He thought about his decision to use her as a bargaining tool to deal with Chapman and now wondered if he'd been too hasty. He was used to making quick decisions, but he may have let his anger get in the way this time. Now that he thought on it, he could've waited to face Chapman and intimidated the man, but his irritation at the bookkeeper's revelation, Chapman's massive debt, and Denny's betrayal only fueled a fire within that was starting to intensify from a simmer to a boil. When he discovered that Chapman's stepdaughter happened to be the epitome of almost every wealthy woman he'd ever dealt with, something snapped inside. A long-buried rage had risen to the surface, and it almost pained him in some twisted way to admit he wanted to hurt her. Not physically, like the bang she took to her forehead, but emotionally. And he couldn't understand why.
He admired her for about half a second when she came at him with the hairbrush. Then after discovering how much she despised her stepfather, he had the fleeting thought that maybe they could work together. But despite her intense hatred for Van, it was obvious she wanted no part of Anthony's arrangement.
He glanced over at the woman who looked like she was sleeping and noticed the knot on her forehead was becoming more prominent. He should get some ice on it. He was a businessman and knew better than to return damaged goods. He punched the gas pedal.
Alexander drove his motorcycle along the winding desolate road that led to Anthony's house. He'd waited at the camp for Anthony's call. When it came, Anthony explained in a hushed whisper that he couldn't go into details, but he needed X to host a special houseguest for a couple of days. He didn't want this particular guest brought to the camp. The less people who knew about this person, the better.
X wasn't in the mood, so he hoped that whoever he or she was, they wouldn't give him too much trouble and could take care of themselves. He didn't like being confined to any one place for too long—not even his condominium on the beach. He was momentarily stunned when a yellow taxi cab came around a curve and almost ran him off the pavement. This was strange. Anthony's house was the only residence at the end of this never-ending road. He took a quick look back and saw the driver's head. Nobody else was in the cab. He was probably lost.
X pulled up to the front of Anthony's home and turned off his bike. There were no vehicles out front to indicate whether or not he was there yet and all three doors on the detached garage were closed. He jogged up to the front door and without knocking started to let himself in when it swung open. He was taken aback when a beautiful woman started rambling, "My flight was canceled, and I can't get another..." Her words slowly died off as she stood there surprised, her mouth slightly ajar.
"You're not Anthony," she said, the expression on her face one of curiosity, but not fear.
This surprised X because it wasn't the normal reaction he usually received. He knew his appearance was intimidating by the way people instinctively moved out of his way. Whether at the grocery store or in the bank line, others always stepped aside for him. A little over six-foot tall and solidly built, X wasn't covered with tattoos or piercings. Yet people were intimidated by his eyes. His ice blue eyes that seemed to instill fear. Not to mention the way he carried himself. He exuded self-confidence and an understated coolness.
"Neither are you," X answered calmly as he took in her appearance. She was apparently one of Anthony's sluts, but not his usual. Bear liked his women tall, dark, and thin. The woman that stood in front of X was dark, and that was where the similarities ended. She was eye level with the underside of X's chin. She wasn't slender or overweight, but rather full-figured and curvaceous. Her large brown eyes hinted at defiance and intelligence and she had straight, jet-black hair that fell well below her waist. Alexander loved long, silky dark hair on women and he fleetingly wondered what it would feel like between his fingers. What was he doing fantasizing about one of Bear's whores? No way. Alexander didn't like whores. Especially this one as she now stood with her hand on her hip like she owned the place.
"Tell him I'm here," Alexander barked. It wasn't a polite request, it was an order. He stepped forward as if to move past her when she took an assertive stance, blocking his way. He caught a whiff of her and detected something fresh and mellow with a touch of mint.
"He's not here," she barked back.
This surprised Alexander. He'd never known Anthony to let any of his women hang at his house when he wasn't there. Not even Veronique. When she finally realized a few months ago that Anthony wasn't capable of sharing his heart, she called it quits. He remembered how he'd been waiting for Bear in the front yard when she came barreling out of the house. As Veronique had jumped into her car, she complained that Anthony definitely got the job done between the sheets, but afterward he clocked out emotionally. There would never be pillow talk or breakfast in Anthony Bear's bed, and she was sorry she'd wasted a year of her life. Alexander told her he didn't care. His apathetic response made her angrier, and she sped off in typical Veronique fashion. That must've been when she came to her senses because X hadn't seen or heard from her since.
"Hello! Excuse me! You heard me say he's not here, right?"
"Then how did you get in?" he asked, his brows drawing together.
"Not that it's any of your business, but I used my key," she answered a little too arrogantly.
She was lying. Anthony didn't give keys to women he was sleeping with.
"Nobody has a key to Bear's house." This wasn't entirely true. Alexander had one, as did Anthony's sixty-year-old cleaning woman, Lourdes.
"Well, I do," she replied as she tried to physically nudge him away from the door. She was starting to close it when he stuck his foot inside.
"Like I said," he lied. "I don't know of anybody that has a key to this house except for Anthony. Who are you?"
She let go of the door and crossed her arms in front of her. Giving him a level look she asked, "I think the better question is who are you?"
"No, the better question is why are you in my friend's house when he isn't here? And why aren't you afraid of me? I could've slit your throat by now!"
"Because anybody that knows Anthony Bear would know that if he came home and found his sister with her throat slit, they'd suffer the wrath of the devil himself. And it's obvious that you know my brother so maybe I should be asking why you aren't afraid of harassing me to the point that all I have to do is tell him what a big fat jerk you are and you'd be dealt with?"
She was winded from her long tirade and surprised when the man retorted, "So, you're Nisha?"
She blinked twice, but didn't answer.
It never occurred to him that this woman was Bear's sister. He heard she had been visiting, but he could've sworn she was gone. "Bear told me what a handful you were. I should've known."
"Handful?" she stammered. "Wait. Wha…? Who are you?"
"I'm Anthony's right-hand man."
"Is that so? Well, he never mentioned a ‘right-hand man.’ You work at the landscape company?" she inquired.
X hesitated. Anthony was the most private person he’d ever met. He'd mentioned Nisha only a few times over the past couple of years, and it was only to let X know when she would be arriving since he would be missing from the camp and the landscape office for a few days. And Anthony had never said that Nisha was a handful. He made that up on the spot to get a dig at her. Anthony also never mentioned his sister was drop-dead gorgeous and spunky.
"Yeah, I work with him at Native Touch. And he mentioned you were visiting, but he also told me you left."
She stepped aside and waved him in. "I did leave. This morning," she told him matter-of-factly as she followed him into the great room. "But after he dropped me at the airport I found out my flight was canceled, and there was nothing else available. I wouldn't have come all the way back here, but it looks like there's some kind of convention in town. I must've spent ten dollars in change calling every hotel in the phone book. I finally gave up and caught a cab back here since my brother apparently doesn't know how to answer a page."
br /> Without warning the front door sprung open, and Anthony came in with a diminutive blonde in his arms and an agitated look on his face. He stopped dead in his tracks when he saw Nisha standing in his living room.
Before he could say anything, Nisha burst out, "Oh no! Anthony, what's wrong with her? Is she okay?"
Anthony caught X's glance and looked back at the concerned face of his sister. A sister that should've landed in Philadelphia hours ago.
"No, she's not okay. She's a client's daughter," he half lied. "I was working at her house with my crew when she came staggering out the front door. Totally wasted and puking everywhere. She started to get in her car, and I couldn't let her drive. She was mumbling something about her parents coming home, and she didn't want them to see her in such bad shape."
He strode to his bedroom and laid her on his oversized king bed. He had to get his sister out of the house, and he had to do it quickly. There was no way he could risk Christy waking up with Nisha there. No telling what the girl would say. He was getting anxious because it was taking her so long to come around when Nisha started firing off questions. She'd followed him into his room, and he immediately took her by the shoulders, spun her around and steered her back out to the living room where X stood, a knowing expression on his face.
"I don't know if she lives with them or not, Nisha. And I don't know what happened to her forehead. I just know that an incapacitated person was going to get behind the wheel of a car and I couldn't let her drive."
"You could've taken her keys, Anthony," she countered. Her powers of deduction made it obvious that she was an attorney. She was cross-examining her brother not because she was suspicious, she was just curious. Or maybe it was suspicion. His sister was one of the most intelligent people he knew.
"Yes, I could have,” Anthony shot back. “But like I already told you, before she passed out she made it clear she didn't want them to see her. I started driving and realized I didn't know anything about her, if she lived at home with them or somewhere else, so I brought her here."
Nisha tilted her head to one side and looked at him, her eyes narrowing. He quickly changed the subject.
"And speaking of here, what are you doing here?" he asked, trying not to appear aggravated or frustrated.
"Her flight was canceled. Long story," X broke in.
Anthony looked down at her and said, "Nisha, you can't stay here."
"Why not?" she asked, her voice sounding more cross than hurt.
"Because the client I mentioned is important. I don't want this girl waking up and having you and him here." He nodded at Alexander. "She's not a sideshow, and I don't want her to feel that way. She'll be awake soon. I'll get some coffee and aspirin in her, and when she sobers up, I'll drive her home."
"I don't see why I can't—" she started to say, but Alexander interrupted.
"Come to my house, Nisha," X blurted out. He almost choked on his own words. The last thing he wanted to do was spend time with Anthony's sister. "You can call the airlines from my place, and if you get a flight out, I'm much closer to the airport than Anthony is. I can get you there faster."
Anthony gave X a look that said he was grateful. He hadn't filled Alexander in on any details after the short phone conversation they had from the Chapmans’ house. X knew when Anthony was taking care of business and apparently, the passed-out blonde was big business or he wouldn't have brought her here. He wondered if this was the houseguest that Anthony had been referring to. He hoped not. Right now, instinct told him Nisha needed to be out of Anthony's house before the blonde got up. Even though he was less than enthralled with hosting Anthony's sister for one night, he told himself it was better than hosting the blonde for an indefinite amount of time.
Picking up Nisha's luggage from the foyer where she'd left it, Alexander called out, "I need your truck keys. I can't take your sister home on my bike."
Anthony steered Nisha toward the front door.
"You never mentioned a friend who looks like Paul Newman," she whispered over her shoulder.
"Who?" he asked distractedly.
"Paul Newman. The movie star!"
"Butch Cassidy?" Anthony asked.
"‘Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid’ came out probably a decade ago. Don't you ever get out, Anthony?"
They were in Anthony's truck and not two seconds out of the driveway when Nisha said, "Well, that brush-off was more than obvious. Too drunk to drive? I know when my brother is lying."
"I don't question your brother,” he said, without turning to look at her. He heard her scoff.
"Whatever," was her reply. A beat passed, and she said, "I think there might be a flight in the morning. It was full, but if you get me there early enough, I could probably shoot for standby. Although, everybody that missed today's flight will also be trying to get on that plane."
"Maybe you'll get lucky," he replied.
She leaned back against the truck door and eyed her brother's friend. He was definitely a Paul Newman look-alike, with the exception of his hair. It was the same light brown as her favorite movie star, but this guy's hair was longer, curling at the ends. And he needed a shave. "I don't even know your name," she said. Her tone held an undercurrent of frustration and most likely some hurt by Anthony's rejection. Her big brother couldn't get her out the door quick enough.
"Call me X," he answered.
"X?" she asked, her tone indignant and doubtful. "What kind of name is X?" she practically spat.
"What kind of name is Nisha?” he countered. "Doesn't sound Native American."
"It's not," she quickly replied. "I don't know where my mother came up with it. I think it's Asian-American. It means ‘night.’” She shrugged her shoulders and narrowed her eyes at him. “At least it's a name as opposed to being the twenty-fourth letter of the alphabet," she mocked. "What does that even stand for? X-ray? Ex-husband? X marks the spot?" she asked sarcastically, crossing her arms in front of her chest.
He shook his head and thought, you owe me big time for this one, Bear. This was going to be one very long night.
Chapter Six
Naples, Florida 1978
After practically shoving his sister out the front door, Anthony quickly returned to his bedroom and sat on the edge of the bed. He stared at the woman who looked like she was sleeping, but he knew better. She wasn't asleep. She hadn't regained consciousness. Her head was tilted to one side, and her hair was covering the bump on her forehead. He reached for her face to move it so he could assess the damage. She let out a long agonizing moan at the same moment he realized she was hot to the touch.
Her eyes fluttered open and she said, "Hurts."
"You have a nasty bump there, princess," Anthony told her. Her eyes were glassy and he couldn't tell if she recognized him.
"My head," she groaned, and then sat straight up. "I think I'm gonna be sick."
Anthony half-carried, half-dragged Christy to the master bath where he respectfully stepped out while she emptied the contents of her stomach. He could hear her retching and wondered if she'd somehow ended up with a concussion.
He could hear her cleaning up at the sink and when the bathroom door finally opened, instead of coming out, she leaned against the jamb weakly. Her head hung low, but she managed to look up at him and said, "You hit me."
"No, I didn't. I grabbed for you and you pulled away from me and face-planted into the edge of the door. I'll get you some ice." He didn't worry about leaving her alone. He didn't keep a telephone in his bedroom and there were bars on all the windows. If that wasn't enough to deter her, her poor health surely was.
He returned a few minutes later and found her slumped on the floor. Tossing the ice bag aside he kneeled beside her and picked her up. Cradling her in his arms he brought her face up to his and placed his cheek against hers. She wasn't hot. She was on fire. This wasn't from a bump to the head. She was sick with a fever.
He walked directly to the large tile shower and turned on the cold water. She flinched w
hen it hit her, but it still didn't completely revive her. Mourning the ruin of his new boots, he stood holding her under the cool stream. He eventually leaned back against the tile wall and slowly lowered himself to the floor, making sure the water was spraying on her.
Christy was trapped in a nightmare from which she couldn’t awaken. A nightmare that made no sense. She was in her old home climbing the stairs but she couldn't get to the top. With each step she took, the stair crumbled beneath her feet. She looked behind her and saw Lester, the lawn man, smiling and winking at her. Behind him floated a dark and menacing presence. She couldn't make out a face or any features, but she knew it was a dangerous force and it was hovering behind her new friend. It frightened her and heightened the sense of panic she was already feeling. Her legs felt like lead. Litzy, who had been more of a mother to Christy than Vivian had ever been, stood on the top step, her arms outstretched and her warm eyes filled with tears.
"Come, child," she beckoned. "I'll save you," she pleaded in her thick Guatemalan accent.
"You already saved me," Christy answered. "You saved us both, but I let you down. I couldn't save her. When you needed me the most, I couldn't save her for you. I'm so sorry, Litzy."
Closing her eyes tightly, Christy attempted to lunge toward Litzy and instantly felt herself falling. She landed in a pool of freezing water, gasping for breath as she tried to recover from the icy shock and claw her way to the surface. She couldn't see it, but she knew the dark presence that had hovered behind Lester was keeping her from reaching the top. She realized then that she hadn't been moving up because her arms were stuck at her sides and she was pinned against a rock-hard surface, unable to move. She heard soothing words in a language she didn't understand. She couldn't see anything. She was surrounded by blackness, but the voice had a calming effect on her. She was no longer frightened or cold. In fact, she was feeling the opposite. She suddenly felt warm. And safe.