This Side of Heaven tp-1 Read online

  Puckering her lips into a frown, Mimi grunted. "What can I do to help?"

  "Just keep being my friend. Keep putting up with me." Cyn tapped her slender fingers on the manila folder.

  "What have you got there?" Mimi asked.

  "A list of all our contributors." Cyn opened the file folder. "I plan to see each one of our major contributors and ask for...no...beg them for another donation."

  "I suppose you plan to hit your father up first thing?"

  "I know I can count on Daddy." Cyn lifted the list from the folder and scanned the pages quickly, reading out the names of the people who'd donated over a thousand dol­lars.

  Cyn's eyes focused on one name. She didn't remember ever meeting the man, but she knew that for the past five years he had been Tomorrow House's largest contributor. "This is who I'll contact first. He's donated ten thousand dollars every year for the past five years."

  "Who in the world has that kind of money to give away?"

  "Ramon Carranza. I'm going to call and try to set up an appointment with him."

  "I've heard of that guy," Mimi said, thumping her cheek with her index finger. "My friend Georgia, who lives in my apartment building, has a nephew who works for this Car­ranza. Waylon is the gardener, and he told Georgia that his boss was a very wealthy man. Got money invested in just about everything, and he's involved in a casino out in Ve­gas and another in Atlantic City. And the dog tracks."

  "He's probably a millionaire and needs the tax write-off large donations can provide for him."

  "Rumors are that he was once a very big man in Miami, back when the Cubans ran things, before the Colombians took over."

  "My goodness, Mimi, you sound like an expert on Flor­ida crime," Cyn said.

  "Naw, I'm just an old woman who likes to gossip. Peo­ple like this Carranza guy make for interesting conversa­tion."

  "Well, at this point I'm willing to give Ramon Carranza the benefit of the doubt. No one knows for sure how he made his money. We don't really know that he's a crime boss, do we? And in a way it's only fitting that bad money should do some good."

  "My guess is the old man is trying to soothe his con­science before he dies. Probably thinks he can buy his way into heaven."

  "He's an old man?" Cyn asked. "How old?"

  "Nearly eighty. Waylon told Georgia that he ain't got nobody. No children, and his wife died years ago."

  "He lives alone?"

  "Except for the servants and his bodyguard," Mimi said.

  "Bodyguard?"

  "Well, he is very rich."

  "I suppose you're right. I just hope I can persuade him to share those riches with us." * * *

  When she exited Interstate 1 directly behind the big black limousine, Cyn wondered who would be visiting Sweet Ha­ven in such opulent style. Her curiosity peaked when she noted that the limo turned off onto the beachfront road. As she followed the huge, slow-moving Caddy, Cyn's puzzle­ment increased when the vehicle passed her cottage and pulled up in front of Nate's house.

  Cyn parked in her drive and got out, balancing the paper grocery bag on one hip and her briefcase and purse on the other. She couldn't help but stare across the road at the enormous man getting out of the driver's side of the limo. She didn't think she'd seen such a mountain of a man ex­cept on TV wrestling. The stranger wasn't wearing a chauf­feur uniform however, but a tailored, dove-gray, three-piece suit. Even at this distance, she could make out the man's strong Hispanic features.

  Stepping up on the front porch, she readjusted the gro­cery bag, then inserted her door key in the lock. As soon as she heard the opening click, she glanced again across the road. The gargantuan man stood at Nate's front door. Who on earth was he? And why had he come to see Nate? Could this man possibly be the dangerous enemy of whom Nate had spoken?

  Giving the door a push with her hip, Cyn stepped inside, dropping her purse, key ring and briefcase on the nearest chair. Clutching the paper bag in her hand, she started to­ward the kitchen, stopped dead still, turned around and walked back to the open door. Peering outside, she took one more look across the street.

  Nate stood on his porch talking to the big stranger. She was too far away to hear even the sound of their voices, and she couldn't make out the expression on either man's face. Suddenly, Nate shoved his front door open and waited un­til his guest entered before returning inside.

  Cyn slammed the door and made her way to the kitchen. She placed the paper bag on the table and rummaged through it, removing the perishable items first. All the while she put away her groceries, Cyn kept thinking about Nate's visitor.

  Enough already! she told herself. You've got better things to do than worry about your unfriendly neighbor. And un­friendly was exactly what Nate had been the last three days.

  After a light supper of tuna salad, Cyn poured herself another glass of iced tea, put on a Patti Page tape and set­tled down on the over-stuffed chintz sofa in the living room. Picking up the manila folder, she pulled out the contribu­tors list, her gaze immediately focusing on the name she'd circled in red. Memorizing the number, Cyn dialed her portable phone.

  A female voice answered. "Ramon Carranza's residence. May I help you?"

  "Yes, this is Cynthia Porter. I'd like to speak to Mr. Carranza about Tomorrow House in Jacksonville."

  "Very well, Ms. Porter. Please hold."

  Cyn gave a silent prayer of thanks that she'd had no trouble getting through to Ramon Carranza. She waited and waited and waited. Finally she began tapping her fingers on the sofa's armrest, patting her foot to the gentle rhythm of the music and even humming along with the tune.

  "Hello, Señora Porter. This is Ramon Carranza. How may I help you?" The voice was strong and deep and only slightly accented.

  "Mr. Carranza," Cyn said, her own voice breathless. "I'm the assistant director at Tomorrow House in Jackson­ville."

  "I'm very familiar with Tomorrow House. I wholly sup­port your efforts to help young runaways."

  "That's wonderful, Mr. Carranza, and we're extremely grateful for your generous yearly donations." Take it slow and easy, she cautioned herself. Just use your feminine charm and don't push so hard.

  "But surely you are calling for more than to thank me." The tone of his voice had grown lighter, less formal.

  "As a matter of fact, I am. You see, if we can't raise a substantial amount of money before the end of May, the church plans to close us down, and I simply can't let that happen. I know it's presumptuous of me to be pleading with someone who's already been more than generous—"

  "Señora Porter, I would like to invite you to have brunch with me tomorrow, here at my home. I would be delighted if you can find the time to accept my offer."

  "Delighted...lunch...tomorrow...at your home?" God, she knew she was babbling, but his invitation had been so unexpected, so totally out of the blue.

  "May I take that as a yes?" he asked, amusement clearly in his voice.

  "You most certainly may," Cyn said. "What time?"

  "Shall we say around ten-thirty?"

  "Ten-thirty would be fine."

  "Will you need the services of my chauffeur?"

  "No, thank you." For a split second her mind wandered to the limo parked across the road. Did Ramon Carranza's chauffeur drive a big, black Caddy, too? "I'll drive myself. And... thank you for agreeing to see me."

  "It would be no problem for my chauffeur to come for you. Just give me your address."

  "I'm staying at my family's beach house in Sweet Haven right now, Señor Carranza. It's on the other side of no­where. The only two cottages out here are mine and Nate Hodges's across the road."

  "Living in such isolation, I hope your neighbor...this Señor Hodges... is a man you can count on for assis­tance?"

  Clearly his comment was a question, and Cyn found his fatherly concern endearing. "Oh, believe me, Nate is defi­nitely a man I could turn to if I were in trouble."

  "Nate? Then he is a friend of long acquaintance, yes?"

 
"Actually, no. We only met recently. He just moved into the house across the road a few months ago."

  "It is always good to make new friends."

  "Yes," Cyn said with a sigh, thinking how she would hardly describe her relationship with Nate as friendship. "It was kind of you to offer to send your chauffeur for me, but it will be easier all around for me to just drive myself."

  "Very well, then. I'll be looking forward to meeting you, Señora Porter."

  "Yes. Thank you, thank you so much." Cyn punched the off button on the telephone, held it up against her cheek and smiled. She had a lunch date with a man who could solve all of the shelter's problems. Somehow, some way, she was go­ing to make a good impression on Ramon Carranza and sweet-talk him into becoming Tomorrow House's savior.

  Now, if she could only figure out a way to solve her other problem, she thought as the tossed the phone onto the sofa and got up to walk over to the front windows. The limo was still parked at Nate's house. Dammit, why had that infuri­ating man come into her life? Even if he were willing for them to explore their feelings for each other, he'd made it perfectly clear that he wasn't interested in a permanent re­lationship with a woman. Well, if she could charm thousands of dollars from a man rumored to be a former Miami crime boss, then who was to say she couldn't teach a hardened warrior how to love? * * *

  Nate stood in the middle of his den eyeing the man standing directly across from him. Hell, he hadn't seen a man that big since Sonny Rorie, a survival instructor from his days at Coronado, that do-or-die time when he'd been a SEAL recruit.

  "You said you had news of Ryker?" Nate asked, won­dering just who the hell this guy was, one of Ryker's front men or some agent he didn't know. From the looks of him, Nate's first guess would have been a sumo wrestler.

  "I do," the man said, his voice laced with a slight Span­ish accent.

  "Who are you?"

  "Emilio Rivera."

  Nate widened his almond-shaped eyes, a questioning frown wrinkling his smooth forehead. So, he thought, this is Ramon Carranza's bodyguard. "Where did you get your information?"

  "My employer has his sources," Emilio said.

  "And just who is your boss?" Nate asked.

  "I am sure that your friend, Señor Romero, has already informed you of my employer's identity."

  "Maybe you should inform me."

  "Very well. Ramon Carranza has sent me to tell you that your enemy, Ian Ryker, has left Miami and is en route to St. Augustine."

  "I've been expecting him, so this really isn't such urgent news." Nate noticed the big man flinch, his jaw tighten.

  "Ryker already knows your exact location. We estimate that in approximately three days, he will make his move on you."

  "Just what is Carranza's stake in all this? And why the hell should I believe anything you tell me?" Nate didn't like puzzles, especially not ones that involved his life.

  "Señor Carranza is a very wealthy and powerful man. He has instructed me to tell you that everything he has is at your disposal if you wish to simply disappear. Ryker has signed your death warrant, Nathan Hodges. If you stay here, one of you will die."

  Why would Ramon Carranza offer him the means by which to escape Ryker? Nate wondered. The man obvi­ously had something to gain. Or perhaps it was all some elaborate trap. Maybe Carranza liked to play games as much as Ryker did. "What is your boss's interest in me and Ry­ker? What possible reason would he have to want to help me?"

  "If you wish to start a new life in another country, with a new identity, of course, we can arrange for the woman to join you," Emilio said.

  "What did you say?" The tension in Nate's stomach wound tighter and tighter until it spread through his whole body.

  "Señora Porter. If you wish for her to join you—"

  Moving with the speed of an attacking leopard, Nate pulled his knife to the other man's throat.

  Emilio, seemingly undisturbed by Nate's aggressive re­sponse, stood perfectly still. "You can put your knife away, Señor Hodges, I mean you no harm. But you must know that if we found out about Señora Porter, Ryker will find out about her, too."

  "There is nothing to find out about. She's my neighbor. I hardly know her." Hell, how had this happened? Nate asked himself. The one thing he hadn't wanted was to in­volve Cyn in his sordid battle with Ryker. "Tell your boss that I don't run from a fight, that I'm ready for Ryker."

  "And Ryker is ready for you," Rivera said. "A smart man would accept my employer's offer."

  "Tell Señor Carranza, thanks, but no thanks. I'll take care of my problems, my way." Nate had no idea what Carranza's stake in all this was, but there was no way he would trust any acquaintance of the Marquez family. Car­ranza was his enemy as surely as Ryker was. Nate had no doubts about that.

  "Very well. We thought as much." Emilio stared down at the knife Nate still held at his throat. "Would you mind?"

  Slowly, cautiously, Nate lowered the knife. "You still haven't told me why your boss is so interested in me."

  "I'm afraid I can't answer that."

  "Can't or won't?" Nate asked.

  "There is no need for either you or Ryker to die," Rivera said.

  "Is that what this is all about?" Nate asked. "Carranza is so afraid that I'll kill Ryker, he's willing to send me on a little all-expenses-paid vacation? Ryker must be very im­portant to your boss, or perhaps to some of your boss's friends."

  "If you change your mind, feel free to contact me." Em­ilio Rivera smiled, the expression softening his tough, lived-in face. He handed Nate a business card. "I'll tell Señor Carranza of your decision."

  "You do that." Nate watched his uninvited guest leave, not bothering to follow him to the front door.

  Just what the hell was that all about? Nate wondered. Something was damned screwy here. Something just didn't add up. What connection did a retired Cuban businessman have with the new Colombian regime? Birds of a feather? Or did Carranza's connection to Ryker supercede his old enemy's association with the Marquez family? And why had Emilio's powerful employer kept tabs on Nate since his days in Nam? As a favor to Ryker?

  Nate walked over to the desk, picked up the phone and dialed. While he listened to the ringing, Nate looked at the card in his hand. The name and address of a local restau­rant was printed on the front. He flipped the card over. Scrawled in heavy black ink was a St. Augustine phone number.

  "Yeah?" Nick Romero answered, his voice loud and clearly agitated.

  "I've got a news bulletin for you," Nate said.

  "What?"

  "Guess who just paid me a visit."

  Chapter 8

  Nate sat in the cool stillness of his den, with only the sound of his own breathing to keep him company. He caressed the smooth blade of the straight razor he held. It was old, he knew, but exactly how old, he wasn't sure. Old enough to have belonged to his grandfather.

  Closing the blade, he cradled the razor in his palm, then clutched it tightly. Had his knife collection started the day his mother had given this to him? he wondered. She'd placed it in his hand the last time he'd seen her, pale and weak in her hospital bed.

  "This was my father's," she'd told him. "It belonged to his father, and he would have wanted you, his only grand­son, to have it."

  Nate tossed the razor down on the metal trunk in front of the sofa as he stood up. He didn't think about his mother often, nor did he let his mind dwell on his tortured child­hood, his abusive uncle. But when he did, the hatred fes­tered inside him, feeding the loneliness and bitterness from which he couldn't escape.

  In the thirty-six years since his mother died, Nate had been alone and unloved. A boy always on the outside looking in. A man whose untamed life had taught him brutal lessons about the dark side of humanity. But there was light in this world, something pure and good shining through all the dark horror. He had seen a glimpse of that light in his mother, and he saw it in Cynthia Porter. She was truly light to his darkness, joy to his pain, sweetness to his bitterness. She held the key that
could unchain the heavy bonds hold­ing him prisoner in a cold, bleak and lonely existence.

  After a lifetime of waiting for her, and not even realizing he was waiting, she had finally materialized. From out of his dreams, Cyn had entered his world, igniting the fires of a passion he had known only in the shadows of his fantasies. She was real, not some imaginary lover who had haunted him for so long. She was flesh and blood, and he wanted her as he had never wanted anything in his life.

  But she could never be his. He didn't dare risk letting her into his heart. As long as Ryker lived, anyone close to Nate would be in danger.

  Restless, anxiety and longing frazzling his nerves, Nate paced the floor, finally throwing open the door and walk­ing around the yard. In the distance, the ocean's steady heartbeat and the cries of an occasional gull echoed in his ears, creating a tune that blended perfectly with the vivid portrait of an isolated Florida beach, warm and damp after spring rain.

  He knew he had to find a way to get Cyn to move out of her cottage, to leave Sweet Haven and return to Jackson­ville. After what Emilio Rivera had told him, he knew that Cyn's life was already in danger if she stayed here. If Car-ranza knew about Cyn, then no doubt Ryker would soon learn of her existence. He had to make sure that Ryker un­derstood the woman meant nothing to him. He couldn't al­low Cyn to be caught in the terror from his past.

  He had to talk to Cyn, maybe even tell her just enough to persuade her to cooperate. She was proving to be a very stubborn woman. It had taken every ounce of his will­power the last three days to stay away from her. And the day she'd run to him on the beach, he had wanted nothing more than to lie her down in the sand and take her. Instead, he had given her a stern, disapproving look, then run away.

  God, what it took for a man to reject a woman like Cyn! Maybe she didn't want to want him, but she did. He saw it in her eyes, those warm, rich brown eyes. Every time she looked at him, she told him she wanted him.

  Would it be so wrong, he asked himself, to spend one day with her? It might be all they ever had, the only chance for him to find, even momentarily, an escape from the pain that ruled his heart. He could go to her now, ask her to be with him, and later, when he had absorbed some of her light into his dark soul, he would make her understand that, for her own sake, she would have to leave Sweet Haven. * * *