CHAPTER 12
Tuesday was completely chaotic.
They were so busy, in fact, that Robert had done little more than watch Jillian when he could, find out that she was leaving with Douglas when he had to work late himself, and then, when he was back at his apartment, call Henry to make sure that she was home safely. Not surprisingly, away from the house in Connecticut, what had seemed incredibly real started looking ridiculous. There were certainly no further visitations.
One thing really bothered him, though. When he tore through his overnight bag, he couldn’t find the girth. He emptied his bag, his briefcase, tried every compartment, big and small. He went over his own actions again and again. When he had left the stables that day, he’d tucked it into an inner coat pocket. In his room, he’d packed it; he was certain of it.
And now it was gone.
He started wondering if he was really losing his mind. That maybe he hadn’t packed it. He called the house in Connecticut, asking Jimmy if he had left it somewhere. He talked to Agatha, asking her to search his room.
He didn’t have it, and neither of them could find it.
Perplexed, he tried to remember if anyone had been in his room. Not that he knew about. But anyone in the house might have slipped in. He hadn’t kept it locked.
It was frustrating. More, it was, in his mind, proof that Jillian really was in danger.
Wednesday, business meetings seemed all-consuming. He barely saw Jillian, and once again he worked late. She left the office with Douglas, so Robert had no reason to worry about her.
Thursday he stopped by her office. No one was there to announce him, so he just walked on in. She was working at her easel, sketching, and she was completely absorbed in what she was doing. He walked over to see the design that was occupying her, but she wasn’t working on a design. She had done a sketch. Working with charcoals, she had drawn a woman in a long flowing cape, seated on a horse, reaching down to touch a man who stood beside her. It was a beautiful piece, evocative, every bit as good as the work Brad Casey had done that had led to the new ad campaign.
“That’s gorgeous,” he told her.
She started and swung around. She hadn’t known that he was there. “Thanks. I’m supposed to be working, but…” She flipped over the sheet she had been working on.
She seemed disconcerted that he had interrupted her; her smile seemed forced.
“So…what’s up?”
“Want to do dinner tonight?”
“Sure. Sounds great.”
“You know we’re heading for Florida this weekend, right?”
“Yup. Looking forward to it,” she told him.
“Think we can get out of here between six and six-thirty?”
“I’ll be ready to go,” she promised him.
Not sure why he felt disturbed, he left her.
* * *
Jillian didn’t know why both Douglas and Robert seemed so edgy, but they were like a pair of overprotective parents, watching her constantly. Wanting her with them as often as possible.
Still, she loved her grandfather, so she took his attention in stride.
And every minute of every day, she knew with greater certainty that she wanted to spend her life with Robert. She couldn’t understand why she sometimes shrank from him, why she felt at times that she had to run, when she so wanted to lean against him, to be totally passionate with him, laugh with him, talk to him, lie with him, bask in his scent, in his warmth. Dinner? Of course she wanted to join him for dinner.
She thought, though, that she should tell Douglas her plans, so he wouldn’t wait for her. When she walked down the hallway to find him, Amelia wasn’t at her desk, so Jillian opened the door to her grandfather’s office. Douglas wasn’t there, but Eileen and Griff were. They didn’t even see her at first, they were so busy reading a paper that she presumed had come from the open right-hand drawer of his desk.
“What’s up?” she asked.
Eileen gasped, spinning around.
Griff slammed the drawer shut on his own hand.
“Jillian!” Eileen said.
“Yeah. What’s up? What’s so fascinating?”
She started walking toward the desk.
Griff produced a paper. “Schedule. For Florida. We get in Friday night around nine. Miami International is a zoo, so they say, but we should make South Beach by ten, ten-thirty. Great place to play. Wonderful clubs.”
“And you can just people watch,” Eileen said quickly. She frowned. “Well, except for you—you have to get your beauty sleep. We start shooting at eight a.m.”
“Don’t you have to be there, too?” Jillian enquired.
“Yes, of course,” Eileen said.
“But it won’t matter what we look like,” Griff added quickly.
“Ah.”
“Oh, I guess we can let Jillian go clubbing a little bit,” Eileen said to Griff.
“Yeah, we’ll have a good makeup artist, someone to hide shadows under her eyes, the evidence of a hangover, whatever.”
“Gee, thanks,” Jillian murmured. “Where’s Douglas?”
“Don’t know,” Griff said. “Do you, Eileen?”
“No, I don’t.”
Conversation stalled at that point, though they weren’t leaving, that much was clear. So Jillian decided she might as well go; she could find out what they were up to later.
As she walked down the hallway, she passed the executive kitchen and decided to slip in for coffee. She poured herself a cup, then smiled when Jeeves Junior walked in, stretched and leapt up on the table as if he owned the place. “Hey, fellow. I’m so sorry about your predecessor, but it’s good to have you here.” She gave him a stroke and set him down.
Gracie came in just then, humming. She saw the cat, stopped dead and let out a scream, clutching her throat.
“Gracie! It’s the new guy,” Jillian said soothingly.
Gracie stared at her as if just realizing Jillian was there. “Oh, oh, of course, Ms. Llewellyn.”
“Jillian, Gracie.”
“Jillian, yes. I forgot. He just gave me such a turn.”
“You gave me a turn. You looked as if you’d seen a ghost.”
“Well, I was fond of Jeeves.”
“Me, too. I guess we’ll have to get just as fond of this guy.”
“I’m sure I will, in time.”
“Well, I’d better get back to work.”
“Oh, me, too. There’s so much to do before we go to Florida. Imagine, getting to go to Florida on business in the middle of all this snow.”
“Oh, you’re coming?” Jillian said, then wished she hadn’t.
Gracie’s face fell instantly. “It’s all right with you, isn’t it?”
“Of course it’s all right with me. I’m glad you’re coming.”
“Is Connie coming?”
“You know, I haven’t even talked to her about it. I’ve been so busy.”
That was a lie. She had been working, of course, but she’d also been sketching, something she hadn’t done in a long time. She’d barely noticed Connie, working away in her cubicle. They’d talked, of course. But…well, she had to admit it; she felt uncomfortable after her suspicions over the weekend.
“Connie and Joe have the kids, you know,” she said. “We’ll see.”
She headed for her own office but stopped instead at Connie’s cubicle. She knocked and poked her head in. Connie had been busy at her computer, but she quickly looked up. Her pretty round cheeks looked pinched. Her face seemed strained.
“You okay?” Jillian asked.
“Sure. Of course.”
“You don’t look okay.”
“It’s nothing.”
“I wanted to check with you about this weekend. Are you coming to Florida?”
“You don’t really need me, do you? Of course, Joe is going. He’s the man, and men work, right?”
“Connie, is something wrong between you and Joe?” Jillian asked.
She thought that Connie waited just a minute too long to reply.
“No, no, of course not. Joe and I are just like Mickey and Minnie Mouse—together forever, with our two adorable little baby mice. We have a terrific life. What could be wrong?”
“Connie, you’re talking to me. Your best friend.”
“And my boss.”
“Connie!”
“I’m sorry. I’m just feeling a little pressured here. I want to go, but I feel like I’ve been ignoring my kids. That’s why we left Connecticut early.”
Jillian hesitated just a minute, then asked, “Connie, were you in Daniel’s room last weekend?”
“What?” Connie gasped, staring at her.
Was there a flash of guilt in her eyes? Jillian wondered.
“Were you with Daniel—having some kind of argument with him—in Connecticut?”
Connie shook her head vehemently. “No. Why would you think that?”
“I just…I thought I heard your voice.”
Connie shook her head again, staring at the computer. “No, although…” She looked up, offering Jillian a smile. “It looks like you and Robert Marston might be dynasty material, after all.”
Jillian exhaled. “I do…like him. Very much.”
Connie laughed. “Hey, it’s me, remember? Your best friend. You’re doing a lot more than ‘liking’ him.”
Jillian shrugged. “Connie?”
“Yeah?”
“Do you like him?”
“Mr. Marston? Sure. He’s gorgeous. Good voice—really sexy. And great buns, looks good in clothes—and out of them, I imagine,” she teased. Then she sobered. “So what’s the matter?”
“I don’t know.”
“Come on, you can tell me.”
“No, I can’t because I don’t know. Every once in a while, I’m just a little…afraid.”
“Everyone is afraid. Falling in love is the scariest thing you’ll ever do.”
“I don’t mean it that way. I don’t know, it…oh, never mind.” She started to leave, then turned back. “Listen, Connie, no pressure intended. I’d love to have you in Florida, if you can come. I like having you helping me rather than some stranger. But if it causes a problem with the kids, stay home.”
“Thanks. I’m just not sure yet.”
“When you are, let me know.”
“Thanks.”
Jillian nodded and left. Glancing at her watch, she decided to head back to Douglas’s office. But as she walked down the hall, she saw Daniel striding her way, his expression grim. He was obviously very angry.
He didn’t look any happier when he saw her.
“Hey, is there anything I can do?” she asked quietly.
He stopped, staring at her. “What?”
“You look upset about something. Can I do anything?”
“No, no, you can’t.” He gazed back toward Douglas’s office, then stared at her. “Actually, you know what? You can quit being so damn perfect, that’s what you can do.”
“What?”
He exhaled sharply. “Sorry. Never mind. It isn’t your fault. It has nothing to do with you. He just…I won’t stay if someone else is going to run my life, that’s all. Some things are personal, and I don’t give a damn what he’s done for us. Look, never mind. I’m just in a rotten mood. I’ll get over it.”
He walked past her then, striding down the hall to his own office.
The door slammed. Jillian winced, then headed back toward Douglas’s office, where Amelia told her he was in a private meeting with his attorneys and had specifically asked not to be disturbed.
“Just tell him for me, please, that I’m going out to dinner, and not to wait for me.”
“Sure, Jillian. I’m glad you told me. He worries about you, you know.”
“I wish he wouldn’t.”
Amelia just smiled. “No chance of that, dear.”
At last Jillian returned to her own office. And for the remaining hour and a half of the day, she settled down to work.
* * *
That night, Robert took Jillian to one of his favorite Italian restaurants in the theater district. She seemed happy and at ease, excited about Florida.
“It’s getting better here this weekend, can you imagine? After all this snow, it’s supposed to go up into the fifties. But Florida is in the eighties. I can’t wait.”
Her smile was beautiful, her enthusiasm real. “So you like it hot?”
“Well, I like it cold, too,” she responded, grinning. “I love the snow, a fire in a hearth. And Christmas. But, yes, I do love the heat. Swimming pools, a Jacuzzi late at night.” She sipped her wine, eyes bright as she looked at him. “Do you like warm weather?”
He nodded. “Fishing, boating, snorkeling, swimming, whatever.”
“It will be fun. Different.”
“Nice to get away somewhere other than Connecticut,” he said, watching her closely.
Her smile slipped a little. “I love the house in Connecticut.”
Then she turned the conversation in another direction, and he let her, feeling there was nothing to be learned from her reaction, anyway, other than that, whether she would admit it or not, the weekend’s events had made her uneasy.
When they left the restaurant, he asked her to go home with him.
She hesitated.
“Look, I’m not trying to push you—”
“No,” she said quickly. “I want to come.”
“Then…”
“I don’t have any clothes or makeup or anything that I need at your place.”
He grinned, feeling vastly relieved. “You can’t need that much makeup, but we could drive by your house—”
“Then I’d feel too…obvious going back out.”
“There’s always a shop open somewhere in New York City.”
“You have a point there.”
So they shopped. They prowled a few clothing stores, then stopped by a deli, picking out fruit together for the morning, plus croissants and bagels. Finally they made their way to his place, where he lit the fire, and they sipped wine and talked and made love.
He was sleeping deeply later when she woke up screaming. Bloodcurdling shrieks sent him bolting from the bed, blinking furiously, looking around, then grasping her shoulders and shaking her. She was still asleep, he thought. She was dreaming. There was nothing—no one—in his bedroom. In a minute, she would wake everyone in the building. She would wake the damn dead.
“Jillian. Jillian!”
She stared at him, shivering fiercely. He could see the terror in her eyes.
“It’s burning. The fire is burning. We’ve got to get out.”
“Jillian, there is no fire.”
“Out. We’ve got to get out. We’ve got to!”
“No.” He shook her slightly, trying to wake her. He was breathing raggedly himself, and his heart was thumping. He dragged his fingers through his hair, trying to smooth it back. “Jillian, please, listen to me. There is no fire.”
She stared at him. Swallowed. Looked around the room.
Her head fell, and she stared down at the sheets, smoothing them with her fingers. “I—I—God, I’m sorry,” she whispered.
“It’s all right. You were dreaming. Of course, in a few minutes someone would have broken down my door and hauled me away for attempted murder—but hey, it’s all right.”
“Robert…”
“Jillian, I’m joking. It’s okay, honestly. You were dreaming. You had a nightmare about a fire, and you woke up screaming.” He put his arms around her, holding her close, then whispered against her ear, “Jillian, it’s all right. It’s over.”
They lay down together. He loved the way she curled against him, one hand on his chest, knuckles resting against his skin. Hair like a soft web around him. One long leg lightly cast over his. He loved the feel of her, flesh against flesh. He smoothed her hair, still soothing her.
“Everyone dreams,” he said softly. “Hell, I told you. I kept dreaming about Milo’s ghost up in Connecticut.”
“How do you know he wasn’t a real ghost?”
“Because—”
“Of course. You don’t believe in ghosts.”
“Dreams come from the subconscious, Jillian. We talked a lot about Milo, so he appeared.”
“So you get to have discussions with Milo, and I get to dream about fire.”
“Did you ever burn yourself as a child?” he asked.
“No, Sigmund, I didn’t,” she replied, laughing.
He smiled, his arm tightening around her. “See?” he asked softly. “You’re feeling better already.”
“Yes, but…”
“But what?”
“I’ve had the dream before.”
“Before? Recently?”
“Yes.”
“And what happens in the dream?”
“Nothing. Just fire. I can smell it. Then I can feel it. It’s very real, and then I start to scream.”
“But it isn’t real,” he said, kissing the top of her head. “You’re safe,” he told her with soft vehemence. “You’re with me.”
She didn’t answer.
After a while, he heard her even breathing and decided she was sleeping.
In time, he slept himself.
* * *
Maybe there were such things as miracles. Little miracles, anyway, Robert thought, feeling the sun beat down on the bare skin of his chest, wet sand between his toes, and a pleasant breeze stirring the air around him.
Miami was having the perfect winter. Temperatures had softened from deadening heat to a majestic warmth. Skies were clear. Gloriously blue. In fact, it was almost impossible to tell where sea and sky met, the colors of each were so rich, so clear, so beautiful. The days here were simply magnificent. And at the moment, he had nothing to do but enjoy himself. No camera angles to check on, no marketing decisions to be made. He was leaving everything entirely to the others, while he enjoyed the small miracle of Miami and his new job as a male model.
In Connecticut, he had gotten to be the dark-haired guy in the tux.
Now he was getting to be the dark-haired guy in the bathing trunks.
They’d found the perfect location. A white sand beach, palm trees, glorious scenery. This early in the morning, the stretch of sand surrounding them was nearly deserted. It was too early for tourist season to have really gotten going—most snowbirds flocked south just before Christmas, or just after it. So they had paradise all to themselves.
Jillian looked spectacular. Despite the scantiness of her bathing attire, the romantic mood that Brad had so perfectly evoked in his drawings remained. The director they’d hired for the video was very funny, contorting himself every which way to show them how to be sexy and romantic. His antics amused Jillian, and the light in her eyes and the subtle smile that curved her lips each time Robert walked toward her on camera was better than anything any model could have achieved.
He knew, of course, that deep down, she was laughing at him, at herself, at the sheer amusement that, after everything, they were being taught how to be romantic, sensual, totally involved with one another.
It had been a great trip so far. The plane had taken off on time—another small miracle. They had landed, gone to the hotel, then headed out by ten-thirty, which was, by Miami standards, just when things were beginning to heat up. They went to several of the dance clubs, where salsa and the tango were hot. He wasn’t much of a dancer himself, but the Llewellyns had all taken lessons while they were growing up, so they were very good. He stood back, watching while Griff and Jillian tore up the floor and all but brought down the house. Later both Jillian and Eileen tried to teach him steps, though to very little avail. Griff was popular, teaching Gracie what he could and making Connie look good when he took her out on the floor, though Connie told Robert she had never been able to dance the way Jillian could.
“I can out-swim her, though,” Connie had told him with a grin. “I’ll show you—I think we get some beach time tomorrow.”
They did. Daniel had scheduled the filming and photo shoots through two. After that, they were free. They had planned on steaks that night at a steak house right on South Beach, and after that, they were going to go dancing again, then sit at an outdoor café and people watch—something Eileen was dying to do.
They had finished with the stills about two hours ago, and even with the camera setups, the angles, and all the chefs back in the kitchen, they had nearly wrapped up the video. Jillian and he had gotten things down to a rhythm by now. At the moment, she was leaning against a coconut palm, a fan lightly lifting her hair in imitation of an island breeze. She was wearing a crimson print bikini with a flowing serape skirt that caught the breeze and made her look more beautiful than ever. He walked up to her with the locket and she said the line; then they did it again and it was his turn to speak.
The director called for background, places, and then started the countdown. “Five, four, three—” with the “two” and the “one” being silent.
Robert started walking toward Jillian, just as he had done several times already.
“Watch out!” someone suddenly shouted.
“What the hell?” the cameraman protested.
Robert heard a strange cracking sound. Then he saw that a huge palm branch with a cluster of coconuts was coming down—straight for Jillian. He bounded into action.
Jillian heard the sound, but didn’t see the danger. She was looking around, tense, ready to run, but uncertain of which way. The others were shouting, starting to surge forward en masse, but they would never make it; he was the only one with a chance, and a slim chance at that.
Seconds…split seconds. He flew toward Jillian, yet it seemed as if she was thrust out of the way even before he reached her and could throw himself against her to push her out of the way.
The branch fell with a whoosh, then hit the sand like thunder.
Sand spewed over the two of them. After a second he lifted his head and looked at Jillian. She was staring up at him with wide eyes, unable to speak for shock.
The others massed around them, everyone talking, hands reaching out to them. Daniel brushed past them, his eyes on Jillian, reaching for her hands to help her up. “Jillian, are you all right?”
“I’m fine. Thanks to Robert.”
Daniel blinked and looked at Robert, who was just getting to his feet. He gripped his hand, shook it. “Thank you, man. Here we are again…in your debt.”
“No one is in my debt,” Robert said tersely, breaking through the throng. He went stalking over to the downed branch, hunkered low and reached for it, fingering the break.
“Robert?” Jillian was at his side, shaking his shoulder. “Robert, what is the matter with you? It’s a broken branch. No one did anything,” she added in an urgent whisper. “The wind, maybe. Gravity.”
He swore beneath his breath. It looked like a natural break. The branch didn’t look cut. It had fallen from fairly high up. Someone would have to have known exactly where they were going to film, where Jillian was going to stand, to have tampered with the tree. And even then, reaching the branch would have been one hell of a feat.
Of course, lots of people had known where they would be filming. It hadn’t been a secret. They had permits, they had booked crews, they even had off-duty police to cordon off the area.
The cop hired to watch the traffic was at their side now. “Sometimes storms weaken the branches,” he said. “You two all right?” He was an older officer, who spoke quietly, with certainty.
Robert met the cop’s eyes. If he persisted with his angry suspicions at the moment, he would find himself locked up—or worse. Jillian would retreat from him, angry that he was casting aspersions on her precious family again. He was tempted to tell her that it was her own grandfather who’d first been suspicious of them.
He didn’t say anything, simply nodded at the officer, rising stiffly. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m sure you’re right.”
“You sure you two are all right?” the officer persisted.
“We’re fine,” Jillian insisted.
“Good thing Grandfather decided to stay at the hotel this morning,” Eileen said. “This might have given him a heart attack.”
“It almost gave me a heart attack,” Theo insisted.
“Let’s get this cleared up,” Joe Murphy suggested. He paused, looking back at Daniel. “That is, if you want to go on. We can probably get permission to continue tomorrow morning.”
“Yeah. I think we should stop,” Daniel said.
“Wait,” Griff protested. “I have a date tonight after dinner—a late date. Jilly’s a trooper. She isn’t going to let a little near-death experience stop her from working—right, Jillian?”
“I’m perfectly fine, and more than willing to go on,” Jillian said. “That is…Robert, if you are.”
He felt like telling them all to stop and get serious—something sure as hell was going on. But they would all just look at him as if he were crazy, and when he needed his credibility, really needed it, he wouldn’t have any.
“Sure. Sure, Jillian. If that’s what you want.”
“So, Daniel, do we continue the shoot?” Gracie asked, turning over her page of notes.
“Yes, Gracie, we’re going ahead,” Connie said, sounding irritated. She was by Jillian’s side by then, dusting sand from her. “Stand still, it’s not so bad.”
“Hey, Brad, you’re the artist,” Daniel called. “Help me smooth out this sand.”
Brad, who had seemed frozen, his eyes only on Jillian, sprang to life.
The makeup artist had come over to Robert and Jillian, as well. She dusted sand from Robert while she waited for Connie to finish with Jillian, then started on her hair. Joe, Griff, Theo and some of the crew cleared the filming area until there was no sign of the branch or the coconuts.
“Continuity?” the director called.
One of his assistants, looking through the camera, called out, “Clear as a bell. We’re back in business.”
“All right, then, let’s finish up here.”
The count came again. “Five, four, three…” Silent two. Silent one. Robert moved, but he was too tense. They had to do it again.
And again.
On the fifth take, he got it right. The others were jubilant. They were done. As they congratulated one another, everyone seemed to have forgotten all about the branch that had fallen. Everyone but him.
They were heading back to the hotel for piña coladas by the pool and water sports on the beach for those in the mood.
Forty-five minutes later, he was listening to a calypso band, drinking a Bud and brooding behind his dark glasses. Jillian was at his side, wearing a floppy straw hat and shades, and sipping a drink out of a plastic, shark-themed take-home glass. She squeezed his hand.
“Robert?”
“Hmm?”
“Please—it was an act of God, not the attack of the killer coconuts.”
Was she looking at him anxiously from beneath those shades? He shook his head, leaning back. “Did you…?”
“What?”
He sat up, swinging his legs around so that he faced her. “Did you feel as if you were pushed before I actually got there?” he asked.
“What?” she repeated, frowning.
“It seemed as if you went flying out of danger before I actually reached you.”
“Maybe I jumped,” she murmured.
But she hadn’t jumped. Robert would have sworn to that. Oh hell, maybe he was losing it. After all, so far he hadn’t come up with any evidence of foul play anywhere. Of course, he still hadn’t heard back about the ashes he’d taken from the company furnace. That was all he had to go on, since he couldn’t find the missing girth.
And even if he were to find out something from the ashes, what could he prove?
That someone had murdered a cat?
A shadow fell over them. “Jillian?” It was Connie. “Race you.”
“You can beat me.”
“I know. So let me get my ego boosted.”
Jillian laughed, rising, setting her drink down and tossing her glasses, wraparound and hat onto her chair. Her long-legged, beautiful stride brought her to the pool. She dived in, taking the lead, but Connie caught up and passed her, just at the end of the large, rectangular pool.
They both laughed. Tried it again. Jillian was smooth and sleek in the water, but Connie was faster. A real swimmer. The two were in the midst of a splashing fight when Joe came up to the pool. “Hey, Griff has rented wave runners, down at the dock by the beach. Come on.”
The women climbed out of the water. Jillian came jogging back toward Robert, but he was already rising, anxious about what could happen out on the ocean.
“I’ve never ridden a wave runner,” she called to him. “Come on—it will be fun.”
“Jillian…”
She had already turned and was running, arm-in-arm with Connie, down the sand to the water.
He followed behind.
Jillian was already crawling on behind Griff.
For some reason, Daniel had Connie Murphy behind him. Joe Murphy was riding alone, and Theo had Gracie. Eileen and Gary were together; and there was a leftover Jet Ski for him.
“Robert, come on,” Griff called.
Robert felt a strange reluctance, but Jillian was headed out there. He hopped aboard. He had used a Jet Ski before, and now he revved his instantly to life and followed after them.
He drew abreast of Griff. He didn’t know why, but he remained edgy, his heart nearly in his throat. Griff waved to him. He heard the melodic sound of Jillian’s laughter as she waved, too, delighted with the speed, the wind, the sun and the water.
They sped, they dipped, they jumped the waves. Time passed. Griff was fast, as were the others, but he drove safely, keeping well clear of the rest of them.
Finally they went back in. The sun was falling, a huge orange disk draped above the sea. Breathless, Jillian ran over to stand beside him on the sand, slipping her arm through his and leading him back up the beach to the hotel.
Douglas had stayed in all day. Ironically, in sunny Florida he had come down with the flu. Henry had stayed in the suite with him.
Before they had to leave for dinner, Jillian said that she wanted to spend some time with her grandfather. They went together and found Douglas propped up on his pillows, looking his age.
“I hear there was another accident this morning,” he said grimly.
“A vicious coconut,” Jillian teased.
“Daniel said you pushed her out of the way, Robert.”
“I was closest,” he said.
“He said it was the strangest thing.” He turned toward Jillian. “He said it looked like you went flying before Robert even touched you.”
“I don’t know about that. It all happened so quickly,” Jillian told him. “Now let’s forget it. I’m fine. You’re the one who’s sick. Are you sure you don’t want us to stay and have dinner here with you?”
“Jillian, I appreciate the thought, but no. I’m going to have some soup, take a pill that young kid who swears he got through medical school prescribed for me, and then I’m going to sleep. I’m not just sick, I’m old. I love you dearly, but go away, leave me alone.” He grinned to take the sting out of the words. “See you in the morning. Nothing makes me happier than when you young people are all out together.”
A few minutes later, they left him. Jillian was quiet.
“What is it?”
“I worry about him so much. He is old.”
“But in good health.”
“He has the flu. He looks sick as a dog.”
Robert smiled. “He’ll get over the flu. He has a good heart, strong lungs, and his mind’s as sharp as a tack.”
She suddenly rose up on her tiptoes, kissing his cheek. “Thanks for saying that.”
They joined the others in the lobby and decided to walk the few blocks to the restaurant. It was a beautiful night.
Finally, during the meal, Robert began to feel the tension leave him. The steaks were good, the service efficient, the talk pleasant. He kept quiet, watching, noticing certain things about the others.
Daniel still seemed shaken and Brad kept watching Jillian as if he were afraid she would disappear. Eileen only seemed tense when she talked to Gary. Connie and Joe were both extremely pleasant to everyone—except each other. Gracie was, as usual, watching Daniel protectively, and Griff was watching him.
But on the surface, all was well.
When they left the restaurant, they headed back to one of the dance clubs they’d visited the night before. Griff and Jillian started out together again, but when Daniel cut in, Griff walked over to the bar to stand by Robert. He was quiet for a few minutes, then turned on him pointedly.
“Why were you on my tail like that today out on the water?”
“On your tail?”
“Yeah, on my tail. Look, I know things are hot and heavy between you two, but she’s my cousin. I adore her. I’d die before I’d ever hurt her in any way.”
Robert stared at him in return. “If you say so.”
Griff set down his drink. “Well, I’ve got a date. Good night, Marston. See you tomorrow.”
“Yeah, good night.”
Griff left them. Connie and Joe Murphy still seemed at odds, dancing with anyone but each other. Too bad. A great vacation…and neither one seemed to be enjoying it.
Robert was surprised when Jillian came to him, ready to conk out a little early. He wondered if she was more shaken by what had happened than she let on. He didn’t press the matter, commenting on nothing more than the sand, the sea and the stars, as they walked back to the hotel.
She seemed to appreciate that fact. When they reached their room, her soft silk cocktail dress seemed to melt from her shoulders to the floor. Moonlight poured in through the screen doors leading to the balcony, and the air was beautiful, carrying the fresh scent of the sea. In his arms, she was heaven.
They both slept to the sound of the surf….
Until he was awakened by the bloodcurdling sound of her scream. He leapt up, instantly on the alert, and realized once again that there was nothing wrong. Nothing but her dream.
He caught her shoulders, shaking her. Her eyes were open, but she wasn’t seeing him. She kept screaming as if she were in pain. Terrible pain. “Jillian!”
Suddenly there was a pounding on the door.
“Jillian, wake up.” He reached for his robe, and hers. “Jillian!”
Her eyes widened, focusing on his at last.
“Put this on,” he ordered her.
“What…what…?”
“I think the police are here to arrest me,” he said dryly, throwing the door open. Daniel, who had the room next to theirs, was first in line, fist raised from pounding on the door. There were half a dozen others including a member of hotel security.
“You bastard! What were you doing to her?” Daniel roared, ready to lunge.
The security guard stopped him.
Embarrassed, concerned, but also angry, Robert lifted a brow, then backed away from the door, indicating that the security guard should enter. “Jillian, care to explain?”
She was crimson. “I’m so sorry.” Her voice was husky, embarrassed. “I had a nightmare. Daniel, I was dreaming. I’m so sorry….”
“So everything is all right in here?” the guard said skeptically.
“Everything is fine. Except that I’ve awakened everyone and I—I’m sorry.”
“This man wasn’t beating you…forcing you…” the guard began. He was as crimson as Jillian.
“Good Lord, no!” Jillian gasped.
“Well, then, uh, lady, whatever you ate tonight, don’t eat it again,” the guard said, then cleared his throat. “Okay, everyone, break it up. Back to bed!”
Everyone left but Daniel, who didn’t budge. He was staring at them.
“I had a nightmare, Daniel,” Jillian told him, eyes pleading.
“You think I’d ever hurt her?” Robert demanded, his temper shot.
Daniel let his breath escape slowly through his teeth. His eyes were hard on Robert; then he shook his head. “A dream, Jilly?”
“A nightmare,” she murmured.
Daniel lowered his head, then looked up. “Sorry, Marston.”
Robert nodded stiffly.
“About what, Jilly? About what?” Daniel asked.
“Fire,” she said.
“Fire? Where?”
“Just…fire.”
He nodded. “I guess there was a lot going on today. But you shouldn’t worry about a fire. There’s a smoke alarm right there, above your head. And a sprinkler system.”
She smiled at him. “Thanks, Daniel.”
“Yeah. Good night. Good night, Robert.”
“Good night.”
Robert closed the door behind Daniel, and turned to look at Jillian. He ran his fingers through his hair, ready to tell her that they had to do something, that this was dangerous. He still felt like a fool. As if half the people in the hallway were convinced, no matter what Jillian had said, that he was a terrible human being, a woman beater.
“Jillian,” he began, trying to keep the anger out of his voice. But she was just staring at him. And before he could say anything further, she burst into tears. “Jillian…”
He took her into his arms, his anger fading.
“Why?” she whispered miserably, face buried against him.
He ran his hands gently over her hair, cradling her head gently. “I don’t know,” he said. “But by God, we are going to find out.”