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Her brow creased. ‘Where is that? I’ve never heard of it.’
‘Hardly surprising,’ he returned. ‘It’s in the Windward Islands, and not terribly big. I’m taking a boat there for its owner.’ He paused, giving her a level look. ‘You could always go with me.’
Chellie stared at him. She said uncertainly ‘Go—with you?’ She shook her head. ‘I—I don’t think so.’
‘Listen,’ he said. ‘And listen well. I may be the first man to pay for your company, but I certainly won’t be the last. And the next guy along may not respect your delicate shrinkings. In fact, he could even find them a turn-on,’ he added laconically. ‘And expect a damned sight more pleasure from you than I’ve had. Are you prepared for that?’
Colour flooded into her face. ‘You don’t mince your words.’
‘Actually,’ he said, ‘I’m letting you down lightly.’
She was quiet for a moment. ‘Why should I trust you?’
‘Because you can.’ The blue eyes met hers in a single, arrogant clash, and Chellie found herself looking away hurriedly, aware of the sudden thud of her heart against her ribcage. Even if he wasn’t here alone with her, she thought, he would still be one of the most disturbing men she had ever encountered.
She lifted her chin. ‘I’ve trusted other people recently. It’s been a disaster every time.’
He shrugged. ‘Your luck has to change some time,’ he said. ‘Why not now?’
She hesitated again. ‘When you say—go with you …’ She paused, her colour deepening. ‘What exactly do you mean?’
His mouth curled. ‘Listen, songbird, if I really wanted you, I’d have had you by now.’ He paused, allowing her to assimilate that. ‘The boat has more than one cabin, so you can have all the privacy you want. I’m offering you safe passage to St Hilaire and that’s all. There’s nothing more. So—take it or leave it.’
She should have been relieved at his reassurance. Instead she was aware of an odd feeling closely resembling pique.
She was angry with herself because of it, which in turn sparked a sudden sharpness in her voice. ‘You don’t look much like a philanthropist to me.’
‘Well, sweetheart,’ he said, ‘your own appearance is open to misinterpretation—wouldn’t you say?’
He seemed to have an answer for everything, she thought with growing resentment.
She said, ‘It’s just that—I can’t pay you—as you must know.’
‘Don’t worry about it,’ he directed lazily. ‘I’m sure we can reach some mutually agreeable arrangement.’ And, as her lips parted indignantly, he added, ‘Can you cook?’
‘Yes,’ she said swiftly, and on the whole, untruthfully.
‘Problem solved, then. You provide three meals a day for Laurent and myself, and you’ll have paid for your trip several times over.’
‘Laurent?’
‘The other crew member. Great bloke, but not gifted in the galley.’ He paused. ‘Well?’
No, she thought, that’s not the word at all. ‘Dangerous’ comes to mind. But so does ‘tempting’ at the same time.
She said slowly, ‘I—I don’t understand. Why should you want to help me? We’re total strangers to each other.’
‘We share a nationality,’ he said. ‘We’re both a long way from home. And one look tonight told me you were in deep trouble. I thought maybe you might need a helping hand.’
She stared at him. ‘Your name isn’t Galahad, by any chance?’
‘No,’ he said. ‘Any more than yours is Micaela.’
Chellie bit her lip, once again at a loss. ‘I’m still not sure about this …’ she began.
He gave a quick, impatient sigh. ‘Understand this, darling.’ His tone bit. ‘I’m not about to force you on board La Belle Rêve. And I’m not going to beg you on my knees either. It all depends on how badly you want to get out of your current situation. But I’m sailing tonight, whether you’re with me or not.’
He paused. ‘So—no more discussion. We’re wasting valuable time. I’m the rock. This is the hard place. You have to make the decision, and make it now.’
‘And when we get to St Hilaire?’ she asked jerkily. ‘What then?’
‘There’ll be other choices to consider,’ he said. ‘There always are.’
‘You forget,’ Chellie said. ‘I still have no passport, which reduces my options to zero. Unless, of course, St Hilaire has openings for singers,’ she added wryly.
He was silent for a moment. ‘You say Mama Rita took it from you. Do you know where she keeps it?’
‘In her desk—locked in the top right-hand drawer. She showed it to me once.’ Chellie bit her lip. ‘To convince me she still had it, and therefore still had me. Playing cat and mouse.’
‘And the key to her desk? Where’s that?’
Chellie grimaced. ‘On a long chain round her neck.’
He shuddered. ‘Which is where it can definitely remain.’ He paused, frowning. ‘Where will Mama Rita be now?’
‘Down in the club. She’ll come up at the end of the night to count the takings, but that’s usually the only time. She considers she’s one of the features of the place. That people come just to see her.’
‘Well,’ he said softly, ‘she could be right. After all, something brought me here this evening. So let’s hope that her ego keeps her right there in front of her admiring public.’
‘Why? What are you going to do?’ she asked.
‘Break into that desk, of course.’ His tone was almost casual.
Her jaw dropped. ‘Are you crazy?’
‘Well, we can hardly take the damned thing with us. People might notice.’ He gave her a dispassionate look. ‘I’m surprised you haven’t tried to get into it yourself.’
His faint note of criticism needled her. ‘Because I wouldn’t know how,’ she said tautly. ‘Unlike you, it seems.’
‘Merely one of the skills I’ve acquired along the way.’ He shrugged, apparently unfazed. ‘For which you should be grateful.’ He gave her a questioning look. ‘I hope there’s a back way out of here?’
‘Yes, but that’s always locked too, and Manuel has the key.’
‘Well, that shouldn’t be a serious problem.’ He got to his feet, and Chellie rose too.
She said breathlessly, ‘You don’t know him. He’s always hanging round—and he has a knife.’
‘I’m sure he has,’ he returned with indifference. ‘I thought when I saw him that serving drinks couldn’t be the entire sum of his talents.’
She said in a low voice, ‘It’s not funny. He’s really dangerous—worse than Mama Rita.’
He said softly, ‘But I could be dangerous too, songbird.’ He paused. ‘And don’t say that hasn’t already crossed your mind.’
She stared at him, the silence between them crackling like electricity. He knew how to break open a desk, she thought, and he wasn’t scared of knives. Just who was this man—and how soon would she be able to get away from him? And, most of all, how much was it going to cost her? Her throat closed.
She said huskily, ‘Perhaps you just seem—the lesser of two evils.’
‘Thank you,’ he said, his mouth twisting. ‘I think. Is Mama Rita’s office on this floor, by any chance?’
She nodded. ‘Just along the passage. You—you want me to show you?’
‘It could save time,’ he said. ‘Also it might stop me intruding on anyone else’s intimate moments. I presume this isn’t the only private room?’
‘No,’ Chellie said. ‘But this is reckoned to be the best one. It must have cost you plenty to hire it.’
‘Well, don’t worry about it,’ he said. ‘I expect to get my money’s worth in due course.’ He looked into her startled eyes and grinned. ‘All that home cooking,’ he explained softly.
He kicked the blonde wig out of sight under the sofa. ‘You won’t need that again.’ He looked her over. ‘Do you have other clothes? Because you could change into them while I’m breaking and entering.’
‘I haven’t very much.’ It was humiliating to have to make the admission.
‘Then grab a coat from somewhere,’ he said. ‘We need to make an unobtrusive exit, and you’re far too spectacular like that.’
As Chellie went to the door she was crossly aware that her face had warmed.
The passage outside was thankfully deserted, but there was a lot of noise drifting up from the floor below—music with a strident beat, and male voices laughing and cheering.
He said softly, ‘Let the good times roll—at least until we’re out of here.’
The door of Mama Rita’s office was slightly ajar, and the desk lamp was lit although the room was empty. Apart from the desk there was little other furniture, and most of that, he saw, was junk, with the exception of a nice pair of ornately carved wooden candlesticks standing on a chest against the wall. The air was stale with some cheap incense, and he grimaced faintly.
He said, ‘She doesn’t seem to worry about being robbed.’
‘She doesn’t think anyone would dare. Besides, she has a safe for the money.’ Chellie pointed to the desk. ‘That’s the drawer.’
‘Then I suggest you leave me to it while you go and change. I’ll see you back here in a couple of minutes. And bring the stuff you have on with you,’ he added. ‘If they believe you’re still somewhere on the premises, it will give us extra minutes.’
‘Yes, I suppose so.’ Chellie hesitated. ‘Be—be careful.’ Her tone was stilted.
He said softly, ‘Why, darling, I didn’t know you cared.’
‘I don’t,’ she said with a snap. ‘You’re my way out of here, that’s all. So I don’t want anything to go wrong.’
He grinned at her. ‘You’re all heart.’
She looked back at him icily. ‘You said it yourself. The rock and the hard place. That’s the choice, but I don’t have to like it.’
He shrugged. ‘I’m not that keen myself, but there’s no time to debate the situation now. We’ll talk once the boat has sailed.’
Biting her lip, Chellie left him to it.
Once alone, Ash crossed to the door and listened for a moment before pushing it almost shut. Then he went back to the desk, swiftly unbuttoning his shirt and extracting the flat pouch he had taped to his waist. He chose one of the skeleton keys it contained and opened the drawer that Chellie had indicated.
Inside, lying on the untidy jumble of papers, was a large-bladed knife, businesslike and menacing at the same time.
Ash’s lips pursed in a silent whistle. ‘Songbird,’ he said softly, ‘I think you may have underestimated Mama Rita.’
There were several passports in the drawer but only one with the distinctive maroon cover. He opened it, swiftly checking the details with a nod of satisfaction.
So far, so good, he told himself.
He gave the photograph a cursory glance, then paused, studying it more closely. The girl in the picture looked back at him, a faint, almost defiant smile playing about the corners of her mouth, the green eyes cool and candid. And totally unafraid.
His mouth curled cynically. ‘But that was then, darling,’ he told the photograph. ‘How things can change.’
He closed the passport, slipping it into his back pocket, then replaced his keys in their pouch, retaping it to his skin.
He took the knife and used it to force open the other drawers in the desk, scattering their contents all over the floor to give the impression of opportunist theft. Then he closed the top drawer and forced that too, using the tip of the knife to damage the lock.
He felt brief sympathy for the other girls whose passports had been stolen and held against their good behaviour, but there was nothing he could do about that.
Besides, none of them were rich men’s daughters.
Only you, songbird, he thought. And you’re coming with me, whether you like it or not.
Chellie’s heart was racing as she went up to her room, and she made herself breathe deeply and evenly, trying to calm down and be sensible. As she opened the door she braced herself against the usual scuttling noises, her skin crawling with revulsion.
At least on the boat she’d be spared that particular nightmare, she thought, switching on the naked lightbulb which dangled from the ceiling. But vulnerable to plenty of others in its place, an unwanted voice in her head reminded her.
She knew nothing about her rescuer—not even his name. There was no guarantee that he’d keep any of his side of the bargain. In fact, by trusting him even marginally, she could find herself in a far worse mess.
He looked tough enough, she admitted unwillingly. His body was lean and muscular, with wide shoulders and a strong chest. But then the life he’d chosen—delivering other people’s boats, with some petty thieving on the side—was a pretty chancy existence.
Under normal circumstances he was the last man in the world she would ever have turned to for help.
But she couldn’t let herself worry about that now. Desperate situations required desperate measures, and she had to get away from this place, whatever the means.
Once I’m out of here, and I have my passport back, I can think again, she told herself with a touch of grimness.
It was amazing the effect that even a whisper of hope could have. After these weeks of fear she was beginning to feel a resurgence of her old spirit. The conviction that her life belonged to her again, and she was back in control.
Swiftly, she stripped off what little she was wearing and put on the underwear—white cotton bra and pants—she’d washed earlier in the day. They still felt damp, but that couldn’t be helped. She dragged her one and only tee shirt over her head, and pulled on a brief denim skirt. She stowed the black dress and G string in her canvas shoulder bag, along with her few toiletries and what little money she had left.
Then she took her sandals from the cupboard, banging them together
to dislodge any lurking cockroaches, and slipped them on to her feet.
‘Ready to go,’ she said, half under her breath.
