Against The Night Part 24

Too good.

He always seemed to be there when she needed him, always seemed to know what to do to make her feel better. She didn't want her feelings for him to grow any deeper than they were already, but she couldn't seem to stop it from happening.

Amy sighed. She would worry about all of that later. Tonight she needed him to touch her, make love to her, make her forget.

And because he was Johnnie, he seemed to know.

Twenty-Two.

Johnnie unfolded the beach towel and spread it on the sand at the edge of the water. They had walked a ways away from the motel and as dark as it was, there was little chance of being seen. He glanced over at Amy, who stared out at the ocean, her thoughts a million miles away.

Though he couldn't see her face, he could read her thoughts as clearly as if she spoke them. She was thinking about her sister. She was thinking exactly what Johnnie was thinking: that if Ortega brought Rachael to Belize and didn't take her home, she was probably dead.

The why was the part he couldn't figure-unless Ortega was protecting Manny from a woman he didn't see as good enough for his son. But bringing Rachael all the way to Belize seemed like a lot of trouble when he could have just gotten rid of her in L.A.

Johnnie reached out and caught Amy's hand, tugged her down the slope into the surf and out into the sea. She needed to forget about Rachael and for a while he could make that happen. Leaning over, he gave her a soft, deep kiss, turned and dove under the water. A few seconds later, he popped up, wiped water from his face and raked back his hair.

"Feels great," he said. "You're gonna love it, I promise." The ocean was warm, more like swimming in a bathtub than the sea.

Amy dove in and disappeared beneath the surface. He felt a tug on his leg, a small hand trying to knock him off balance. Grinning, he let her drag him under. She came up laughing and Johnnie surfaced beside her, a fake scowl on his face.

"You'll pay for that one, sweetheart."

Amy shrieked as he scooped her into his arms, lifted her high in the air, then dropped her into the water. They played like kids, splas.h.i.+ng and laughing, forgetting for a while the reason they were there. It was after three in the morning. Not a soul around. Johnnie caught her hand and tugged her toward a little dock that protruded into the ocean. A stack of kayaks sat on top, waiting for eager tourists to rent them.

He turned to Amy, bent his head and kissed her, softly at first, then more deeply. "Baby, you're wearing too many clothes." Unfastening the hook that held her bikini top in place, he slipped it off and tossed it up on the wooden dock. A tug on the strings holding the bottom in place, and he tossed it up next to her top. His trunks joined them.

He could easily touch the sandy bottom, though Amy was a little too short and had to keep her arms around his neck to stay afloat.

Perfect.

G.o.d, he loved kissing her. She tasted so sweet, so female and so d.a.m.ned s.e.xy. Her nipples tightened against his chest as he lifted her, wrapped her legs around his waist. He kissed the side of her neck, nibbled an ear, claimed her mouth again. The water lapped around them, warm and seductive. The night was dark and erotic, kicking his l.u.s.t into high gear.

With her long hair streaming over her b.r.e.a.s.t.s and her lips pouty from his kisses, she was a mermaid escaped from the sea. His erection throbbed. From the moment he had first seen her dancing as Angel Fontaine, he had wanted her more than any other woman.

His tongue slid over her plump bottom lip, testing the fullness, the sweetness. He kissed her softly this time, he wasn't sure why, and Amy made a funny little sound in her throat. Reaching beneath the water, he ran a hand along her thigh, found her s.e.x and began to stroke her. He wanted to be inside her so bad he ached, but he didn't want to rush her.

Instead, he deepened the kiss, caught her soft little moan in his mouth. She was trembling, squirming in his arms, as ready as he was. The condoms he'd brought were lying on the beach towel. Cupping her luscious little bottom in his hands, he started slos.h.i.+ng through the water toward the sh.o.r.e.

The beach towel was spread at the edge of the sand. Careful to keep his weight off her, he lowered her onto the towel and came down on top of her, kissed her hotly, took her deeply with his tongue. Those delicate, pink-tipped b.r.e.a.s.t.s beckoned him to taste them. Amy moaned as he took the fullness into his mouth, tugged and laved until she squirmed beneath him.

"Johnnie...please...." Her soft pleas made him harder still.

"Soon, baby." Ripping open one of the foil packets, he sheathed himself, then turned onto his back and lifted her up to straddle him. "d.a.m.n, I want you."

She felt featherlight as she adjusted herself, took him deep inside. Her eyes were closed, her golden hair wet and falling like a curtain around her shoulders.

She was magnificent.

Something sweet settled inside him, something he had never felt before and didn't want to feel now. He steeled himself against it, felt her rock against him, concentrated on making it good for her.

"That's right, baby. This time you're the one in control."

A sweet smile touched her lips. Amy arched her back, thrusting her pretty b.r.e.a.s.t.s toward him. Her head fell back and wet strands of long blond hair teased his thighs. When she began to move, it took all his will not to explode right then and there. But he had promised to let her explore her s.e.xuality, and he wanted to watch her when she came. As he kneaded her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, Amy moved faster, up and down, up and down, little mewling sounds coming from her throat, driving him crazy.

When she started to come, he gripped her hips and drove himself deep, thrust into her again and again, reached his peak just an instant after she did.

Amy slumped onto his chest and for long seconds he just held her. She was so small, so sweet. His throat felt tight. He wanted to hold her forever. It was crazy. Insane. He wasn't the guy for Amy. He wasn't the guy for any woman.

He eased her off him, settled her beside him. For a while, they looked up at the stars, a spray of diamonds against the black night sky.

A feeling of contentment settled over him he didn't want to feel. He released a slow breath. "We need to go in, try to get some sleep."

Amy just nodded.

For several long moments, neither of them moved. Slowly he rose, reached down and pulled her to her feet. Arm in arm, they walked back into the warm sea to cleanse themselves and put on their bathing suits for the trip back to the motel.

Neither of them spoke on the way.

There was nothing either of them could say and too much on their minds.

Amy lay in bed pretending to sleep as Johnnie dressed in loose-fitting khaki pants and a navy blue T-s.h.i.+rt, grabbed his gear bag and left the motel room. He had written her a note and left it on the table. Scrambling out of bed, she grabbed the note and quickly read the words.

Gone to the villa for more intel. Home before supper. Stay out of trouble. Johnnie.

Johnnie was gone for the day. She smiled.

Perfect.

There was an idea she wanted to explore and she was afraid he wouldn't give her the chance. Writing him a note in case he came back early, she took a quick shower and put on a pair of tan shorts and a loose-fitting yellow T-s.h.i.+rt.

Her stomach rumbled. After supper last night, they had bought some bakery goodies for breakfast and Johnnie had set the bag out on the table. It was still early. They'd only had a few hours' sleep. Shoving her feet into her sandals, she picked up her purse, grabbed a sweet roll out of the bag and headed for the door, ready to put her plan in motion.

Yesterday, she had noticed a shuttle that ran along the beach carrying tourists from their motels into the village. There were shops, restaurants, bars and boutiques all along the ocean.

And the grocery store where she was headed.

There were several in the village, but the Paradise Market looked like a place the locals would shop. Standing in front of the motel, she waited for the shuttle to approach, finally spotted it trundling down the road, waved it over and climbed aboard.

It was early. There were only two other pa.s.sengers aboard, a couple of tourists from the way they were dressed and the camera hanging around the man's neck. A long stretch of sandy beach ran all the way into the village. Though there weren't as many tourists this time of year, the beaches and warm clear water, perfect for diving, helped the motels and restaurants stay in business.

Amy got off the bus a little ways from the store, stopped in one of the open-air boutiques and bought herself a wide-brimmed straw hat, then stuffed her long blond ponytail up underneath. With a pair of big white sungla.s.ses to cover her eyes, she figured she looked like any of the tourists exploring the town.

And she wouldn't be all that recognizable after she left.

From the boutique, she made her way to the coffee shop next door to the market. Last night, three vehicles full of Las Palmas employees had left the villa. If any of them showed up in the parking lot, she would talk to whoever was in the car.

It was a long shot. But so was everything that had led them here. It was how detective work was done, she imagined, following hunches, running down leads, looking into whatever information could be found. She went to the counter and ordered a cup of thick, dark Belizean blend, then sat down in front of the window to wait.

An hour pa.s.sed. She went next door and bought a magazine to read to pa.s.s the time. Another half hour had pa.s.sed when a rusty flatbed truck pulled into the parking lot. For an instant, her heartbeat quickened. But there was something off about the truck, something that didn't look right.

She knew cars. This wasn't the truck she had seen last night. Her shoulders sagged. It was a stretch to think she would be in exactly the right place when someone from Ortega's villa arrived to do the shopping. But around here, she figured people shopped for fresh fruit and vegetables nearly every day, and if someone did come to town from the villa, they would probably shop early and they would come to the Paradise Market.

She glanced at the slender black woman working behind the counter. There was no one else in the coffee shop and with the heat and the laid-back att.i.tude of the people, no one seemed to care that she still sat at the rickety wooden table sipping a drink-an iced tea now that she had finished her coffee.

Mentally, she decided to wait another hour. At ten o'clock she would give up and go back to the motel.

It was a quarter to ten when the dented yellow car with the red front fender pulled into the lot. Amy shot up from the hard wooden bench she'd been sitting on and moved closer to the window.

Two dark-skinned women got out. One went over to an open-air fruit stand, the other went into the market. Only a single vendor worked at the fruit stand. Amy headed in that direction.

Johnnie lay on his belly, hidden in the foliage outside the fenced compound of Las Palmas, a pair of binoculars focused on the house.

All day, the servants had been going about their business, the gardener pruning and clipping the plants and blooming flowers: pink, orange, purple, beautiful white orchids. A guard patrolled the grounds while another walked the beach behind the house.

No sign of any guests, or anyone other than Ortega's employees. Johnnie timed the rounds the guards were making, a twenty-minute pattern they seemed to follow consistently. He wished he could get past the alarm system and into the house, satisfy himself that Rachael wasn't there.

She wasn't. He was almost completely convinced. And getting inside wasn't going to happen. Not without the equipment he needed.

The crunch of car wheels churning up the gravel road caught his attention and he turned to see a newer model silver pickup heading for the service entrance. The gate swung open and the pickup drove toward the house. Through the binoculars, Johnnie could see two men in the truck, a pale, skinny blond, and a man who looked like a local. The bed of the truck was filled with crates and boxes.

But the truck didn't stop at the back of the villa to unload. Instead, it continued down to the dock. The men jumped out of the truck and began to lift the boxes out of the bed and carry them into the boathouse. Johnnie scanned the area, saw no other movement, and returned his attention to the activity in and out of the boathouse.

Something was up.

Propped on his elbows, Johnnie gla.s.sed the boathouse and prepared to wait.

Amy approached the bone-thin woman with a woven basket on her hip picking vegetables from the stand. She was dressed in a red-and-white-flowered sarong, an orange-checked turban around her head. Amy almost smiled. Caribbean people were nothing if not colorful.

Amy waited until the woman finished her transaction, bartering in thickly accented English for corn, carrots, peppers, onions and tomatoes. Once the basket was full and she started to walk away, Amy moved up beside her.

"You work at Las Palmas," Amy said pleasantly. "I drove by the villa yesterday. It's a very beautiful place."

"It is a lovely place," the woman said.

"I have a friend who visited there recently." She pulled Rachael's photo out of her purse. "I was wondering if you might have seen her when she was there."

The woman's gaze ran over the photo and something flickered in her eyes, an instant of recognition, Amy was sure. Then her features tightened and she firmly shook her head. "I have not seen her. Please leave me alone."

"She's my sister," Amy pressed. "She's been missing for weeks and I'm trying to find her. I was hoping-"

"Go away!" the woman snapped, and stalked off toward the fish stand across the way.

Amy let her go. No help there, she thought, though she believed the woman had indeed seen Rachael. She was frightened, that much was clear. Which made Amy even more frightened for her sister.

Pulling a Kleenex out of her purse, Amy blotted the perspiration from her forehead and headed for the market, where the second woman had gone. The aisles were crowded with foodstuffs: sacks of flour, bags of sugar, paper goods and cases of bottled water. She spotted the second person she had seen getting out of the yellow-and-red car, a thin, older woman with skin so black and s.h.i.+ny it was almost iridescent. Amy walked directly up to her, blocking her escape.

"h.e.l.lo. My name is Amy." She smiled. "You work at Las Palmas, don't you?"

The woman lifted a bag of rice into her cart. "I am one of the cooks."

"It's a beautiful place. So big, though. It must be hard to take care of."

The woman smiled, showing crooked teeth. "It takes a lot of hard work."

"A friend of mine was there for a visit recently. I wonder if you might know her?" Amy dragged the photo out of her purse and held it up for the woman to see. "Her name is Rachael Brewer."

The woman's whole body tightened. When she just kept staring at the picture, Amy rushed to continue. "Rachael is my sister. I've been looking for her for weeks. I know she was here with the man who owns the villa, Carlos Ortega. She was here, but she never came home."

The woman trembled. "You must leave this place. I warn you. It is not safe for you here. If Senor Ortega finds out you are looking for your sister, bad things will happen."

Amy's chest clamped down. "What do you mean?"

The woman swallowed, the whites of her eyes a little too prominent as she glanced around to make sure no one could hear. "You are in danger. You must go now." She pushed the cart forward, but Amy refused to budge.

"Please...if there is anything you know that will help me, please tell me. I'll never tell anyone, I promise."

The woman's black eyes darted around the store. "If he finds out what you are doing, he will take you away as he did your sister. As he did my daughter, Tayla."

"Where did he take them?" Amy asked softly, urgently. Frightened now herself, she followed the woman's frantic gaze, but the man behind the cash register was a good distance away and busy with a customer.

"To the island. A very bad place. He took my Tayla there, and others. None ever return. It is too late for your sister. Go back where you came from before it is too late."

The woman shoved the cart forward, determined now, forcing Amy out of the way. Inside her chest, her heart was pounding an erratic tattoo. There were islands and cayes all along the coast. Many were privately owned, she knew from the book on Belize she had bought at the airport in Houston.

If Ortega had taken Rachael to a private island, maybe she was still alive and maybe they could find her.

By the time Amy hurried out of the store, the yellow car with the red fender was gone. The shuttle was just arriving. Ignoring the heat beating down on her, she ran toward the vehicle idling in the lot and hurriedly climbed aboard.

Twenty-Three.

The heat was making him drowsy. It was the hottest time of day and even in the deep shade of the thick tropical foliage it was sweltering. It was the heavy rumble of an engine that had his head jerking up, and Johnnie realized he had almost fallen asleep. He trained his binoculars on the boathouse and saw the big, white cigarette boat being slowly eased out and into the water. The men from the silver pickup were aboard, the skinny blond man at the helm. The crates and boxes were stacked around them, but nothing indicated what was inside.

Swinging the keel of the boat toward the open sea, the driver increased the throttle and the boat began to build up speed. Johnnie watched it head out to sea, moving faster and faster, until it finally disappeared from view.

What the h.e.l.l was Ortega delivering? And where?