Cara Lockwood - Shelter In The Tropics

When she’d first met him, she thought he’d just loved her more than anyone else had loved her. He was dogged in his pursuit, determined to have her, and she’d been flattered. That was the truth of it. At first, she thought his intense interest was a compliment, a testament to his love. She never dreamed it would become so twisted.

Then, inexplicably, there at the ball, watching him surrounded by a small circle of admirers and sycophants, watching him pretend to be the man he wasn’t, she felt sick to her stomach. She’d glanced at herself in a mirrored column and saw to her dismay a bruise blooming on her upper arm. She realized she’d sweated off some of her concealer, and it was the middle of the summer so she wore no wrap for her sleeveless gown. How could she be so stupid? She felt exposed and desperate to cover it up.

“Are you all right?” Carol had asked, a woman she didn’t even know, with her husband by her side, a sympathetic look on his face.

It was that small act of kindness that underlined just how long it had been since someone was kind and considerate, that broke her. She started to lose it. Her hands shook. Tears sprung to her eyes, and tears would only wash away the caked concealer she’d used to cover the fading bruise on her cheek. Cate remembered Carol had somehow steered her to the bathroom. How she’d remarked on the bruise on her arm. “I don’t think you’re all right at all,” she’d said. “How can I help?”

She’d graciously accepted Carol’s tissues but told her she’d be fine.

“Here,” Carol had said, handing her a business card with their Caribbean address. The two had been in town only for the charity event, one they attended every year. “My husband used to be a lawyer. We can help you. When...it’s the right time.”

It was only a few months later, when everything went so terribly wrong, so out of control, that she reached out to them for help. She’d be eternally grateful they answered the call. She felt someone up there was looking out for her that night. A chance encounter with kind strangers would save her life. Yet even now, three years later, she was still scared, still worried that it wasn’t over.

“I know this doesn’t make sense,” she said. “I know we should do more advertising...but...”

“You’re scared.” Mark always seemed to know what she was thinking. “There’s no link to your old life. I made sure of that,” Mark said. She knew he was right. Before he retired early and moved his family to the Caribbean, Mark had spent his career helping clients set up shell companies so they could hide things they didn’t want found. But Rick Allen was never one to take no for an answer. He always used to say you don’t build a billion-dollar empire by giving up. How many different ways had he told her the Allen family didn’t have quit in their blood?

After what she’d done to him... After how she’d left him...

She shuddered. No, he’d never give up. Not now.

“We don’t have to use pictures of you. We could find a way to advertise this without...putting you out there. We have to do something.”

“I know. I know we do.” Cate felt the sudden weight on her shoulders. If they didn’t make this resort work, then what? Cate had pawned the jewelry she felt couldn’t be traced back to her. But she still had the quarter-million-dollar engagement ring. Though, if she sold that, she knew it would come back to her. He’d had it custom made, and probably had every major jeweler looking for it. She had more real estate, too, adjacent to the resort, but she’d been hoping to keep that. Expand the hotel in better times.

“Besides, maybe he’s stopped looking for you.” Mark met Cate’s gaze, but even he didn’t believe those words.

“You know he won’t.”

Mark sighed. “I know.” He glanced toward the hallway, where Tack had walked, and shook his head. “Maybe we should hire that new guest for extra muscle. He’s built like a wall and what is he? Like six-four? He feels like a cop.”

“He’s a former marine.”

“Yeah, I saw the seabag,” Mark said, and grinned. “If he were your bodyguard, you know who wouldn’t even dream of coming near you.”

“I’m not so desperate that I’m going to go recruiting our guests, Mark.” Though, she had to admit, the thought of Tack by her side made her shiver just a little. She glanced at her watch and realized it was time to pick up her son from preschool. “I need to get Avery. We’ll talk about this later?”

“We’ll have to,” Mark grumbled.

* * *

THE SMALL PRESCHOOL sat in a cluster of palm trees next door to the island’s only aquarium, a tiny but clean building mostly frequented by tourists with kids. A pretty glass mural of a sea turtle swimming in gleaming green water kicked back the light. In the parking lot, iguanas sunned themselves on the stucco path, not even bothering to move as Cate walked by, her big straw bag slung over one shoulder. The sound of little kids laughing found her, and she walked back around to the fenced-in play yard. She saw Avery climbing up the ladder of a slide, his curly blond hair flying into his eyes as he sped down the plastic chute.

“Mommy!” he cried as he saw her and bounded to the gate. Her heart felt like it might explode. She felt this way every time she looked at her son, unable to believe that such a sweet boy had come from her...and Rick. The minute he was born, Cate remembered vowing that she’d protect him from every harm the world had to offer. Even if that harm might come from his own father.

The preschool teacher nodded at Cate, recognizing her and opening the gate from the inside. Avery bounded into his mother’s arms and squeezed her neck tightly.

“Avery!” she cried as she scooped him up, giving him a kiss on the cheek. “How are you today, bud?”

“I made a crown!” he told her, showing her the construction-paper craft he’d decorated with markers and glitter. “It means I’m king!” His green eyes sparkled in delight.

“You sure are,” she said, and hugged him a little tighter, whipping his too long honey-colored hair from his face. “And the king needs a haircut.”

“Aw. Weally?” His adorable lisp temporarily disarmed her. As did the truly disappointed look in his green eyes. They were her green eyes. Every time she looked at Avery she saw herself. She was grateful for that. Though, of course, there were reminders of Rick. In the way Avery smiled sometimes, the expressions on his face. But Avery was all rainbows and sunshine, a bright ball of love and nothing like Rick in all the ways that mattered.

“Yes, really, sire. You need a cut.” She mussed his soft hair and he laughed. Cate carried him over to her little hatchback.

“Look, Mommy. Blue! My favorite color,” Avery said, grabbing the crown and showing her his scribbles. He might just be four, but he was an expert at diversional tactics.

“Blue is pretty, honey.” She was strapping him into his car seat when he held up the crown.

“Do you think Daddy likes blue?”

The question stopped her in her tracks. Avery had gone nearly a year without even mentioning his dad. Now, suddenly, here he was asking questions.

“I don’t know, sweetie.” She tried to keep her voice steady. Rick didn’t have a favorite color. Not that she knew of. If he did, he’d probably get a copyright and then declare that color off-limits to everyone else, she thought.

“Do you think there’s a lot of blue in heaven? Where Daddy lives?”

“I don’t know.” Cate felt rattled by the questions. More so than usual. She also felt an unexpected pang of guilt. Yes, she’d told her boy his father was dead. That was a lie, but what else could she do? Tell her perfect little boy the truth?