Legend of the Sorcerer (4 page)

“Yes, ma’am.” Cai hid the scowl. He hated wash day. Even as a grown man, he’d always had this ridiculous urge to hide his white BVD’s inside his navy blue Dockers. Just to see what she’d do. As yet, he’d never worked up the nerve.

She pulled the mail from one of the boxes and handed it to him. He flipped through the top few, went to toss a piece of junk mail in the trash, then froze. He pulled it back and looked at it, remembering a postcard he’d tossed out over a week ago. A postcard alerting him that his pictures were ready.

“Ye know where to find me then, should you be needin’ anythin’,” Dilys interrupted, clearly dismissing him.

“Uh, I’m going over to Mangrove for a bit. Shouldn’t be gone more than an hour or so.”

“I can handle himself if he’s to wake,” she said with a light sniff. “You go on with yours.”

Cai nodded, thankful that she could indeed handle Alfred. Back on the dock, he decided to take the jet boat.

He couldn’t recall the exact day the postcard had arrived. Right around the time the second e-mail had shown up, he thought. It had been from some one-hour shop, but he hadn’t dropped off film to be developed. He’d thought it was some sort of gimmick, show up and get free film if you become a value member or something. He’d tossed it and not given it another thought.

Ten minutes later he was docking at the pier behind the storage facility that housed his bike. He ducked into the office. “Hey, you have a copy of the yellow pages I could glance at?”

Dobs, the owner and his occasional fishing partner, looked up from his magazine. “Hey, I heard the snapper are biting. How ’bout it?” He pulled the dog-eared phone book from beneath the counter.

Cai smiled, but shook his head in true regret. “Can’t today.” Dobs was an older man, a widower closer to Alfred’s generation, originally a mailman from Philly.

“How’s Alfred? I asked Dilys earlier.” He shook his head. “Never get more than a nod out of the old broad.”

Cai grinned. Dobs loved to give Dilys a hard time. That act of bravery alone had earned him Cai’s awe and respect. “He’s doing okay.” Cai flipped the book open.

Dobs frowned. “Shame we can’t get him out on the water.” Fishing was Dobs’ cure for everything.

Cai wished it were that simple. “Yeah, me too.” He tried to imagine Alfred, holding court with an ocean full of fish and crustaceans and lecturing on young Arthur, Lancelot, and that poor misguided Guinevere. “It would be … entertaining.” As expected, there weren’t many listings for photography shops. “Got some paper and a pen?”

Dobs squinted at what was on the page, then promptly tore it out. “Here ya go.”

“Thanks, Dobs. I expect a full report on those snapper next time I come in.”

“If I get any extra, I’ll drop ’em off.”

Cai hid his smile as he turned to the door. Dobs would make sure he had a few “extra.” Any excuse to stop off and rile up Dilys. “You’re a better man than I.”

Dobs’ laugh turned into a wheeze. “Nah, just older. She ain’t gettin’ any younger either. I’ll wear her down one of these days.”

Cai doubted the United States Marines could wear down Dilys’ resolve. But far be it from him to discourage Dobs’ fun. “You never know. The world is full of surprises.”

Cai hit pay dirt at the second shop. There was a stack of postcards on the counter of the ZippySnap that looked like the one he’d received.

“I’m here to pick up some film. Last name is L’Baan.” The woman behind the counter was very blonde and very tan. Her nametag said Sherrill. “Say, do I know you?” she asked with a toothy smile.

“It’s possible. I live around here.” He nodded toward the file drawers. “I’m kind of in a hurry.”

She gave him another lookover, finishing with a direct look that made it clear if they hadn’t met before, she was more than willing to remedy that situation. Cai shifted his gaze to the framed pictures on the wall. He heard her sigh, then the sound of the envelopes being flipped through.

“Here you go,” she said brightly, putting the thick envelope on the counter.

Cai spun around. “Really?” He looked down at the envelope with a mixture of relief and dread.

The clerk glanced at the envelope. “They were left here almost two weeks ago. We got them done that day.”

“I … I know. You sent me a postcard, but I didn’t get around to picking them up until now. I’m, uh, just glad you still have them.”

“We would have called you, but you didn’t leave us a number, just your PO Box address.”

Cai looked at the handwriting on the envelope. The neatly printed block letters weren’t close to his own scrawl. He debated interrogating her, but decided he’d better look at the pictures first.

He sat on his motorcycle and fingered the selfstick flap. Maybe he should just go directly to the police, but maybe this was some sick prank. He tore open the flap and slid out a glossy stack of prints. He wasn’t at all prepared for what greeted him.

She was quite lovely
.

She had a gamine face with short auburn hair that was lifted by the wind, blowing in soft spikes around her face. Her cheekbones were high and sharp, her mouth small and full. She had a graceful neck, or maybe it was the wispy tendrils that clung to it that made it appear so. She wore a skinny-strapped white tank top and no bra, although there wasn’t much there to require one. She looked short, with well-toned arms and a flat, tanned belly, shown off by the baggy khaki shorts slung low on her hips. The heavy leather sandals should have looked like clodhoppers on her feet, instead they made her seem all the more earthy and natural. Her crooked smile was somewhat shy, as if she knew a secret. But there was a twinkle in those eyes, as if it were a secret she was just dying to tell.

It took several seconds before he pulled his gaze from the woman’s face and noticed the background. The glass door behind her had the words The Mangrove Hotel stenciled
on it. It was a relatively new place, just opened the year before.

So, she was here. Or had been here.

He flipped through the rest of the photos. They were mostly shots of the shore; sunrises, sunsets, narrow focus shots of wildflowers, the occasional manatee or waterfowl. They looked like someone’s vacation photos. A chill raced over his skin. Had this nut snatched some innocent vacationer right off the beach?

Then he realized the obvious. The kidnapper didn’t have to be in Wales, just have an e-mail account there. She could have been here in the Keys all along. In fact, maybe there was no victim. Maybe the pictures were of Margaron herself and this whole thing was a sick, sick joke.

Oh, how he wanted to believe that. Yet, he thought of the smiling woman in the photo and couldn’t imagine that either. He had to go to the police. He’d deal with Eileen later.

The road to the Mangrove PD took him right past the Mangrove Hotel. He found himself turning in. The chances of the woman still being here were slim. But he had to find out.

He swung off his bike and pulled out the photo. “Who are you?” he asked under his breath.

Then he looked up … and saw her.

J
ordy had that odd feeling she was being stared at. Tammi Peters finished drawing her dragon with a wild flair of purple flame coming from his mouth, making Jordy smile. “Now, there’s a royal dragon if I ever saw one.”

She shook off the feeling and looked over the artwork of the other four children.

“What fierce beasts,” she exclaimed. “I’m impressed.”

“Can we take them to show our parents?” asked Johnny. Jordy nodded. “Let’s clean up. Tomorrow we’ll get out the paint.” The kids cheered and began noisily gathering up their pastels, crayons, and markers. Jordy watched with great satisfaction as the kids ran to Carol, the head counselor, babbling about the fun they’d had. Taking this job had definitely been the right choice. Working with the kids, seeing their unbridled enthusiasm for even the smallest of projects, watching their eyes spark as their imaginations took over … it reminded her of what she’d lost. But in a good way. It made her look at creativity through the eyes of a child, as something fun. Simplified. It gave her hope.

She waved good-bye and returned Carol’s thumbs-up.

“Excuse me.”

Startled by the deep voice so close by, Jordy whirled around.

“Could I speak to you for a minute?”

His voice was quiet, but there was an underlying intensity that was a bit unnerving.

“I’m sorry, but I’m not a regular member of the staff here. You’ll have to go in to the office. They can help you, I’m sure.”

“I don’t need to speak with the staff. I want to talk to you.”

Was he coming on to her? She didn’t think so. He wasn’t smiling or trying to be charming.

“I’m Malacai L’Baan.” He didn’t extend his hand. Instead, he studied her closely, too closely, as if looking for some reaction on her part.

Jordy went back to gathering the papers and utensils. “I’m sorry, but I’m in sort of a hurry.”

“Maybe these will slow you down.” He tossed a glossy photo on top of the stack of paper she’d collected.

It was a picture of her standing in front of the hotel. If he had her pictures, then those photos she’d received were probably his. Was this the man who’d done such horrific damage to that woman? Her gaze was drawn to his hands. Long fingers, not slender, but well formed and unscarred. They didn’t look like the hands of a bully. But abusers hands probably came in all shapes and sizes.

“I believe those are mine,” she said.

“The envelope had my name on it.”

She looked up at him, taking him in for the first time. He was tall, probably just under six feet. Pretty good build, tanned and fit looking, dark hair, attractive. Or maybe he would be if he smiled.

Should she explain about the mix-up? What would she say when he asked for his photos back? What would he do when he found out she’d turned them over to the police?

“What do you know about all this?”

Jordy tensed. “It looks like they stuck the wrong photos in your envelope.”

“You looked surprised to see them.”

“Well, of course I am. I thought they were lost.”

“You’re telling me this was a simple mix-up?”

“Yes. What else could it be?” Did he think she was somehow helping the woman he’d beaten up? But why had he taken pictures of her and risked having them developed? None of this made sense.

“Do you work here?” he asked.

“What? Yes. Why?”

“Those look like vacation pictures.”

“I’m an artist, they’re shots I took as subjects.” She sounded too nervous. But he was making her uncomfortable. She should just call Sgt. Winston, not take any chances. She catalogued his features, though she knew she’d never forget a detail. His face was lean planes and hard angles. He’d be challenging to sculpt, she thought, surprised at the sudden itch in her fingertips. She could almost feel the taut skin, the fine bone structure.… Her hands tightened on the envelope. And those eyes … they’d never come across fully in clay. They needed color. A rich gray, deep and soft like cashmere, and wholly mesmerizing. No, she’d never forget what he looked like.

What was the name he gave her? Mal something. Something unusual, different.

“I really appreciate you dropping these off.” She pasted on a smile. “Thank you.”

He was still frowning. “You’re saying when you went to pick these up they just said they were lost? Wasn’t there another envelope somewhere with your name on it?”

“I’m sorry you lost your pictures.”

“You don’t have them?”

“No.” At least she didn’t have to lie.

“And you don’t know anything else about this. You’ve never heard of me before.”

“No, I’ve never heard of you,” she said, becoming as confused now as he was.

“This makes no sense,” he muttered.

“I got the impression the shop wasn’t all that well managed. I’d guess this happens to them a lot.”

“I don’t suppose you’d mind telling me your name?”

“I don’t think that’s a great idea. Good luck finding your pictures.” She laid the envelope on top of the stack of paper and scooped up the pile.

“If this is just an innocent mix-up, then I’m sorry.” He sighed, though more to himself. “I really need to find those other pictures. It’s very important.”

There was an urgency in his voice. Maybe he really was trying to help that woman. “Is something wrong?”

“It’s possible that someone is in danger.”

Jordy stilled.
Just tell me you’re her brother, or boyfriend, or husband even, so I can trust you
. “What’s in those pictures?”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know? I’m sorry, what was your name again?”

His eyebrows lifted, then, improbably, he smiled.

Jordy had been wrong. It didn’t make him attractive. It made him downright gorgeous. “I said something funny?”

“Maybe I’m losing my mind, but I think you’re telling me the truth.”

“About not knowing you? I take it you’re used to being a more memorable guy.”

“Don’t apologize. It’s nice to be unremarkable.”

She smiled. “Trust me. You’re remarkable.”

He extended his hand. “Malacai L’Baan. My friends call me Cai.”