I hang up and immediately begin walking south toward the beach, breathing in large gulps of briny air to try to calm myself. What am I going to do? I can’t have a baby on February 2nd or any other day.
If my mother drove me crazy, my child will have no hope with a fugitive for a mother. And even if Daimon did survive and I’m not actually a wanted criminal in America, I did kill two men on this island. I’ll never be able to go back to the U.S. where I can be extradited. I’ll be a single mother on the run for the rest of my life. Even I know that’s a terrible way to raise a child.
The streets become more crowded the closer I get to the beach and the tourist locations. I pass a small apartment building on my left and I can see the huge Sol La Palma hotel up ahead. Just another block and a half and I can get a ride home.
Maybe I can get Nick to run away with me. Maybe I can even convince him that he’s the father of my child. And we can raise the baby together in a villa in South America.
No, I can’t expect him to give up his sunglasses company and his family for an American girl he’s known for about a week. Though he did say he loves me. Do I really have it in me to ask him to prove it? Do I even want to spend the rest of my life hiding out with a man I hardly know? As tempting as the idea sounds, I’m positive I’m not in love with Nick. And I don’t know if I could pretend to be.
I place my hand on my abdomen. Whether or not I admit it to myself or to anyone else, I’m still in love with Daimon. Just the idea of carrying his child fills me with a strange glee. A nervous giddiness that permeates every cell of my body. How sick is that?
I can’t even stop myself from imagining he’ll be a great father. Teaching our child to be smarter and stronger than everyone else. Like my father taught me.
The horn blares in my left ear, sending a painful shock through my nerves. I’m frozen in the middle of the intersection. Watching in slow motion as the minivan hurtles toward me.
Chapter Nine
I brace myself for the impact of the car. In a split second, I imagine the van crashing into the left side of my body, crushing all the bones in my left leg and probably my hip. And my pelvis. Along with every vital organ and microscopic human being held within.
But the impact comes from behind me instead. My body is catapulted forward, my right knee skidding across the asphalt. Then it stops and I can’t breathe.
My face is hovering above the hot, dusty gutter and there’s something heavy on top of me. And it’s moving.
Voices are closing in as a crowd forms around me. I move to try to get a look at the person on top of me. The person who saved me. But something is stopping my head from turning. This person is holding my head still.
“Let me go!” I shout.
In one swift motion, my savior stands up and lets go of my head. I turn onto my back, but all I see is a crowd of people standing over me. They’re all looking over their shoulders, no doubt watching as the person who saved me leaves the scene.
“Stop him! Or her!” Why do I want them to stop this person? Whoever they are, they saved me. They did nothing wrong.
Then I smell it. Fresh soap and earthy oak.
I scramble to my feet, ignoring the searing pain in my scraped knee. Pushing my way through the crowd of onlookers, I race toward the direction of their gaping stares. And within seconds I see him. Running toward the hotel.
He seems to be the right height and build. But every time he glances left or right, I can see he has a thick beard. It would be very easy for Daimon to grow a beard in… How many days has it been? Eight? Nine? Is that enough time? It could be fake.
Or I could be desperately grasping for some sign that he’s still alive.
I stop in front of a camera store across the street from the hotel and watch as my savior slides into a taxi and leaves in a hurry. If it were Daimon, he would face me. He wouldn’t run. Unless the revenge plot he’s hatching is much more sinister and involved than a simple showdown on the streets of La Palma. Which would make sense. Daimon knows I meticulously planned his demise. To consider himself a worthy adversary, he would feel obligated to do me the same courtesy of properly plotting my death.
The longer I’m away from Daimon, the more truth I discover in his words. We are the same. Even if that wasn’t him who saved me, but especially if it was.
***
The entire cab ride back to my cottage, I’m fraught with worry over being thrown onto the asphalt. A spill like that could easily cause a miscarriage. The evil, calculating part of my brain keeps telling me that a miscarriage would be a good thing. It would save me from having to make a difficult decision. But the female hormones coursing through my veins keep screaming at me to see a doctor immediately. Or at least lie down and put my feet up for a while.
I suppose a little rest never hurt anyone. I could use a good siesta right now after the morning I’ve had.
I pay the cab driver and breathe a sigh of relief when I step out onto the street in front of my island home. I’m going to miss this place when I leave in a few days. I’ll miss the salty air, the friendly neighbors, and the open-air market. I’ll even miss the swollen wood floors and the faulty water heater.
“Alyssa!”
Shit.
I turn around and Nick is waving at me from his garden, beckoning me to join him. Yes, I’ll even miss Nick.
“You left early this morning,” Nick says, planting a kiss on my cheek as he greets me at the garden gate. “And you dyed your hair.”
He smells and looks freshly showered and not at all hungover.
“I didn’t want to disturb you. And, yes, I was getting a little tired of the other color.”
He opens the front door for me to enter. “Where did you go?” His eyes widen as he looks at my leg. “What happened to your knee?”
I glance down at my knee as I step inside the house. “Oh, it’s nothing. I tripped on the curb when I was running to catch a cab. Stupid cab driver pretended not to see me.”
I allow Nick to baby me for a bit as he insists on cleaning my wound as I sit on his sofa. “Why were you in the city?”
“I had to get a vaccination.” Even I’m surprised at how quickly that lie came out.
“Vaccination? For what?” he asks, dabbing the scrape on my knee with a wet washcloth. I wonder if it’s the same one I used to wipe down his face last night.
“A vaccination to go to Africa. I’m leaving very soon.”
“To Africa? Why? For work?”
“Yes. Inspiration calls.”
He furrows his brow and sets the washcloth down on the coffee table. Then he picks up a tube of antibiotic ointment and begins dabbing a good bit of it on my knee. Something about this feels very familiar; me on a sofa having my wound cleaned and dressed by a handsome man. My stomach twists at the idea that the twisted string of events I call my life for the past five or six weeks has finally come full circle. Now, more than ever, I understand that I must leave. And I must leave Nick behind.
Nick puts a large bandage over my kneecap, but part of the scrape is still showing on either side. “I’m sorry, I don’t have a bigger bandage.”
“It’s okay,” I reply, patting his shoulder. “Let’s go eat something. I’m starving.”
So much for resting.
Nick stares at my knee for a moment as he sits on the edge of the coffee table and I see something in his eyes. Something has changed in him.
“Alyssa,” he says, looking up and into my eyes. “Would you like to take a trip with me?”
“What? I… I just told you I’m leaving soon.”
He takes a deep breath and leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “I received an email this morning from a friend of mine in Spain. Is there anything you would like to tell me?”
I narrow my eyes at him, trying to discern where this conversation is going. “No.”
He shakes his head, but I can’t tell if it’s because he’s disappointed with my answer or because he’s unsure how to proceed. “Alyssa,
my friend works for Europol and he tells me that the Prince of Monaco has been talking to American and European law enforcement agencies. He’s requesting the safe return of his daughter… Alex Carmichael.”
My stomach seizes up and all my muscles tense at the mention of my real name. Either Nick is lying to me about his friend and he’s been working his way up to this lie for the past week so he could trap me… Or Daimon was telling me the truth. I’m a princess.
Nick continues, his tone more cautious. “Alyssa, he showed me a picture of this Alex Carmichael, taken when she was boarding a plane in Los Angeles.” His eyes flit to my newly dyed blonde hair. “She looks just like you.” I move to get up, but he lays his hands firmly on top of my knees to stop me. “Please. I don’t want to get in the middle of family business. That’s not my intention. I just… I think it’s time for you to be honest with me… Please. Tell me what I should believe.”
His green eyes are pleading with me to tell him the truth and that’s when I realize I can’t hide anymore. Everywhere I go, someone is going to find out who I am. As long as I’m running, I’ll never be able to be Alex Carmichael again.
But if Daimon was telling me the truth, that means the prince is requesting my safe return so they can kill me. But why would he contact Europol if he were planning to kill me. Unless… Maybe the prince found out his wife was trying to have me murdered. What if he’s trying to save me?
No, I shouldn’t flatter myself with such dangerous delusions. I have to go to Monaco. I have to kill the prince and princess before they kill me.
“I’ll go with you,” I whisper, barely able to force the words out of my mouth.
“You will?” He seems almost as surprised as I am.
I look him in the eye and nod. “Yes, I’ll go with you to meet this prince. We’ll leave in a couple of days.”
He smiles and grabs both my hands. “You’re doing the right thing, Alyssa. I mean, should I call you Alex?”
“Call me Alex and I’ll break your neck.” His face turns two shades whiter, then I chuckle heartily. “I’m kidding. You can call me whatever you want.” I lean forward and lay a soft kiss on the corner of his mouth. “Alyssa, Alex, keeper of your heart…”
If these are my last days on this island, I should at least make the most of them.
Nick takes my face in his hands and kisses me hard as he gently pushes me back onto the sofa. I curl my legs around his waist as he grinds his pelvis into mine. He may actually remember to get me off this time.
He slides his hands between my legs and I thrust my hips upward, primed to receive his touch, but all he does is push my panties down.
“No. Get up,” I say a bit too impatiently.
“What’s wrong?”
I push his shoulders back and it takes him a moment to get the hint. He sits back on the other end of the sofa so I can sit up. I have half a mind to tell him he’s doing it wrong, but I can’t. Our last days on this island are supposed to be pleasant.
Besides, I’m pregnant with another man’s child. I can’t have sex with Nick. Wouldn’t that make me a whore? Even if Daimon is dead, he’s dead at my hand. So, technically, that would make me a black widow.
“I’m sorry. I’m just dying to take a shower and a nap. I was a little worried about you choking on your vomit last night, so I didn’t get much sleep.” I stand from the sofa and he stands after me. “I’ll be back later. Or you can come by my place in a few hours.”
He looks a little dissatisfied with this explanation, and with my leaving him with a throbbing bulge in his pants, but he just nods. “Whatever you say. I’ll come by later to check on you.”
We say our goodbyes and I hurry home. After a quick shower, I don’t bother reapplying any ointment or bandage to my scrape. I just dab it dry and slip into a nightgown. Then I curl up in bed, hugging my pillow between my thighs.
“Where are you, Daimon?” I whisper my plea to the bedroom window. “I’m pregnant.”
I adjust the pillow between my legs and the friction sends a tiny shock of pleasure into my clit. Closing my eyes, I imagine it’s Daimon’s bulge, which is a bit more impressive than Nick’s. I wrap my legs around the pillow as I slide it back and forth.
“Oh, Daimon,” I breathe, imagining Daimon’s jeans popping at the seams over his hard cock.
Up and down, forward and backward, he grinds into me until he can’t take it anymore. He must taste me.
I kick off my panties and spread my legs wide, then I reach for my throbbing clit.
“Oh, God! Daimon!”
My hips buck against his mouth as he licks me up and down then in a slow swirling pattern. Oh, that tongue. That beautiful tongue.
“Yes, Daimon. I’m coming.”
My body convulses and as my pussy clenches intermittently, releasing a river of juices for Daimon. I take a moment to collect myself, then I roll onto my side and pull the covers up to my chin. I need to get some rest. Maybe I’ll just stay in bed all day.
Tomorrow, I’ll spend my last day on this island with Nick. And I’ll make love to him, whether he makes me come or not. Because life isn’t always about what you can get. Sometimes you have to give more than you receive.
Then we’ll leave for Monaco. Nick will imagine a beautiful reunion. While I imagine something a bit more bloody.
Alex Carmichael is dead.
Daimon Rousseau may be dead.
But after tomorrow, the Prince and Princess of Monaco will definitely be dead.
Chapter Ten
DAIMON
I cut through the neighbor’s backyard to get away from Alex’s cottage. I’m not surprised to find eighty-year-old Ignacio pulling weeds in his strawberry garden.
“Hola, Ignacio!” I shout to him.
He straightens out his crooked back and turns toward the sound of my voice. Flashing me a glorious toothless smile, he waves vigorously. He doesn’t know my name, so he doesn’t return the greeting verbally. All he knows, from the first time I passed through here last night is that I live on a forty-foot sailboat in the harbor on the other side of the island. And that I’m in love with the new girl next door.
I had to be up front with him about this. Then he wouldn’t mind me cutting through his backyard every once in a while. Everyone understands a person in love acts irrationally.
Which is why I’ve given Alex the benefit of the doubt that she purposely left me alive. If she had wanted to kill me, I’m certain I’d be dead. And what I’ve seen while observing her so far only solidifies this theory in my mind.
Alex knew exactly how to kill me without leaving any evidence. The plan she executed at the masquerade ball was not something the average woman her age could pull off. Her only mistake was believing she could set aside her feelings for me long enough to follow through with her plan. Well, that was her second mistake.
Her first was watering down the tranquilizer so she would have time to divulge her plan to me before I fell unconscious. She watered it down too much. I had to pretend to be unconscious, then I had to hold my breath for three minutes and pretend to be dead. I was drowsy enough that I couldn’t fight her off. And I was lucky enough that the drugs slowed my heart rate and weakened my pulse. In her distraught state, she was sloppy when checking if I was truly dead.
After she left, I assumed she would go straight to the airport. So I stumbled out of the hotel and caught a cab to her apartment. The detective in me needed evidence. I needed to know where she was going so that when the drugs wore off, I could find her and make her pay. I didn’t expect to walk into her apartment and hear her sobbing in the shower.
I almost walked into the bathroom and told her I’d forgiven her, but I kept imagining my fingers wrapped tightly around her throat. I knew I had to leave before I did something I would regret later.
Searching her apartment, I found a laptop under her bed with all her flight information. I emailed the itinerary to myself and wiped her hard drive. Then I went through her trash and found the fruit that I h
ad given her. It was just too tempting not to put it back in the fridge to send a message.
I’m convinced Alex knows I’m still alive. In a sick way, Alex needs me as an adversary as much as she needs my cock inside her. As the Americans say, she wants her cake and eat it too.
Well, I am more than ready to give Alex the whole fucking cake, and the cock. But first, I need to make her pay for almost killing me. She’s young. She has many lessons to learn. And I’m going to have a lot of fun being her teacher.
I understand the cruelty in making her pay for a crime that was meant as retribution for my own crime, but she doesn’t understand what happened with her father. The truth is that her father’s death was completely unnecessary. Some of it was error on my part, but mostly it was his own stubbornness. I underestimated the old man’s prowess. He may have been forty-nine years old, but he had a lot of fight left in him from his army days. I should have known this, after the months of research I did on Alex and her family.
I wasn’t supposed to do any research on this job other than Alex’s daily habits. But watching her live her life in the dark sparked my curiosity. I had to find out more. And that’s when I found she’d been treated like a dirty secret for most of her life.
What kind of parents keep their daughter hidden in a dark basement for eighteen years? Their entire house was void of any evidence they even had a child. This madness and the fact that the Princess of Monaco wanted her killed, turned Alex into a mythical figure in my mind. Why would anyone want to hide her away? And why did the princess want her dead?
None of it made sense. Until I traced the curves of Alex’s mouth with my finger and discovered I’d traced those same lips before, with my tongue, when I fucked the princess.
It’s not something I’m particularly proud of. But a forty-two-year-old ex-supermodel is still a very sweet conquest. And I’d never been with a woman twelve years my senior. I’m always willing to try something new. It’s hard to say no when your new boss tries to seduce you. Especially when she is promising you a $20 million payday.