Right. And pigs fly. “It hasn’t. Our business relationship is terminated.”
“That’s why I called. I have something in my possession that will change the picture.”
“You’ll have to be more specific.”
There was a sigh of regret on the other end of the line. “I’m afraid I can’t. Phone calls can be tapped. Let’s just say that fortune has dealt me a few cards I didn’t hold before. One of them might grab your attention.”
Lucas wanted to hang up the phone. But he couldn’t afford to. He knew the kind of ruthlessness that Falcone was capable of. That was why he’d wanted his sister with him and not in some damn spa. “A meeting then?”
“Ah. I thought you’d never ask. Saturday at my vineyard in Napa.”
“Saturday in my offices in D.C.”
Falcone’s laugh lacked both humor and warmth. “My dear Lucas, this time it’s my turn to call the shots. Three o’clock on Saturday at my vineyard. If you’re curious, you’ll come to me. If not, well, that could be very unfortunate.”
Lucas listened to the phone go dead in his ear. Hell would freeze over first. There wasn’t anything that the man could possibly offer him to renew their business relationship. Vincent Falcone was a crook. Hell, it had taken him four long years to find a way out of doing business with the man that wouldn’t violate any of the contracts his father had signed.
He’d bided his time, making sure that any joint ventures Wainright had with Falcone’s companies steadily lost money. Then when the man had come to him wanting the capital to invest in Lansing, a biotech company, Lucas had all the ammunition he needed. He’d given the older man Lansing as payment in full to buy him out of Wainright Enterprises.
Lucas reran Falcone’s phone call over in his mind. He couldn’t afford to underestimate him. A quick glance at his watch told him that it had been twenty-four hours since he’d talked to Tracker. Suddenly, he wanted to be very sure that Sophie was in that spa.
Pushing the numbers into his cell phone, he glanced over at Mac and stared. She’d perched herself on the table that held the brochures and crossed her legs. The skirt had inched about as high up her thighs as it could go. Three bellhops were now gathered around her, totally wrapped up in whatever she was saying, and the registration line had doubled.
Tracker wasn’t picking up the call. Lucas disconnected it and punched the numbers in again. He hadn’t taken his eyes off Mac.
“He wrote seventy percent of his works here—A Farewell to Arms, For Whom the Bell Tolls,” she was saying. “Can you tell me how to get to his house?”
She was talking about Ernest Hemingway. Lucas couldn’t prevent a smile.
“Sure thing. I read The Old Man and the Sea,” said the tallest of the three young men.
“I saw the movie once. I think,” said another.
She was dressed like a tart, and she had three kids who were probably still in high school competing to admit they’d read Hemingway.
“My great-grandfather used to box with him on the front lawn.”
“You’re kidding,” Mac said.
“No. There’re pictures of him in the museum. You can see them if you go.”
Clearly, being a descendant of someone who’d actually come into contact with Hemingway was much more impressive than merely reading his books. He might just have to tell her—Sally or the doc or both—that his own grandfather had fished with the novelist.
Lucas disconnected the second call and punched in the numbers again. The only time that Tracker didn’t pick up a call was when he absolutely couldn’t talk. Had he managed to get inside the spa? Each call he made would leave a message on Tracker’s caller ID, and three calls in a row would let Tracker know that it was an emergency.
As the phone rang in his ear, Lucas saw one of his very able managers approaching. Obviously, the man didn’t like that Mac had three of his bellhops enthralled—nor could he be too pleased that she was making a spectacle of herself, having captured the attention of most of the males waiting in the registration line. He’d taken two steps toward Mac, intending to remedy the situation, when Tracker picked up. “What’s up?” he said.
“You’re inside?” Lucas asked.
“Mr. Wainright?” The voice came at his elbow. “Sir, I hate to interrupt you.”
“Hold on, Tracker,” Lucas said as he turned to face the young manager. “What is it?”
“Do you think that Mrs. Wainright would be more comfortable in a chair? I’m having one brought down from the upper lobby.”
A glance at the curving stairs told him that, indeed, a chair was making its way toward them. Lucas met the young man’s eyes. “That’s a very thoughtful idea, and I’m sure Mrs. Wainright will appreciate it. Her feet seem to be bothering her.” Pausing, he glanced at the man’s nametag. “Mr. Waldman, you’re doing a nice job here.”
Waldman nodded at him. “Thank you, sir.”
“Mrs. Wainright?” Tracker asked in his ear.
“It’s a long story.”
“I’ve got time. My ride into the Serenity Spa won’t be leaving for another hour. I’m being delivered with bottled water and organic produce, and I was in the middle of final negotiations with the driver when you called.”
“Everything went well, I take it?”
Tracker laughed. “Piece of cake. I take it you’re not at Lucas’s Folly?”
That’s debatable, Lucas thought. “No, I’m at the Wainright Casa Marina.” He watched as the man scooped up Mac’s high-heeled sandals, but she insisted on carrying the bag with his present in it herself. Waldman escorted her to the chair, and the bellhops were allowed to remain in attendance.
The only people who might be a tad disappointed were the men who were still waiting to register. Mac’s skirt covered at least two inches more of her leg once she was seated in the chair, and they had to crane their necks to see her.
Waldman deserved a raise.
“You’re at your Key West resort with a Mrs. Wainright. I’m assuming that’s Mac. I’m also assuming that she’s not really Mrs. Wainright because it does take time to get a license and so forth. But there are still a lot of gaps in your story, and I have at least another hour or so.”
“I just got a call from Vincent Falcone.”
Tracker was silent for a moment. “How did he get hold of your cell-phone number?”
“He didn’t. He called me here at the hotel.”
“I didn’t even know you were there. How did he—”
“Exactly. No one could have known I was here unless—”
“He’s having you followed.” Tracker swore softly.
“He could have had Sophie followed too.”
“I didn’t see anyone, and I was looking.” There was a pause. “But then I wasn’t following Sophie. Maybe he believes she’s with you.”
Lucas sighed as he studied Mac. The waitress who’d served them in the lounge had just presented her with a drink. It looked like a Shirley Temple. She didn’t look anything like the kind of woman who would be ordering a Shirley Temple. “He won’t for very long. Right now Mac doesn’t look anything like Sophie. She doesn’t even look like Mac.”
“I’m sensing some more interesting gaps in the story. C’mon, boss. It’s raining here and I’m stuck in the back of a delivery truck. I could use a good story.”
“Falcone wants to meet the day after tomorrow at his place in Napa at 3:00 p.m. His exact words were ‘Fortune has dealt me a few cards I didn’t hold before. One of them might grab your attention.’”
“Cards as in plural.”
“Yeah.” One of the things that Lucas admired most about his friend was the way Tracker’s razor-sharp mind always cut right to the quick. “If—when I find Sophie, you want me to get her out of here?”
Lucas thought for a moment. “No. And I don’t want you to cause any disturbance. I just want you to make sure no one can get to her there.”
“Right. I’ll be able to verify she’s here by morning even if I have to search each one of those damn cabins. I’ll also have a look at their security system.”
“Have fun.”
Tracker laughed. “You too, boss.”
The moment that Lucas disconnected the call, he strode purposefully toward Mac. It was time to salvage his reputation and the reputation of his hotel by escorting “Sally” to his suite. The moment he reached her chair, she jumped up, his present still clutched tightly in her hand.
“Shall we go, Sally?” he asked.
Rising up on tiptoe, she said in a low voice, “I’m not Sally anymore.”
“I was beginning to like that fantasy,” Lucas said, taking her arm and guiding her toward the bank of elevators. “I especially liked the way it was bound to end.”
Mac dug in her heels near the fountain. “My turn isn’t over yet.”
“I think it is.”
She shook her head. “We haven’t made love yet, and that was the deal. And I’ve got an even better fantasy in mind.”
He studied her. Did he want to know? “What is it?”