In a Fix (4 page)

“That was beachwear, and she only wore it to get Trey’s undivided attention. Normally she’s more reserved.”

“All right,” he said, still unable to take his eyes off his reflection. “You go find me something then.”

“I will. Stay right there.”

Halfway out of the bimbo department, I started to suspect I’d fallen for it again. Why do the work yourself if you can get somebody else to do it for you? Both our mothers were still under the impression Billy couldn’t load the dishwasher properly. All he’d had to do was let one piece of heirloom china fall through his fingers while in transit from the sink to the bottom rack, and he’d never been asked to help again. When I’d dropped a crystal goblet—mostly by accident—all I’d gotten was a stern warning to slow down and be careful.

In the grown-up women’s department I selected several appropriate outfits, stepping though the aisles as rapidly as I could while maintaining a nonchalant, just-an-old-lady-shopping attitude. I could’ve moved faster, but I didn’t want to attract undue attention to my royal presence.

“Excuse me…” I was interrupted by a sturdy, middle-aged woman with hair too blazing blond to be natural. Her outfit screamed American tourist. “… but you’re … aren’t you…” She checked the surroundings. No one nearby. “…
her
?”

Guess I hadn’t been nonchalant enough.

She looked so puppy-dog hopeful, I hated to disappoint her. Meeting the undercover Queen was probably the most exciting thing to happen to her in … well, ever, from the looks of her awed expression.

“Not actually, no.” I smiled and patted her hand.

“But you sound just like her.”

“Yes, we Brits all sound alike, don’t we?”

“Oh, I get it,” she said, and scrunched one eye up in the biggest, most obvious wink I had ever seen. “Don’t worry. I won’t tell anyone.”

“No, really. I’m not the Queen.”

“Uh-huh. Gotcha.” Another wink. Popeye had nothing on her. I didn’t have time for this.

So I winked back. “I was hoping I could shop anonymously. It’s so difficult to do back home.”

Positively thrilled, she started to curtsey, but caught herself. “Oh, yes, Your Maj—er, ma’am. I understand. But, first, could I ask a question?”

“Of course.”
Just hurry, damn it.

“Did you do it? Not you personally, I don’t mean—but did you order it?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“You know … Diana.” She was practically salivating. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone,” she added under her breath.

Oh, geez. People. “Well, just between you and me…” I whispered conspiratorially.

She leaned in closer, tickling my nose with piña colada fumes. “Yes, yes?”

“NO! Monarchs aren’t allowed to do that sort of thing anymore, you twit.”

“Oh.” Her disappointment was palpable, but she made one last stab at a royal scandal. “But if you
could
have?”

I gave her my frostiest royal glare and marched back to the dressing room. Shoved four complete outfits at Billy and said, “Don’t say a word. Just try these on, and let’s get the hell out of here.”

Chapter 4

Billy dumped the shopping bags on a chair in the living room. “Be a love and put those things away for me, will you? I have to rush.”

He had elected to wear one of Mina’s new outfits out of the store, and it was a vast improvement over the Queen’s resort wear. Now clad in white linen walking shorts, a blue silk shirt worn open over a white cami, and fashionable marina moccasins, he captured the real Mina. And I felt dowdier than ever in my geriatric attire.

I ignored his request and followed him to the master bedroom, where he slipped into the closet and opened a small wall safe hidden behind scads of floral print blouses. He withdrew a wad of bills, tucked them into Mina’s new straw handbag, and tossed it onto the bed next to the one I’d been carrying.

I appealed to him once more. “Look, it’s my job. My responsibility. Whatever has happened, I should be the one to take care of it.”

“No.” Simple, direct. He reached back into the safe and took out a gun.

My knees gave, and I sat down—hard—on the bed, feeling dizzy.

“Ciel? You okay?”

“No! I’m not. What the hell do you have that for?”

“What, this?” He held up the gun and shrugged. “Thought it might come in handy if I got into a tight spot, that’s all.”

“Guns are dangerous. You could get hurt.”

He tucked the small firearm into the back of his waistband, under the shirt, and sat next to me, taking my liver-spotted hand in his beautifully manicured one. “The idea is more to prevent that from happening.”

“What did that man say to you on the phone? Where are you going?” My voice quavered. I’d like to claim I did it on purpose, to manipulate the information I wanted out of Billy, but the fact is, I was upset. Post-explosion Confronted with a Gun syndrome, or something.

“I know how to use it, you know. Expert marksman ranking. You don’t have to worry.”

“That’s not what I asked. And I’m not worried.” I tried to hold back the petulance, but some may have slipped out.

“Of course not.” His tone was too kind, his hand too gentle. I felt my eyes fill. If Liz weren’t past the age, I’d swear she had PMS.

“
Where?
” I pressed, spoiling the demand with a sniffle. Stupid crybaby aura. British stiff upper lip my ass.

“Not far. I’ll be back soon, I promise.” He gave me a hug, letting a little of his own comforting self leak through. For a second, I thought he might relent and tell me where he was going, but instead he tugged one of my short, gray curls. “And I don’t fall for waterworks, so dry up, toots.”

I pushed him away. “Go ahead. Leave. Take your stupid gun with you, and when you get yourself killed, don’t come whining to me.”

He grabbed the purse and let Mina’s silvery laughter carry him out of the room. “Stay here, Ciel. Behave yourself, and I might even bring you a present.”

“Unless it’s six-foot-two and wearing Trey’s bathing suit, I’m not interested,” I called after him.

“Check the bookshelves, Edith. You might find something there to keep you entertained while I’m gone.” I heard the door close behind him.

The sound I emitted in his wake was terse and rude. I’m sure the Queen did not regularly make use of the raspberry, but it expressed my feelings perfectly. I
hate
waiting. And I wasn’t interested in anything Billy might keep on the Queen’s bookshelves. Knowing his propensity for adding twists to his celebrity auras, it was probably a fine selection of royal erotica.

What I needed to do was think of a good way to explain this mess to Mina if Billy didn’t get Trey back. It was one thing not getting her proposal—or that gorgeous ring—but coming back without even her boyfriend? I groaned. This situation was
not
going to enhance the word of mouth I was depending on to grow my business. Not that I’d have a business left if this job went south. I palm-rubbed my eyes and flopped backward on the bed. Hit my head on something scratchy. My eyes flew open.

Uh-oh.

I reached back and discovered Mina’s new handbag. Billy had grabbed the Queen’s—or rather, Edith’s—by mistake. Easy enough to confuse the two, especially for a guy. Same size, both straw with leather handles. The only big difference was, one was stuffed with a crap-ton of large bills.

I jumped up and ran for the door. No telling what the kidnapper might do if Billy didn’t have the money to exchange for Trey.

Too late. Billy had snagged a bicycle from the resort’s guest supply, and was already well down the road. Mina didn’t have a rental car—she always used a resort driver. And of course Billy wouldn’t want a driver along. He was supposed to come alone, so the bike made sense. I debated calling out to him, but knew it would be futile. He was too far ahead. I’d have to follow, and hope I could catch him before he got to where he was going.

You were supposed to check in with the resort’s activities office before you took a bike, but they relied on the honor system. I figured kidnapping qualified as an exigent circumstance, so I didn’t hesitate to grab the one single-seater left without asking, only to find it had a flat rear tire.
Crap
. Of course, there were scads of tandem bikes available. This place was geared toward couples. Could one person even ride a bicycle built for two? I sucked in a deep breath and hauled a bulky beast away from the rack. Guess I’d find out.

Okay, technically, yes, but it wasn’t easy. First thing I realized was a tandem bike is heavy on the ass-end, and awkward as hell to steer around curves, especially with an over-eighty body at the pedals. Second, it’s a lot hotter in the Bahamas when you’re on a bike than it is when you’re on the beach. Who knew royalty could perspire so much?

I made it to the road without falling off, which was a minor miracle in itself, and then narrowly avoided head-on collisions with an airport van and a truck full of watermelons as I wiped the sweat out of my eyes. The driver of the truck helpfully pointed out, “The left, you idiot! We drive on the left here!”

Huh. Like I wasn’t trying.

I pedaled for what seemed like hours, but was probably a few miles, tops, barely managing to keep Billy in sight. Thought I’d lost him for sure when he abruptly turned off the road, but as I caught up to that point I saw it was a dirt path, almost hidden amid the dense vegetation. Wheezing, I ducked my head beneath the overhanging branches, and kept going. My aged butt took a beating, but at least the bike stayed upright until I came to a clearing.

The building Billy pulled up to was long and low, and had seen better days. He left his bike leaning against it, and disappeared through the door—
without the money, dammit!
—before I could gather enough breath to call his name.

Shit. There was only one thing to do now.

I dumped the stupid bike where I stood, happy to be done with it, and started speed-walking toward the building. Not a particularly graceful look for anybody, much less the Queen, but my legs were too shaky to run, and at least it got me there without dropping me on my ass. As soon as I pushed the door open a few inches I was smacked in the face with a heady aroma. Rum. Old barrels lined the perimeter of the large space, most of them topless, some knocked on their sides. The place was run-down and dusty, probably abandoned years ago.

Tied to a pole in the center was Trey, in all his half-naked splendor, arms stretched taut behind him. Billy, staying true to his Mina form, had run to him, and was fussing over him big-time while the Swede looked on, gun in hand. I wanted nothing more than to join the Trey love-fest, but common sense prevailed. Edith wouldn’t do it, so I couldn’t either.

Not knowing precisely the best way to handle the transfer of funds, I cleared my throat. All eyes swiveled my way. Hard to say who looked more surprised to see me—Trey or the kidnapper. Billy just compressed his Mina-mouth into a what-the-hell-are-you-doing-here line of displeasure. I answered him with an it’s-not-my-fault shrug, and held up the straw bag.

They all kept staring. Geez, had I grown a third boob? “Mina got our purses mixed up,” I explained, plastering a cheery smile on my face. When it appeared they still weren’t grasping the significance, I added, “I thought she might require hers? You know, the one with the money in it?”

The kidnapper cocked his head. “How thoughtful of you. Put it there, on the floor.” I complied, leaving it a few yards from his feet. Without taking his eyes off me, he said, “Mina, bind our elderly friend—”

“What?
Me
? Why tie
me
up?”

“—and secure her to that crate. See that you do a good job. I will be checking.”

The crate was old and splintered, crawling with indigenous insect life.
Oh, crap!
Were those spiders? I sucked in a breath, almost choking on my own spit. “Really, this isn’t at all necessary,” I said, trying to sound reasonable as I digested the possibility that multilegged microdemons from hell would be creeping up my legs within seconds.

“I’m afraid it is. You won’t be continuing with us. But don’t worry. You won’t be stuck here for long. A guard swings by every day or two.”

Okay, screw reasonable. “Now, you wait just a doggone minute, buster!” I said in my sternest voice, only slightly strangled by panic. Remember what I said about patience? Well, I don’t do spiders either.

The Swede gestured toward a pile of rope, then pointed the gun right at Billy, who reluctantly obeyed orders. While he tied my hands behind my back, he whispered near my ear, shielding his mouth with a fall of his Mina-hair. “Relax, cuz. They’re not venomous. Now, do me a favor—make some noise.”

A day or two tied up in a smelly old warehouse? With spiders? Who cared if they weren’t venomous? They were
spiders
. Hell
yeah
, I’d make some noise. “Nooo! You can’t leave me here!” I hollered, struggling against my bonds. “
Pleeease!
I, uh, I have asthma. If I can’t reach my inhaler I’ll have an attack. I could
die
! I don’t want to DIIIIIE—”

The Swede approached, looming over me, his gun inches from my temple. “Silence! You are lucky I don’t kill you now and be done with it.”

Ack
. I slammed my mouth shut. Right. Silence. I could do that. Gun trumps spiders.

Billy took over as noisemaker, backing away and screaming wildly, faking the fear that would be normal for Mina under the circumstances. At least, I hoped he was faking. It would be nice if one of us remained cool-headed.

The Swede turned his attention—and his gun—from me to Mina. “Shut up! Or I will shoot you both.”

While Billy and I had been throwing our respective fits, Trey had been busy freeing himself. Apparently Billy had slipped him something while ooh-ing and aah-ing over him—a sharp something, judging by the blood dripping from Trey’s fingers. Billy
was
awfully fond of blades. As I stared in openmouthed admiration of his escape skills, Trey snuck up on the kidnapper from behind, doubled up his bloody fists and brought them down, mallet-like, on the side of the man’s neck.