Teardrop Lane (17 page)

Rose sat up straight. “I thought she was your sister.”

“She was—because we declared it so. We were definitely not the traditional family. We weren’t related to each other. We were two kids, each with a troubled parent, who both ended up in the same foster home. We declared ourselves family.”

“You were in foster care? For how long?”

“On and off my whole childhood.”

Her thoughts went to the burn scars on his chest. She’d never been able to work up the courage to ask him about them. He had completely ignored her hints. Now that he’d brought up the subject of his childhood, she wanted to know more.

“You said a troubled
parent
. Father? Mother?”

He shook his head. “I’ll tell you that story another time. Let’s enjoy the last leg of our trip to BVI.”

She gave him a look that questioned his veracity.

He pointed out the window.

“You can see the islands below.”

As deflections went, the Bahamas were an excellent choice.

Rose had visited Nassau eight years ago for the destination wedding of a colleague. While waiting to deplane, she mentioned to Cicero that the trip had been a fast in-and-out so she hadn’t done much sightseeing.

“Since we have three hours to kill before we’re due to meet Mitch at the marina, how about we grab a late lunch at a Salvadoran restaurant I know of, and then we can rent scooters and play tourist until it’s time for Mitch to show up. We can have our suitcases delivered to the marina.”

“Sounds great.”

And it was. The food was wonderful, the scenery lovely, the city alive with people and colors, scents, and sounds. Cicero drove like a maniac, as did everyone else on the road, so she swallowed her nervousness and did her best to keep up.

Cicero was a great tour guide, and as the time for their rendezvous with his apprentice approached, their route took them past a landmark Rose recognized from her previous visit, the place where her co-worker’s beachfront wedding had taken place. She remembered rows of white chairs at the water’s edge, and walking down
the flower-lined aisle on Brandon’s arm shortly before sunset.

Imagine if she’d made that walk with Hunt instead. Imagine if she were making that walk
toward
Hunt. Wearing white, carrying a bridal bouquet. He’d wear a white shirt open at the neck and—

“Whoa!” She startled, and jerked the handlebars. Her scooter weaved left into the oncoming lane of traffic. She yelped and overcorrected, shooting right, and hitting a pothole hard. She wobbled and teetered—and fell on her butt.

Cicero was there before she tried to stand. “Are you hurt,
Bellissima
?”

“No. I’m mortified, but okay.”

“Let’s get you out of the street.” He helped her to her feet, asking, “What happened?”

“I got distracted and I overreacted. I hope I haven’t hurt the scooter.”

“Don’t worry about the scooter. Worry about you. You scared ten years off of me.”

“I scared myself, too. I’ve been a doctor far too long, seen too many vehicular accident victims to be so careless.”

“I should have warned you about the—distractions. That wasn’t an official nude beach, but there is always a lot of skin on display on there. You don’t see many people walking around in the nude in Eternity Springs.”

They’d just passed a nude beach? She totally hadn’t noticed
.

“Not this time of year. You’d be surprised at the number of, let’s say
nature lovers
, we see in our little slice of Colorado. Every summer I treat sunburns where sunburns shouldn’t happen.”

“Are you okay to go on? If not, we can ride double. We’re about ten minutes from the marina.”

She brushed off the bottom of her jeans, glad she
hadn’t changed into a dress. “I’m okay as long as the scooter is.”

He cupped her chin, then pressed a light kiss against her mouth. “Take care of yourself,
Bellissima
. I’d be devastated if you deprived me of my rolling-in-the-sand fantasy.”

She closed her eyes.

Yes, absolutely
.

She needed to keep her thoughts on his sort of fantasies, not the crazy idea she’d entertained.

When they arrived at the marina, a young man with café au lait skin and Rastafarian braids, who’d been sitting on the bow of a center console boat, stood, smiling widely, and waved.

He loped up the wooden pier and called, “Mon. It’s about time you came home.”

Home
. Rose focused her gaze on Cicero as the two men shook hands, then clapped each other on the back.
Did he still consider the little island his home?

He introduced her to Mitch Frazier, who, rather than shaking her hand, bowed over it and gave her a courtly kiss. “Another beautiful lady from Eternity Springs? Maybe I make a mistake by not visiting already, no?”

“Keep your lips off this one,” Cicero shot back. “She’s mine.”

Mitch blinked in surprise, then his smile grew even wider.

“Sure thing, boss.”

Cicero handed the scooter keys over to Mitch and asked him to deal with the rental return. “Our luggage should be in the marina office. You should change into a swimsuit,
Bellissima
. We may want to stop and swim on the way home.”

Fifteen minutes later, Cicero cast off the line and Mitch guided the twenty-four-foot boat away from the
courtesy slip and slowly out into the harbor. Upon reaching open sea, he said, “Hold on, beautiful Rose.”

She braced herself, and Mitch opened up the engine.

It was a glorious sensation—wind in her face and warm sunshine toasting her winter-weary skin. She’d never ridden on a boat like this one before, and she found she loved the experience. When Mitch offered her the opportunity to take the wheel, she jumped at the chance.

At a spot Cicero said was the halfway point, they stopped and everyone jumped in for a short swim. It was one of the nicest days Rose could recall spending in years.

Then, they arrived at Bella Vita Isle. The island’s lush beauty took her breath away.

“I don’t know about you, but I’m looking forward to kicking back and being lazy for a little while,” Cicero told her after making plans with Mitch to meet at the glass studio the following day.

“I am tired,” she agreed. “The sun feels wonderful, but I’m ready to get out of it. How long will it take us to get to where we’re staying?”

“About twenty minutes.” He stowed their bags in the back of a rented Jeep. “It’s not far, but the road is winding. Bella Vita is shaped like a boomerang. The place Flynn owned was at the long end of the island. We’ll be at the shorter tip, in a hillside house. Heliconia. There’s a pathway down to that little cove that I mentioned.”

“And we’re staying in a private residence? At a guest house?”

“The main house. The owner is a patron of the arts.”

A ghost of a smile hovered on his lips.

“He walked into my studio one day when I was working on a project that I’d intended to send to a gallery. He took one look and wanted it. Bad. We did a deal for it and a few other pieces that included an open invitation
to use his place when I wanted. It’s a pretty great place; the most imaginative house I’ve ever been in. I don’t believe this guy is quite as wealthy as Flynn, but he’s not too far off the mark. A dot-com guy.”

“Was the piece he wanted a sculpture?”

“Yes, but we added lighting and hung it from the ceiling so you might call it a chandelier now. You’ll see it at Heliconia. He hung it in the entry hall.” He shook his head and added, “He named his house after it.”

“Really?” She shifted in her seat to better see his face. “How cool is that?”

“The owner does have a unique sense of style.”

“I have to admit my ignorance, however. What exactly is
heliconia
?”

“It’s a tropical flower. The blossoms look like lobster claws, so sometimes you’ll hear them referred to that way. Also ‘parrot beaks.’ The name comes from Greek mythology. Mount Helicon was the home of the muses of the arts and sciences.”

“So this work you created—did you begin with the flower or the mountain in mind?”

“Actually, it was both. I was climbing a cliff face on an island not far from here and I could see flowers above me. The idea for the piece grew from that.”

He turned off of the main road onto the lane leading to their destination. Bella Vita was a volcanic island, and the road up to Heliconia was narrow and winding, not unlike some of the roads around Eternity Springs. Of course, the trees and vegetation were lush and tropical, rather than alpine, and the colors were a feast for the eyes. They climbed high, and when a curve in the road revealed an unfettered view of turquoise ocean, she gasped aloud.

“Oh, wow.”

“Told you that you’d love it.”

The house sat hidden behind a wall and an electric
iron gate. Cicero pulled up to a box and punched in a code. After the gate swung slowly open, he moved the Jeep forward. When the house came into view, Rose did a double take. Part of the structure looked like the decks of the Starship
Enterprise
with rounded walls of windows; but the castle turrets blew that comparison, as did the realization that part of the house appeared to be built in trees.

“It’s like a
Swiss Family Robinson/Star Trek/Cinderella
mash-up—that works.”

Cicero grinned.

“That’s a good description. The architect who designed it told me the owner was his most challenging client ever. He let his children collaborate. Two boys and a girl.”

He punched a code into the keypad beside the front door. Locks snicked open. Cicero’s gaze remained on her as he opened the door and ushered her inside.

The first thing she saw was the teardrop of glass hanging by an invisible thread in the center of the entry hall. It drew her gaze upward and she stopped and caught her breath. It was as if a canopy of tropical flowers stretched across the ceiling. Bright reds and oranges and yellows flowed from shades of green.

“Oh, wow, Hunter. That’s fabulous. It’s like it’s raining flowers.”

He lifted his gaze toward the ceiling.

“It was a tricky piece, but I must say, it fits this crazy house. It’s especially nice about half an hour before sunset when the sunlight hits it.”

“You have an incredible talent,” she said.

A shadow crossed his face.

“I’m afraid it needs a jumpstart. I’m hoping the change of scenery will be the fuel it’s been missing.”

He carried their bags upstairs to the guest suite where she saw more of his work. They showered together, and
then he opened a bottle of champagne to celebrate their first night in the Caribbean. They watched the sunset, both inside the house and on the western horizon. Personally, Rose found the light show created by sunshine and his sculpture on the ceiling to be more compelling than Mother Nature.

The next day they slept in, then hiked down to the private beach and went for a morning swim. Afterward, they shared cooking duties and prepared a big breakfast. As they sat down to eat, he said, “I need to head to the studio. Do you want to come into town with me and explore a bit, or would you rather stay here and laze around today?”

“I think I’ll stay here. I’m feeling a little inspired, so I might get my laptop out and write for a while.” She’d fallen behind with her word count goals lately. This would be a good chance to do some catching up.

“Do you plan to murder anyone today?”

“Actually, I’m seriously considering it.”

“Thata girl. How are you going to do it? A gun? A knife?”

“I’m leaning toward a pie.”

“Crust as heavy as an anvil?”

“Rhubarb. It can be poison, you know.”

“You are one scary woman, Dr. Anderson.”

“Thank you. I do try.”

He left a short time later, after telling her he’d be back by three and to call if she needed anything. She settled down with her computer and went to work on murder.

By noon, she’d killed one person and had moved on to a second. By two, she’d added more words to her manuscript than she’d managed in a month. She was downright gleeful when she threw a red herring into the mix at ten after three. She went upstairs and showered and dressed for the party, expecting to find him downstairs when she was ready.

By four, she’d grown concerned by his continued absence. At four-thirty, she called. His phone rang and rang and rang. She imagined that winding road and a blown tire and a flipped Jeep. She tried again at four forty. Again at four forty-five. At four-fifty, she went online in search of a phone number for the studio, or a way to contact Mitch. She had no luck whatsoever.

At five o’clock, she went in search of another mode of transportation. The garage was locked. She tried the key codes that had given them access to the house, but had no luck.

She envisioned the Jeep at the bottom of a ravine, Cicero bleeding out for want of a doctor’s skill. Tears of concern and anxiety stung her eyes. She would try his cell number one more time, then call 911. Surely Bella Vita had a 911 system. She’d never asked.

She pulled her phone from her pocket and hit redial. It rang and rang and rang. It was still ringing when the Jeep came into view, Cicero behind the wheel. Seeing her, he gave a jaunty wave.

First Rose’s knees went weak with relief. Then her spine snapped straight with her fury. He pulled the Jeep to a stop in the drive a short distance from her, unfolded his long legs from inside, and shot her a carefree grin. “Hello,
Sirena Bellissima
. Did you commit any murders today?”

She took a deep breath. Brandon had been a workaholic. As she focused on Cicero, she thought of all the times her ex had left her waiting without a phone call, of all the times he’d been late or simply hadn’t shown up. As a physician herself, she’d understood how work interfered with social plans. It was the lack of simple courtesy that she’d resented. One she darned well wouldn’t put up with again.

“Two.” She advanced on him. “I committed two murders today. And the day’s not over yet.”