Roarke's Kingdom Read online

  She lifted her head until her eyes were locked with his. “Is this the way all visitors are treated at Campbell’s?”

  His eyes narrowed. “You have one minute to come up with an answer,” he said softly.

  Jennifer’s throat constricted. He was trying to intimidate her, and he was succeeding. But she couldn’t let him know that—not if she were to get out of here without giving herself away.

  “And you,” she said, “have one minute to step aside and let me pass.”

  Something glimmered in the black depths of his eyes. “Jose?” he said, his eyes locked on hers.

  Behind him, the guard snapped to attention. “Si, señor.”

  “What kind of job did the lady ask for?”

  “She did not say, señor.”

  A tight smile curved across the man’s mouth. “No,” he said softly, “she did not. And she did not write down her preferences on the application form, either.”

  Jennifer swallowed. “I—I wasn’t sure what was available.”

  “Ah. I see. So you’d have taken anything.”

  She nodded. “Yes.”

  Again, that quick smile that was not a smile flashed across his face.

  “Typist.”

  “Yes.”

  “Or clerk.”

  “Yes. I—”

  His mouth curled. “Or cleaning woman.”

  Jennifer flushed. “Look, I don’t know what this is all about, but—”

  “Don’t you?”

  She shook her head. “No. Just because your employer is paranoid when it comes to privacy…”

  It was the wrong thing to say. She knew it as soon as the words left her mouth. The man’s eyes flashed with fire. He stepped forward and she fell back into the elevator. The door slid shut behind him.

  “And just what, exactly, do you know about my employer?”

  Jennifer looked past him, to the closed doors. “Nothing.”

  He reached out and clasped her shoulders. “Ty again,” he said. His hands were hard on her flesh.

  “Just—just what everyone knows. That—that he likes his privacy.”

  His jaw thrust forward. “He prefers it, yes. That doesn’t make it paranoid.”

  “Please. I don’t—I can’t…” Her voice faded. The air seemed to be draining from the elevator. And he was standing too close to her. She could smell the scent of his musky cologne, see the dangerous glitter in the depths of his eyes.

  Craig had been this close to her, he had been filled with anger, he had—

  Don’t hurt me, she thought, and the elevator walls began to shimmer.

  “Lady! Hey! Come on, don’t pass out on me. Hey! Damn it to hell!”

  She heard the muttered curse, and then she was being drawn forward into strong arms.

  I’m all right, she wanted to say. But the effort seemed too great. She was having a hard enough time not falling into the gray whirlpool that was trying to suck her under…

  And then, it did.

  * * *

  When she came to, she was lying on a small sofa in the lobby. There was a damp cloth on her forehead and the man from the elevator was squatting beside her, his eyes locked on her face.

  “Are you okay?”

  Jennifer nodded. “Yes.” She cleared her throat. “Yes, I’m fine.”

  He stared at her, and then he puffed out his breath. “I’m sorry,” he said, and she knew from the way he’d said it that apologies were foreign to him. “I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

  She smiled a little as she took the cloth from her brow. “You didn’t.”

  A muscle twitched in his jaw. “Yeah, I did. You kept asking me not to hurt you.”

  A flush rose in her cheeks. “Did I?” He nodded, and she shrugged her shoulders. “Well, you’re—you’re very intimidating.”

  He looked at her for another few seconds, and then he rose to his feet.

  “Listen.” His voice was flat. “This is San Juan, not the Midwest.”

  Jennifer stared at him. “How did you know I…?”

  He smiled, this time without malice, and the smile transformed him. The harshness in his face fled, and for the first time Jennifer realized how very good-looking he really was.

  “You sound like somewhere around the Great Lakes,” he said. “Wisconsin, maybe?”

  She let out her breath. “Oh. My accent.”

  He laughed softly. “Your accent.” Jennifer sat up. He reached out and touched her shoulder. “Look, let me call a taxi.”

  “No.” She shook her head again. “Thank you, but I—I feel like walking. I just need to get some air.”

  His hand slipped away from her. She stood up and started toward the door. Each step felt like a dozen. What a mess she’d made of things! First the guard, now this plainclothes security man—they would never forget her face. Slipping past them again to find Campbell’s office would be impossible. She’d have to stand in the street, hide behind the trees that lined the avenue, watch for Campbell and watch for these two at the same time.

  “Hey.”

  She was almost at the door when his voice, low-pitched but hard as steel, stopped her. She drew in her breath and turned and faced him.

  “Remember what I told you,” he said. “This is the Caribbean, not the States. Things happen here.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “There are all kinds of crazies in these islands.”

  She frowned. “What has that to do with me?”

  “American corporations have been targets in the past. People—innocent-looking people—walk in off the streets and do some weird things.”

  She was stunned. “Is that what you thought? That I was—”

  He shrugged. “Anything is possible.”

  A new fear clutched at her. “Is that why your boss—Mr. Campbell—is that why he’s so secretive? Is he—is his chi…his family in danger?”

  “No, of course not. I’m just trying to make you see why—” He fell silent, and his eyes turned cold again.

  “Why all this interest in Campbell, anyway?”

  Her heart skipped a beat. “I just—it’s not right that anyone live in fear, that’s all.”

  He looked at her for a long moment, and then his lips drew back from his teeth in a tight smile.

  “We all fear something. Anyone who doesn’t is a damned fool.”

  He turned, strode to the elevator, and jabbed the control button. There was tension in his shoulders; for some indefinable reason, it made her throat tighten.

  Suddenly, he swung toward her. Their eyes met, held, and for an instant that same dizzying whirlpool opened before her. Jennifer spun on her heel and stepped quickly toward the doors that led to the street. They slid open and without a backward glance, she moved out into the sunlight.

  Chapter Two

  Early the next morning, Jennifer rented a car and drove into the Hato Rey district. It had been foolish not to have done that right away, but then everything she’d done yesterday had been foolish. She’d gone waltzing into the Campbell building as if she’d been playing junior detective.

  And she’d got off easy.

  The man who’d accosted her—the chief of security or whatever he was—was not anyone she wanted to confront a second time. Last night, as she’d undressed for bed, she’d paused in front of the mirror, half expecting to find the imprints of his fingers on her shoulders. But the skin had not been bruised; still, in her imagination the steely pressure of his hands was all too real.

  A little shudder ran through her as she approached the Campbell building. Whatever happened, she didn’t want to run into him again. It had been a minor miracle that he’d let her go—not that there’d been grounds on which to detain her. But he looked like a man who wouldn’t give a damn about laws and regulations, a man who lived by a code that was harsh and unforgiving.

  There was a little park almost directly opposite the Campbell building. Jennifer pulled the car over to the curb, shut off the engine, and settled back in he
r seat. She had a positive feeling about today. She just knew, in her heart, that things were going to go well. She refused to think about the rest of it, that things had to go her way today. She’d only just learned, at breakfast, that the day after tomorrow was a holiday. All the island’s businesses would be closed until Monday—which was also the day that she was due to fly back to the States.

  The morning passed slowly. At a little past noon, workers streamed from the Campbell building in little groups of two and three. There were some men, but none that resembled the grainy photo in Jennifer’s purse. She didn’t see the security officer, either, which meant that he didn’t see her, and that suited her just fine.

  Some of the women clutched brown paper sacks. They drifted into the park and settled onto the benches where they sat chattering in a mixture of Spanish and English while they ate their lunches. Jennifer had stopped at a market for some fruit and crackers, but the thought of eating it in the warm, cramped confines of the car wasn’t very appealing.

  She took a floppy brimmed sun hat from the back seat, twisted her dark hair into a quick topknot, then jammed the hat on her head. A quick glance in the mirror was reassuring. Between the drooping brim and her oversize sunglasses, her face was barely recognizable.

  The women didn’t even give her a glance as she strolled toward them. She chose a bench that gave her a view of the street through a flowering shrub, ate her lunch, then pulled a guidebook from her shoulder bag and settled in for the long afternoon.

  The hours dragged and the warm, flower-scented air made her drowsy. After a while, she closed the book and made a game of people watching. The tourists were easy to spot. The women and the men, too, were dressed much as she was, in casual cotton. The locals were mostly leathery-looking old men who sat with their faces turned up to the sun just as they did in the courthouse square back home.

  Jennifer tried not to think how conspicuous she must seem, sitting here hour after hour. If she had to return tomorrow, she’d have to come up with a better plan—but she tried not to think about that. The day wasn’t over yet.

  At a few minutes past six, workers began streaming from the Campbell building. She waited until the last straggler had hurried up the street and then she got to her feet, disappointment lying heavy as stone in her breast. So much for the fruits of her surveillance, she thought, as she trudged disconsolately toward the park exit—and then, suddenly, a sleek black car swept around the corner and pulled up in front of the building.

  Jennifer’s breath caught. She hung back, telling herself it might mean nothing.

  A uniformed chauffeur stepped from the car. The doors of the building whooshed open and a man hurried out. He wore wire-rimmed spectacles, he had a receding hairline—

  “Yes,” Jennifer said. “Oh, yes!”

  A woman pushing a baby carriage looked at her strangely. Jennifer smiled.

  “It’s him,” she said. “It’s—” The woman smiled a little nervously, and Jennifer shook her head and laughed. “I’m sorry—perdón—I just…”

  Was she crazy? Here she stood, babbling like an idiot, and Campbell was already climbing into the back seat of the limo. Quickly, she dug her keys from the depths of her shoulder bag and flew toward her rental car.

  “Come on,” she whispered as she slipped behind the wheel and turned the key, “dammit, come on!”

  The black car was already pulling into traffic. Jennifer took a quick glance at the mirror, then jammed her foot on the pedal and swung into a U-turn that sent her car squealing across the center of the road. Her tires bounced over the curb, then hit the blacktop, and she stepped on the accelerator again.

  She’d found the man she’d come thousands of miles to see, and she wasn’t going to lose him now.

  * * *

  Staying behind the car wasn’t easy.

  Traffic was heavy, the streets choked with vehicles and people. Cars edged in and out of their lanes, horns blared, lights blinked all too swiftly from green to red. Somehow, she managed to keep the vehicle in sight even though it meant ignoring the angry glares of other drivers and twice sailing through intersections after the light had changed.

  Eventually, they merged onto a wide highway that led south, away from the city. The black car picked up speed and Jennifer did, too, although she was careful to stay back. There was no point in pushing her luck.

  She followed as the car veered off at an exit ramp. A right-hand turn, then a left, and suddenly water glinted ahead. A sign appeared. Club Náutico.

  Even Jennifer’s high-school Spanish was enough for that translation. They were heading toward a yacht club.

  A handsome white and pink stucco structure, probably a leftover from the island’s colonial past, came up quickly. But the black car swept past it, stopping at last when it reached the docks where sleek-hulled pleasure craft bobbed gently on the blue-green water.

  Jennifer braked the rental car.

  The man she’d been trailing stepped out into the sunlight and began walking briskly along the pier. The limousine driver made a U-turn, and the big car rolled toward her. She averted her face as it approached, but it never hesitated. She glanced into her mirror, watching as it rounded the curve then vanished from sight.

  With a sinking heart, she saw L.R. Campbell walk briskly toward a small cabin cruiser that lay at the end of the pier. He clambered aboard, waved to a bare-chested man lolling in the cockpit of a motorboat moored nearby, and then Jennifer heard the low thrum of an engine. She watched helplessly as Campbell’s boat edged from the dock and began making its way out to sea.

  Now what? Had she come all this distance only to run into another dead end? Campbell might return in an hour; he might return tomorrow. For all she knew, he might be heading off for a long weekend on the water. It would be dark soon. Would it be safe to pull off into the parking area and wait? Or—

  The cough of an engine starting carried toward her on the warm air. The man in the motorboat was leaning over the side, reaching for his mooring lines. He had greeted Campbell. Maybe he would know where Campbell was heading and how long he’d be gone.

  The last line came free.

  “Wait!” Jennifer yelled. She wrenched open the door of the car and raced toward the water. “Wait!” she called again, waving her arms crazily. “Please—señor.”

  The man turned and looked at her. “Sí?”

  “Por favor,” she said breathlessly, “la barca—donde esta la—la barca—” So much for high-school Spanish. Jennifer muttered a short, unladylike word under her breath. “Do you speak English?”

  The man smiled. “Sí.”

  “Please—do you know where the boat’s going?”

  He shrugged. “I have no idea.”

  A hollow feeling spread within her. “Well then—do you know when it’ll return?”

  “I am sorry, I do not.”

  “But you must know. You must have some idea—”

  He looked at her. “I cannot help you, señorita.”

  After a moment, Jennifer nodded. “Gracias,” she said softly. She watched as he pushed the throttles forward. Within seconds, his boat was pulling out into the harbor.

  She stood staring blindly out to sea, and then she turned and walked slowly to where her car stood abandoned in the narrow roadway, the driver’s door standing open like a bird with a broken wing. By the time she reached it, there was a tight lump lodged in her throat. She sank back against the side of the car and took a deep, shuddering breath.

  What next? She had botched everything. The private detective had been right; she was incapable of handling this on her own. She’d spent almost all her money, she’d come thousands of miles, and for what? To waste time, that was all; time that was precious, time that was—

  A horn blared harshly. Jennifer spun around. A car—something low, long and fast-looking—had come around the curve and was barreling down the narrow road toward her. It skidded dangerously on the gravel as its driver stood hard on the brakes and the horn blared again
. But it was too late. She watched in horror as the car slammed into the open door of her car. The door rose into the air like a missile, turning over and over before coming to rest yards away, the jarring impact of the crash reverberating through her, and then, as if in slow motion, she was on the ground, fighting to draw air into her lungs.

  A car door slammed, a man bent over her. She tried to focus her eyes on his face. He was asking her a question, over and over, and after a few seconds, the words began to sort themselves out and make sense.

  “Are you all right?”

  Was she? She swallowed carefully, moved her arms, then her legs. There was a dull throb in her temple, where she’d hit it as she fell, and all her bones felt as if an army had marched over them. But everything seemed to work.

  “I—I think so,” she said carefully. She put out her hand, pressed her palm flat against the ground and began to stand.

  The man standing over her barked out a command.

  “Don’t move.”

  “Really, I’m okay.”

  “Maybe. Maybe not. Just stay where you are until we’re sure.”

  He bent down and she fell back and let him run his hands lightly over her. His touch was impersonal and efficient. She still couldn’t see his face—he was a dark blur silhouetted against the sun that was beginning its plunge to the horizon—but something about him seemed familiar.

  “Well, you seem to be in one piece. You’re going to have one hell of a lump here, though.”

  She hissed and pulled back from his hand when he touched her temple. The sudden motion made her stomach feel as if it were turning over.

  “Does that hurt?”

  “Of course it hurts.” Jennifer raised her hand to her face and touched the bruised spot gingerly. It was already swollen, and she could feel a faint trickle of something warm and wet on her fingertips. “Am I bleeding?”

  “Yes. It’s just a little cut.” She felt the soft press of cloth against her skin. “Here, hold this against it for a couple of minutes.”