The House on Mermaid Point

Chapter Two

In the kitchen Kyra set Dustin in Jeff’s lap, and the little boy stared gravely up at him. Dustin had his father’s Armenian coloring and movie star looks but a solemnity that was all his own. Chase made it back intact, set up the Pack ’n Play in the guest room, and joined them at the kitchen table, where wine had already been poured and plates were being dished up.

Deirdre stood next to her chair eating up the praise for her pompano, which had emerged from its paper bag moist and delicious. Avery nibbled at hers tentatively, reluctant to admit just how good it was. It was impossible to sit at a dinner table with Deirdre and not think about all the meals she and her father had soldiered through after Deirdre had left. She could still remember how careful they’d been not to look at Deirdre’s empty seat at the table; the echoing silence without Deirdre’s tales of the days spent on the interiors of the spec homes her father and Jeff Hardin were building at the time; how much she’d missed the tidbits from the Hollywood gossip magazines that Deirdre practically inhaled—a form of forewarning neither Avery nor her father had recognized until after Deirdre had emptied her closet and drawers, stuffed it all into her car, and left without a backward glance.

“Do you have any idea who the Florida Keys house belongs to?” Chase asked.

“No. And I still can’t believe they won’t even give us an address until we get down there,” Avery said.

“Believe it,” Kyra said. “Lisa Hogan and her crew are all about injecting as much angst as possible into the proceedings.”

“We’re lucky they even told us we were going to be in the Keys,” Maddie said. “We’re supposed to rendezvous at Mile Marker 82 tomorrow at four P.M. to get the rest of the instructions.”

They ate for a while in silence. Even Dustin seemed to love the fish, which he ate both scooped on his plastic spoon and with his fingers.

“Have you been back to Bella Flora?” Maddie asked Avery.

Avery set down her fork as all eyes turned to her.

They’d arrived for a final Christmas together at Bella Flora knowing only that the house had sold. On Christmas Day they’d discovered that their mystery buyer was Dustin’s movie star father and his equally famous—and very pissed-off—movie star wife, Tonja Kay.

“We went by when we were out on the boat once or twice,” Avery said.

“If Tonja Kay lays a hand on Bella Flora I won’t be responsible for my actions,” Kyra promised. The movie star had threatened to rip apart the first floor of the 1920s beauty to put in an indoor pool. An idea that was tantamount to putting a McDonald’s in the Taj Mahal. Or ripping out the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel and replacing it with mirrors.

“I’m sure she was just joking,” Maddie said, although none of them had seen any evidence that Tonja Kay actually possessed a sense of humor.

Kyra shook her head. “Nothing that woman does would surprise me. She thinks that just because she’s a movie star she can get away with anything.”

“Lots of celebrities do,” Maddie said. “But I’m sure there are some less ‘entitled’ celebrities out there. It’s probably like how no one bothers to do stories about teenagers who help little old ladies across the street or volunteer in soup kitchens. The vandalism and acting badly make much better copy.”

“Right.” Kyra’s tone was skeptical. But then, she’d been thrown off her first movie set at Tonja Kay’s insistence. And they’d almost lost Do Over when Kyra had refused to let the movie star add Dustin to the Deranian-Kay menagerie permanently.

“Did everything look . . . okay?” Maddie asked.

“There were No Trespassing signs all over the place, and I think they’ve installed a security system. But there’s no way to protect that perimeter without screwing with the view. I can’t picture even Tonja Kay walling off one hundred fifty feet of prime waterfront,” Avery replied. “I didn’t see any signs that anyone had moved in.”

“Had they made any . . . changes?” Maddie asked.

“Nothing I could see from outside,” Avery said.

“It wasn’t from lack of trying,” Chase said. “She had her face pressed up so tight to the glass that if they could dust for nose prints, Avery would already be in custody.”

“Well, if she changes more than a paint color or two, she’ll have to answer to me,” Deirdre said.

“We could maybe slip in and see for sure,” Kyra said.

“I know you’re not suggesting breaking and entering,” Maddie said. “The last thing any of us needs is for the police or Kyra’s paparazzi to catch us at it.”

“Are you kidding? Lisa Hogan would cream her pants over that kind of press,” Deirdre said.

“Maybe Nicole could get Joe to help us,” Kyra suggested.

Nicole Grant had stayed in Miami with Joe Giraldi, the FBI agent who just over a year before had tried to use her to capture her felonious, Ponzi-perpetrating brother, Malcolm Dyer.

Avery perked up. “Joe’s a professional. He could get in and out without leaving a trace. They’d never know who did it.”

“Yes, I’m sure there’s a huge pool of potential suspects,” Chase said drily. “Hundreds of people who would break into Bella Flora seeking retribution for vengeful redecorating.”

“We could just drain the pool. Or fill it with shaving cream,” Kyra said, wiping Dustin’s face and fingers. “Maybe hang toilet paper or condoms from the reclinata palm in the backyard.” Her eyes were bright with mischief.

Maddie looked at her daughter. “We gave Bella Flora a new lease on life and she did the same for us. We’re not going to lift even a figurative finger against her. I won’t believe even Tonja Kay is petty enough to abuse her.”

Avery didn’t argue, though they all knew that Maddie viewed almost every glass as half-full. Avery also set her jaw and managed not to comment when Deirdre received a round of applause for the meal she’d prepared, but it wasn’t easy.

As a group, they cleared the table and did the dishes. One by one they headed off to pack or to sleep. A peek out the front window confirmed that Nigel and the other photographers had given up for the evening. If they were lucky they’d be on the road the next morning before any of the wolves came back.

Chase walked her outside to the stairs that led up to the garage apartment. The night sky was awash with stars. “I’ll miss you,” Chase said. “Given Dad’s condition I’m not sure how soon I’ll be able to get down.”

“I know.” This was the thing about being involved with a single father and conscientious son who ran his own business. She was filled with admiration for all he juggled, but she suspected that once she moved out of his operational area she could easily become one juggling pin too many.

“We can Skype,” Chase said. “And, well, you know if you need me to consult I can . . .”

“I have my Florida contractor’s license now,” she reminded him, attempting to move the conversation from the personal to the professional. “I may want to run a few things by you now and again. But it’s crucial that the network understand who’s running the do-over.” Avery didn’t intend to hide behind baggy clothing this time. But she wasn’t going to give the network an opportunity to treat her like an airhead, either.

“There’s no weakness in getting another opinion or talking through a building plan. Our fathers did it for years,” Chase replied.

“That’s because neither of them were barely five feet tall or had blond hair, blue eyes, and a D chest. There are a whole lot of people, including Lisa Hogan, who can’t see past those things.”

“They’re morons,” Chase said. “But your face and your body are a part of you. A very attractive part.” He reached around and cupped her buttocks, pulling her close. “It’s difficult not to admire them.”

For a few moments she gave herself up to his admiration. But it was hard to stay in the present when tomorrow would be the beginning of yet another great unknown.

“What are you thinking about?” he asked.

“Deirdre,” she said, though this was only partially true.

“Seriously?” he asked.

“Mm-hm. I’m thinking about all the things she’ll try to cram in the Mini Cooper tomorrow morning. And the way she complained about her hair blowing all the way down to South Beach just because I had the convertible top down. The drive to that mile marker is a lot longer.”

“If that’s what you’re thinking about I’m definitely going to have to try harder.” He leaned down and kissed her with exaggerated thoroughness and sound effects. “Now what are you thinking about?”

“I’m thinking that maybe Deirdre will decide she’d rather have the legroom in the minivan. I’m sure there’s room for her to go with Maddie and Kyra and Dustin.”

He shook his head. “And miss out on all that warmth and charm you shower on her? I don’t think so.”

“Well, a girl can dream, can’t she?”

Chase buried his face in the crook of her neck. His breath was warm against her skin. “Of course she can,” he said as his lips moved up her neck. “As long as at least a few of those dreams include me.”

Nicole Grant’s dreams that night were more like nightmares. Which was kind of amazing given how pleasant the evening had been. She and Joe had eaten dinner on the pool deck overlooking Biscayne Bay with the lights of South Beach shimmering in the background. They’d made love, and afterward she’d drifted off in his arms, content that after close to a year together Joe Giraldi continued to not only satisfy, but surprise her.

None of these pleasing realities had obliterated what apparently lurked in the Bates Motel of her subconscious. That night’s dream began, as it often did, with her making an entrance at some A-list party armored in vintage Valentino or classic Chanel. Walking through an expensive restaurant or football-field-sized living room, she nodded regally and smiled warmly at people who lived in the society columns or on the pages of Variety. Shoulders thrown back, head high, she strode through the bejeweled women and expensively tailored men, ignoring the whoosh of blood in her veins, the too-rapid beat of her heart, the yawning pit of insecurity in her stomach. People did not pay you a fortune to find them a mate, or even a date, if you looked or acted as if you needed the money.

For years she’d gotten away with the fictional past she’d created and the personal mystique she’d maintained. As the founder and owner of Heart Inc., she’d brokered matches that would make a leverage-buyout king weep with envy and delivered on requested personal attributes (and potential DNA), from IQ to bust size, that would have done a Nobel Prize–winning geneticist proud.

Her clients had been Greek grocery tycoons well beyond their prime who wanted young, firm flesh still well within its sell-by date, captains of industry looking for smart, but not too smart, blondes, brunettes, or redheads who possessed a laundry list of physical attributes, personality traits, and other intangibles, which Nicole had cataloged in her database and managed to provide.

In the process she’d built a name and a fortune. Both of which she’d lost when her brother’s Ponzi scheme had caused her to be plucked from the A-list party circuit like a tick from a pedigreed poodle.

The dream mirrored real life as the partygoers’ expressions slid from genial to knowing. Their greetings became barbed. Their eyebrows arched upward and the eyes beneath them narrowed. Their shoulders turned as cold as the peaks of the Himalayas.

Suddenly she was naked before her dream audience. Her vintage gown puddled in a heap at her feet. She shivered. Her bare flesh goose-bumped with embarrassment and shame. Every inch of her was exposed.

Nicole awoke naked but not cold. A soft breeze skimmed over her. Slowly she opened her eyes and saw the sheer bedroom curtains billow gently like sails filled with warm air and morning sunlight.

The whine of a Jet Ski and the more insistent buzz of a motorboat floated in on a salty breeze. Her eyes drifted closed. She did not want to get up. Or pack her things and load her car for the drive down to the Keys.

She could, in fact, lie here forever in Joe Giraldi’s bed.

That thought had her eyes flying open, her feet hitting the floor. She found her robe and pulled it on, then washed her face and brushed her teeth, careful not to look too closely in the mirror lest she see a glimmer of neediness reflected back at her.

It wouldn’t do to get too close or too comfortable.

There was the scrape of metal on the pool deck. Nicole poked her head outside.

Special Agent Joe Giraldi sat at the table they’d dined on the night before. His dark hair was still wet from the shower, but he was dressed in a crisp white button-down shirt, the sleeves rolled up to reveal tanned forearms. A tie she’d bought him was knotted at his neck. FBI-issue sunglasses covered his probing brown eyes.

She could see her own reflection in the mirrored lenses as she approached.

“Good morning.” He smiled as she sat and tucked her bare feet up underneath her. Without asking he poured her a cup of coffee from the carafe on the table.

“I thought you’d already be gone,” she said. He was a financial crimes profiler and traveled often. “Didn’t you have an early flight out?”

“I got a later one.”

She sipped her coffee and kept her gaze out over the bay, but she could feel his eyes on her behind the mirrored lenses.

“Did you really think I’d leave without saying good-bye?” he asked.

She shrugged and took another sip. “I would have understood.”

He shook his head. “I don’t think you understand half as much as you think you do.” He said this calmly, in a matter-of-fact tone that was hard to argue with.

She studied his face, which was strong and masculine like the rest of him. The fall and winter had passed in a pleasurable blur interspersed with bits and pieces of unavoidable reality. Heart Inc. was all but dead, her efforts to resuscitate it so far ineffective. A book deal had been offered, but she wasn’t sure the money was enough to convince her to admit just how stupid she’d been and how completely she’d been betrayed by the person she’d loved above all others.

The Miami Herald sat on the table in front of Joe. He tilted it toward her so that she could see the page he’d been looking at. It held a large photo of Kyra Singer and her mother, Maddie; Dustin Deranian; and Avery Lawford on the front stoop of what was identified as Chase Hardin’s house. Dustin’s face was visible over his mother’s shoulder. The photographer had gotten a clean shot of Avery Lawford in a skimpy T-shirt that strained against her breasts and cutoff shorts that revealed just how curvy even a short pair of legs could be. A leather tool belt was slung low across her hips.

Nicole pulled the paper closer to get a better look. “Oh, God. Deirdre is bound to be giving Avery fits about being caught dressed like that. And Avery will dig in her heels but she’ll be just as horrified.” Nicole rarely ventured out without full makeup, her version of armor. But refinishing floors and sweating your ass off during a renovation in the tropics didn’t exactly keep a girl ready for her close-up.

“It’s about time everyone got used to the fact that anyone standing near Kyra and her son is fair game,” Joe said.

They sipped their coffee in silence. The man sweated the truth out of criminals for a living. She had no doubt that he was reading her every thought far better than she could.

“Any word on what kind of house or ‘high-profile individual’ you’ll be dealing with?” he asked.

“No.” She set the paper aside. She needed to get dressed and pack up the car. She sat where she was. “Just that we need to be in the Upper Keys by four and we’ll be contacted then. There’s no telling where we’ll actually end up. Or how high a profile the homeowner has.”

“I could probably help narrow things down. You know, run a list of potentials for you.”

She imagined he had already done this but had learned not to offer anything that wasn’t asked for. This was the good news/bad news part of dating an FBI agent. They could find out anything, but they were damned hard to lie to.

“Thanks. But I wouldn’t want to deprive the network of the ‘money shots’ of our surprise. After all, that’s why they pay us the big bucks.” Her smile was tight. Lord knew, they were underpaid for the amount of embarrassment that went along with starring in what had been turned into a reality show against their will. But none of them could afford to walk away from it. In fact, they needed to do everything they could to make sure the show was picked up for another season.

“I’ll get down when I can.” Joe leaned over and kissed her. “And I hope you’ll come up whenever you need a break.”

“Thanks.” They stood and carried their coffee cups and the carafe inside. She walked him to the door, where he picked up his carry-on and turned to kiss her good-bye.

“I’ll see you soon.” Joe watched her face, but she had no idea what he was looking for or whether he found it.

Nicole took her time packing, dawdled over lunch, then loaded everything into the Jag, which was pretty much all she had left of her former life.

Later, as she backed out of Giraldi’s driveway and headed toward the highway, she tried not to think about all the things that had been left unsaid.

In her experience it was better to say too little than to say too much. And definitely better to say nothing than to say the wrong thing.