Volcano (6 page)

But she was on her first trip to the tropics, and she could afford to lighten up just a bit for the afternoon. She would save the linen for tomorrow when she started work.

By the time Charlie finished in the bathroom, she had donned a white above-the-knee culottes and a navy T-shirt. Mindful of sun damage, she carried a wide-brimmed hat and a loose white cover-up. That should be touristy enough. When she looked up to see how her escort had improved his appearance, her mouth dropped open.

He'd shaved his mustache. Good Lord, with that massive mustache gone, he looked like a young Sean Connery. Where in heaven's name had a hick football player earned a face with that much character?

Gulping, Penelope forced herself to look away from Charlie Smith's handsome square jaw to his attire. The short-sleeved striped golf shirt didn't shout “designer,” but it was far more suitable than the tank top. The baseball cap was hopeless, but she supposed he needed it to disguise that thick head of hair. The blue Dockers were probably his idea of dress-up clothes.

“I thought the mustache made a good disguise.” He rubbed the bare space mournfully.

“It made you look like Mafia. Every cop in town would have followed you,” she retorted.

Defensively, he slipped his mirrored sunglasses back on. “They could follow all they like. I haven't done anything illegal.”

Penelope scowled at the glasses. “Not those things. They make you look like a motorcycle cop. They probably have something down at the gift shop you can wear.”

“With a fancy price tag, no doubt,” he grumbled. “I like these.”

“If you find a single tourist in the entire town wearing anything like them, I'll buy dinner.” Grabbing her handbag, Penelope marched out the door. For just a few minutes, he had almost fooled her into thinking they were a normal couple arguing over dress conventions. How could she forget that he had kidnapped and blackmailed her and probably set up the whole arrangement for some nefarious purpose of his own? She could only be grateful that he hadn't made any physical overtures. She would blast him with the pepper spray should he even try. His restraint was the only reason she didn't shove him over the cliff.

“I sure hope it's hunger that makes you so damned irritable,” he complained as he hurried down the path after her. “There's nothing worse than a bitchy woman.”

“Yeah, there is, it's a bossy man. You're ruining my first trip to the islands, jeopardizing my job, wreaking havoc with my privacy, and you're complaining about me? Up yours, Mr. Smith.”

Charlie couldn't help it. He grinned. She had the elegant lines of an expensive, high-class thoroughbred, and the mouth of a construction worker. Staying one step behind her, he watched the sway of that sassy rear in the short skirt. She might think she was covering up, but she couldn't see herself from behind. Whistling to himself at that thought, he happily followed in her long-legged footsteps.

“Black sand!” she exclaimed in wonderment as they reached the foot of the stairs and the crystalline crescent of beach curved before them. “I've never seen black sand. Look, it sparkles!”

The afternoon sun caught all the glistening volcanic facets, paving a diamond path between jungle and turquoise water. Charlie almost regretted not having the time to sprawl in the sand, catch the sun, and listen to the music of the waves. How long had it been since he'd had time to indulge in the simple pleasures with a gorgeous woman by his side? Too damned long. But if he didn't find Raul soon, he would be calling the beach his home.

“Lava flow,” he responded curtly, ignoring the beckoning sand and aiming for the water taxi. “This is a volcanic island.”

“They're
all
volcanic islands,” she said crisply. “I don't remember hearing they all have black sand.”

“This one got lucky.” He caught her elbow and hurried her on as she tried to dawdle and admire the tropical setting.

“Is the volcano still active?”

“Bet your sweet britches it is. Smells like hell, if you're inclined to see what the devil has in store for us.”

“Romantic sort, aren't you?”

Charlie snorted at the dryness of her comment. To pacify her, he stopped in the gift shop on the beach and purchased the shades she insisted on. The Ray-Bans cost two arms and three legs, and with his bank accounts closed, he should be conserving expenses, but what the heck. Maybe the fancy duds would hide him for a while.

Pulling on the dark glasses, he had the opportunity to discover the success of his disguise soon enough. He recognized the water taxi driver as the kid brother of an old friend of his. On his best tourist behavior, Charlie handed his “wife” into the boat, not lingering long over her elbow but climbing in after her with the skill of experience. If Miss Penny stiffened any more, she'd break. He maintained his distance as he took the narrow seat beside her. The driver didn't even look at him. Maybe the sunglasses worked.

Charlie concentrated on his plans for Soufriere rather than on the woman beside him. St. Lucia wasn't Miami. He couldn't disguise his identity for long. He had to accomplish as much as possible in the least amount of time. That didn't bode well for Lady Jane.

The boat roared around the sheltering curve of the seashore into the cove beyond. The two towering rock formations ahead framed a stunning view, but Charlie's concentration centered on the weathered village. The wealth of the northern part of the island hadn't found its way down here yet. He and Raul had hoped to change that.

The taxi didn't bother docking but pulled up on the shore, leaving them to wade through the water. Admiring the flash of long legs as Penelope climbed out, Charlie thanked whatever gods there were for her intelligence in not wearing panty hose and high heels or something equally outrageous. She probably would have demanded he carry her ashore. As it was, she simply slipped off her sandals.

“Food,” she demanded as soon as they reached shore.

Charlie admired the way she stalked right past the stares of the men and boys idling around the dock. Surely she realized the ripple of excited chatter all around them had little to do with the arrival of new suckers for their wares and more to do with her looks. Hell, he didn't have to worry about anyone recognizing him. They didn't even notice his existence.

“Don't talk to anyone, keep your eyes straight ahead and your feet moving,” he ordered, steering her past the street vendors hawking their wares. “If you so much as make eye contact, we'll never escape.”

She had the maneuver down pat. Charlie suspected she used the same attitude when walking past a construction site full of howling workers. For just a moment, he felt sympathy for her plight. But the moment didn't last long.

As they strolled up the shadowed street between narrow two- and three-story buildings jammed together like a medieval city, Charlie decided he liked walking beside Miss Penelope Albright. She didn't make him feel like a Gulliver giant who had to stoop to her level to carry on a conversation. She strode briskly, matching him step for step.

In the interest of scientific experiment, Charlie increased his stride. Penelope increased hers accordingly, without any noticeable lessening of her questions on their surroundings. By the time they reached the restaurant, they were practically running, and she hadn't uttered a word of complaint.

Charlie glimpsed a decided glint of mischief in her eyes as he opened the door for her. The lady
liked
meeting his challenge. That should have scared the hell out of him, but his mind had already gone on to the next test.

The hole-in-the-wall restaurant had changed hands since his last visit, but the food was still delicious. Charlie watched in anticipation as his companion bit into the spicy seafood concoction he'd ordered for her. His mouth fell open in surprise as she closed her eyes and savored it with ecstasy. Who would have thought Miss Blue Blood could handle chili peppers? As she sampled the exotic plantains and cassava next, he wondered if he'd been hanging out with the wrong women all these years.

Not liking the path of his wayward thoughts, Charlie glanced impatiently at his watch. If he wanted to catch Jacques, he'd better do it soon.

“I'm going out the back door and down the alley,” he whispered to drag her attention away from the food. “There are craft shops all along the street by the shore. I'll meet you down there in about an hour.”

Horrified at being abruptly deserted in a strange place where she knew nothing of the local customs, Penelope started to object, but Charlie merely left some bills on the table and walked out. For a brief moment she considered running after him, then common sense prevailed. She wasn't any safer with Charlie Smith than by herself. She had half a notion to go down to the dock, hire a water taxi, and leave him here alone.

Penelope had second thoughts about that while she idled over the rest of her meal. The architecture of Soufriere was a fascinating blend of French, Spanish, and something definitely island original. But the houses were old and decaying, resembling the shabbier parts of Miami or New Orleans. Some of the inhabitants of the town were little better. With her height and looks, she was accustomed to people staring at her, but here she felt like a duck ripe for plucking.

When she couldn't linger any longer over the meal, Penelope thanked the cook behind the counter and sauntered out to the street, striving for a casual demeanor. She wondered how long it was before the sun set. The idea of walking these streets after dark didn't improve her sense of security. She was as big a coward as her ex-brother-in-law.

Taking a deep breath, she pulled her gauzy cover-up around her in an attempt to conceal her vulnerability, and aimed for the shops. At least there were a few tourists wandering around there. She hadn't expected an opportunity for shopping, but she didn't object. Maybe she could find something to make Beth smile. And she needed to take her niece and nephew something.

She passed up the volcanic beads and seashells and other tourist wares in the arts and crafts shops. She recognized some of the willow furniture from the cottage, and the fabric wall hangings with the bold designs. Settling on a textured sculpture of a native woman in knotted kerchief for Beth and some hand-carved wooden toys for the children, she breathed a sigh of relief that the prices were clearly stated in U.S. dollars and counted out her money.

“They rob you, miss,” a sibilant voice whispered from somewhere near her elbow.

Glancing down, she saw a skeletally thin black man sitting in the shadows, polishing a bowl. Dark eyes glittered as he caught her gaze, then returned to his work.

Penelope really didn't care. She'd rather be robbed than argue. But something in the man's warning gave her pause, and daringly, she put back one of the toys. “I don't think I'll take two,” she said tentatively.

The clerk or artist or whoever it was behind the counter looked surprised, then smiled again. “I give two, special price, one for half price of first.”

Startled at how easy it was, Penelope laid out the bills, and with a bravery she hadn't known she possessed, offered half her savings to the man on the floor. He slipped the money hastily into his pocket without so much as looking up.

Quite foolishly proud of her minor accomplishment, Penelope picked her way back through the shops to the street and glanced at her watch. Charlie's hour was up.

Deciding it would be much more relaxing if she thought she were returning to the cottage alone, Penelope sauntered toward the dock where the water taxi had left them. She didn't know how one went about hiring a boat, but she'd figure it out. The water ride had been considerably more comfortable than the potholed road.

Noting the evening sun settling into the banks of clouds over the ocean, she hurried a little faster through the dusty street.

Before she reached the dock, a familiar hiss beckoned from beneath a wind-bent palm tree. Startled, she scanned the shadows, at last locating the man in a tattered shirt carrying his polished wooden bowls from strings around his neck. She suspected he was the same man from the shop, although how he had managed to get here before her, she couldn't imagine.

Just a little afraid, she hesitated, not going nearer but waiting to hear what he had to say.

“Your man, he got big trouble. You follow me.”

And with that ominous statement, he rattled off down the road, leaving Penelope to follow if she dared.

Slipping out the back of the restaurant, Charlie cut across the yard and down a side alley between two crumbling residences. He'd told Penelope an hour, but he suspected if he didn't return at the appointed time, his lady friend wouldn't mind in the least. She would probably hope that he'd fallen off a cliff and merrily go her own way. He'd been looking forward to the argument over that big double bed though. Even with his entire business collapsing around his ears, his mind was on sex.

Focus, Charlie.

He hurried past crumbling stone facades and weathered Creole-style buildings with wooden gingerbread and wrought-iron railings. Too many people knew him here. It had been ten years and he'd changed some, but he couldn't very well hide his size or color. The population here was predominantly black, so he looked like a tourist. But he walked streets most tourists didn't take.