She uncrossed her arms and smoothed out the fabric across the front of her skirt. “I’ll certainly keep it in mind.” She turned and left the room, and I heard the sound of the screen opening.
When I stepped into the hall, I saw Collazo standing in the dark at the doorway to the kids’ room. He was watching Solange sleep, and he looked up, surprised when I joined him.
“Isn’t she sweet?” I asked. “She’s got nobody, you know. Do you really want to send her back to the streets of Port-au- Prince?”
“You get them settled into Elliot’s condo. Tomorrow”—he turned and looked straight at me—“I want to talk to the child about this captain.”
We piled toys and clothes and sleepy kids into the back of Jeannie’s van. It took me several minutes to convince Solange that she couldn’t go with me in the Jeep, that she needed to stay in the van with the other kids. Looking like a regular caravan, we pulled out of Jeannie’s driveway—the van, then me in the Jeep, and Rusty taking up the rear in the Border Patrol Suburban. When Agent D’Ugard had left earlier, Rusty walked her down to her car, and although I couldn’t hear what they were saying, I did hear their raised voices.
When we exited Sailboat Bend onto Broward Boulevard, Rusty had us divide up and drive around in some convoluted routes while he backtracked behind each of us, checking for any possible tails. It was nearly two in the morning when we met up in the parking lot at the Howard Johnson’s on the beach. Jeannie and Rusty were there ahead of me, and a Hollywood cop pulled into the lot at the same time I did. Rusty went over and leaned into the car to talk to the officer.
I jumped out of the Jeep and went over to the window of Jeannie’s van.
“How’re the kids?” I asked.
“They zonked out in the first five minutes. I’d like to do the same. What’s Mr. Green Jeans doing, anyway?”
I was trying to come up with a clever remark, but my brain was too exhausted to even approach the realm of slightly amusing.
Just then Rusty stepped away from the cop car, and he motioned for us to follow him. We drove another three blocks north and parked in the lot of a condo building on the Intracoastal side of US-1. The complex wasn’t huge, just a single building four stories high with a rustic wood sign out front that said “Heron Heights Condominiums.” There was no ground floor; the building was built over a covered parking area. Rusty waved as the Hollywood cop cruised slowly past the building, and we each took a sleeping kid and carried them up to the fourth floor.
The door to Rusty’s condo was at the end of the hall, facing north. When I stepped inside his unit, I realized it stretched to both sides of the building, overlooking the Intracoastal to the west, and when I crossed the living room to the sliding glass balcony doors, the ocean loomed as a distant dark mass,beyond the rooftops of the low apartment bungalows between US-1 and North Surf Road.
Rusty flicked a switch and the soft light of a ceramic lamp lit the room. The lamp rested on a dark wood table next to a big leather reading chair.
“Wow,” I said. The place was like something out of an old Key West magazine photo—hardwood floors, ceiling fans, built-in bookcases, and a few perfectly placed antiques.
“In here,” Rusty said, carrying Jeannie’s son Adair into one of the bedrooms. He laid the boy down on the queen-size bed and unfolded the armchair, which was then transformed into a single futon. I knelt down and placed the girl’s thin body on the futon mattress, though it took me several minutes to get her to let go of my neck. Even in her sleep, she was clinging to me in a way I found both unsettling and reassuring, as though whether or not I believed in myself, this child believed in me. Jeannie and I covered all three kids with the sheets and blankets Rusty provided, while he fiddled with the air conditioner to clear out the stale air. He pointed Jeannie to the second room, promising to bring up the rest of the luggage. Jeannie just waved a limp hand in the air and closed the door behind her.
“You can have the bedroom. I’ll take the couch,” Rusty said.
“Nah, I’m not staying.”
“But you must be exhausted.” He rested his hand on my shoulder, and I felt the muscles beneath his touch tighten. “You shouldn’t drive anywhere.”
I shrugged. “Yeah, but I’ve got the dog at home and—” I couldn’t finish the sentence. I looked at him, saw the way his shaggy hair fell across the tops of his ears, the way the light made his blue eyes appear iridescent. I had enjoyed that kiss earlier, and the prospect of another wasn’t exactly unappealing. B.J. and I had agreed to a break. There really wouldn’t be anything wrong with it, would there? My brain felt foggy.
I turned and stepped out of his reach, trying to get the weight of that hand off my shoulder before I did something really stupid. “You got a Coke or something with caffeine? I think I just need a little fresh air.” With barely a touch of my hand, the balcony doors slid open with a soft whoosh, and the moist sea air blew into the opening. I stepped outside and sucked in what a yoga instructor years ago had called a “cleansing breath.” I exhaled loudly through my mouth. Rather than revived, I felt even more dizzy. I was hyperventilating.
Rusty joined me at the balcony rail and handed me an icy soda can. I drank so much, so fast, my chest hurt. Out on the horizon a small pinpoint of light appeared and then disappeared, then came back and grew steady—a small vessel crossing the current, heading for Port Everglades. There was no other traffic in sight, which was unusual for this stretch of the coast. I wondered then, how many boats were out there running dark—running drugs or human cargo?
“This is really a nice place you’ve got here, Rusty. View’s sure spectacular.”
“Yeah, I like it, but I don’t get to use it enough. I keep my boat at the dock out back on the Waterway, and most times I just go out fishing, come back, and never even make it upstairs.”
“I hope you’re going to be ready for three rowdy kids in the morning.”
“Bringing them here solved the problem for tonight, but this is not a long-term solution, you know.”
“Why’d you do it? Invite us over like this?”
He tried to laugh, but it came out a single “Ha,” without humor. “Good question.” He leaned his arms on the balcony railing and stared out to sea. He seemed to be struggling to find the words to say something. I was afraid of what that might be.
I drained off the last of the soda. “Well,” I said, and turned to head for the door.
He reached for my shoulder and slid his big hand around the back of my neck and under my ponytail. He pulled me to him, saying, “It took inviting the entire crew over just to get you here.”
“Now that’s funny, because they’re going to stay and I’m not.” I must not have sounded very convincing at that point because he kissed me. Again. And again, I didn’t protest. In fact, my body became a regular cheerleader for the idea. All kinds of little nerve endings were shaking their pom-poms.
But then I pulled away. “Rusty, it’s late and we both need to get some sleep.”
He tried little kisses then, down the side of my neck, around my ears, and that came very close to making me forget everything.
When I got to the door and had my hand on the doorknob and was almost out of there, he called my name softly. “Seychelle.”
“Yeah,” I said, but I didn’t even turn around.
“Are you sure you won’t stay?”
I couldn’t answer him. My voice would have given too much away.
When I got back to the Larsens’ place and saw Abaco crawl out all sleepy from under her bougainvillea bush, I sat down on the bench outside the cottage door and gave her a good body rub. She groaned in contentment. I patted the bench next to me, and she hopped up and sat there panting. I looped an arm around her and buried my face in the soft fur around her neck. I pulled back quickly.