“Oh God, don’t say that. Don’t even think like that. I’m so sorry,” Stella said, tears welling in the woman’s eyes. “I didn’t know. I’m really sorry—”
The sleek silver Maserati SUV curved to a stop in front of Mena. She didn’t have time or energy to deal with Stella’s sympathy. Mena exchanged a quick goodbye with the court reporter, then handed the valet attendant a tip before she closed the door.
Thirty minutes later, Mena was on the opposite side of the island. Applying pressure to the gas pedal, she gripped the steering wheel tighter as she navigated the sharp S-curves leading up the northeastern section of The Meadows. The neighborhood, born from the hallowed remnants of the volcanic crater, was now covered with beautiful vegetation, winding streets and mini mansions. The desert ironwood trees were full with pink blossoms as she drove along the winding road.
Glancing down at the GPS, Mena paused at the stop sign, then turned on Meadow Desert Lane. The houses grew fewer and farther in between, replaced with a series of wrought iron fences interrupted by gates brandishing the occasional family crest or initials. Beaujean lived along the edge of the crater, which granted him sweeping views of the Caribbean Sea—one of the most coveted areas of St. Basil.
Mena steered her car toward the guard booth outside the gate emblazoned with the Ali name. She lowered the driver’s side window.
“Ms. Nix, once you go through the gate, take the fork to the left and park near the Range Rovers. You can’t miss them. Beaujean is at the lookout,” the guard said, then gave her a small smile.
Seconds later, the gate slid open, allowing her entry onto the property. Mena drove for several minutes until she saw three Range Rovers parked in a lot on the side of the single lane road. Easing her Maserati next to them, she exited the car and walked along the narrow dirt path crowded by wild growing hibiscus and frangipani bushes. After about a quarter mile, the bushes cleared to an open grassy meadow with a dazzling view of the Caribbean Sea as the sun dipped behind the horizon. To the right was a stunning glass-enclosed structure about the size of a bedroom. Mena watched Beaujean sitting inside, propped on pillows lining the floor as he whittled away at a piece of wood.
As if sensing her presence, Beaujean looked up and stared at her. His gaze was neither foreboding nor welcoming. Mena felt like an intruder to some sacred place. Beaujean exited the glass room and walked toward her, brushing wood shavings from his linen pants.
Turning to look at the glass structure, she asked, “What is that place?”
“An artist studio. I had it built for someone a few years ago. She was an artist, and this place inspired her,” Beaujean said.
“I take it you two aren’t together anymore,” Mena said.
“No. It was a volatile relationship. We were always breaking up and getting back together. I thought she was the one. But then I did the one thing she couldn’t forgive, and she left me for good. I tried to get her back, but she was stubborn and unforgiving and that was that,” Beaujean said.
“Sounds like you still love her.”
“A part of me always will.” Beaujean’s eyes softened, reflecting a pain and sincerity she’d never seen in him before.
“Sorry, I’m sure you didn’t ask me to come here to discuss your past love life. What’s going on at the gallery?” Mena asked. The fact that Beaujean wanted to speak to her outside of the gallery was concerning. She hoped nothing illegal was happening on her watch again. With Julian missing, she was barely hanging on. Losing herself in her work had been a saving grace as she waited for any word on Julian’s whereabouts.
“Things have been difficult for you since Julian was abducted from Tiverton. Everyone at the gallery is worried about you. Omar. Regina. Your team,” Beaujean said.
“Being with Julian over the past year has taught me that I’m much stronger than I realized. This situation is horrible, but I won’t let it get me down. Julian needs me to stay strong, and that’s exactly what I’m doing,” Mena said.
“Do you need a few days or weeks off?”
“No. I need to stay busy. Coming to the gallery gives me a chance to take a break from worrying. The work is good for me and I assure you, there won’t be any decline in the quality of my work.”
“I know how professional you are,” Beaujean said.
“So, what’s the problem? Why did you ask me to come out here?”
“To set your mind at ease.”
“What does that mean?”
Beaujean said, “Julian wasn’t abducted. He escaped from Tiverton and is alive and safe.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
“Hey hon, you feel like a visitor?”
Mena looked up from her computer. Omar stood in her doorway. “Only if it’s you.”
Omar crossed the large office and walked around her desk, reaching toward her. Mena placed her hands in his and allowed him to pull her up into a bear hug. Placing his hands on the sides of her face, he turned her head from side to side then raised an eyebrow.
“You look like you’re doing a lot better today. Any news?” Omar asked.
Mena shrugged and looked away. She couldn’t confide in her best friend the amazing news she’d gotten from Beaujean. Julian had escaped from prison. He was safe. She didn’t know the details and frankly, she didn’t need to know. She just hoped Julian could find proof that Dumay had framed him so he could come back home to her.
