Wife in Name Only

chapter Ten


“Check you out,” Zoe said half an hour later, watching Rory weave between potholes like a seasoned Tour de France cyclist.

She rode alongside him, grinning like a loon. “You’re pretty good at this. You’ll be firing off down the Strand in Hermosa in no time.”

“Unlikely.”

She saw herself reflected in his aviator glasses, all happy and smiling. The image was sobering.

“Where are we going, anyway?” he asked.

“Airport.” She pushed harder on the pedals, straining her muscles so that she pulled ahead of him, narrowly avoiding the potholes that littered the road. “Race you,” she called over her shoulder.

“What are we, f*cking twelve?”

She looked behind at Rory, who was grunting and gaining speed on her.

“If I get there first, I’m going to start singing ABBA,” she teased.

She caught his words as he raced past. “If you start singing that Fernando and drums shit, I’m going to go all hardcore old-school rocker and rain down AC/DC on you.”

He came to a fork in the road and without a second of hesitation took the left path.

Damn it. How did he know?

She arrived at the airport that serviced the island, her calves protesting. It was little more than a red tin shack on a length of grass runway. Two black and white cows stood in a paddock nearby idly watching them, chewing their cud and swishing away flies.

She got off, propped the bike against the fence, and started scratching the faces of the cows.

“Hey, lovely girls, how are you?”

Stretching aching muscles, she walked toward where Rory stood beside a giant scale. He reached across and rubbed the glass dial. She took the camera from her knapsack and snapped some pictures of the cows and Rory.

“So this is the airport?” He stood with his hands on his hips.

A fuel tank stood parked under the shade of an open walled structure next to a riding lawn mower.

“Yep. This is it. Harold, the island policeman, is also reservations, refueling, mowing, ticket collecting, and weighing. I don’t know when the next plane is due in, since the schedule has been thrown out with the hurricane.”

He cocked an eyebrow at the scale.

“It’s beyond embarrassing. Everything is weighed here before the flight. Luggage, people, and boxes of bananas that make the trip. The fuel is calculated based on the weight.”

She gave the scale an evil glare. “I swear there’s nothing worse than standing in front of a crowd and stepping on the scale so the whole world can see that you’ve just eaten your body weight in cheese puffs.”

His eyes grazed down the length of her. “You’ve got a great figure. Your curves…man.”

She stuck her hand on her hip. “Curves? Really? That’s not going to get you another biology lesson anytime soon.”

His eyes darkened, and that deep pulse in the corner of his neck kicked into life.

“How about now?”

She moistened suddenly dry lips. “No, not now.” Her body did the sexy-times dance it did whenever he had that look about him.

“I know what you’re thinking. Your whole body responds. Your pupils dilate, you wet your lips, your breasts push against your top.” His gaze dropped downward to her belly and below. “And I know exactly what’s going on down there. You’re all hot, wet, and mine.”

She closed her eyes, blocking him. Damn the man. Everything he said was true.

Hang on a minute.

“Yours?” she rasped out. “Only physically, while you’re here, and if you’re lucky. I’m still searching for the right guy.”

A dark and powerful emotion moved across his face, and his hands bunched at his sides. “Don’t say you’ll be with another man, Zo.”

She stared at him, the tension between them making it hard to breathe.

“Caveman. Chill. The reality is we’re not meant to be together. We don’t work. One day we’ll both meet different people and maybe want to start a life with them.” She waved her hand. “You know, kids and stuff.”

“You still want children?” It looked like someone had just punched him in the gut.

“Yeah, I do, someday. Although how I’m going to meet a man on a honeymoon island is going to be a bit of a problem going forward.” She fidgeted with her dress strap. “I want you to be happy, Rory. Find that girl that can give you everything you want and more.” A sting of tears surprised her. She pushed them away. “Come on. Enough with the heavy stuff. Let’s go and have some fun.” She walked to where the bikes stood, jumped on, and pedaled, ignoring the steady thump of her heart.

A few minutes later Rory pedaled by her side. He said nothing, but his mouth was set in a straight line.

“You have to stop,” she said, coming to a halt at one of the island’s many churches. Its white steeple kissed the sky.

“Stop what?” he scowled in her direction.

“You can’t go into a church looking like that.”

His eyebrows rose, and he cocked his head in question. “You’re going into church?”

“Yeah, give me five.” She pressed her hands down her dress. “When I pass the church, I always drop in and say hi to my mother. Catholic guilt and all.” She bit her lip. “Although after our biology lessons, I should really slip into confession.” She widened her eyes. “I might be a while.”

He grazed a hand across her jaw. “I’d be in there for about fourteen years.” He grinned. “I’ll wait for you over there.” He indicated a tree a few feet away and wheeled the bikes to the shade. His rubber flip-flops slapped the hard earth.

She took longer than she’d planned in the church, and by the time she slipped outside, a crowd had gathered around a relaxed and comfortable Rory. He shook hands and laughed with a group of men and a shy woman. He caught her eye, and, after some hearty slaps on the back, he wheeled the bikes over. She hung back, clicking photos of him. He looked so carefree and happy.

An ache in her heart made her gasp.

Her throat thickened, and she blinked and adjusted the camera to take more photos of him.

“Quite the celebrity.” She bumped her hip against his.

He passed her a bike. “They were thanking me for my help with the houses. I can’t take the credit for it. They’ve been there with me.” He looked back at the crowd, who waved at both of them.

Zoe waved back, feeling the collective warm hug of her friends. It was strange, seeing the man she’d once loved standing so at ease amongst her adopted family.

“I should be thanking them. They’ve been teaching me. They’ve got techniques to install a roof I’ve never seen.” He rubbed his hand across his chin. “They also wanted to know when we were going to start having babies.”

The blood pounded in her head. “Kind of awkward.”

“Yeah.”

They rode in silence for a few minutes. Zoe collected her thoughts while her stomach rumbled out a protest.

“I heard that,” Rory grinned.

“Let’s have lunch and a siesta, and then I’ll show you Weeping Rock.”

“Yes to lunch. Doubtful on the siesta. And as long as everything is okay back at the office, why not to Weeping Rock?”

After they’d devoured smoked salmon bagels and had tidied up the kitchen, Zoe yawned.

“I’m heading to a hammock for an hour. There’s nothing like relaxing with a full stomach and counting waves until you drop into dreamland.

“I’ll check on work and stuff.”

She kicked her feet through the sand, walked to a hammock swinging lazily in the breeze, and eased onto the canvas. “Take a chill pill and sack out for an hour.”

“No, really. Got to check on the henchmen, make sure they’re all henchy and carrying out my evil plans.” He stared at her for a long second, shook his head, and disappeared in the direction of the office.

After a short snooze, Zoe woke and stretched already loose muscles. “Perfect,” she murmured.

She glanced left to find the camera trained on her, and Rory was taking shots.

“You’re so peaceful when you sleep.” He pressed the lens cap onto the camera and dropped the camera into a bag at his feet.

“You should have taken a nap. I feel so good.”

“It may surprise you to know that I grabbed fifteen minutes in that hammock.” He indicated with his head the hammock beside her.

“Wow. This place must really be growing on you.”

He pulled his hand through his hair. “It’s like there’s something in the air. I swear I slept like a dead bastard for fifteen minutes. Now I feel great.”

His laser stare burrowed under her skin. It was like being stuck in a tractor-beam. She stood transfixed.

“So what’s the Weeping Rock place?”

She pulled her gaze away. “It’s really cool. When it’s dry, you pound on the ground with another rock, and you can drink fresh spring water from the ground.”

“Isn’t it dirty?”

She rolled her eyes. “Oh, please. It’s been underground for thousands of years. I’d much rather drink that water than L.A. tap water any day.”

“You make a good point.” He checked his watch. “Can you give me half an hour? I’ve got a conference call with Joe.”

“Sure. I’m going for a walk. Have me some Cinders time.” She whistled. Cinderella came pounding out from under a bush and sat at her side. Her tongue lolled, and her one eye spilled love. “Come on, girl.” She waved to Rory and trotted down the path. The sun, a giant licked lollipop, sat low in the sky. She loved late afternoon, when the air was scented with the perfume of flowers and fruit and the heat of the day gave way to the salty ocean breeze. She inhaled.

The truth was she wanted some space from Rory. Physically she was fine with what they were doing—the old Biology 101—but there were times when she caught him staring at her with what looked like such tenderness that it split the seam in her heart. So did the gentle way he’d tucked her into his arms when she’d woken to find them spooning. Or the way he made her laugh. She missed the fun Rory.

I’m completely imagining this. This is all one sticky mess in my head. He’s going in a few days. We’ve had this discussion. We’re done. Stop doing this to yourself.

“Point taken,” she said aloud.

She’d walked to the farthest point on the island, to a cove where a clump of palm trees jutted precariously from the beach and reached out in a long stretch across the water. Often, children would shimmy up the strong palm trunks and hurl themselves into the water below. A cooling sea breeze dipped the pink heads of the hibiscus bushes. No children today. She turned to walk back.

A yellow chick ran out of the undergrowth chased by a squawking mama chicken. A deep growl from Cinderella stopped Zoe in her tracks.

She reached down for a reassuring pat but felt her dog’s stiff fur. Cinderella’s growl turned into a whimper. She jumped back. Her lovely, strong, independent dog had wet herself.

A man stepped onto the path. Something dangled from his hands.

She stepped forward, not able to make out his face.

“Give me my dog,” he said.

Coldness crawled across her body. She pushed a quivering Cinderella behind her and stood her ground, her legs two sacks of jelly.

“Give the bitch to me.”

“It’s Toma, isn’t it? I’ve heard Simi talk about you and your family.”

He advanced until he was only a few feet away.

“Give. Her. To. Me.”

The menace in the man’s voice turned her blood to ice. Even from this distance, she could smell the cheap gin on his breath.

“No.” She squeezed the word out of her throat.

Toma advanced until he stood a foot away from her, hatred dripping from his bloodshot eyes. Her stomach roiled when his hot gin-breath grazed her cheek. He was taller than her and powerfully built, with muscles honed from fishing. He swayed on his feet but held her stare.

Her heart thumped painfully against her ribs.

“Why don’t we just talk about this? Come back to the resort. I’m sure we can come to some sort of arrangement. ” Even to her own ears her voice shook. “I’ll pay you for her. Whatever you want. I’ve got cash at the resort.” Anything. She’d do anything to get back to the safety of her home.

He didn’t seem to hear her, and his threatening posture said he didn’t intend to listen. He had just one reason to be here, and it was to take Cinderella back.

“I’ve come to claim what is mine.”

Zoe knew that no money would change hands tonight, only blood. Maybe hers.

He wore a smile that said you ain’t going anywhere, and she watched, horrified as he wrapped the two pieces of red nylon he held around his hands.

Cinderella’s leash.

He’d been in her house.

Fear, cold and hard as steel, lodged in her throat.

He swayed and closed his eyes, and she knew she wouldn’t get a second chance. She turned and plowed into the jungle, praying that she could find her way back without a path or that if she scrambled higher she’d find one. Branches tore at her skin, and adrenaline spiked through her muscles.

“Cinderella. Now. Go home. Now!” she screamed, hearing the man’s labored breath gaining on her. She spied a path and her breath hiccupped. Her feet hit smooth clay, before a pain exploded in her head. One minute she was upright, the next minute she was flat out on the ground, the forest canopy spinning slowly above her. She sensed rather than saw him. She threw her elbow up as hard as she could and felt the crunch of his bone as well as his blood running down her arm. His scream was a high-pitched wail.

“You’ll pay for that, you bitch.”

He gripped her throat until the edge of her vision blurred. If she passed out, she knew she’d never wake up. She used all of her strength to buck upwards and bite down on the flesh of his forearm. He grunted in pain and loosened his grip on her throat for a second. She twisted from beneath him and, drawing in ragged breaths, aimed her knee at his groin. She slammed into his anatomy, and, spinning to her feet, she vaguely heard his surprised grunt.

Panic crawled over her in an icy sweep, and her vision cleared.

She ran in the direction of the resort. The scream lodged in her throat choked her.

Oh, God, please no.

She heard his labored breathing as he gained on her again.

There was no way she’d get away a second time.

She rounded a corner and rough hands pulled her behind a tree. She opened her mouth to scream until she realized the man had sprinted past them down the path toward the resort.

Rory looked down at her, his eyes spitting blue arctic chips. “Don’t move. I’ll be back.”

She slid down the tree, gasping, shuddering, and not giving the slightest crap about the bark spiking into her back.

She looked up.

Rory had vanished. He’d gone after the man who’d tried to kill her. Who might have killed Cinderella, too, if he had had the opportunity. She couldn’t leave Rory alone with Toma when the man had vengeance on his mind. Rory might be strong, but strength didn’t guarantee safety from drunk and crazy.

Her legs trembled, and her lungs burned, but she rose and, taking a lesser-used path, sprinted back to the resort.

A sickening cry spurred her to sprint toward the sound. Bushes grabbed at her legs, and she grunted in pain as she rounded the last curve of the resort and froze.

“Don’t kill him!” she screamed.