Blair had been gone long enough for me to start to worry about the Cayman cops mistreating her, which made me angry and contemplative at the same time. It seemed that finding out she’d been trying to make me look like a fool wasn’t enough to dislodge the emotional attachment we’d formed. It had almost killed me not to hold her while she’d cried as though her soul had ripped in two. The desire to make her feel better about treating me like every other moron she’d ever met confused me.
It was the friendship. The one that had grown around us in the days before we’d gone to bed together, solid and formed before we’d noticed what had happened. One that meant I worried about her and wanted the best for her, no matter what that meant for me.
The good-looking cop returned, turning the key in the lock and holding open the metal cell door. “Let’s go, lover boy.”
“Where are we going?” I wanted to be more suspicious, or possibly more of a dick, but the events of the last several hours had exhausted me, body and soul.
“Cap wants to talk to you before you go.”
Go? “Where am I going?”
“Wherever you want, as long as you have the cash to get there. Come on.”
“Wait, are you saying you guys aren’t pressing charges? And I don’t have to do anything?”
He didn’t respond, motioning again for me to come along. When I paused next to him, free from handcuffs or even a strong grip, he smiled. “Cap’s got the details, but yes. You’re free to go, after a brief chat.”
I didn’t know what to say to that—not to mention the worry that saying anything at all might jinx my good luck—so I followed him down the hall to the conference room in silence. There was an older, portly man inside with Blair, whose wrists were locked in handcuffs as he helped her up and out the door.
Our eyes met as she squeezed past me into the hall. The look on her face, her eyes filled with sorrow and guilt, made it hard to swallow. To breathe. But the solid strength running underneath her pain had been one of the things that intrigued me from the beginning. Blair would survive.
The British guard took her and left me alone in the doorway to the conference room. The older man, whose badge identified him as the police captain, escorted me to the table after shutting the door behind us.
“Have a seat, Mr. Bradford.”
I did as I was told, trying not to fidget. “Sir, I—”
“No. I don’t want you to say anything just yet. I’m going to tell you what’s going on and why you’re being detained, then you can agree or disagree with the statement that has been provided by Miss Paddington. Is that clear?”
I nodded even though it didn’t make a whole lot of sense. In the movies when the police brought in two suspects, they interviewed them separately to see if their stories matched up.
“There was an alert placed on your passport, and Miss Paddington’s, due to a break-in that happened at the Belgrade home of one of our residents. It has also been discovered since you have been in custody that a sailboat was stolen from the yacht club in Jamaica, a boat that is now anchored in our North Sound.”
“Okay . . .”
“We’ve spoken to Miss Paddington about both of these incidents, given her connection to the Cayman resident who initiated the complaint.”
“She’s his daughter.”
“Please keep your mouth shut, young man. I’d hate to see that Spaniard win another Aussie Open.” He winked, taking me by surprise. “Miss Paddington has admitted to being in the Belgrade house and to stealing the sailboat, but insists that she told you that both belonged to her father and she had legal access to the property. She will remain here until her father decides whether or not to press charges—or the owners of the Wiggler can be located—but you are free to go. There is a ticket to Melbourne waiting for you at the airport in George Town.”
Blair was taking the fall. She was taking the blame for everything and putting me back where all of this started, but her father had insisted nothing but access to my accounts would spring me from prison. She had thwarted him, gone against his wishes to manipulate the police, and I knew I should take advantage of her kindness and run back to my life before things got worse.
It would be horrible luck to ask how exactly they could get worse, because even when it didn’t seem like it, the worse was always waiting to sweep in from the wings.
But I was worried about her. Who knew what her father was capable of, how long she would be stuck here, or how he would handle her rebellion?
“What’s going to happen to Blair?”
“I wouldn’t worry too much about Miss Paddington, Mister Bradford. I daresay the girl can take care of herself, and besides, disputes between family members are resolved sooner or later.”