Chapter Five
Darcy had a death grip on the door handle of Micah’s chauffeur’s car as she watched the landscape go by late Saturday afternoon. The day she was meeting the man himself for a week-long glimpse into his life and, hopefully, into the mysterious circumstances of his escape from Colombia. One week, and then her life as a top-shelf journalist would begin.
She’d spent the night assembling a plan of action, what questions to ask and how, and also managed to pack her emotions into a box, where they needed to stay. In the past, getting emotionally involved in a story resulted in a few lost nights’ sleep, some tears, and that was it. Getting too deep with Micah and his account of events could have worse consequences, given Darcy’s loneliness, his hotness, and her borderline-insane eagerness to get this right.
Sol had instilled doubt about why Micah had granted the interview. She’d been honest about her intentions, had been clear about the boundaries of their relationship. Hadn’t she? All she had to do was to keep her distance, be smart about her approach to their interview, and if he turned on his famous charm, she’d direct him back to business. Easy peasy.
An underlying worry remained over the unexpected bomb Sol had dropped. Would he really fire her if she messed up this interview? Although her blog readers seemed to appreciate her writing, Sol liked to surround himself with yes-men and groupies, of which Darcy was neither. Maybe he’d been looking for a reason to show her to the exit all this time, and all he needed was a good excuse. She wouldn’t give him one.
The city had disappeared from the rearview mirror two hours ago, and the concrete and traffic had given way to forest and clean air. Windswept pines dotted this section of Highway 169 in Muskoka, a region most in Ontario called “cottage country.”
Rock-cuts popping up here and there on either side of the road signaled the beginning of the Canadian Shield, exposed Precambrian rock that dominated the region. So many memories, all stirred by this landscape.
It had been too long since she’d felt the light, carefree bliss of adolescent innocence. It was all just a dream, though, a big fat lie. Reality was much uglier through adult eyes. She often thought she’d been born in the wrong era. Her personality fit more into Gran’s time, when neighbors gathered to help each other and young men came calling on their love interests Sunday afternoons to talk and have lemonade on the porch.
The driver who’d identified himself as Manny had been no help as to where they were headed. A call from Maggie yesterday evening had outlined Micah’s detailed instructions. Darcy was to tell no one who she was meeting or where—not that she knew the latter. She’d called Sol back and sworn him to secrecy, not that he’d jeopardize this one by being stupid. Micah didn’t want anyone knowing he was talking to a journalist, and he’d probably bail on the whole thing if a bunch of helicopters full of paparazzi showed up.
There would be no cell phones allowed, there was no wi-fi at the cottage, and she was to follow a complicated walking map of the Toronto underground paths to get to a garage where a man would be waiting for her in a sedan with tinted windows. It was all very spy movie.
She’d followed every rule except the cell phone one. Although she tended to ignore or forget hers more than she relied on it, sometimes it was necessary for work, and striking off with a complete stranger from a secret parking lot had her thoroughly shaken.
Nothing would stop this, not even the fear of having to share her own secrets in exchange for his. It wasn’t like they were going to mean anything to him, if he even remembered her name after the seven days were up. Seven days of psychological and sexual agony coming up. Not that she was afraid he’d cross the line or do anything untoward—she believed he only wanted to make her squirm and spill the skeletons out of her closet. Nope, he wasn’t the problem. Her intense attraction to him was the enemy, and she wouldn’t surrender.
“We’re going to Lake Joseph,” she said to the driver, flipping the glove box open and shut to expel some excess energy. “He said the cottage is on an island, and that’s the largest lake around here.”
“You guessed it, Miss Delacorte.” The man smiled, showing a gold tooth. “My boy Micah’s waiting for you at a private marina up ahead. Probably going to have a few sharp words for me getting you here late, too.”
After downing two iced coffees before the trip, she’d needed two pit stops on the way up. “Tell him it’s my fault. It seems he’s going to have me on the hot seat all week, anyway. One more discomfort isn’t going to mean much.” If she overlooked the sexual overtones of Micah’s terms, wasn’t this her ideal scenario? Face-to-face conversation, no distractions.
The whole mess might have been easier to take if she knew what drove the guy. “Hey, Manny, why did Micah start the foundation? Is it a public relations thing to help his image, or is it out of passion?”
“I’m under strict orders not to answer any of your questions, but between you and me, that boy’s heart finally found a reason to beat.” His smile seemed genuine and a bit sad.
Warmth pooled beneath Darcy’s ribs, and her curiosity soared. Something really had changed Micah in that prison camp, and she’d be the first one to know what it was. “Thanks, Manny, you’re awesome.”
She turned back to the window, letting her thoughts drift to the next few days. Lake Joe was one of the prime lakes in Muskoka, dotted with posh island properties the upper crust spent their summers at. Snore. Although the buildings were all timber and stone on the outside, the sheer magnitude of them seemed cold to her. Inside, they were likely decorated with marble and granite and furniture everyone was afraid to sit on because it cost a zillion dollars.
“Is this like a real cottage, or is it one of those million-dollar monstrosities rich people just call a cottage because they don’t live there year-round?” she asked.
“You’ll see soon enough. Might want to leave that poor glove compartment door alone or it’s gonna fall off its hinges, and then the boss’ll really have my hide.” Manny chuckled and turned off the highway.
Cursing internally, she shut the glove compartment and crossed her arms. Maybe she was more nervous than she was willing to admit to herself. Not the interview part, but the rest of it. How would they pass the time when they weren’t dragging secrets out of each other? Would it just be the two of them on the island? Extended one-on-one had never been her strong suit, with her incessant need to fill silences. Add to that her physical attraction to him, and it laid the foundation for disaster.
Although Micah had sold off some of his assets to get the foundation started, he still must have kept a decadent lifestyle. There was no way he’d cook for himself and clean or do the yard work. Maybe she wouldn’t be completely alone with him. “So, how big is Mr. Laine’s staff?”
Manny’s loud chuckling drowned out Alanis Morissette on the radio. “My, my, you a fast mover. I’m sure he’d be glad to show you if you ask real nice.”
“Oh, please.” Furnace-level heat filled her face. “That’s not what I meant, and you know it.”
“None of my business, anyhow.” Still laughing, he stopped the car in front of an unmarked metal shed and got out.
Gritting her teeth, she jumped out after him. “You don’t need to tell him I said that.”
“’Course not.” His long stride took him around the side of the building.
“Shit.” This was not how she wanted to start out this week, especially after she’d looked up what Micah had called her. Lucerito meant “little bright star” in Spanish, a romantic term of endearment, so Google told her. Was he making fun of her? An intimidation tactic? Or simply one of his devices to guide hordes of women into his bedroom? Sure, it had sounded sexy rolling off his tongue, but that shit wouldn’t work on Darcy.
Nope. She had a mission, and nothing would steer her from it.
Breaking into a trot, she rushed to catch up to the driver. Beyond the corner, she found him talking low to Micah, who wore beige shorts and a blue plaid shirt open over a white V-neck T-shirt. He stood at the edge of a dock bobbing in the crystal blue waters of Lake Joseph. His blond hair appeared lighter in the sun, and like yesterday, he had his head tipped just right so that the mass of it concealed his scars.
She stopped and stared at the mesmerizing sight of him all relaxed and sun-kissed. Her mind wandered to romantic scenarios that turned her blood to caramel, but then she remembered who he was—a man with a little black book the size of the Yellow Pages—and it passed.
As she approached, both men laughed it up. “Very funny,” she said, rolling her hand dismissively. “I was not asking about the size of your dick, which is of no interest to me, I’ll have you know. I was just wondering…” At Micah’s raised brows, she shut her trap and tugged at her bright pink camisole top, wishing she’d chosen something looser so her nipples wouldn’t pop out like flags of surrender. “That isn’t what he said to you, is it?”
Micah made his way to her, still laughing sporadically. “He was asking if you ever sit still, to which I said, ‘Not that I’ve witnessed,’ but apparently whatever you were talking about is far more intriguing.”
“Ha, ha, very funny. Thanks a lot for the total setup, Manny. Just forget it.”
“Best laugh I had in years, Miss Delacorte. I’ll just get your bags.” He headed back toward the car while she went down to the edge of the water and feigned interest in anything but Micah, who continued to grin at her. Although his hair remained half-covering his face, the slope of his shoulders suggested he was more relaxed than he’d been in his office. Was it the locale, or the evening’s mind-screw he had in store for her? Probably both.
“She wouldn’t give up her cell phone.” Manny returned with her knapsack that contained her laptop, writing pads, and voice recorder, along with her small duffle that held her clothes. After setting them beside her, he tipped his blue cap. “You two have a real nice time soaking up the sun in God’s country. Weather’s supposed to be perfect.”
“Wait, you’re not coming with us?” she asked, so not ready to be alone with the man of mystery.
Micah picked up her bags. “Where’s your phone?”
“But—”
“Nothing will happen to you on that island that you don’t want to happen. Where’s your phone?”
“It doesn’t have a data plan—it’s just a phone. No fancy GPS tracking devices or anything like that.”
“There’s a satellite phone in my office you’ll have free access to in case of emergency. Now, hand it over, or you get back into the car and the deal is off.”
Cursing to herself when he kept holding his hand out for it, she fished the black phone out of the front pocket of her bag and gave it to him. “For the record, I’m not afraid of you, and I’m quite capable of carrying my own stuff.”
“I have no doubt you’re a strong woman.” He handed the cell to his driver and clapped him affectionately on the shoulder. “Just drop this in my car in the shed, Manny, and thanks for delivering my company to me. The others will bring the boat back shortly.” He leaned in. “Just between you and me, Cynthia’s already pissed that I’m kicking her out early, so she’ll probably shred your face if you so much as say hello.”
Darcy barely managed to keep the question from tumbling out of her mouth about who this Cynthia person was and why the name had put an instant smile on Micah’s face. The sudden tightness in Darcy’s stomach was not jealousy. It was just way past suppertime.
Manny groaned, and a new grin emerged. “You’re an asshole,” he said, affection clear in his expression. “For this, I’m gonna need a day off.”
“You’ve got it. After the gala.” Shouldering Darcy’s knapsack and carrying the other bag in his hand, Micah headed for the dock. “Come along, lucerito.”
“I’m not little.”
The mischievous curl of his lips grated on her. “You’re little compared to me.”
“Yeah, and so is everyone but a giraffe. Why are you calling me that? And why Spanish? And yes, I know what it means.”
“My mother spoke Spanish to me when I was young. Like a star that seems small at first glance, your light penetrates a room with all that energy you’re packing. It seemed fitting.”
Words escaped her. That didn’t happen often. It wasn’t because his lines were working on her, but because she had no idea he spoke other languages. She suddenly felt like she was about to take an intense oral exam she hadn’t studied hard enough for.
“I have to know.” She bit her lip, not sure if she wanted the answer. “There are some pretty high-profile, respected journalists who requested an interview with you, and you turned them down flat. Why do you trust me with this?”
He flexed and relaxed his jaw, obviously thinking it over. “I’ve seen Maggie call the cops on reporters sneaking into the building, chase off herds of them with her umbrella, and unload endless rants about the media in my ear. So when she showed up in my office singing your praises, some part of me felt obligated to listen. Truth is, I need my freedom back so I can raise the money we need for the foundation, and she assures me you’ll tell the facts of my story instead of twisting them into lies to advance your career. But don’t mistake my agreement for trust in you, because I don’t. You’ll have to earn that yourself, and it won’t be easy.”
“I won’t disappoint you.” Dammit. She wasn’t about to admit to Sol that the interview of her life came about from sheer luck and had nothing to do with her mad skills as an honest journalist. It didn’t matter, not a bit. Lots of great achievements began with a pinch of luck, and she wouldn’t waste it.
“We really need to go now. I want to have you at the cottage before the sun sets. It’ll make for a great backdrop for a couple of steaks and some wine on the deck.” His word selection hadn’t been a coincidence. He glanced over his right shoulder, his eyes holding an indecent glint.
Instead of insisting he wouldn’t have her any way, shape, or form, she sauntered after him, watching the glittering lake instead of how well his ass filled out his shorts. Hers suddenly seemed too short and thin, not enough of a barrier against his firestorm.
He was dangerous, maybe in more ways than one. Besides his X-rated sex appeal, how could one man get himself and six other hostages away from an entire camp full of armed men? Strength? Smarts? Something underhanded? Already, her imagination was spinning double-time over what made this guy tick.
She needed to watch and listen, to understand what had happened to him. The most interesting insights he’d give her wouldn’t involve words at all but would be written in the movements of his body and from within the glass of his night-shade eyes. All she had to do was pay attention to those cues and ignore his flirting.
She was a professional journalist, not a spoiled harlot about to have a romantic dinner on a secluded island with the playboy of her fantasies.
God, she was so totally nuts to have agreed to this.