Carnal in Cannes (31 page)

They rushed back to the yacht without speaking another word.

Austen and Casmir waited for them in the bar area, which had become the de facto meeting venue. Both sat on bar stools; neither looked happy.

“Any updates?” Harry asked.

“No,” Casmir replied.

“Martine, go get me the camera and your birth certificate.” Harry didn"t glance her way, but his peripheral vision told him she"d obeyed his order.

“Geoff and Suresh should be here any sec.” Austen shifted, and the bar stool squeaked in protest. “I called them.”

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155

“Appreciated. What news of the police chief?”

“I can answer that one,” Suresh said as he breezed into the room. “The chief"s basically persona non grata with all of the relief organizations and the US Army.

Basically our guys have given the government an ultimatum—relieve the chief of his position or we pull out and leave only a bare-bones presence in the country.

Word is that he"ll be on the next plane to Venezuela.”

“Chavez"s kind of man,” Casmir mused.

“It boggles the mind,” Suresh quipped. “One PI found both Jean-Claude Fournier and his wife in the hospital. They contracted dengue and are in critical condition. Obviously the PI"s not hanging around, but he"s bribed an attendant to keep him updated.”

“Fucking A,” Harry growled as he slumped onto the sofa. Dragging his hands through his hair, he glanced up to see Martine in the doorway. “You heard?”

“Oui.” She carried a brown legal envelope and an older digital camera.

“Justice. It would have been best if the chief had the dengue too. He is
not
a good man.”

Harry smiled internally but kept his expression blank. Spoken like a special ops" wife. “Martine"s grandmother?”

“Because of the rainy season and the recent hurricane, the roads to Musac are impassible and likely to be so for months.” Suresh met Martine"s gaze directly. “I"m sorry to give you such bad news, Martine. The estimates of the dead have risen exponentially. We"re talking over two thousand deaths so far.”

“Why"s everybody standing?” Geoff asked as he materialized beside Martine in the doorway. Glancing at her hands, he angled his jaw and asked, “That the camera?”

“Oui.”

“Geoff, hook the damned thing up to your laptop and play it for us. Martine, come here.” He patted the upholstery.

When she complied with his command, he curled an arm around her shoulder and tugged her close. “It"s going to be okay,” he whispered against her ear.

She had assumed the mask he hated, hands folded in her lap, features devoid of any expression save for the slight widening of her nostrils.
What’s in that head of
yours now, wife?

“It"s coming up now,” Geoff announced.

Expecting to see still pics, Harry sat up straight when a recording began to play. The blurred images didn"t provide what he needed—a clear photograph of the worthless scum he intended to see breathe his last breath. But it was damning evidence of children being bought and sold by the heads of two foreign-run charities.

When the recording ended, Geoff said, “I know who to get this to.”

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Jianne Carlo

“Do it, then,” Harry directed. “As far as I"m concerned, that"s all we need for the day. Martine, give Austen the birth certificate. Austen, take it to the bank ASAP. Martine and I are going to retire for the night.”

“Martine can go, but I need you to sign a couple of documents,” Geoff interjected.

Harry"s eyes crossed. He needed to make love to his wife so badly he was certain his balls had gone beyond blue to black. “Go, sugar. I"ll be there as soon as I can.”

She twisted in the seat and met his gaze. “I love you, Harry.”

A normal man would be happy to hear the fatal three-word declaration if he reciprocated the emotion. Harry felt as if a sharpshooter had a sniper rifle aimed straight at his heart. No way could he deliver the expected response, not in public.

He kissed her forehead. “I won"t be long.”

“Take your time,” she said and stood, her gazelle litheness arresting, almost haunting. “Thank you for everything, Geoff.”

“We"ll find your grandmother.”

“I know.” With that she squared her shoulders and glided out of the room.

Both men watched until she was no longer visible.

“It all worked out well.”

“Yeah,” Harry said, rubbing his hand over his eyes. “What did you want me to sign?”

“Delora"s agreed to our terms. She negotiated a new car every two years. I gave in to that one. She wanted to double the settlement. I offered to do so with the stipulation that the entire amount would be paid over a period of twenty years.”

“And?”

“As we anticipated she refused point-blank. We settled on a 12.5 million dollars lump sum, the current house in Houston, and the condo in London.” Geoff placed two sets of stapled sheets together. “I"ve highlighted where you need to sign and initial.”

“I owe you.” Harry stated, adding his John Hancock to each page.

Fifteen minutes later both men left the room, heading in opposite directions.

Harry knew the second he stepped into the room. He went straight to her drawer, the original one that she had never rearranged. All her new clothes went into the armoire, all neatly folded and aligned per Martine. Every day he checked each area, waiting for her to meld her old life with her new situation.

Empty.

Fuck. Why?

The balcony doors weren"t quite closed. Martine didn"t know they couldn"t be shut from the outside, a safety precaution built in to all the cabins. Each balcony bordered the other all the way down to the last.

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Harry raced out of the cabin down the corridor. Damned woman was going to try to climb to the bridge from the last cabin"s balcony. It could be done.

Martine, Martine, you can’t swim.

The haze of dusk lit the
Glory’s
exterior, and the automatic lighting hadn"t kicked in as yet. He daren"t retract the bridge, instead wedged himself into the corner nook between the last balcony and the bridge. The nook was designed to hold a man and was used for cleaning the portholes on the last cabin. As such it was two feet above the cabin"s balcony railing. Sure enough, five minutes later she climbed over the divider between the cabins.

She carried a knotted pillowcase slung over one shoulder.

All her worldly belongings.

Martine twisted and glanced back, and he heard her mutter something in French.

His heart couldn"t stop spiking and stuttering, and his blood congealed as he studied her staring up at the bridge. It would be only seconds before she noticed the nook and him.

He jumped onto the balcony, landing less than three feet away from her.

She dropped the pillowcase, her eyes widened, and she spun about.

He grabbed her from behind and wrapped his arms around her tight.

“Why?”

She shook her head.

“I told you I need you. I"ve only ever needed two people in my life—my mama, and for a while, Delora. Why, Martine?”

All the stiffness went out of her, and she sagged against him, her head drooping.

Seconds later she straightened and rested her head on his chest.

Hope flared and burned in his gut.

“I have one secret left, Harry. It is one that has shamed me all my life.”

He waited as time drew on at a pace too agonizing for any man to endure.

“I cannot read or write,” she said so softly he thought he hadn"t heard correctly. Relief surged through his blood, his lungs, his hearing. He buried his face in her hair and inhaled her honeysuckle scent, unable to stop his arms tightening even farther.

“I"ll teach you,” he said when he could speak.

She tensed again.

“What if I can"t learn?”

He almost let the laugh burst out of him. “How long does it take you to learn to imitate someone"s voice?”

“Pffgh,” she muttered. “Il est facile.”

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Jianne Carlo

“English, Martine.” He loosened his hold on her.

She spun around, her palms on his chest. In the twilight her eyes were hauntingly beautiful as they shimmered with unshed tears. “Voices are easy.

Numbers are easy. The letters confuse me. When I was with Grand-mère, the priest, Father Baptiste, he tried to teach me. It didn"t work.”

“We"ll make it work. I have your back, remember?” He trailed a finger up her throat, making sure he had a firm grip on her waist. “And you"re supposed to have mine. You can"t do that if you"re not here.”

She blinked, spiky lashes thickened by moisture making her eyes even more mysterious. “I hadn"t realized… I didn"t mean to betray you by not having your back. I didn"t want to shame you.”

“Never in a million years could you shame me, Martine.” His heart had returned to normal. St. Pete reminded him of where they should be. “Tomorrow you start learning how to swim. If you ever scare me like this again, I
will
tan your backside raw.”

“You spanked me before. When I took off your boots.” She kept her head bent and peeked up at him, looking so adorable he wanted to eat her up.

“Oh, I remember,” he replied, grinding his erection into her mound.

“It was like it is when you bite my nipples. Pleasure and pain together making the pleasure—”

He thrust his tongue into her mouth, and she wrapped one leg around his waist. Her words had him primed for overdrive. She matched him stroke for stroke, and he shoved her T-shirt up to find her braless.

His fingers closed over her nipple, rolling the hard point.

She moaned, and he liked the sound, absorbing the rumble.

“Oh my,” a woman cried out. “Look, Sam, are those people having sex right in front of the whole pier?”

He had jet-lag hearing, and the woman"s words penetrated before his traveling lips reached Martine"s breast. Immediately he shifted so his back faced the dock, curving his arms to shield her from view. Laboring to breathe, he said, “Let"s take this inside.”

“Oui, yes, yes,” she agreed.

They barely made it inside the cabin before clothes started flying fast and furious until they were both undressed.

“Buck nekkid,” she whispered, assuming their earlier position, one leg wrapped around his waist, both arms looped around his neck.

Harry bit her earlobe.

Her hand flew to the spot.

“Aren"t you gonna ask me?” Harry whispered as he licked an outline of her lips.

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159

Martine held her breath and tried to puzzle through his words. “Ask you?”

“Hmm, I thought you"d be as curious as the worst village gossip,” Harry murmured as he nuzzled her nape. “Come on, sugar. I"ve a buck riding on this.”

“On what? You bet about doing this?” She arched her neck as his mouth sipped along her collarbone.

“Doing what?” His tongue swirled the hollow of her throat.

Martine touched a finger to Harry"s chest. “Kissing me?”

“Nah, on what I first said.”

She flicked his nipple, and he grunted.

“Harry, what
are
you talking about?”

His other hand firmed around her breast, and all fingers on both hands went into play, alternately tugging and rolling, then kneading. “Think, Martine, think.”

“I can"t when you"re doing that.” She moaned and then tweaked both his nipples.

St. Pete slapped her belly, and she ground on him.

“"Kay, I"ll give you a hint. Tan.”

“Mmm.”

“Backside.”

“Backside,” she echoed.

He nipped her lobe again, harder this time.

“Sure, you only have to ask once,” he crooned and gave her butt a light smack before sweeping her off her feet and up into his arms. “Reckon I"m tanning your backside again, Mrs. Ford.”

“Because I was going to leave?”

“You can understand why I"d be a mite upset, but that"s not why your ass cheeks are gonna be on fire.”

“On fire?”

“Pain-pleasure,” he growled.

“Because I"m a criminal?”

“"Kay, that"s two reasons your ass is grass,” he growled. “No kin of mine"s a criminal. And since lightning don"t seem to be striking a spark in that brain of yours, the reason I"m spankin" your behind tonight is because you didn"t tell me you were leaving.”

“I don"t understand,” she mumbled. “Why does that matter?”

“Martine, how am I supposed to keep you safe if I don"t know where you are?”

“You will drive me to the madhouse,” she grumbled. “I should tell you when I plan to leave you?”

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Jianne Carlo

“Always,” he answered. “One, so we can have persuade-you-not-to-leave sex, two, so we can have more persuade-you-not-to-leave-sex, three, so we can have more persuade—”

She cupped a hand over his mouth. “Are you still angry?”

“A mite,” he growled. “Look at me, wife.” When she did as he said, his voice a vow, his words a declaration, “We have each other"s backs, remember?” He shook her and demanded, “Say it.”

“We have each other"s backs,” she repeated.

“I need you,” he said. This time the words didn"t almost strangle his vocal cords.

“I need you.”

He leaned closer and slanted his lips over hers.

Her hands slid up and around his neck, she opened her mouth, and his tongue stroked the length of hers. She tasted of strawberries and figs, and the spicy taste intoxicated him. Drunk on love and visions of happiness, he surrendered to need and pillaged her sweet warmth.

The
Glory’s
engines roared to life, splintering the quiet of the night.