Riding the Thunder Read online

  She would’ve dismissed their anxieties completely if she hadn’t caught Jago with a similar glint in his eyes. That had caused her heart to miss a beat. Several times he’d approached her saying, “We need to talk” only to have someone intrude. She assumed he wanted to discuss where they were headed in their affair. Continuing to build upon their relationship would soon require more permanent changes in their lifestyles, such as how he would handle his job with Trident Ventures. Everything was just so ideal, she hesitated to broach any aspect of his connection to Trident. Right now, she was very much in love and wanted to savor that special magic. All else could hang.

  Especially, on this night. Halloween! She was eager to see what Jago would dress up as. A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth as she contemplated his reaction to her costume.

  With a happy sigh, she gathered her purse and locked the restaurant. “‘She did the Mash . . . the Monster Mash . . . ,’” she sang softly as she walked along the sidewalk and rounded the building. Just before she turned to go toward her bungalow, she waved to Jago and Colin still futzing with the car. Evidently tired of playing carwash, What’s His Name came running after her.

  “You missed a spot, Jago.”

  In response, Jago’s hand flexed around the large sponge as he gritted his teeth. He really liked Colin, enjoyed the quirky chatter the man kept up, only right now he wished his hand was around Colin’s scrawny neck and not the sponge. Dropping it into the pail with a plop, he picked up the hose and sprayed the car.

  “Black cars are a pain. Show every smudge you miss.” Colin pointed with his cigarette toward a slowly appearing streak. “You missed another here.”

  “Thank you. I don’t know what I’d do without your help,” Jago replied.

  Colin stopped inspecting the car, looked at Jago in his cut off jeans and made a sour face, though his eyes flashed merriment. “You know, Jago, those shorts do nothing for your legs.”

  He knew Colin was deliberately pushing his buttons, trying to get a rise out of him. The runt was rather good at it, too. Jago re-sprayed the fender and seriously considered turning the hose on Colin. Instead, he reached over, pulled the unlit cigarette from the pest’s mouth.

  “Stop baiting me just to relieve your boredom.” Snapping it in two, he flicked it away, trying not to laugh. “Smoking is bad for your health—in more ways than one.”

  “Asha and you keep telling me that, and I keep reminding you that you smoke those funny little cigars. Swisher Sweets,” he said the name in a high, mocking voice. “Frankly, they’re something a guy wearing shorts would smoke. Even the name sounds—”

  “Anyone ever tell you what a pain in the bum you are, Colin?”

  “Bum? That’s what . . . an English rear end?” He chuckled. “Sure, all the time. I’m growing on you. Told you. Seriously, if you’d just give in and call me Oo-it, then I wouldn’t irritate you so much. Everyone expects a Colin to be well behaved. An Oo-it can say or do anything and everyone laughs.”

  The cell phone sitting on the car dash began to chirp. With a smile Colin opened the door and reached for it. “Phone’s ringing, Jago,” he informed him redundantly, squinting to study the small buttons. Once more, the urge to let Colin have it with the hose tickled within Jago.

  “Thanks, I might’ve missed that,” he chuckled.

  Colin punched the button and started talking, “Oo-it’s Wash-o-rama. You pay it, we spray it. What can I do you for?” A big grin spread across his face and his eyebrows lifted. “Ah, Trevelyn . . . yes, the hired help is here, and yes, you may speak to him. However, remember this is a business, and we frown upon personal calls, just so you—”

  Jago jerked the phone out of Colin’s hand, shooting him a glare. The quirky man sniggered playfully. “Trevelyn? Bet he wears shorts, too.”

  Jago frowned at Colin, clearly indicating he should go away and not eavesdrop, but the pest just blinked his intelligent eyes and played innocent. It was too much to resist: Jago finally pressed the lever on the hose and let loose with the spray.

  “Hey, hey!” Colin danced out of range. “Just for that, I’m going to go find your cat, kidnap him and hold him for ransom.”

  “Well, while you’re torturing him, see if he’ll reveal his name.” Laughing, Jago finally put the phone to his ear. “Hello, brother dearest. I’m rather busy at the moment, so make it short, please.”

  “Yeah, they’re getting ready to put you in a padded cell. I leave you alone for a few weeks and you get into trouble. Oo-it’s Wash-o-rama? Kidnapping and torturing your cat? What cat? Even more pressing, what the bloody hell is an Oo-it?”

  The voice on the other end of the phone sounded different, the Brit accent stronger now. Also, Trev’s tone resonated with a tension, though being Trev the Omnipotent, he was trying to screen it. Someone else might miss these small changes, but not Jago; attuned to the man who was his mirror image, he always knew when Trevelyn was trying to hide something. Judging by his own situation, he figured that ‘something’ had to do with Trev being around Raven Montgomerie. Curiosity ate at him, made him ponder just how involved Trev was with Asha’s twin.

  “Oo-it is the nickname for a quirky but strangely endearing character who works at The Windmill. Whole place is full of them.”

  “Similar to Falgannon Isle. When I talk to Des, he sounds like he’s hip deep in oddballs. He’s also getting a hint of a Scottish burr; and you, brother dear, are acquiring a Kentucky twang,” Trev teased.

  “While you are growing veddy Brit. Consider yourself lucky you didn’t go to Falgannon or here and escaped the local color. Your finicky temperament couldn’t handle it.”

  “Oh, I wouldn’t say I avoided eccentric people. There’s a small band of Gypsies camped on the Colford property. I’d think people living in wagons in this day and time ranks up there with out of the ordinary.” Trev exhaled, obviously stressed or tired. “How are things going?”

  “I detect a note of concern,” Jago said.

  “I wish this was all done. The pretense of being Trevelyn Sinclair wearies me. I’ve been buying up Montgomerie Enterprise stock left and right all week, yet keeping it slow enough not to draw attention. We’re gaining inroads. Still, I’d prefer the takeover to be a fait accompli. I dislike not being in contact with Des or you. I ring and ring and can’t reach either of you. I keep having dreams of the sisters getting together and comparing notes—then all hell breaks loose.”

  “Between us, I’d prefer we just drop the plans, tell them the truth, now, before your dream becomes a reality . . . a nightmare.”

  “Knowing what it would do to Des? It’d not just ruin him financially, but also what it would do to him. This isn’t about money. You know that,” Trevelyn argued. But there was less conviction to his words than there had been three weeks earlier.

  Jago’s hand gripped the phone, fighting to keep from tossing it against the nearby tree. “There should be another way. The takeover will happen; Des has the wheels in motion and there’s no stopping it. Only, we can come clean first. Lay all our cards on the table. Do the deal straight on.”

  “Des wants it this way. We owe him—”

  Jago leaned his head back. Breathing in and exhaling slowly, he reached for a control that was rapidly slipping away from him. “Don’t start. Just don’t bloody start. I’ve heard the song and dance, chapter and verse, until I am ready to puke, Trev. This is not the way. It can’t be the way—”

  His phone chirped at the same time his brother cut him off. “My other line is ringing, Jago. Let me take it. It’s Mershan International’s line, so it will be Julian. Hold—”

  “That’s my phone saying the battery is low.” Jago jumped at the excuse to break off the conversation that threatened to ruin his whole night. “I need to recharge it. I’m out for the night, so call me tomorrow. Not early. Remember the time difference.”

  “No! Wait—”

  The line went dead. Whatever his brother wanted, it could wait.

  Asha adjusted
the long, black wig on her head and stepped back to study the effect in the mirror. Her sister B.A. was a beautiful blonde; her twin, Britt, was a stunning brunette. The remainder of the Montgomerie sisters took after their father and had various shades of auburn hair. To see the blue-black wig on her head, a shade similar to Jago’s hair, was startling to say the least.

  “Wonder what Sexy Lips will think of me as Morticia Addams?” She had been speaking to the cat, but looked around and noticed the creature had vanished.

  The bungalow was small—not many places he could disappear. Checking the kitchen proved the still nameless kitty wasn’t there feeding his face. Wondering where What’s His Name had vanished, Asha headed to the bathroom and flipped out the lights. The patio door was closed, so he hadn’t gotten out that way.

  She shut the closet door, but felt a cool draft coming from across the room. As she stared in that direction, unease skittering over her skin, the louvered shutters moved apart, pushed inward by a breeze as though moved by ghostly hands. Going to them, she took hold of the knob and pulled them wide. The window was raised about six inches—enough for the cat to climb through.

  “Even a fat cat,” she muttered in puzzlement.

  There was no screen covering the window. They were on all the bungalows, so why was hers missing? Feeling a chill creeping up her spine, she recalled Jago’s cabin had been broken into. Though nothing had been taken, she didn’t like that someone had violated his privacy. Now her screen was gone and the window open. She hadn’t left it that way.

  Maybe Jago had forgotten to close it and she hadn’t noticed before. That still didn’t explain the screen. Nothing had happened to any of the bungalows or the rooms since the incident of Jago’s broken lock; regardless, she didn’t like the feel of this.

  Putting her hand on her hips, she glared at the window. She went to the kitchen and found a screwdriver and two screws. Coming back, she closed the window and locked it. Then, where the bottom pane met the top, she very carefully twisted the screws into the wood at an angle on each side, only partway, effectively stopping someone from raising it. Closing the louvers, she hooked them shut, too. She’d check on where the screen had vanished later. Right now, she had to hustle; she didn’t want to be late to her party.

  The Shelby was back in its usual parking space, but as she stepped outside, Asha saw the lights in Jago’s cabin were off. Evidently he had already changed into his costume. She guessed the cat was with him.

  Feeling as if she’d forgotten something, she decided to go around and check on Delbert, suggest he close down the lobby early and go to the party. The dear man’s spirits seemed a little down for the past couple of weeks. She was worried about him. Maybe a few laughs and a dance might cheer him up, she hoped.

  She entered through the atrium, but he wasn’t about. She started to leave, but then her little voice nagged at her to check on him. Going down the hall off the side of the lobby, she followed it back to the rooms where Delbert lived. The door was ajar, but she hesitated before entering.

  Peeking around her doorframe, she called, “Delbert?”

  No response. Seeing light cast across the floor, as though a reading lamp was on in the bedroom, she slowly entered. Delbert was sitting in an overstuffed chair in the far corner. She smiled at the touches of old-fashioned décor about the room, the lace doilies on the tables and one on the back of the chair. Someone had spent hours making them. Delbert was sitting with a large album across his lap, the narrow beam of the lamp directly on it.

  “Delbert?” She knocked on the doorframe, trying to draw his attention. “Hey, Delbert. I’m looking for an escort to this big Halloween bash. I thought Obi-Wan might like to do the honors.”

  His posture was so forlorn that her heart squeezed. He looked up at her, and she saw his cheeks were streaked with tears. Worried, Asha rushed to him, frightened something was very wrong. She reached out and gently touched his arm.

  “What’s a matter? Are you all right?”

  He sucked in a deep breath and gave a forced smile. “I’m fine. You look different with black hair, Asha. I always had a thing for Carolyn Jones. Used to watch that silly show each week just to see her in that black dress, those eyes flashing wickedly.”

  Trying to lighten his mood, Asha imitated Morticia and did the Addams Family snap of the fingers. “And do I do her justice?”

  “You are beautiful, girl. Inside and out. Not many people are. I’d like some pictures of you and your Jago for my album.”

  “Certainly. All you want.”

  His trembling fingers reached out and stroked the edge of a photo. “He reminds me of Tommy, you know, same curly black hair. Oh, he doesn’t really look like him. But the eyes . . . sometimes I stare at them and I recognize it’s Jago, but for a breathless moment I see Tommy.”

  Asha’s heart dropped. “Tommy Grant?”Maybe you’d better ask those who know more about them. There’s one or two around. “You knew Tommy?”

  “A handsome boy. He grew into a great young man. I was so proud of him.” Such sorrow filled Delbert’s eyes as he looked up at her. “I don’t think I ever told him . . . I can’t remember . . . but I don’t think I told him how proud I was to be his uncle.”

  “Uncle?”

  “His mother was my older sister. Margaret Seacrest. Maggie, we called her. She married David Grant. Damn, so many mistakes in my life, girl. Too late to change things. My life’s over. Just regrets now. Tommy’s father was killed, hit head-on by a drunk driver. Maggie didn’t have a way to support herself. You see, it wasn’t expected of women back then. They married and stayed home to take care of the kids. That was the way of things. Women didn’t have careers. Only, Maggie had a son to raise. I took over supporting them. I didn’t have that much to give. Did what I could. I was a struggling lawyer, you know. Hard to build a practice in Leesburg. Times were tough. I worked long and hard, and much to my shame, often I resented that I was caring for Maggie and Tommy, instead of a wife and son of my own. Wasn’t good of me. I shouldn’t have done that . . . thought those things.”

  “Delbert, don’t be too hard on yourself. We’re only human. Sometimes we’re less than perfect, think or say things we really don’t mean. People who love us understand.”

  “I bought him that Mustang. They died in that car. Maybe if I hadn’t bought it . . .”

  Asha took his hand and clutched it tightly. “Sadly, bad things happen to good people. You buying a car had nothing to do with that.”

  The old man’s hand trembled as he nodded. “But they were so young, Asha . . . had so much to live for. Would have gotten married in a year, had children. They . . . would’ve made a beautiful son. He’d be about the age of your Jago now.” Delbert looked down at the picture of Laura and Tommy. “I feel them here. As if they didn’t move on. My sister died by her own hand. Took pills one night. She couldn’t live with losing both Dave and Tommy in car accidents. I used to come here, eat at the restaurant, or go to the drive-in. Play their song. After a spell, when people figured I should stop grieving and get on with my life, they began giving me pitying looks. ‘Poor Delbert, not right in the head.’ I had a heart attack when I was in my early sixties. A bad one. Nearly died. Your mama, god bless her soul, came to the University Hospital and picked me up. Brought me back here. Not sure where I would be without her.”

  “She did the right thing. You belong here with us.”

  “It was a good day you came back after your mama died. I feared this special place would one day be swallowed up by developers.”

  She grinned. “Won’t happen. I’m holding on to this place. And now I have Jago. He’ll be my warrior. He’ll fight for me, fight for The Windmill.”

  Delbert nodded. “Then I can die in peace.”

  “Like bloody hell you will.” Glancing at the pictures of Tommy and Laura, Asha wanted to see them. Just not tonight. Delbert needed to get out and ease his troubled heart, be with the rest of the Windmill family. Closing the album, she took it from his h
ands. “Some rainy afternoon I’d love for you to show me all the pictures and tell me about Tommy and Laura. I think I have a few things to tell you as well. But this night is magic. I shan’t leave unless you come. Tommy wouldn’t want you here alone.”

  He let her take the album. “I’m old, Asha. Life passed me by.”

  “No, it didn’t. You just live at The Windmill where time tends to stand still. You have a lot of years ahead of you. Stop wasting them with regret. We have so much to do here, and if I have my way, you’ll have a godson to bounce on your knee.” She shrugged. “Maybe next year?”

  His grin was real. “Godson? You going to marry Jago?”

  “Yeppers. Sure am. I haven’t told him yet—men like to think it’s all their idea.” She took Delbert’s arm and wrapped hers around it. “So, for now this is our little secret.”

  “You are a special lady, Asha Montgomerie. He’s very lucky to have you.”

  “Actually, he is. Now let’s hurry. We wouldn’t want to miss Bobby ‘Boris’ Pickett doing The Mash.”

  “You think he might sing ‘Purple People Eater’?”

  She laughed aloud. “I’m sure if you request it he might. If not, Colin and I will do a version for you.”

  He chuckled. “Now that would be a sight to see.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  But I’m lost for words

  When I hold you close

  Because you take my breath . . .

  Away.

  The beautiful ballad “Lost for Words” by Mike Duncan was softly playing in the background, yet suddenly Jago could barely hear it. He’d just asked Colin who the artist was, and where he could buy the CD, because the song seemed to reach into him, touch his heart. Duncan’s voice was haunting, compelling. Then he had looked down the terraced hillside and saw Asha coming up the winding concrete stairs, and he was truly lost for words, too. Lost to anything, for that matter. All the festive party noises, the wild costumes and the Halloween decorations faded to a dim blur as he stared at the woman he simply loved more than life.