Say Your Goodbyes Page 4

  “I told you. I don’t remember a thing. It’s all just a great big black bunch of nothing.”

  Well, the alliteration was good. “Where are you from?”

  She just shook her head, looked upset about his questioning. She started fiddling with the napkin, tearing off pieces and putting them on her plate. He watched her do that for a few moments.

  “Let’s talk about your name again. Think hard. Try to remember. See if it’ll come back.”

  The girl tossed her head and swirled her long dark hair around her shoulders. It was thick and nearly waist length. She wouldn’t look at him now. The bridge of her nose had a gash across it but was no longer bleeding. Then she latched those intense obsidian eyes on him. “Listen, señor, I told you I don’t know. I wish I did. It’s scary not knowing anything. Not even my own name.”

  “Know what, kid? I’ve been around the block a couple of times. I know something about lying, and I think you’re lying to me right now.”

  “No, I’m not! Please believe me. You saved my life, or I guess you did. You said you did. I’m grateful for that. Really, I am. You didn’t have to. You didn’t even know me.”

  Novak considered her and considered her to still be lying through her teeth. “Okay, let’s go through this together. One step at a time. I’ll get you started. You were on a big white yacht with a black stripe down the side. Called the Orion’s Trident. Registered out of Cancun. There were two men on board with you. One tall guy, one short guy. You were screaming for help, and then the tall one tried to rescue you. Got himself killed for the trouble. The other guy knocked you around some and then you went over the rail and into the water. Then he took potshots at you, wanting you dead, for damn sure. I warned him off with my rifle, and then he panicked because he couldn’t see me. He roared off in a small boat, looked like a Zodiac to me, maybe, similar to mine but larger. Then I motored over to see what the hell was going on and if you were dead or alive. Any or all of that ring a bell for you?”

  “No, sir. It’s just all gone blank. Until I woke up here and saw you. I thought you were going to hurt me. I thought you were bad.” She was staying with the accented English now.

  “Okay, you don’t remember a thing. Well, that’s just great. So where do you suggest we go from here?”

  She bit her bottom lip and puckered up as if ready to dissolve into some giant angst and bawl out her frustration. Alas, and again, no tears showed up. Novak took note of that, as he did her carefully sorrowful expression. She was a pretty young girl, but there was something else in her eyes, too. Something very adult back there hovering around in those jet-black depths. Some kind of gauging and conniving going on, for sure. He would bet his life on it. She must have sensed his distrust.

  “I’m truly sorry. I’d tell you if I knew something. Maybe it’ll all come back to me soon. Maybe I’m in shock? Could that be it? You know, from getting knocked in the head.”

  “Yeah, maybe. Could be a mild concussion, but you couldn’t eat that much food if you were in really bad shape. Not without throwing it back up. But you did take a couple of hard knocks to the head. So you better take it easy from now on. Nix the fighting and running around.”

  “Did you really shoot at somebody, just to save my life?”

  Novak scoffed at the question. “Yeah. I have a tendency to intervene when I see a murder about to go down.”

  “Really? You’ve saved lives before like that?” Her eyes looked huge and glinted in the soft light flooding down through the long and narrow porthole above the table. “Well, thank you so much, I mean it. For saving me. Maybe I’ll remember something soon. Maybe I’ll find a way to repay you.”

  “Yeah, well, thanks, but I don’t want to be repaid. Let’s just hope you figure out who you are.” He observed her silently for another moment. “So, tell me. What am I supposed to do with you until then?”

  She looked down at her hands and then she picked up the crucifix around her neck and held it in one fist, the absolute picture of abject misery now. She gave a helpless shrug. Her voice came back small and penitent. “I’m sorry I’m causing you so much trouble. I wish I could tell you everything you wish to know. I feel terrible that I cannot. I will pray to the Virgin Mary for my memory to return.”

  Oh, brother, Novak thought. Now she’s a nun. He had tried his best to be patient, but this girl, there was just something wrong about her. He felt a twinge of aggravation. Couldn’t help it. She was making him feel responsible for her, and he didn’t like it. Didn’t want to take on that kind of responsibility, didn’t want her to remain on his boat, didn’t want the complication of having to find her husband or parents, or anything else about her. “Well, I sure as hell can’t adopt you.”

  That surprised her. Her expressions were easy to read at times. Other times, not so much. She gave a soft little laugh, all sweet and girly and musical. Cut it off pretty quick, true, but it relieved some of the tension looming up between them. Novak finished his beer and watched her. She looked a lot better, but that wouldn’t take much. Color had come back into her cheeks a bit, put a pink bloom under the tan. She had dark skin anyway, further proof that she was Mexican. She absently touched her hair where it flowed down over her shoulders. It looked thick and soft and was the deep, rich color of fine ebony hardwood. It had waves from where the plaits had been pulled tight.

  “Do you want anything else to eat?”

  “I can get things for myself. You don’t have to wait on me. You’ve done enough already.”

  So Novak sat there and watched her get more food for herself. He took that time to observe the bruises on her bare arms and legs and around her throat. The ones on her wrists and ankles weren’t as bad as he’d first thought. She had been bound at some time or another, looked like rope burns, maybe. That indicated she had been a captive, as did the ropes and shackles he’d found belowdecks on the Orion’s Trident.

  The girl polished off another portion of food in nothing flat, and Novak hoped she wasn’t making herself sick. “Okay, I think you’ve had enough now. Why don’t you go lie down and rest awhile and let me think about what I’m going to do with you? How about I call you something? What name should I use?”

  “I don’t know my name. I don’t care. You don’t have to call me anything.”

  “I need to call you something.”

  “Then call me Friday, like in Robinson Crusoe, I guess.” She smiled, but it was brief and tentative and seemed out of place under the circumstances. This girl was strange.

  Novak studied her face. “You remember the name of that book but not your own name?”

  “I guess so. I do remember that story. About the shipwreck and all that.”

  “How about I just call you Jane? Like Jane Doe?”

  She just nodded, not very interested in what he called her, it seemed. “You want me to wash up the dishes? Since you cooked supper and all? I will. I will be glad to.”

  “Nope. I can handle it.”

  She nodded, and then she stood up, wiggled out of the booth, and headed back to the fore cabin. He heard her climb into the wedge berth and then slide the door shut behind her. The lock clicked. So much for trusting his intentions. He couldn’t blame her.

  Novak took the aft companionway top decks and scanned the horizon again, still expecting trouble. It was past twilight, well into the gloaming, sunset faded away, but a lovely, peaceful time on the ocean. He’d checked for interlopers about fifty times already. Because trouble was incoming and soon, no doubt about it. There were no boats approaching his position yet. Nothing in sight all around, only mile after endless mile of restless seas under quickly encroaching darkness. But he had that feeling he got sometimes, that little niggling worry that usually showed up when things were getting ready to come down hard on him. He moved back into the stern, fired up the engines, and headed her due east, away from the Mexican coast, setting a course in the general direction of the Cayman Islands. He guessed his best option was to take the kid back to his plantation
house in Louisiana. Turn her over to the Lafourche Parish sheriff ’s office and let them figure out who she was and how she had gotten herself into this big mess. But that idea didn’t sit well with him. Not until he knew who she was. She could be anybody. Anybody at all. And anybody at all could be a disaster for him, because if he’d learned anything in his life, it was that good things could turn into bad things very fast.

  On the other hand, Will Novak had been a private investigator by trade since he’d left the military. He could find out the girl’s identity himself, maybe. Possibly even from the computer equipment he had on board, but not without a name or birth date or anything else to go on. He could take her picture and send it to his partner. Claire Morgan was a hell of a good investigator, whom he trusted implicitly and could call upon night and day. Yeah, Claire was quite a woman, all right. She never gave up on her cases or on anything else. And that was putting it mildly. Actually, all he might need to do was check the girl’s fingerprints. That alone might solve the mystery, if she had a criminal background. He didn’t have a fingerprinting kit on board, but he might get something halfway usable with computer ink. Then he could e-mail the prints out to Claire and she could run them through AFIS for him. Quick and easy. Same went for her picture, especially if this kid turned out to be bad news. As innocent and pristine as newly fallen snow she was not, he would bet on it. But she could be the victim she purported herself to be. He could take her to a battered women’s shelter in the islands and let them figure it out. It was a long voyage back to Louisiana. But for some reason, he didn’t really want to cast the kid off somewhere—not quite yet. Just in case her life really was in danger.

  Unfortunately, his damn protective instinct was beginning to kick in, and against his better judgment. He steered the boat out into the deep blue expanse of water stretching out in front of him, eager to put distance between him and the guy who had been killing people on the yacht the night before. Maybe, with a stroke of good fortune, the poor young girl with whom he was now saddled would simply remember her name and address and telephone number, and Novak could sail her right back home and be rid of her for good. Not likely, but it was a happy thought.

  Nothing remotely like that happened. Not that night; not the next day. His guest remained in her cabin by herself most of the time, quiet as a mouse, not moving around much, not from what he could hear. Probably just lying on the bed, either asleep or trying to remember her name and hometown zip code. She only came out where Novak was when she smelled food cooking. That went on until she climbed up on deck and sat down on the padded banquette across from him. Novak was fishing for their supper off the starboard side and pretty much ignored her.

  “I remembered something, Mr. Novak.”

  That got Novak’s attention quickly enough. He swiveled his seat around and stared at her. “Well, great. Tell me.”

  “I think my name might be Isabella.”

  “Nice name. You remember your last name, too?”

  She got the usual flash of fright on her face and shrugged and changed her facial expression on cue to I’m-just-so-damn-sad-and-pitiful. A studied “feel sorry for me” look, oh yeah.

  “Remember anything else?”

  “No, sir.” She glanced around and then she said, “I really am sorry for causing you all this trouble.”

  “Those guys were holding you prisoner. No doubt about it. You have rope burns where they tied you up. You were their captive. You don’t remember why they were holding you?”

  “Vaguely, I think. I faintly recall getting hit in the face. I remember the taste of blood. It gagged me. I remember being really scared.”

  Novak observed her a moment and then placed his rod aside. “Do you have any tattoos?”

  “Not that I can see.”

  Novak hadn’t seen any, either. And he’d seen a lot of her. “Birthmarks?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “I could take your picture with my cell phone and e-mail it to a friend of mine. Let her put it out to the U.S. media. Maybe the networks would pick it up and screen it nationwide. Maybe it would get coverage in some other countries, too.”

  Novak waited for her reaction to his suggestion. If she wasn’t hiding anything, if she really was suffering from amnesia, she wouldn’t mind putting her photo out. She would welcome any way to find out who she was. If she was wanted by the law, she wouldn’t be so thrilled to have her image flashed around the world and hung up on police station bulletin boards. He waited some more.

  “What if that bad man you told me about sees my picture and comes after me again?”

  “He’ll find me instead. I won’t let him get to you. I’ll make sure he doesn’t.”

  “Why would you do that? You could get hurt. Shot. You said he was really bad.”

  “Because he’s a damn coward who beat up a woman and left her to drown. He ran away when somebody who could fight back showed up. Don’t worry about me. I can take care of myself. And I can protect you.” Novak thought of Mariah, his sister-in-law, and how he’d promised her his protection, too, and only weeks ago. But now she was dead, and he hadn’t been able to prevent it. Guilt ate into his gut every time he thought about her and the way she died. He tried to block out those thoughts and kept his attention leveled on the girl’s face.

  “Why?” she asked him again. “Why are you doing this?”

  “Because you need help. And I’ve got what it takes to help you.”

  Her eyes filled up. No tears fell this time, either—again, something he definitely needed to take note of. Cate Blanchett, she was not. “Thank you,” she told him, all teary-eyed and teary-voiced and touched and clogged up in her throat. Then she said, “I don’t even know your first name.”

  “It’s Will. Will Novak.”

  “Thank you, sir. Mr. Novak.”

  “Okay. And again, stop with the sir stuff. I mean it.” Then he asked her in Spanish, “Is Spanish your first language?”

  “I understand it. I guess it is.”

  “I’ve got some magazines and newspapers aboard. Maybe if we looked at pictures, something would jog your memory. I’ve got some maps of Mexico and Central and South America. Maybe you’ll recognize something. A name or a place.”

  “I’ll do whatever you want me to.”

  She was awfully agreeable all of a sudden, but why wouldn’t she be? He just couldn’t quite bring himself to trust her. Not even a little bit. There was something about her; something he couldn’t quite put his finger on. She was hiding something. He simply knew it. He was astute most of the time. Read people well. He’d been an investigator too long to be taken in by a seemingly innocent face and a pack of lies.

  “Tell me what you’re hiding. I know you’re hiding something.”

  Isabella’s eyes reacted at that question, quick and alarmed, and then they slid down to the left and away from his searching gaze. He was right. She was hiding something, all right.

  “Okay. I know you know more than you’re telling me. Either spit it out or I’m just going to drop you off at the nearest marina and be done with you. You understand me?”

  The newly designated Isabella suddenly got very still. Then she started in with more of the anxious hand-wringing. Nervous as hell. But she began to talk. “I’m afraid to tell you. I’m afraid you’ll leave me somewhere by myself and that man will get me again.”

  “You’re right. I will. Unless you tell me the truth. What do you remember? Or have you been lying to me all along?”

  “I don’t know if I can trust you.”

  “Ditto, kid.”

  The girl wouldn’t look at him.

  “What’s it gonna take for you to catch on, Isabella? Have I hurt you? Have I mistreated you? Have I given you any reason to fear me?”

  She inhaled a long breath, deep and bracing, blew it out, and then locked eyes with him. “Okay. I’ll tell you. I was kidnapped. Out of a hotel resort in Cancun. They’ve been holding me on that boat for almost a month.”

  Nova
k said nothing—just waited. Not sure yet. Not surprised, not anything. This girl was something else. He was sure of that, but that was all he was sure about.

  “My real name is Isabella Maria Martinez. My father … well, he’s rich, very rich, and they wanted a lot of money from him before they’d give me back. But he said no, and so they said they were going to kill me and dump me in the ocean. And they did. I mean, they tried. I’d be dead now if it were not for you.”

  A little dramatic, but could be true. “Who were your kidnappers? Why you?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “How did they get you?”

  She was picking at her fingernails, nails that were perfectly manicured and painted a pale pink. “I was on holiday at the resort with my boyfriend. We were at the Moon Palace outside Cancun. You know, it’s that big place on the beach, real nice. I think he betrayed me to them.” She appeared terribly distressed by that realization and moaned a little.

  “Why would he do that to you?”

  “I don’t know. I thought he loved me. I guess he wanted the money. And now he’s dead. That terrible man just shot him in the head.”

  This time she started to cry for real. No doubt about it. Sobs and wet cheeks, sniffling, the whole weepy shebang. She probably had loved the guy.

  “Did you know the man who took you and held you on that boat? The little guy who took off?”

  She shook her head and wiped her eyes on the hem of his T-shirt. “He was a really bad man.” Her voice dropped low, so low that it was almost unintelligible. “He … tied me up … and then he … raped me.” Then lower still, she said, “A bunch of times.”

  Novak felt the inner rage rising up again from deep down inside him, igniting like fire, flaming up into the red, raw anger that could overwhelm his emotions in a hurry. He felt his face grow warm, felt his jaw lock down hard. She was weeping for real now, her face hidden inside her open hands. Novak reached out and put his hand on her shoulder. She jerked away from his touch and gave a little startled cry. Then she jumped to her feet and rushed straight to him. She buried her face against his chest, crying hard, both her fists clutching the front of his shirt. She felt slight and weak and young against him. He put his arms around her, but there was still that little spark of doubt that she was not what she appeared to be—enough to worry his mind and eat at his resolve to keep her aboard. He did feel for her, especially if what she had just told him was true. But his brain was telling him that something was wrong with that story, that she was lying through her teeth, about most of it or all of it. And there was no way she could prove what she said was true. Or that he could disprove it.