Drowning Tides

  Ames leaned forward in his chair, elbows propped on his knees. It took all the restraint Nick had not to launch himself at the man, to pound him to pieces.

  “Nick,” he said, finally dropping the silly Nicky, “I need you to defend your friend Chet Hazelton from Goodland in a Collier County court, a criminal case.”

  “A criminal case? He goes by Haze, you know.”

  “I do know. I know a lot about him.”

  “Then with all your spies, listening devices and drones, you realize I have other cases that need my attention. What’s he done? He’s a longtime friend, and I’d work pro bono for him. But I believe he has money flowing in, thanks to your leasing his Fountain of Youth water supply for your so-called health drink Youth Do, as well as the cosmetic firm Fresh Dew corporations.”

  “I’m honored how closely you follow my career and my gifts to mankind through those excellent products. Now, Nick, sadly, my friend and yours, Haze Hazelton, is in dire straits.”

  “Is he being sued for that phony water you use and promote? You have to know that spring his family has owned for years, though it may be worth megamillions, is bogus.”

  “Nick, Nick. I’d have to sue you for slander and libel if you ever said that in public, but I need you to say just the opposite. I know you’ve kept your mouth shut for years since your friend believes in his sparkling waters. Worse, you simply must keep up with current events in your own backyard, so to speak. Our mutual friend Haze has something bigger to face. A dreadful murder occurred in Goodland yesterday, and he is the number one suspect, though the police haven’t arrested him yet.”

  Nick sucked in a breath. “I—I didn’t know.”

  “Quite simply, he’ll need you to defend him. I’m sure he’s been calling your office. He could be arrested any day now for, as they say on TV, murder one.”

  “Who’s he accused of killing?”

  Ames ignored that and went on, “And when you do defend him in the media or the public venue of the court, be sure to extol the virtues and the claim that the Goodland water’s curative and youth-giving powers are valid and that my products are not only health-giving but anti-aging. You see, the person he’s accused of killing said just the opposite.”

  Nick snorted. Though he’d let Haze have his pipe dream, he’d always figured the miraculous water was all hype and lies. Scientists were on his side that the $292 billion global industry of turning back time in the human body was mostly smoke and mirrors. Desperate Americans were anti-aging crazy, and that was driving the sales of any new book, supplement, food or drink that held the promise of eternal health and life. And the government only controlled meds and food, so that meant the selling of water or cosmetic products that were mostly water was outside their jurisdiction.

  Nick asked, “I repeat, he’s likely to be accused of killing whom?”

  “I assume you’re familiar with that mouthy rebel Mark Stirling, owner-editor of the Marco Island newspaper, The Burrowing Owl, rag that it is. It’s been attacking Haze’s claim that the spring he owns is indeed Ponce de León’s fountain, instead of that one in St. Augustine. But, you see, that’s the same as attacking my company’s claims and my reputation. Before his sad demise, Stirling had even—let’s say—‘burrowed’ his way into probing my offshore profits from the Dew and Do corporations, just when they are starting to take off big-time with the huge Gen-X and millennial markets as well as the aging baby boomers.”

  “Haze wouldn’t kill anyone. I’ve known him for years.”

  “Precisely, and you can defend him well and get him to avoid a silly expose-the-false-advertising case. Keep your Markwood, Benton and Chase law firm going, but on this case you and your firm will really be working for me—as a priority. That way you and yours, as they say, won’t be endangered like the poor, vulnerable little fish sometimes eaten in my aquariums.”

  Again, Nick had to fight to keep from vaulting out of his chair and pounding Ames. But he knew a guard would rush in, and Claire and Lexi would suffer too.

  “So, do we have a deal?” Ames asked. “For the wedding and your loyalty to me in the Goodland case?” He extended his hand.

  “Do I have a choice? But that’s how you play the game.”

  “Nick, it’s not a game. I’m deadly, deadly serious.”

  “Did one of your spies or hit men kill Stirling? I’ve always known you killed my father, but you operate through others now. You had everything to lose if this Stirling probed deeper and turned up your offshore accounts.”

  “How insulting and outrageous. Although Haze hasn’t been arrested yet since Stirling had other enemies, I expect you and your clever little forensic psychologist bride can ferret out enough other suspects to muddy the police investigation waters. Meanwhile, after your nuptials, you might want to read the Naples Daily News online for today. I believe they’re dubbing Stirling’s sad demise the Mangrove Murder, since his battered body was wedged under mangrove roots not far from that precious ‘fountain of youth.’ Nick, win that case for your friend Haze Hazelton—and for me.”

  Hating this man, hating himself and the trap he was in, Nick thrust out his hand and they shook on it. No contract, though Ames had earlier mentioned signing on the dotted line. He must have meant the marriage license.

  * * *

  When she heard Ames’s voice behind her, Claire finally turned away from gazing at Lexi. Nick followed him out onto the balcony, which another housemaid was already setting up for the wedding with a long, damask-covered buffet table and an arched trellis under which they’d take their vows. Unbelievable. She cared for Nick and he cared for her but not to this degree, at least not yet. They’d have to come to an understanding, to set some rules. How well did she really know the man she was expected to live with, sleep with? A forced marriage, a different sort of shotgun wedding.

  “Boring business all concluded,” Ames said with a clap of his hands, and a tight smile. “I’m sure your intended will share with you later what we intend, Claire.” He chuckled at his play on words again. “And,” he went on, “I’ve just sent someone to bring Lexi over so we can move on to wedding plans.”

  She noted a man in casual clothes, big-shouldered and tall, walking toward Lexi and the women, though she wasn’t sure where he’d emerged from. Not this house while she was standing here. Did Ames have this entire property surrounded by guards?

  She squinted through the sinking sun to her right side, still trying to keep an eye on Lexi. At least they hadn’t locked her up or, from the looks of it, terrified her. The Disney world of princesses and fairies was still real to her at times, so why not a Cinderella fantasy that her mother would marry Prince Nick in a distant land called Grand Cayman?

  “Good,” she finally said to Ames. “Nick, is everything decided?”

  Ames answered for him. “It is, and he can explain it all to you later. We have only about an hour before the celebrant will be here to have you sign the special visitor’s marriage license to make things legal in the British territory. Needless to say, the Caymans are often a destination wedding site, and this lovely event is one of my gifts to you. The dresses and Nick’s suit are laid out in bedrooms on this level, and I’ll bring Lexi right in to see you, Claire. I’m sure both of you, bride and groom, will say the appropriate vows and answer any questions from the celebrant to his—and my—satisfaction. And that includes calling me Paul Kilcorse this evening, not Clayton Ames.”

  Nick merely nodded. No wonder, Claire thought, Nick and his tech team hadn’t been able to trace or locate him here. In Grand Cayman, Clayton Ames didn’t exist.

  “Jemma,” Ames said, turning to the woman who had silently watched Claire, “please escort the bride to her room. Oh, and I’m pleased to say, Nick, now that things are settled between us after all these years, I will stand as your best man this evening, while Lexi does double duty for Claire. After all, n
ow that you are working for and answer to me, I am your best man.”

  As he turned away, Ames again chuckled at his own lame joke. Nick shot Claire a quick look she couldn’t read. Did it say, I’m sorry or At least we’ll all survive this—or I do love you, despite everything?

  As Nick followed Ames into the house, Claire turned again to gaze out at the beach. The two women were bringing the kite and Lexi back toward the house, trailed by the man. Lexi was barefoot beneath that yellow, flowered dress. Despite the straw hat, Claire hoped they’d put sunscreen on her. She wanted to throw herself off this balcony, to run to her.

  “Miss Claire, come on,” Jemma urged from behind her. “We do what he say.”

  “I’ll bet,” Claire muttered. She started to turn away, but her eye caught something else besides the people on the sand with Lexi. A grungy-looking guy with a pronounced limp and stooped posture was following them at a distance. Another guard? But no—it looked like Jace’s body build despite the slouch and lack of well-cut clothes. Still, she couldn’t tell his hair or eye color.

  But the closer he got, the clearer the image became and Claire realized, yes, Jace was here! He’d made it and he was close! He’d seen Lexi but at least he knew not to just try to grab her. And he was hanging back, maybe so Lexi wouldn’t see him. Or else he finally saw the power and evil of the man who owned Nightshade—and, right now, owned them.

  5

  Claire burst into tears when Lexi came alone into the bedroom with a stuffed green cloth turtle in her arms. “Mommy, Mommy, Mommy!” she cried and ran to her. Claire knelt to her height and covered her face with kisses.

  “Are you all right?” Claire asked. “You weren’t hurt, were you?”

  “I was scared when I saw the man wasn’t Daddy. But I’m going to be in your wedding!” she shouted as Claire held her. “But won’t Aunt Darcy and Jilly be mad they can’t come? I asked Mr. Kilcorse if they could, but he said not now because they are going to see friends in Sarasota tomorrow. Isn’t that something that he knew that? Mommy, why are you crying?”

  “Just so happy to see you!” Claire choked out, hugging her harder. But she felt even more distraught to realize Ames’s web could extend to her sister and her family.

  “I saw the pretty dress I’m going to wear,” Lexi chattered on as Claire held her at arm’s length to look her over. “Oh, there it is on this bed, next to yours, see?” Claire had hardly looked at the stunning pale silk bridal dress lying next to one in a matching color for a flower girl.

  “Yes, I see,” was all she managed.

  “I like light blue! It fits me good. This turtle is mine too. And Eleanor and Ginger gave me this yellow dress, and Jemma let me eat lots of ice cream.”

  “So they treated you really well? The ladies and Mr. Kilcorse too?”

  “He said he is kind of Mr. Nick’s uncle. These people you hired are real nice. I didn’t like that man who grabbed me, but he ’splained it all real fast. And guess what? There was a lady named Lucille hiding in the backseat that took good care of me. She talked funny. She said she was from England. We got on an airplane, but not a real big one like Daddy flies. And when we got to the Car-been, and Lucille went back to Florida on another plane, I practiced with your and Mr. Nick’s rings on a pillow for the wedding. Yours has a big diamond, Mommy! Tied with a ribbon, so I won’t drop them, ’cause it’s like a slippery pillow.”

  “Yes, yes, fine,” Claire said, finally letting go of her to wipe away tears. So much said. Thank God, they hadn’t hurt her. Ames had someone who resembled Jace. Could that have been him on the beach and not Jace? She bet the woman from England was the one on their plane and at their hotel door. Then there were the two with Lexi on the beach—Eleanor and Ginger. And Jemma. How many guards and spies did Ames have working for him here?

  “But did you tell Daddy?” Lexi suddenly demanded, hands on her skinny hips. “I mean about this lope-ment wedding? I like secrets, like Mr. Kilcorse’s name is really Mr. Clayton Ames, ’cause I overheard him talking to another man about that. You know, like in that Disney movie, Mulan. Daddy told me he wants us to be a family again, but we can’t if Mr. Nick is my new daddy, can we? I don’t think my first daddy will be happy!”

  Claire’s rising panic kicked up another notch. What else had Lexi overheard here? And if she blurted things out, would Ames try to keep her or silence her?

  “Lexi, that’s too much to talk about right now. Later, okay? We’ll talk later.”

  Claire hugged her daughter to her. She had Lexi back but at what price for her and Nick? And Jace.

  * * *

  As Claire stood with Nick under the trellis on the balcony to take their vows, she had to admit that the setting for the wedding was beautiful. And, at least she and Nick were still alive and she—they—had Lexi back and would be able to leave soon. She glanced at Nick standing so close, holding her hand. He looked stoic but fuming. Trying to control her trembling, she gazed out toward the darkness of the night again. The staff had been assembled except for the property guards she’d seen when they first arrived. The so-called celebrant was reading the marriage vows she and Nick repeated. She tried to calm herself, but thoughts and fears ate at her as she responded.

  The celebrant was a midsixties, gray-haired, distinguished-looking judge whom Ames—alias Paul Kilcorse—not only knew but seemed quite tight with. So had he really put a fake name over on him, or was the judge on the take like the staff and guards here?

  Worse, earlier Claire had learned the other price Nick must pay to get them out of here. Before they had separated to shower and change prior to the ceremony, Nick had stopped her in the hall near the room where Lexi was waiting. He’d whispered, “You know that friend of mine, Chet Hazelton, I told you about on Goodland—the guy whose family’s had that old artesian well that’s locally rumored to be the real fountain of youth? The local papers do occasional articles on it.”

  “You mean that water that’s in the Youth Do drink and some kind of face cream? That new Marco Island paper’s been attacking that.”

  He seized her hands in his. “Haze Hazelton’s been accused of murdering Mark Stirling, that Marco journalist who’s always stirring things up. Ames wants me to defend Haze—and tout the anti-aging products very publicly because they’re part of his conglomerate. I had to swear I would. But despite this all being blackmail and forced on me—on us—I do care for you. I promise, we will work together. Let’s remember how we really feel and get through this, get out of here, sift things out between us, even if he still controls—”

  “Mommy, why are you whispering in the hall?” a little voice had cried through the cracked door. “We have to get our pretty dresses on!”

  Ignoring that outburst, Nick had kissed Claire’s cheek, and they’d held tight. When he’d hurried to his room and Claire had gone into hers, Lexi had said, “I can see you love Mr. Nick. Should I call him Daddy too or Daddy number two? Mr. Nick doesn’t sound so good anymore, does it?”

  Claire bit her lower lip before she answered, “Let’s all talk about it later—after the wedding and reception. When we leave here.”

  Now, here during the wedding ceremony, Claire knew that Ames had one of his lackeys—the one she’d first seen in the yard by the fountain—recording everything on video, and there was an occasional click and flash of a cell phone camera or two. Would Ames give them remembrances of this forced ceremony for posterity?

  She tried to concentrate on the lovely surroundings again rather than the service itself. The palm trees in the yard, with their fronds at this level, swayed and sighed. The cup of sky beyond the beach seemed set with pavé diamonds, like the ones in the stunning wedding ring she’d just accepted. It felt heavy on her finger, but you might know, it fit. She’d almost dropped Nick’s band when she’d slid it on his hand. They were about halfway through their vows. An Anglican Church ceremony, n
o less. What did God think of this sham of a service?

  The wind had shifted, and she could hear the crash of distant surf on the south shore. She was a bit dizzy, so the full moon seemed to roll along the invisible, watery horizon like a huge, watchful eye. It threw a lighted, trembling path across the tops of the waves. If only she, Nick and Lexi could escape on that to safety.

  Here on the balcony, the moon, candle glow and lighted torchères not only illumined the scene but kept the bugs away. She was continually aware of Clayton Ames, standing on Nick’s other side. If she shot a glance sideways, it seemed that devil’s dark silhouette was etched by fire.

  She jolted alert again, forcing herself back to this strange reality. After a prayer, Nick said his vows, and then it was her turn.

  “Claire Fowler Britten, will you take Nicholas James Markwood to be your husband? Will you love him, comfort him, honor and protect him, and forsaking all others, be faithful to him as long as you both shall live?”

  She hesitated a moment. Nick squeezed her hand. Ames cleared his throat. Nick had readily said his part.

  But she wanted to refuse. She cared deeply for Nick, wanted to help him, was grateful to him. Was that enough for ever-after? She glanced down at the single orchid on the now empty pillow Lexi held. Ames had given the child a nosegay to carry too, four nightshade blooms, but Claire had thrown them under the tablecloth and fished an orchid out of the punch bowl for her, and the satin pillow was speckled with pink. Rebellion rose in her.

  But fear and caution made her answer, “I will.”

  She could smell fragrant nightshade blossoms mingled with the sea air. They seemed to crowd around her from her bouquet and trellis, into which someone had woven the stems of the pale blue blooms. She’d taken all those flowers as a warning. Clayton Ames was poison, and he wanted them to remember that.