clamshell dominated the area and the wind blew spray onto the surrounding plants.

As the cabbie drove away, Claire tugged on Nick’s arm. “See those tall, purplish, trumpetlike flowers around the fountain where that man is standing? They’re called deadly nightshade, and their berries are poison.”

“Not now, Claire.”

“I did a report on poison plants in college. That can cause hallucinations and seizures if you eat it, so watch it if he offers food here.”

“I don’t think he brought us here to poison us—not that way anyhow.”

Her heart pounded so hard that she feared she’d collapse from the cataplexy she controlled through her meds. That debilitating disease was linked to the narcolepsy she’d struggled with for years. She had to be ever vigilant in highly charged, emotional situations, and she couldn’t think of anything much worse than this. Her knees went weak when she had to stay strong.

“Well then, what part of it is poison?” he asked quietly when she’d thought he didn’t want to hear more.

“Roots, leaves, berries—everything. There’s an old legend that the plant belongs to the devil who trims and tends it. Its Latin name comes from one of the three Fates in mythology—can’t recall her name—the one who cuts the cord of each person’s life to bring death at the time and manner of her choosing.”

“Well, isn’t this the perfect place for Clayton Ames then?” he muttered, putting his arm around her waist.

“I’m all right,” she said, pulling slightly back from him. She couldn’t go in to face Ames leaning on Nick.

As he raised his hand to knock on the back door, it opened as if by magic, but of course they had been watched again. A short, handsome, white-haired man with pale blue eyes stood there. He was nattily dressed in white slacks and a navy golf shirt. He wore an expensive-looking gold watch. She couldn’t guess his age; he could be anywhere from fifty to eighty. His tanned facial skin was tight and unwrinkled but for the crinkled corners of his narrow eyes. He radiated friendliness, so this could not be Clayton Ames.

Claire was expecting at least a butler, but the man broke into a white-toothed smile and said, “Nicky, welcome. It’s been so long, my boy. And, of course, Claire, Lexi’s mother. Nicky and I go way back, but I’ve so wanted to meet you. Please step in, and let’s have a chat before we get down to business.”

So this man was Ames after all. Of course it was, because Nick had described him as deceptive and slick. And the man’s comment about he and “Nicky” going way back was no doubt a veiled reference to those horrible days when Ames murdered—so Nick believed—Nick’s father. Yes, Nick was right: this man was dangerous and demented.

Neither man extended his hand. Nick looked carved from stone. Ames clapped him on his shoulder and reached for Claire’s hand. She was expecting his touch to be cold, but he felt very warm.

“Welcome to Nightshade,” Clayton Ames said, “my home away from home.”

* * *

Jace was furious. He’d lost them, screwed everything up. A row of mansions stretched out here. He saw traffic on this so-called South Sound Road but no cabs. Ordinarily, he’d just call Nick or Claire on his cell, but they’d decided it would be too risky to use phones here. Besides, Nick and Claire could be with Ames now and no way they could take a call. If someone tracked it, that would give his backup presence away.

Then he saw a cab pulling out onto the road from down the way. Yes. Yes! When it passed him as it headed back toward town, he saw part of its ID number was 4-4. Thank God! It had evidently dropped Claire and Nick off and was leaving.

But when he got to the property labeled Nightshade, he didn’t see any way to go in without being spotted. Besides, a burly man was looking his way from the other side of wrought iron gates as they automatically closed. As Jace buzzed by, that man was joined by yet another. He’d have to circle back to the For Sale property he’d seen, go through there to the canal and walk back to Nightshade, or at least close enough to case it. Nightshade seemed a strange name, he thought, but the moon could throw some shade at night.