“They?”
“The police. They probably tracked us through the car rental agency.”
“But why would they take the car? Wouldn’t they just put a watch on it until we returned?”
“Maybe. Or our friends in the Maruti might have taken it. They’re good at stealing cars. Might have wanted my gear.” He looked sad at the thought. “I guess we’ll have to spend the night in the ruins.”
I gave him a you-got-to-be-kidding look. “Not this lady. I want a shower and a bed, bare minimum. Why don’t we go to Yannis’s? His house isn’t far.”
“So he can call the police to pick us up?”
I shrugged happily. “Worse could happen. Your friends could shoot you.”
He frowned at me like he didn’t like my use of language. “I have a better idea. We’ll walk to the main drag and catch that taxi you were trying to get earlier to Limasol. Excellent choice, now that we have no car.”
I didn’t think my legs would carry me back out to the street. These flip-flops were not made for rough terrain, and I could feel a new blister forming every minute. But I had to find my aunt.
“Do you have the address of Mr. Bellomo?”
“Right here in my pocket.” He held up the corner of the napkin from this morning’s breakfast. “Let’s get a taxi to Limasol.”
Eleven
“A five star hotel?” I asked, as we pulled up in front of the Amathus Hotel complete with beach on the Mediterranean and private pools. I’d only fantasized about a room here since it was a bit pricey for my vacation budget.
“Thieves don’t normally stay in five stars, do they?” Zach said. “This would be the last place police would look. Thieves normally stay in seedy hotels with bare light bulbs and half-lit neon signs, don’t they?”
I sighed but didn’t move from the back seat of the taxi. “I thought we were going to find Mr. Bellomo first?”
He shrugged. “We need a land line phone. It might as well be in a posh hotel room as the pay phone on a dark street corner.”
“I notice you are making decisions without consulting me. Are we back to the captive-captor thing? I had gotten the impression we were moving toward team work a bit earlier today.”
I gave him a big, false smile.
He grasped my chin like a lover this time and brushed his lips across mine. Like that made up for everything. I still didn’t know what the score was.
He came around and helped me out. I tried not to hobble and was dying to take off the flip-flops. The lobby was huge with marble floors, chandeliers, big vases of cut flowers, heavy on the bird-of-paradise. I had once enjoyed lunch in the terrace restaurant that overlooked the sea. Lots of palm trees in big terra cotta pots. Warm sea breezes. Patrons loaded with gold jewelry and sporting expensive hair cuts. Superb food.
Zach strode to the check-in counter like he owned the place. I stood close and smiled. He asked for one of the rooms with private pools, avoiding my raised eyebrows. Our registration name was Mr. and Mrs. H. Moon. He pulled out the stack of plastic cards, flipped through and selected one. Did he have a collection of cards with various aliases? But he pocketed the cards before I could get a better look. The transaction went through without a hitch. We had a place for the night.
The clerk in spiffy gray uniform trimmed in gold and maroon looked us over and peeked over the counter.
“Your luggage, sir?”
“The airline lost it and said it will follow later. We’ll step over to the gift shop and pick up a few things.”
“Of course,” the clerk said with a hotel smile and turned to help the next customer.
Zach steered me into the designer gift shop. We both picked out clothes. They even had underwear. I picked out two pair of thongs, Zack intent upon my selection but speaking only with his eyes, a pair of tan Capri pants, white cotton blouse, and sandals resplendent with fake green jewels and copper sequins that were so tacky I loved them. I saw a slinky little black sundress and threw it on top of the pile. Zach put my stuff with his selection — a pair of tan pants and a white polo shirt.
Our room was to- the-extreme with balcony, sitting room and its own private pool with Jacuzzi. That had possibilities, but I was too tired to think. Muted dove gray and cream colors gave the room an elegant air with more cut flowers and a bottle of champagne chilling in a bucket. Nice touch. I checked out the bath with Jacuzzi and turned on the hot water tap to fill the tub while Zach worked on opening the champagne.
He came into the bathroom and handled me a glass of bubbly. “I ordered room service. They are sending up wine and mezzas. Room for two in there?”
“No, I’m tired and have a headache.” The satisfaction in saying that was enormous and appropriate punishment for a thief and liar.
He looked so sad I almost relented, but I knew I had to stand firm. “What about Mr. Bellomo?”
Zach sat on the side of the tub and took a long sip from his glass of champagne. “I’m going to track him down as soon as I finish this champagne. I’ve worked up a terrible thirst.” He finished it off and sat the glass down. “If you won’t let me into your bath, I guess I’ll have to shower.”
He unbuttoned his shirt, dropped it on the floor and shed his shorts. I looked away. It would be the end of what little self-respect I had left. I busied myself at the tub facet, playing with the hot and cold to get it just right. A line of bottles on the sink gleamed in the bright lights over the mirror. I found ambrosia bath bubbles and dumped in half the bottle. Perfect.
I tried hard not to look in Zach’s direction. With a huge, sad sigh he had entered the shower and sang away. He had a baritone to equal Sherrill Milne. I love baritones. My insides got all squishy. He was singing “On the Street Where You Live” from My Fair Lady. Why that song? Why now? There was no end to his bag of tricks.
I started to strip and realized I might sneak in a phone call while he was preoccupied in the shower. I grabbed a towel and went into the bedroom to take off my clothes. Purse. Where was my purse? I couldn’t find it anywhere. I looked through the drawers of a very large dresser, under the bed, in the closet, pulled on the door of the armoire. Locked. The guy trusted me, didn’t he? He had locked up my bag with all my numbers.
I couldn’t remember Yannis’s number. There was no time to look up the police. I wasn’t sure I wanted to call them anyway, but I did know my own office number and Lena’s home number so I pushed hers in. It would be middle of the night in Boston. Hopefully, Lena would be in and not spending the night with her latest flame. It rang eight times. C’mon Lena, answer. The message machine came on. She was out. Didn’t she know I was trying to reach her?
“Lena, wish you were in. I only have sixty seconds. I desperately need you to do a background check on Zachariah Lamont who uses aliases H. Moon and Henry Dellinger. Please, as soon as possible, send me a text message on my cell phone. I’ll try to call later.”
Less than sixty seconds. I hung up, striped off my clothes, wrapped the towel around my body, and strode into the bathroom.
Zach was nonchalantly toweling off. “Who’d you call?”
“Me? Call? I was taking off my clothes, look.” I flashed open the towel, dropped it and stepped into the bath. It was deliciously hot, and I sank in like a hippo in a mud wallow.
He smirked, wrapped the big white, fluffy towel around his waist in sudden modesty and stepped into the other room.
My hand enveloped the stem of the tulip champagne glass and I took several, long smooth sips. Dom Perignon. I saw the bottle. My taste buds are not that discerning. Very, very nice. The sedative effect of the alcohol and the hot, bubbly water made my muscles go limp. I closed my eyes to enjoy the sensation.