A Whisper of Danger (37 page)

Rick sat on the edge of the coral cliff just beyond the kiosk and watched the sun slip into the Indian Ocean. He turned the ice-cold beer bottle around and around in his hands. The malt scent drew him like a sweet perfume. He lifted it to his nose and took a sniff. Rich dark beer. Escape.

He had bought the beer with the few shillings he found in the pocket of his still-damp jeans. Damp from the storm the day before. He had huddled over Jessie through the storm, watching her, protecting her. He had slept at her door all night . . . guarding her. In the night she had given him the greatest gift imaginable. He had a son!

Equally wonderful, Jessie herself had melted into his arms. She had slipped her hands around him. She had touched his cheek, laid her head on his chest, wept in his embrace. He had been so sure of everything. So sure he was walking through the door into a new life. An hour ago, the door had slammed in his face.

Rick wiped a bead of water from the lip of the brown beer bottle.
“She’s going out to dinner with Omar Hafidh. And dancing, too. They’re going dancing at one of the beach hotels.”

Wait a minute,
Rick had wanted to shout at her.
You can’t do that! You’re Splint’s mother! You’re my wife!

No. She wasn’t his wife.

He had lost her ten years ago. Walked away.

Rick thought back to the last time he had sat on this rock near the kiosk. He had told Andrew Mbuti the whole story of his youthful marriage and the mess he had made of his life. Andrew had challenged Rick to win Jessie back. To love her with all the love a husband had to give a wife. To fulfill every commandment in the Bible. To make it happen.

“God!” Rick ground out. “I don’t know how! I’ve tried. Tried so hard. But I can’t. Can’t force it.”

His grip tightened on the beer. If he drank it . . . and another . . . and another . . . he could silence his grief. He could stop the pain. At least for a few hours he could escape his failures, his mistakes.

Couldn’t he? Rick lifted the bottle and studied the last of the sunlight glowing through the amber glass. If he drank this beer, he knew he would only add one more mistake to the list.

“God,” he said again, “I can’t do it. I give it to you. I give Jessie to you. My son. My future. Everything.”

He tilted the dark bottle and let the beer run out onto the sandy soil. It foamed like the ebb tide. Then it seeped into the earth and vanished. A sacrificial offering. Pouring out of sin.

Why didn’t he feel any better?

“Rick!” Andrew’s voice pulled him up sharp. “There you are, man! Why didn’t you wait for me? Hunky said you blasted out of the driveway like a demon was after you.”

Rick turned around. Andrew was sauntering toward him. And right behind him . . .

“Jessie.”

“Hi, Rick.” She looked down at the empty beer bottle in his hand. Then she glanced at the wet spot in the sand.

Rick shrugged. Maybe Jessie understood the choice he had made moments before, maybe she didn’t. If he told her he had rejected the easy escape, he didn’t know if she would believe him. Didn’t know if she could ever believe him, ever trust him, after what he’d done to her.

He stood. Jessie looked great, dark hair blowing around her shoulders, eyes shining. He felt wrinkled and wet and miserable. Why had she come? What did she want?

“Your lovely lady said she needed to talk to you,” Andrew told Rick. “So I brought her along. Excuse me, but I’m going to the kiosk for a samosa. Anybody else want one?”

Rick shook his head. Jessie declined, too. They watched Andrew walk away. Then Jessie sat down on the rock and tucked her knees up under her chin.

“Sit with me, Rick?” she asked.

He hunkered down again. She was too close. He could smell her. Her hair blew against his shoulder. Soft. Like a warm breath.

“Rick,” she said, “I just wanted you to know I told Splinter about you. Us. Well . . . really, he told me. He had it figured out already.”

She leaned against his shoulder. At the contact, every muscle in his arm stiffened. He could hardly breathe, let alone talk.

“Smart kid,” he managed. “So, how did he take the news?”

“He cried.”

“That bad, huh?”

She gave him a little whack on the arm. “He’s thrilled. You should have seen him running around the house shouting the news to Mama Hannah and Miriamu and Solomon. I bet he’ll never get to sleep tonight. It’s more exciting than Christmas.” She leaned against him again. “I wish you hadn’t left. I know he’d really like to be with you right now.”

“I needed to do some thinking.”

“Big changes are never easy.” She tapped her toes on the stone. “Rick, could I ask you to help me out with something?”

Uh-oh. What was this going to be—to look after things while she went on a date with Omar Hafidh? He knew jealousy had curled through his stomach like a poisonous snake. But how could he stop it? He wanted Jessie in his life so much. He’d prayed for her. Prayed to make it work. And now?

“What is it you need?” he asked.

“You.”

His head jerked up. “What?”

“I need you. I agreed to talk with Omar Hafidh tomorrow night. He’s Dr. bin Yusuf ’s nephew, you know. I have a suspicion he might have been involved in the murder, maybe as a henchman for Giles Knox. Anyway, I thought if I could question him, maybe I could get to the bottom of it all. But . . . I’m scared.”

She brushed her hair back from her neck. It was all Rick could do to keep from touching her. His heart felt like a jackhammer in his chest. What was she telling him? What did she want?

“So I was wondering if you could follow us,” she said. “Omar and me.”

“Follow you?”

“You said you’d protect me, Rick. And tomorrow night I’m going to need you. If Omar killed Dr. bin Yusuf, and if I can get him to disclose something that would prove it, we’ve got our murderer. But if he figures out what I’m doing, I’m afraid he might turn on me. If I knew you were close . . . I’d feel so much better. Safer.”

The jackhammer stopped. His breath stopped. Everything stopped.

“You want me to
protect
you from Omar?” he said.

“Yes. There’s something about that man I don’t trust. He’s been wanting to talk to me. Trying to tell me something. He may have the idea he can intimidate me into leaving Uchungu House. If he got rid of me, he could have the house and all the art. He’d be rich. Wouldn’t that give him a motive for murder?”

“You agreed to go on a
date
with a guy you think is a murderer?”

“What is it with this
date
business? You and Splint— you’re just alike. I’m going out to dinner with Omar Hafidh to try to solve a crime.”

“And to dance.”

“Omar may think it’s a date, but I’m just interested in getting to the bottom of all this mess. I want life to feel normal again. I want to be able to relax and . . . and start over. You know what I mean?”

“I think so.”

“Good.”

She leaned her head on Rick’s shoulder, and he could feel her hair sift over his bare arm. Her words danced around inside his head.
“I need you. . . . I’m scared. . . . You said you’d protect me, Rick. . . . If I knew you were close, I’d feel so much better . . . safer. . . . I want to be able to relax and start over.”

Start over? With him? The jackhammer started up again.

“So what do you think, Rick?” she murmured. “Will you help me?”

He slipped his arm around her shoulders. She was looking up into his face, her eyes shining. He’d never seen anyone so beautiful in his life.

“I’ll help you, Jessie,” he said.

“I knew I could trust you.” She smiled. “There’s another thing, too. Rick, would you mind spending a few more nights on my living room couch? It’s not only Omar Hafidh who concerns me. Giles Knox is going to be prowling around the next three days. And Solomon Mazrui is still an enigma. It turns out he’s married to Miriamu.”

He watched her lips move over the words.

“I think you have a lot more strength than you know,” he said.

“I’m growing in my faith. Learning to trust God’s strength.” She ran her fingertips up the length of his arm. “Rick, back at the beginning, you asked me to do something for you. You asked me to forgive you. I didn’t think I could.”

She looked up at him again. Her mouth was so close. He forced himself to focus on her eyes.

“I just wanted you to know,” she whispered, “I forgive you. I’ve been angry. Bitter. I want to let it go. I’m so sorry, Rick. Can you forgive me?”

“Of course I forgive you.” Unable to hold back any longer, he bent and brushed his mouth across her lips. “I love you, Jessie.”

She leaned closer. Her hands slipped around his neck. Pulling her into his arms, he kissed her again. Her response was warm, beckoning, sweet. She moved against him, holding him tightly.

“Rick,” she murmured. “Oh, Rick . . . it’s been so long, I—”

“Well, well, well.” Andrew’s voice sounded somewhere in the background. “I believe I’m witnessing my first miracle. Looks like I’d better take my samosas and go home. That God of yours certainly does keep his promises.
Tutaonana
, man.”

Rick barely heard the putter of the motorcycle as it pulled out onto the main road.

Jess didn’t know when she’d ever felt such a mixture of joy and anxiety. At five o’clock the following afternoon, the dive crew came in from the ocean. Arm in arm, Rick and Splint climbed the cliff-side staircase. Splint announced that he’d decided to call Rick “Dad.” Rick had given his blessing on the new title, and there they were—father and son. Jess could hardly contain her happiness.

At six o’clock, Hunky Wallace and his crew left for Zanzibar town. Since learning that the sunken ship was a slaver and not a treasure galleon, the Scotsman had lost interest in the dive. He was planning to spend a few more days helping Rick bring up things for research purposes, and then he would head out in search of richer loot.

Hoping to keep Splint out of any unexpected problems that might crop up with her plan, Jess had arranged for him to spend the evening playing Scrabble at Nettie Cameron’s house. Hannah would fetch him at bedtime and walk him back to Uchungu House. Splint grumbled as the old woman tugged a lightweight jacket over his shoulders.

“I don’t want Nettie Cameron to be my sitter tonight,” he said, taking Hannah’s hand as they started down the road. “I like you better. She won’t stomp mango seeds with me. She doesn’t even know how to weave birds out of palm leaves. Why can’t I just stay here tonight, Mama Hannah?”

Worn brown hands reached out and cupped the small white face. “Are you ready?” Brown eyes searched violet ones as her lips formed a knowing smile. “Let us go to heaven.
Mungu ni pendo; apenda watu. Mungu ni pendo; anipenda
. . .”

Splint sang along, but he glanced back at his mother as he walked away. Jess waved, lifting up a prayer of thanksgiving. Hannah had brought so much healing, so much peace into her family.

At six forty-five, Rick drove off on his motorcycle, headed for the road toward the Bahari Hotel, where Omar and Jess had agreed to dine. With him he carried a big straw hat and a newspaper to hide behind. He told Jess he was doubtful he could remain inconspicuous.

“Just stay close to me,” she whispered as she kissed him good-bye.

At seven o’clock, Omar Hafidh arrived at Uchungu House. He was wearing a white shirt, a dark tie and trousers, and a jacket. Tall, well built, and flashing those intriguing green eyes, he nearly filled the arched doorway. “You are ready to go,” he said. Glancing behind her, his brows narrowed. “Where is the boy?”

“He’s spending the evening with Antoinette Cameron. Do you know Nettie?”

“I know her.” He followed her out to the car. “Antoinette Cameron is my mother.”