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She didn’t think he had.
And he hadn’t.
He was seated in her living room, comfortably leaning back in the deep Victorian brocade sofa. Despite his evening attire, he’d managed a pose of casual ease, his feet propped up on the cherrywood coffee table. There was a bottle of beer in his hand, and he sipped it slowly, reflectively, as he stared at the treasure map on the wall. He lifted the bottle, indicating the map. “I’m surprised you keep that.”
“Why?”
He shrugged. “Your father.”
“I’d have to discard the entire island if I couldn’t bear memories of my father.”
“I didn’t mean the memory,” he murmured. “I meant—he disappeared searching for the Beldona, right?”
“Yes,” she said.
His eyes suddenly seemed more veiled than her own. “He loved that ship.”
“He didn’t love the ship—he couldn’t love the ship—he never found her. He just loved the sea, the adventure. And he loved the island. Look, forget my father for now, what about tonight? Should I call the mainland police? Make out a report?”
“You could.”
“Could? What does that mean?”
“Well, the police will come out, question you and question all your guests. You won’t find out who attacked you, and you might well empty the island.”
She hadn’t thought of that. “But—but what about the danger to my guests?”
“I’d bet my life that the attacker is very specifically after you.”
“Great. Then I’m in danger.”
“Yes. You’ll have to be extremely careful.”
“And how am I supposed to do that?”
“Stay close to me.”
She folded her arms over her chest. “That could be difficult when you’re running around with your well-endowed—and not-so-well-endowed—women.”
“Did I arrive here with a woman?”
“No, but they always seem to appear around you.”
“But I’ll be watching you.”
“But—”
“Look, if the police come, they won’t be able to do a damned thing but file a report. Your innocent guests will leave the island. And you’ll still be in danger.”
“That’s your opinion.”
“You’re right. That’s my opinion. Hank Jennings disappeared searching for the Beldona, as well, didn’t he?”
She frowned, thrown by his abrupt change of subject—or determination to return to the original one. “Did you know Hank Jennings?” she asked, trying to keep her voice level.
“I heard about his disappearance,” he said, his eyes on the map once again.
“Naturally you heard about it. I wrote to you, asking for help. You didn’t come. But then, you didn’t show up after my father disappeared, either, and you’d become bosom buddies with him.”
He didn’t offer her a sarcastic reply, which she might have expected. He didn’t even remind her that she had asked him to leave Seafire Isle.
He just shook his head, taking a long swallow of beer. “I didn’t get your letter for nearly a year after your dad disappeared,” he told her. His voice seemed a little husky.
The beer, she thought.
“I was down in the Everglades on a sting operation when it came.”
“Well, that would have been years ago now. Are you always so quick with your correspondence?”
“A neighbor was picking up my mail. The letter wound up on her counter, then fell behind her stove, and she finally found it over a year later, and by then…” He shrugged.
It sounded like one of the worst stories Sam had heard in her life but, oddly enough, she believed him. Not because the story was believable, but because of the way he told it.
“She was picking up your mail, huh?” Sam murmured.
“She was sixty-six. I don’t think there was any ulterior motive behind the accident. If you’d really wanted me, you could have called.”
“It’s difficult to call someone who has ignored your rather desperate appeal for help.”
“You know damned well I would have done anything I could to help your father.”
“Well, at least I don’t have to feel like such a fool for attempting to reach you last year when Hank disappeared. But what happened then? Was your neighbor collecting your mail again?”
His glare assured her that he didn’t find her amusing. He shook his head, lifting the beer, taking another long swallow. Then he looked at her, his eyes silver and very sharp. “I was out of the country last year, working for private concerns. My mail was all held at the South Miami post office—feel free to check on that.”
“Oh.”
He exhaled in exasperation. “I was in Africa, river diving for industrial diamonds.”
“I didn’t ask you for a detailed explanation.”
“You don’t seem willing to believe one, either.”
She shrugged. “So what are you doing here now?”
Once again he lifted his shoulders, and she knew she was going to receive an evasive reply. But he suddenly stared directly at her. “Unusual things have been happening in this area with some frequency.”
“My father disappeared, Hank disappeared. Other than that, not a damned thing besides your run-in with the drug dealers years ago has happened here.”
He arched a brow. “Nothing unusual has happened? What about just now? Or was that your usual evening? Were you just indulging in some kind of kinky sex in there tonight? Should I have kept out of it?”
Sam refused to dignify that with an answer. She walked across the room to the treasure map, studying it as she spoke. “I haven’t had the first unusual thing happen here—until your arrival.”
“Your father’s disappearance wasn’t unusual?”
She spun on him, fighting a wild tug-of-war to keep her emotions under control. She had loved her father. She’d never even known her mother; Justin had been all she’d had. And he had made her the center of his universe. When he had first disappeared, she had refused to believe it, yet as the days went by and no sign of him was found, she had known that he was dead. He would never have stayed away from her if there had been a breath of life left in him.
“My father is dead,” she said softly.
He didn’t deny it. He merely asked quietly, “And don’t you want to know why?”
She shook her head stubbornly. “I do know why! The sea is a vengeful mistress.”
“What about Hank?” Adam demanded. “Didn’t he disappear just the same damned way—without a trace?”
She threw up her hands. “They both went out alone in small boats. Adam, the sea doesn’t always give up her dead.”
“Yeah, well, if I understand things correctly, she didn’t give up so much as a jagged piece of lumber after the disappearance of either man.”
“Adam, you know that massive ships have disappeared completely. The ocean is huge.”
“Sam, you’re being blind. And things are getting worse. There’s more to this picture than you realize. People have been dropping like flies all around you.”
She swung around, staring at him. “What are you talking about?”
He leaned forward. “Three different sets of divers—ostensibly sports divers—out from Key Largo, Coconut Grove and Fort Lauderdale—have disappeared entirely in the past year.”
“But we’re not in South Florida—”
“Oh, right. We’re on an island not far from it. In all three cases, they were headed for the waters right around Seafire Isle.”
“You just said you weren’t a cop anymore.”
“I’m not.”
“Then…”
“I’m working for private concerns,” he told her.
She lifted a hand in exasperation. “Okay, so your divers were heading for these waters. They could have disappeared anywhere. We’re within the boundaries of the so-called Devil’s Triangle out here. Pay attention to me. Ships have disappeared. Whole fleets of airplanes. I’m sorry about the divers, but I don’t understand why that should suddenly make you show up on Seafire Isle. Especially on the night I just happen to be attacked in my bathroom. Then again, it’s incredibly good luck that you just happened to be at hand, ready to come through my window after the intruder.”
He smiled then, lifting the beer, swallowing. “I heard your scream. I couldn’t get in the front door—it was locked. I came around the house. Found the window. No great mystery.”
“Okay, then. The great mystery is why someone would suddenly want to attack me because you’ve come to the island.”
“I’m sure I had nothing to do with someone attacking you.”
“I’ve never been attacked before.”
“There’s a first time for everything, isn’t there?”
“I’m still convinced that this first time has something to do with you.”
He shook his head, finishing the beer. “Nice attitude. God knows what might have happened to you if I hadn’t been here, and I still haven’t heard a ‘Thank you, Adam, for saving my life.”’
“But what if I was attacked because of you being on the island? Am I supposed to thank you for having put my life in danger?”
He leaned forward suddenly, with startling speed and agility that reminded her how dangerous he could be when he chose, that any time he gave the impression of casual relaxation it was just that—an impression.
“Samantha, use some damned sense, will you? Your father disappeared because he got close to something. And then Hank disappeared.”
She swallowed hard. “My father knew that no matter how good you were, it was never safe to dive alone. A dozen things might have happened. He could have had a heart attack. He might have gotten excited about a discovery and tried to come up too quickly. I’ve had to accept the fact that he probably drowned.”
“Where’s the body? Where’s the damned body?”
“You’re not listening. You’re refusing to see the obvious! The sea doesn’t always give back her dead, you know that!”
“Oh, Sam, come on! You’re trying to say that your father and Hank both disappeared because of some Devil’s Triangle bullshit.”
“It doesn’t have to be anything strange or mystical! People have disappeared—”
“Yes, and there were sea monsters before men discovered the truth about giant squids and whales. There’s an explanation for everything. You know it, and I know it.”
“Right. Like there might be a real explanation for the fact that you’re here.”
“You are persistent.”
“I’m in danger, or so you say.” Sam waited for him to say something reassuring. He didn’t.
“I just told you that three groups of divers—”
“Disappeared during the last year. Hank disappeared just over a year ago. So that’s four disappearances. I have an older gentleman here right now who can quote you statistics regarding all the disappearances here. Even some scientific experts believe that there might be magnetic poles or something like that in the waters around here. Why should your missing divers have anything to do with my island?”
His silver eyes were sharp, and he groaned in exasperation. “Pay attention, Sam. They were all heading for waters just north of Seafire Isle.”
“I head for waters just north of Seafire Isle almost every day.”
“Yes, I know.”
“I haven’t seen or heard a single thing that was the least bit strange.”
“I’d say your father did.”
“My father has been gone for years.”
“A long time, yes. But we’ve just agreed that Hank and the other divers all disappeared within the past year.”
“So what the hell do you know about Hank?”
“He was looking for the Beldona, wasn’t he?” Adam demanded.
“He—he…”
“Well?”
“I don’t know exactly what he was doing. I had already gone the day he disappeared. He took one of the little motorboats and his diving equipment, and he never came back. Neither did the boat.”
“Are you trying to tell me that Hank Jennings just decided to motor away?”
She stared at him, folding her arms over her chest. “No, I don’t believe that he just motored away.”
“Was he looking for the Beldona?”
“I just told you—”
“What was he doing on the island?”
“He—he was a researcher. He studied the Steps and everything beneath the sea.”
“The wrecks?”
“Of course.”
“The Beldona?”
Samantha let out a frustrated cry. “Yes, yes! He was as fascinated by the stories of that stupid ghost ship as my father was! She’s sunk beneath the sea, hidden, exactly where she belongs, and I wish to hell that people—especially people around me—would leave her alone where she lies!”
“You probably know more about that ship than anyone else on earth. You know that, don’t you?”
“I’m not a researcher or a marine biologist. I run a resort, and I don’t know everything there is to know about that ship, and I don’t want to know anything more than I do about her.”
“No one knows everything. But I imagine a lot of people consider you to be the current expert on her. You are your father’s daughter, after all.”
Sam sighed in complete exasperation. “When did this conversation start being about me? I want to know what you’re doing here, and you’re switching everything around so that you’re questioning me! It’s not going to happen. If you’d just tell me—”
He stood up suddenly, impatiently. Almost violently. She took a step back, but he didn’t even seem to notice. His empty beer bottle clinked on the top of the coffee table as he set it down. He dragged his fingers through his dark hair, staring at her. For a moment, just for a moment, she saw a flash of passion within him, yet she couldn’t begin to pinpoint exactly what that passion was for.
“All right, Sam. Someone on the island has been corresponding with SeaLink for several days now.”
“SeaLink?” Sam murmured, confused. She knew the name, but she couldn’t place it right away. “The marine supply company?”
“Marine supply company!” Adam muttered.
“They are a marine supply company, aren’t they? A big one. They sell boats, scuba equipment, maps, electronics.”
“Yes, yes. It was founded in 1970 by James Jay Astin. He’s also a treasure hunter. He and his employees have managed to dig up a fair amount of salvage from at least a dozen of the ships that have gone down off the coast of Florida.”
“I read an article about him in one of the diving magazines. He turns his finds over to the government, endows all sorts of museums—”
“And he keeps what he wants in his private collection, or sells it on the black market around the world.”
She wasn’t going to argue with him when she didn’t really know anything about Astin—except that he appeared to be a model citizen.
“Astin was friends with your father.”
“How do you know?”
“They went diving together once when I was here. I didn’t know who Astin was myself at the time, but I’ve had the opportunity to meet him since.”
Sam shook her head stubbornly. “I never met him. My father had his own life, and when he was alive, I didn’t necessarily meet and greet all the guests. So this Astin knew my father. Lots of people did. And it’s not illegal for Astin or his people to be visiting the island.”
“I didn’t say it was illegal. Just curious.”
“Besides, you’re not a cop anymore.”
“No.”
“So what is it to you?” she asked coolly.
“I told you, I’m working for private concerns.”
“And what do I know about your ‘private concerns’? I still think you’re at the center of all the trouble.”
“He was trying to drug you, not me.”
“I give up. You’re trouble, and you’re impossible.”
“Want to try throwing me off the island?” he asked pleasantly.
“Cause enough trouble, and I will.”
“This is a public vacation spot. I could sue the pants off you.”
“I could have you arrested for breaking and entering.”
“That’s what I get for trying to save your ass!” he exclaimed, hands on his hips. “Tell me, Sam, are you going to throw me off again?”
“I never threw you off the island.”
“You asked me to leave.”
“Your interests were elsewhere.”
“So, are you?”
“Like you just said, Seafire Isle is a public vacation spot.”
“I’m glad you see it that way. Because I don’t give a damn what you think, or what you want—I won’t be leaving until a few mysteries are cleared up.”
“Is that so?” she inquired politely.
“And you should be glad.”
“Really.”
“Yes—damned grateful, in fact.”
“Then thank God for your presence,” Sam muttered.
“Sam, my love, you can be one stubborn bitch,” he said wryly. He took the few steps needed to come close to her, lifting her chin. She managed to keep herself from wrenching it away.
“You bet!” she promised him softly. “The worst bitch you’ve ever come across if you’re trying to put something over on me.”
He smiled suddenly. “Aren’t we getting just a little bit carried away here? I didn’t come to pick up the pieces of an old argument right where we left off. And I probably did save your life.”
“Okay. Thank you for saving my life. Now, will you please get the hell out of my house? Maybe I can’t throw you off the island, but I know damned well I have the right to throw you out of here!”
“Miss Carlyle, you need me.”
“I do?”
He shrugged. “Well, if you do decide to try to throw me off the island, you’ll have to hope someone else is around the next time you’re in trouble.”
“I thanked you, didn’t I? Of course, it would have been helpful to know just who was attacking me, but then, you’re not a cop anymore. You couldn’t possibly have been expected to nab the attacker as well as save my life.”
“Okay, the next time you’re about to fracture your skull, I’ll consider you expendable in the pursuit of justice.”
“Will you please get the hell out?”
“Nice. I should just leave you to the next ski-masked attacker who crawls into your bathroom.”
“Look at it my way. I haven’t seen you in years. The next thing I know, my bathroom is filled with strange men.”
“Strange men?”
“I consider you very strange.”
“Maybe you’d better consider me dangerous, instead,” he warned her suddenly, softly, a thoughtful look in his eyes as he studied her.
“Maybe I should,” she murmured, agreeing. “Damn it! I just want to know exactly what you’re doing here.”
“All right. Fine. Tell me, do you know exactly who all your guests are?”
“You know how the island is run. My father is gone, so yes, of course, I meet all my guests.”
“I didn’t ask you that. I asked if you knew who they were.”
“I’m not a cop. People don’t have to fill out their life histories on arrival. I don’t have dossiers on everyone who sets foot on Seafire Isle.”
“I didn’t think so.”
He sounded so damned self-satisfied.
“You do, of course? Have dossiers on my guests?”
“Yes.”
“You’re kidding.”
“Well, I don’t exactly have dossiers. But I imagine I know a great deal more about them than you do.”
“All right, who’s on my island?”
“You really have no idea?”
“I really have no idea.”
He stared at her, then smiled suddenly, cocking his head. He turned away from her, heading toward the door.
“Where are you going?”
“Out.”
“Out?”
He paused, looking back. “You wanted me out, right?”
“Damn it! That was before—”
“I’ll see you at cocktail hour, Sam.”
“Damn you, you didn’t answer my question!”
“I didn’t, did I? But then you haven’t been particularly cooperative either, have you?”
“Cooperative! Are you insane?”
“See you later, Sam. Maybe we can exchange some information then. Go in and close that window in your bedroom. Unless you want to take the chance of having a few more strange men enter.”
“Damn you, Adam!”
“Sam, pay attention. Make sure you close and lock that window. And when you leave your cottage from now on, make damned sure that you lock it carefully. You need an alarm system, actually.”
“This is an island! We’ve never needed any kind of alarm system!”
“Maybe you never did before.”
“Adam, this is ridiculous! What we’ve had has always been sufficient. Normal hotels don’t have alarm systems in every room.”
He arched a brow. “Yeah, well, a lot of your big guys have some kind of video surveillance. That’s beside the point now. You should think about moving into the main house for a while, maybe. For your own protection. Yancy lives in the main house, right? And Jacques?”
“I don’t want to move into the main house. I’m quite comfortable where I am—”
“With strange men in your bathroom?”
“Damn you, Adam, you have no right to do this! Talk to me, tell me—”
“Sam—”
“You know, Adam, that’s the basic problem with you. You always want something for nothing. You don’t seem to have the concept of give and take down yet.”
“Sam, so far, you haven’t given me a damn thing.”
“Son of a bitch! I always gave you everything.”
“Wrong, Sam. You never gave me a chance to give you anything before—”
“What?”
“You never gave me a chance to give you anything—”
“Like what?”
“Like explanations! So this time, you’re just going to have to ask and ask damned politely when you want something. I didn’t give, is that it? I went through one hell of a wringer.”
“Adam—”
“You took a hell of a lot more than you ever seemed to know, Miss Carlyle,” he interrupted.
“Damn you, Adam!”
But he walked away and the door closed firmly behind him.
4
The bar in the main house where the guests gathered before dinner was old-fashioned, very Victorian and very comfortable. There was a huge double-sided fireplace running the length of the far wall; it connected with the dining room. The hardwood floor was covered with numerous thick Persian carpets in shades of burgundy and mauve; the bar itself was carved oak; and high-backed, brocade-upholstered chairs and love seats were set about at intimate angles. Beyond the velvet over linen drapes, wicker chairs with similar upholstery lined the porch.
When Sam came into the bar via the porch, Yancy was just setting out crystal bowls filled with nuts. Sam didn’t speak to her at first; she went behind the mahogany bar to uncork a bottle of her favorite Chablis. She poured herself a glass and stared at Yancy, who was watching her with condemning eyes in return.
“Go easy on that. You’re not a good drinker, Sam Carlyle. Especially not with wine.”
“Excuse me, are you my keeper?”
“No, I’m not,” Yancy assured her. Like Jem, though, Yancy had grown up with Sam. They were best friends. They had laughed together, matured together, weathered all their losses together, survived together. Sam and Yancy were almost exactly the same age; they’d been born a month apart. Sam had always considered Yancy to be one of the most beautiful women she had ever seen. She was Sam’s height, with black hair she kept cropped almost to her skull, olive eyes, and skin the color of pure honey. Her father had been a Creole sailor, her mother, Katie, had been from Trinidad, and she had been the first chef Sam’s father had hired when old Jimmy had passed away. Jimmy had been in his nineties, still ruling the kitchen, when he had suddenly expired while making gumbo. They had all mourned him deeply—they had by that time rather come to believe that he would live forever. But then Katie had arrived with Yancy, and Sam, three at the time, had quickly come to understand that Jimmy had lived a long, fruitful and happy life, and that it was okay to love Katie, as well. In addition, Sam had found herself thrilled to have another little girl to play with, so Yancy had become the sister she’d never had, and Katie, who was patient and gentle, had certainly done well in the mother department. Years later, when Katie had died of heart failure, they had both felt as if they had lost a mother. In the same way, Yancy had shared every bit of pain, anger, frustration and loss when Sam’s father had disappeared without a trace.
“I simply love a sip of good wine,” Sam told Yancy defensively.
“Careful. It might love you back a bit too much. And I think that you’ve had more than a sip already.”