LITMIR.BIZ

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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.

      The celebrant began reading a prayer from the book he held. The final words in the ceremony that had legally joined her and Nick rang out as he addressed Ames and his staff who stood in a half circle around them. “Will you, friends of Nicholas and Claire, support and uphold them in their marriage now and in the years to come?”

      “We will!” everyone—strangers and enemies all—declared. Did this intelligent-looking judge not at least sense this was all a fake? But if he was Ames’s puppet, it hardly mattered.

      “I therefore proclaim that they are husband and wife till death do them part,” he announced with a big smile. “Nicholas, you may kiss your bride.”

      He kissed her cheek lightly and whispered for her ears only, “Later.” People applauded. The deed was done. Now they faced a reception, in a place she’d never seen before a few hours ago here in the devil’s lair with his minions. She glanced down at the wedding ring on her finger, a large, emerald-cut diamond with smaller diamonds on the band. It looked more like an engagement ring than a wedding band.

      Someone behind her called out, “Happy honeymoon!”

      Insane! She was terrified. And she knew there would be no real honeymoon, and certainly no happily-ever-after.

      * * *

      With his motorbike, Jace waited in the darkness of South Sound beach for a car to emerge from Nightshade. Surely, Nick had met Clayton Ames’s price by now and Claire and Lexi would be sent home. If he could intercept them safely somewhere, he’d fly them home himself. Jace hoped Nick wasn’t hurt by all this, but Claire and Lexi were his first concern. If he could help—yeah, even rescue Nick—he would.

      As different as this was, he remembered a night near Ramadi in 2006 when he’d had to bail out of his fighter jet over pitch-black terrain, real die-in-the-desert Iraqi territory. But thank God for his comrades’ motto to leave no man behind, because a Black Hawk chopper saw his flare before the enemy did.

      He wished he had a sort of flare as backup now. The hair stood up on the nape of his neck, and he shivered. However this tropical place was different from the desert, the odds were great: no way he’d leave Claire and Lexi behind in enemy hands. But just who was the enemy? This cloak-and-dagger Clayton Ames or Nick himself? Had he set this up to scare and seduce Claire?

      He jolted when the driveway gates opened and a car came out; its headlights sliced across the sand near him. But it was driven by an older gray-haired man who appeared to be alone. Praying Claire and Lexi weren’t hidden in the backseat—or even the trunk—he hunkered down and waited, watching the car’s taillights. The vehicle drove only a couple of houses toward George Town, then turned in. Jace toyed with the idea of going after the driver and questioning him. He had to be an ally of Ames’s, but Jace figured he’d better just camp out here.

      Some sort of party was going on up on the second-floor balcony, but the chatter wasn’t loud enough to decipher. The noise seemed stilted—jerky at times, a silence followed by forced conversation. At this angle, he couldn’t see people unless they walked right up to the edge of the balcony. He’d seen Nick once, since he was so tall, but he couldn’t spot Claire or certainly Lexi, so were they still inside? Not knowing what was happening was driving him nuts. Could that be a celebration for Lexi’s reunion with Claire? But who were the guests?

      Finally, one of the women who had been with Lexi earlier on the beach emerged from the downstairs driveway gate and started to walk back toward town. She was the older woman of the two, the one with silvery hair in a bouncing braid halfway down her back. If she was just a worker at Nightshade, maybe he could pretend to be a passerby and ask her what the party was for. He couldn’t risk alarming her, but he’d love to question her.

      He lifted his bike from the sand and, walking it along to keep from making noise, followed her.

6

      After the ceremony, Nick stuck tight to Claire and Lexi as the guests mingled, enjoying champagne and food. Lexi was already working on a bowl of strawberry ice cream. He stood with a drink in one hand and his arm around Claire’s waist. She leaned slightly into him. She looked as shell-shocked as he felt.

      Silver trays of hot and cold seafood and a decorated two-layer cake adorned the buffet table. He thought the reception was elegant but as bogus as the anti-aging claims of Fresh Dew and Youth Do. As far as he was concerned, this was a party for Ames’s extensive local and permanent staff, mostly, as far as he could tell, bodyguards, accountants and domestics.

      He knew none of the guests except Ames. Their celebrant had hit-and-run, so to speak. Just as well, although Nick had been hoping to ferret out from him whether it was easy to live in grand style on Grand Cayman under a phony name. If Ames thought he’d broken Nick’s spirit and made him into a robot who would forget his father’s murder and how Ames toyed with the lives of others, he was dead wrong.

      Nick stuck to wine instead of the martinis Ames was drinking at a steady pace. His brain was already on overdrive. He not only had to protect Claire and Lexi, but he wanted to be part of their lives. He always kept an eye on Ames, so last year he’d researched Ames High, Inc.’s products that used the supposed fountain of youth. He’d also done some work on what reputable doctors—not the ones making millions from phony claims—said about the water from the well on a small piece of Marco Island land that Haze had inherited. The site had actually been mentioned in Ponce de León’s sailing log from the sixteenth century. But the water was anti-aging only in that it was fresh and great-tasting from a deep aquifer, and water was good for people. Truth in advertising? No way.

      Somehow, some way, he was going to defend Haze, keep his new little family safe, but beat Ames at his own game.

      “A toast to the bride and groom,” Ames said, lifting his martini glass. Guests raised crystal goblets of champagne and cut-glass tumblers of stiffer stuff. Nick forced a smile while Claire nodded and stooped to whisper something to Lexi. He wished he could whisper to Claire without all these ears and eyes.

      When Claire stood, he put his arm around her waist again and steered her over to look at the cake as an excuse to get away from Ames. He wanted to assure her that, from now on, he was making decisions—he was going to change their hotel room, get tickets to fly them home, assert himself with Ames, even though he’d promised to do his bidding. He wanted to tell her that he valued her, that they would make key choices together. But, you might know, Ames was right behind them.

      “That’s a local wedding cake, so it’s a bit different,” he told them, pointing. “It’s more like the consistency of a fruitcake. Well, we all have to learn to like new things, right? It’s called heavy cake here, quite an island delicacy. What’s in it again, Ginger?” he asked

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