wondered if it would make a more interesting pet than a dog.
“You walk rich. Try for humble.”
She heaved a long-suffering sigh. “Douglas, I might have to wear this very unattractive outfit and lead a pig on a rope, but I won’t be humble. Now, why don’t you stop griping and enjoy the walk. Everything’s pretty and green and the air smells like vanilla.”
“There’s a plantation over there. They grow it.” And on a plantation were vehicles. He wondered just how risky it would be to attempt to liberate one.
“Really?” She squinted as she looked into the sun. The fields were wide and very green, dotted with people. “It grows in a little bean, doesn’t it?” she asked idly. “I’ve always been fond of the scent in those slim white candles.”
He shot her a mild look. White candles, white silk. That was her style. Ignoring the image, he gave his attention back to the fields they were passing. There were too many people working in them and too much open space to try hot-wiring a pickup at the moment.
“The weather’s certainly become tropical, hasn’t it?” Sweltering, she dabbed at her forehead with the back of her hand.
“Trade winds bring in the moisture. It’s hot and humid till around next month, but we’ve missed the cyclone season.”
“There’s good news,” she murmured. She thought she could actually see the heat rising from the road in waves. Oddly, it brought a flash of nostalgia for New York in high summer, where the heat bounced up off the sidewalks and you could choke on the smell of sweat and exhaust.
A late brunch at the Palm Court would be nice, with strawberries in cream and a tall iced coffee. She shook her head and ordered herself to think of something else.
“On a day like this, I’d like to be in Martinique.”
“Who wouldn’t?”
Ignoring his testy tone of voice, she went on. “I’ve a friend with a villa there.”
“I’ll bet.”
“Perhaps you’ve heard of him—Robert Madison. He writes spy thrillers.”
“Madison?” Surprised, Doug gave her his attention again. “The Pisces Symbol?”
Impressed that he’d named what she considered Madison’s best work, she looked at him under the brim of her hat. “Why yes, you’ve read him?”
“Yeah.” Doug shifted the bags on his shoulders. “I’ve managed to get a bit beyond ‘see Spot run.’”
She’d already gauged that for herself. “Don’t be cranky. It just happens that I’m a rather avid fan. We’ve known each other for years. Bob moved to Martinique when the IRS made it uncomfortable for him in the States. His villa’s quite lovely, with a spectacular view of the sea. Right now, I’d be sitting beside the pool on the terrace with an enormous frozen margarita, watching half-naked people play on the beach.”
That was her style all right, he thought, incomprehensibly annoyed. Terraced pools and sultry air, little white-suited houseboys serving drinks on silver platters while some jerk with more looks than brains rubbed oil on her shoulder blades. He’d done both the serving and the rubbing in his time and couldn’t say he preferred one to the other as long as the haul was rich.
“If you had nothing to do on a day like this, what would you choose?”
He struggled against the image of Whitney, lying half-naked on a lounge, skin slick with oil. “I’d be in bed,” he told her. “With a clever redhead with green eyes and big—”
“A rather ordinary fantasy,” Whitney interrupted.
“I’ve rather ordinary urges.”
She feigned a yawn. “So, I’m sure, does our pig. Look,” she went on before he could retort, “something’s coming.”
He saw the dust plume in the road ahead. Muscles tense, he looked right and left. If necessary, they could make a run for it over the fields, but it wasn’t likely they’d get far. If their impromptu costuming didn’t work, it could all be over within minutes.
“Just keep your head down,” he told Whitney. “And I don’t care how much it goes against the grain, look humble and subservient.”
She tilted her head so that she looked at him from under the brim of her hat. “I wouldn’t have the least idea how.”
“Keep your head down and walk.”
The truck’s engine sounded well-tuned and powerful. Though the paint was splashed with dirt, Doug could see it was fairly new. He’d read that many of the plantation owners were well-off, growing wealthy through the sale of vanilla, coffee, and cloves that thrived in this region. As the truck drew closer, he shifted the bag on his shoulder slightly so that most of his face