Drowning Tides. Karen Harper

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СКАЧАТЬ an evening one? We’ll have it right here in moonlight and candlelight with a view of the lagoon and the sea, so romantic.”

      For the first time in her life, Claire understood murder as a crime of passion. Her head was spinning. Was this a dream or a nightmare? At least Lexi was alive and ran free and in her sights—for now.

      “If you want to talk to Nick,” she said to Ames, “can I just stand here and watch Lexi until you send for her?”

      “Why, of course. And while I do that, I’ll have the housemaid Jemma come out to keep you company.” He patted her shoulder. She shuddered at his touch and yet she had to obey him at least until they got Lexi back and got out of here. She prayed Nick would agree to anything and everything this man said—because that’s exactly what she was going to do.

      “Oh, Claire,” Ames said, as he followed a grim Nick to the door to go back inside, “I should assure you that, although Lexi was surprised at first that my man who picked her up at your home was not her daddy, she adapted quite well when my people told her the happy surprise you and your betrothed had planned for her. She understands that you two needed time to plan the wedding. Also, I believe she calls you Mr. Nick, doesn’t she, my boy? We told her that her new stepfather would be a big part of her life but that she could still see her daddy. That is, if he doesn’t hurt himself flying all over the Caribbean, right?”

      He turned away, but Claire glimpsed Nick’s expression of shock that Ames must know Jace had come down here too. They were doomed, she thought. But she’d marry Nick, keep it in name only, a partnership until they could stop this devil—someday, somehow.

      * * *

      “Look, Clayton,” Nick said the moment they sat down in facing black leather club chairs in his darkly paneled den, “I’ll do what you say, but can’t you leave Claire and Lexi out of it?”

      “I’ve seen via lovely photographs how much you like Claire and evidently want her. Well, what red-blooded bachelor would not? No, you need to marry Claire, and I need her and your darling new stepdaughter for insurance that you will do as I ask on a particular local matter of great importance to me and my business affairs.”

      “Local? You want a lawyer to try a case here in Grand Cayman?”

      “Hardly. You don’t have the credentials or the clout here as you do in Collier County. No, this is a case local to you near Naples I need to have you take and win for me. I believe you’ll realize why you’d be the ideal attorney on this. And well-paid, of course, so you and your new family can get a very nice home.”

      “One with your listening devices and hidden cameras built right in.”

      Ames ignored that and went on, “Once you hear me out, you’ll want to do this not only for me.”

      “For keeping my new wife and stepdaughter safe, you mean.”

      “My, you’re paranoid. You don’t have what they call a wire on you, do you, Nicky?”

      “I’m not that stupid.”

      “You’re not stupid at all, which is why I want you to work for me. I was quite annoyed when I found you’d traced the name of my offshore company, Ames High, which stores my resources here in Grand Cayman as well as in a few other places in Europe and Asia. Now that you are working with me, I absolutely expect you to keep that a secret, especially not to share it with any US agencies that may inquire.”

      Nick’s stomach went into free fall. He tried not to show surprise, for why should anything shock him with this man? Could Ames know the FBI had interviewed him and that the IRS was on his tail? He said nothing, but met the older man’s eyes with a steady stare. Those cold, pale blue eyes: Nick was certain he had either pulled the trigger of the gun that killed his father or hired the man who did. He clearly recalled his father telling him that “Uncle Clay” was going to stop by that night.

      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.”

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