Chapter Eight
Scarlett relaxed in the tropical breeze. A giant floppy hat, a pair of polarized sunglasses and SPF 40 sunscreen shielded her from the bright sun that blazed overhead. The hammock she lay in swung gently from side to side, while overhead Max sprawled over a tree branch, one hand dropping lazily towards her. His fingers were slightly curled, knuckles wide and flat. His bright blue eyes looked strange peering out at her from a gorilla's face.
"Your fur is softer than I expected," Scarlett mentioned, reaching up to brush her fingers through the hair on his overly long arms.
Max grunted in reply, made a small hooting noise and closed his eyes in contentment. They had flown out to his private island only a few days earlier. It was the only isolated place where he could take his gorilla form free-range. Here, there were no cameras, no paparazzi searching for some juicy tidbit to give to the newspapers. It was peaceful, allowing Scarlett to get used to him shifting seamlessly from one form to another, and to get used to being with him while he was in his gorilla form. It was a chance for him to reclaim that part of his identity, as well.
"Does it hurt when you change?" she asked.
He shook his head and rolled up, signing slowly towards her. Since gorillas did not have the vocal cord configuration humans had, and so couldn’t speak, he was teaching her American Sign Language. It was through his use of signs that she learned his mother had been Deaf. Max had a lot of great stories about his parents, especially his mother.
"It feels good?" Scarlett guessed, watching his hands as he signed. It had only been a few days since he had started teaching her and she was just learning words beyond the basics.
He shrugged and slipped from one form to the other. It was so quick and seamless that he might as well have been replaced, rather than shifted.
"It does feel good," he said, his feet swinging over her. "You know that feeling when you just step out of the shower and towel off, and you're still slightly damp but you feel clean and cool, so you just want to walk around the house naked?"
Scarlett laughed and shook her head. "A gentlewoman does not walk around the house naked."
Max rolled his eyes and climbed into the hammock next to her. "You know, for a woman who is eager to call out sexism in the media, you seem very concerned with how to act like a lady."
"Wrong, sir," Scarlett contradicted, emphasizing her Southern accent. "Completely wrong. A lady exists to be pleasing to men and is limited to the actions that would make her an object to be admired. A gentlewoman is only restricted by the same rules as a gentleman. Tell me, would a gentleman walk around the house naked? Is arrogance attractive in a gentleman? A gentleman does not lie, nor does he vomit in public, and so neither does a gentlewoman."
"You have a point there, madam," Max said, putting his own Nebraskan accent on more strongly. "But, if I may challenge you further, perhaps I will point out that you still base your behavior on men. Is that not elevating them to the pinnacle of good grace, and leaving your own gender's inclinations as secondary?"
Scarlett opened her mouth to refute it, but couldn't think of how to respond. She inclined her head in defeat. "Sir, you do best me."
Max laughed. He rolled from the hammock. "To the victor goes the spoils!"
He scooped her up. His naked chest was hot with the sunshine, and Scarlett giggled, putting her arms around his neck. This was something that she was never going to get used to, the ease with which he carried her. It had never particularly bothered her in the past that her size meant that whatever lover she had wouldn’t be able to carry her like this, but now that she had been proven wrong, she liked it.
He carried her back into the little house–really, more like a cabin, with nice, large windows and a wraparound patio–and took the stairs to the bedroom two at a time. Scarlett nuzzled into his neck, her heartbeat increasing with desire.
Max set her down on the bed and removed her hat as he pressed a deep kiss to her mouth. Scarlett moaned, holding him closer. To her disappointment, he pulled away.
"So what do you want to do for the rest of the day?" she asked, trying to sound demure.
"Oh, I think you know. But we have to get your hair out of the way. I felt like I was eating it all last night." Max picked up a brush. "Turn around."
Scarlett did so, bouncing on the bed in her excitement. Max returned to her and began untangling the knots in her hair. She relaxed under his soothing touch. She always loved it when he brushed her hair, and he seemed to enjoy it as well. The feeling of his fingers running against her scalp after the brush was so comforting that she found her eyes drifting shut.
They sprang open at the sound of a gunshot. And another. And another.
She wasn't sure how many shots there were before the room fell silent. But as she turned, she felt Max jerk. He grunted in surprise and pain. Scarlett saw his eyes: they were wide, shocked and a little afraid. He gripped her arm, and his mouth opened. Nothing came out as he slumped over. Scarlett tried to catch him, and for a moment she thought she was going to be able to, but then he slipped through her arms and collapsed facedown onto the bed.
Blood fountained out of five holes in his back. Scarlet screamed his name, pressing her hands over the bullet holes uselessly.
Was he breathing? Blood pooled around her fingers as she thoughtlessly tried to stem it. No. No, this couldn’t be happening. What was happening?
"Max!" her voice was high-pitched.
No response. Was he breathing? He wasn't breathing. Scarlett felt bile rising up in her chest and her head spun. He wasn't breathing. What was she supposed to do?
She rolled him onto his back. Her hands left vivid red stains on his pale skin. Scarlett cupped his face and kissed him desperately. He wasn't breathing.
This isn't helping anyone. Stop panicking. Think.
Shaking herself from her panic, Scarlett pinched his nose and breathed into his lungs, desperately trying not to think that the wounds in his back might already have been fatal. If the bullets had pierced his lungs or heart—
Where had the bullets come from?
Scarlett's head jerked up just in time to see the men ascend the stairs, all carrying semiautomatic weapons. Outside the window, she saw a glint in a distant tree. A sniper rifle. This was planned. They had come to deliberately kill Max. She surged to her feet, raising her hands and clenching them into fists. She shifted her weight to the balls of her feet, ready to defend herself against these men.
They all pointed their weapons at her but didn't fire.
Why?
"Y'all aren't going to kill me?" she spat at them, eyes shifting between them. None of them wore masks, letting her see their faces. So they were planning on killing her. Why wasn’t she dead already? Her stomach clenched. What were they going to do with her? "What do you want?"
"Put your hands on your head and kneel," one of them ordered.
Scarlett laughed. "You are going to kill me, so if you think I'll do as you say—"
The man strode forward. A fist flew at Scarlett's face but she ducked it, slamming her palm into his nose. By that time the other men were there as well, and something hard hit her head. Scarlett collapsed, black whirling through her vision. She tried to fight back as her hands were yanked behind her back. One strap of her sundress snapped.
She snarled, kicking, even though the pounding in her head was like a heard of wildebeest trampling on her brain. Zip ties bit into her wrists, pressing them together. The men jerked her to her feet again, looking pleased with themselves. Scarlett spat in the nearest man's face, earning herself another slap in the face.
They didn't speak as they marched her out of the room, leaving Max's still body behind. Scarlett fought against her captors, screaming and howling as she kicked. Her head pounded and more than once she thought she was going to vomit from pain and fear. She couldn't get free. If she wasn't so frightened about what would happen now, she would be a sobbing mess.
Max was dead. He was dead and there was no coming back from that.
The men dragged her down the stairs to the main room. Sitting on the couch was another man. Scarlett froze, her fear overwhelming her for a moment. She knew the man. His face was etched into her mind from the times she had watched the news about the police investigation about the two bodies that had been found stuffed into his safe.
That she had found stuffed into his safe.
Scarlett forced herself to straighten, walking rather than making her captors drag her along. So this was why they hadn't killed her. Because Ken Madoc wanted to kill her himself. He had finally found her, and this was the end of it all.
"Hello, Kitty Cat," he said, with a wide grin. "I have been looking forward to meeting you for a long time."
"I prefer the Gentlewoman Thief," Scarlett replied, working hard to keep the tremor from her voice.
"I prefer Kitty Cat." His gaze ran down her body, clearly trying to intimidate her.
It worked. Her skin crawled. "How did you find me?"
Madoc shrugged. "A friend of mine has been investigating you. When I learned that Kitty Cat burglar might be Maximillian Barnes' fiancée… well, I had to come see for myself. And here you are. And here I am. Together at last."