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She would not let it win now. Teeth gritted, she kicked hard and cut through the waves, making what she thought was good progress until she stopped to rest and felt herself being sucked back toward the mainland, in spite of her efforts to tread water.
Father God, help me.
It was dark now, and a spatter of rain had begun to fall. Her ears rang with the sound of the ocean. Ahead she imagined she saw a light. Had she gone farther than she thought? Was it the light from the old hotel? A boat? With a final burst of energy she fought her way toward it until her arm came into contact unexpectedly with something soft and pliable. She grabbed at it, but her fingers slipped loose.
Then a hand took hold of her wrist, and she felt herself being towed along. Poor light and the spray of surf and rain made it impossible to see who was dragging her along, but she knew it did not matter anyway. Staying in the ocean meant death. She tried to kick her feet and help her rescuer, but her legs had become so cold and numb she was a helpless weight.
Then there was a boat. Cold metal. Calloused hands reaching down. Strong arms holding her up. Wind teasing goose bumps onto her skin. A familiar old man plucked her from the ocean, leading her to a seat and wrapping a musty blanket that smelled faintly of trout around her shoulders.
She was shaking so badly that her vision blurred. Blinking hard and clamping her jaw shut to keep her teeth from rattling, she shook the hair from her face and looked into the broad cheekbones, the full lips, the chin with a scar and those eyes that held so many secrets. Reuben Sandoval stood on the heaving deck, water dripping from his cropped hair, molding the T-shirt and shorts around his lithe body.
She was too cold to feel surprise, shock, dismay or any other emotion. It was as if she had landed in a strange dream and the only functioning part of her body was the part that said, Thank You, God, that I am alive.
Reuben knelt on the deck and looked intently at her, as if he were trying to convince himself what he saw was real. He said something in a voice so low she could not hear it over her chattering teeth. He reached toward her, and for a brief moment she felt a combined terror and longing. Instead of embracing her, he pulled the blanket more firmly around her shoulders.
Then he took the captain’s chair next to her and asked Silvio, the old man whom she recognized, to take them back.
Back where?
To the mainland where her small battered house waited?
To the dock where she remembered suddenly she’d left her art supplies?
To Isla Marsopa, she realized through her confusion.
To the island where her heart had been torn apart by a storm fiercer than any hurricane.
* * *
Reuben should have felt deep shock at finding it was Antonia Verde he’d just fished out of the Atlantic Ocean, but for some reason, he felt more confusion than anything else. Antonia was never far from his thoughts or his memories in the year they’d been apart. Reminders of her lingered in the warm sand where they’d hunted for shells. They survived in the crisp air that made her hair dance across her laughing face and the Florida sun that bronzed her perfect skin. He’d known she’d returned; he’d heard as much from his brother.
Hector kept it simple. The little traitor is back, Reuben. Look out.
Mia had energetically sought to destroy his brother and excuse her own mistakes by accusing Hector of attacking her, forcing her to defend herself. Upon Mia’s release from jail, she’d taken Gracie and run, leaving his brother desperately missing his little girl. Reuben suspected that Antonia knew perfectly well where her sister was holing up and was probably even helping her. Still, the sight of her shivering, clutching the blanket around herself as if it were some sort of armor, twisted his stomach. The traitor, the lush-lipped, silk-skinned traitor who killed him on the inside, still charged his body with a rush of feeling.
“I need to go back to the mainland,” she said, after a few stuttering attempts to speak.
“Too dark,” Reuben said.
She looked as though she wanted to respond, but the shivering turned into full-on trembling and she hunched deeper into the blanket.
Fine by him. Silence was probably the better of many options that would lead to angry words. Again. Curiosity burned inside him and he longed to question her, but instead he helped Silvio tie up to the dock after they fought the waves back to Isla Marsopa. Silvio helped Antonia out, and Reuben followed them into the main house, where a light shone in the lower level.
Paula met them in the lobby. Her red hair had long ago faded, overcome by gray, but her eyes sparked in her tan face. “Antonia Verde?” She blinked with recognition. “What happened out there?”
“Let’s get her something warm to drink,” Reuben said, temporarily staunching the explanation that he, too, was eager to hear.
Reuben gestured toward a wooden chair and fetched another blanket as Paula heated some water for tea. He was relieved that they hadn’t lost power yet. The generator had been fussy and he hadn’t had time to tinker with it.
Paula wrapped a nubby wool blanket around Reuben’s shoulders and handed them each a cup of hot tea. Antonia clutched hers with both hands, delicate fingers cupping the mug and holding it close to her chest.
“Gotten yourself into more trouble, I see,” Paula said. “And dragged Reuben along.”
Antonia looked up, and a tiny flash of spirit returned to her features. Reuben felt a swell of relief and something else deep in his core.
“I didn’t ask for anyone’s help,” Antonia said.
Paula sniffed. “Reuben isn’t the kind to let a person drown, even if that person is an enemy.”
Antonia stiffened. “I’m sorry to cause trouble.”
Gavin came in, a pack on his shoulder. “I was ready to head back to the mainland, but I couldn’t find you....” He broke off when he saw Antonia. “Who are you?”
“Antonia Verde,” she said through chattering teeth.
Gavin’s eyebrows shot up. “Here I thought you were trying to get people off this island, Mr. Sandoval.”
Reuben would have laughed in different circumstances. “Storm’s worse. You’ll have to bunk here for the night, Gav. I’ll take you back at first light.”
Gavin shrugged. “Sure thing. One more of Paula’s meals will make it worthwhile.”
Paula’s face broke into a rare smile. “You’re a flatterer, Mr. Campbell.”
“My grammy says flattery will get you nowhere, but I find it usually scores me a second piece of pie.”
Reuben worked out a plan. “Paula, can you get the Seabreeze ready? It’s the only bungalow that’s relatively decent.”
“If that’s what you want,” Paula said. “Mr. Campbell, set the table for dinner, please.”
Gavin sighed. “If I could only convince her to call me Gav.” He set about plopping silverware haphazardly on the oval dining table.
Paula gave Antonia a final glare and went out, Silvio following.
“Thanks, but there’s just no way I can spend the night here,” Antonia said.
“Unless you’re going to swim back, I don’t see much of a choice for you.” Reuben kept his tone level. “What happened?”
She avoided looking at him. “I swam out too far.”
“I got that. Who was on the Jet Ski, and what did he want with you?”
She sipped tea without seeming to taste it. “I don’t know. I think he might have been sent by a guy who followed me from the airport earlier. He was watching me from the beach, so I thought I’d swim up the coast and avoid them both.”
Two guys? He felt a tightening in his gut. “Why are they after you?”
Antonia put the mug down on the antique trunk that served as a coffee table, her hands trembling. “Like I said, I don’t know. It could be just my imagination.”
It was unlike her to be guarded. “Better call the cops.”
Antonia shook her head, sending droplets of water through the lamp-lit lobby. “It’s nothing. Probably a misunderstanding.”
“Don’t think so. Cops are a good idea.”
Her eyes flashed at him. “The cops already believe I lied to support my sister, and so do you.” The words wobbled a bit at the end, and he saw her swallow hard.
He took the brunt of it, the anger that flowed from her and was nearly a match for his own. He spoke lower, hoping Gavin wasn’t hearing every word. “Keep the past out of this.”
“I’d be happy to.” Antonia stood, discarding the blanket, chafing her arms to warm up. He remembered the softness of those arms, tender, loving, and the memory awakened an ache deep inside. He stood, too, walking to the window and looking out toward the restless sea. He drew close to her, close enough to imagine he could feel the warmth of her skin, hear the soft purr of her breathing. Close, but far enough away to remember what she’d done.
“Stay the night. I’ll take you back in the morning if the storm will allow.”
Antonia was staring at the spotted junonia shell nestled on the marble fireplace hearth. “It’s the same one, isn’t it?” she said, voice low.
He didn’t answer.
She traced a finger over the broken edge, and he was drowned in the memory. Happy times, her finding the lovely specimen, him ready to throw the broken shell back into the surf.
“No, keep it,” she’d insisted. “It’s been damaged, but that makes it more beautiful.” She’d kissed him and run off to find another shell, leaving the broken junonia in his fingers.
He’d loved her for that, for finding beauty in the brokenness. He watched now as she carefully replaced the shell on the mantel and turned to face him with none of the tenderness he had yearned for in those black, beautiful eyes.
“I’ll walk you to the bungalow,” he said.
Gavin made no comment as he watched them go.
* * *
Antonia could not see much as they made their way over the dark path, wind chilling her even further. She was relieved to find that Paula and Silvio had gone, leaving a lamp on to illuminate the wood flooring and stonework above a tiny fireplace. A little settee with cheerful blue-striped cushions complemented the azure bookcase. It must be Paula’s work as Reuben was color-blind, which was why he usually wore all black to make the matching easier. Or maybe the decor was another woman’s contribution. Not hard to believe; Reuben was a poet at heart, gorgeous, loyal, and in the past one look from his chocolate eyes made her weak in the knees.
She swallowed the thought.
Reuben cleared his throat and shoved his hands into his pockets, a gesture she knew he’d learned in his childhood.
“Paula left you a change of clothes.”
Antonia saw the faded Gators sweatshirt and pants. The housekeeper hadn’t handed them over cheerfully, she was sure, but Antonia was in no position to be fussy. She could not wait to exchange her soaking garments for dry ones.
Reuben opened a small cupboard and handed her a flashlight. “Storm may take out our electricity, but we’ve reinforced the walls so it’s more up to code than the main house.”
He turned to go.
“Thank you,” she blurted. “I mean, thank you for getting me out of the water and, um, letting me stay here—just until morning.”
He smiled—a shy grin, like a teen after his first kiss. She could not look away from his lips, expressive and sculpted perfectly. Tender, she remembered, and loaded with promises. Promises he could not keep.
“You’ll be our last guest of the season.” Something sad flickered across his face.
“You haven’t made much progress on the hotel?”
“Dry July and August and frost last December messed up the oranges. Not a lot of cash to funnel into this place. I managed to fix up two rooms in the main house and this bungalow, so we’ve had only a few paying customers.”
His gaze ran over the wooden beams.
The irony confused her. Hector was rolling in money, yet Reuben struggled. But when push came to shove, she reminded herself, he had his brother’s back, not yours.
“I’ll be ready first thing in the morning,” she said, trying for a stronger tone than a dripping wet, exhausted woman should command.
“We’ll get you there as soon as we can. By morning we should have a better forecast on the storm.” He hesitated. “Nee...”
The endearment cut at her, and she saw that he regretted the slip.
Memories flitted through her mind.
“Why are you staring at me?”
His smile, those lips. “The light in your eyes, it’s like the sky just before the sun rises.”
She looked feverishly around the room. “Nice. Nice place.”
“Antonia, your life isn’t my business anymore, but if you were scared enough of that man on the Jet Ski to risk drowning, you should talk to the cops. I can arrange...”
“No,” she said quickly. “I don’t want you to arrange anything. I’m sorry I wound up here, Reuben. Believe me, it wasn’t my intention. I appreciate your help, but I’ll go tomorrow.”
“And then disappear again.”
“That’s what you want, isn’t it?” She swallowed. “The best thing for both of us.”
His gaze hardened, and she knew what was coming. “Where’s Gracie?”
“I don’t know.”
“Yes, you do. You’re helping your sister break the law. Ironic, since that’s what you accused my brother of doing.”
“She asked me to help her do what she had to do because Gracie’s life is more important than your brother’s selfishness.”
“It’s not selfish to want to see your child. He loves Gracie.”
“He put her in danger by getting back into the business. He attacked her mother.”
“He didn’t...” Reuben broke off, the muscles around his jaw working. “There’s no point getting into it now.” He exhaled. “You will probably never believe this, but he misses Gracie, and so do I. More than I can say.”
Without another word he opened the door and walked into the night.
She watched him from the window, standing behind the curtain in case he might turn around again and catch her there. He stopped at the bend in the path, looking not back at the bungalow, but straight ahead at the delicate peaked roof of the main house, wondering perhaps how it would escape the storm without damage. It struck her that she’d never considered how Reuben might have felt about losing Gracie. She should have known. In happier times she’d seen him spend hours on the floor stacking blocks or clomping around on his hands and knees pretending to be Gracie’s trusty palomino. Her throat tightened and tears pricked her eyes.
But Mia was right. Hector was dangerous, and she could not allow him back into her life. And that meant Reuben, too.
All around, the island twisted and bent under the increasing threat. It seemed to her that nothing on Isla Marsopa escaped unscathed. His mother died on her way to the island. Reuben was chained to a disastrously expensive repair. And Antonia herself would never be able to picture Isla without remembering what she had most treasured...and lost.
Her vision blurred and she blinked hard as the darkness swallowed Reuben up. Tomorrow she would choose to face the wrath of the storm, no matter how strong, rather than revisit the tattered wreck of her past with Reuben. It would be kinder for both of them.
THREE
Reuben was prowling the hotel grounds long before sunup, and the massive cloud wall illuminated by the moon didn’t bode well for the coming day. The scenario was all too grimly familiar. He and everyone else from Jamaica to the eastern seaboard had been tracking the progress of the monstrous storm, which started as a tropical wave that ballooned over the west coast of Africa before strengthening into a depression. From there it burgeoned into a tropical storm that parked for a while over the Caribbean Sea, taunting almost, before launching itself into what the National Hurricane Center had officially deemed a bona fide hurricane. It would strike land in less than forty-eight hours.
He swallowed a sick feeling. Hurricane Charley had been a Category 4 with wind speeds of 130 miles per hour. The hotel had barely survived. This approaching menace, which had now been named Hurricane Tony, was projected to equal or surpass that rating.
He arrived in the kitchen and grabbed a piece of the succulent green banana and pork patties left over from Paula’s delectable meal the night before. She’d been cooking all his favorites lately. The worse things got, the more Paula cooked. As he savored each bite, he decided to make a renewed effort to get her and Silvio off the island. And, of course, Antonia. His thoughts wandered to the tiny bungalow.
He wondered if she had been warm enough. Perhaps he should have lit a fire or brought her a snack.... He mentally chided himself. Over and done. She’s not yours to worry about. As he wrestled the front door open to round up boards and nails, he stopped short. A boat was moored next to his. An expensive cabin cruiser that looked out of place against the rickety dock. He froze, thinking whoever had been after Antonia the night before had come to finish the job.
He’d sprinted a yard down the path toward the bungalow when a voice stopped him.
“Slow down before you hurt yourself.”
His brother stood at the side entrance to the hotel, a cigarette held between his slender fingers. He flashed a lazy smile. “We need to talk, brother.”
Reuben sighed in relief and joined Hector on the veranda, where he got a better look at the bruise darkening his cheekbone. “What happened?”
Hector shrugged and shot a look at the roiling sea. “Inside. No need to stand in the rain.”
“Lose the cigarette,” Reuben said.
Hector did so without the usual flippant comment.
Reuben followed his younger brother inside, suddenly colder than he had been moments before. The hotel lobby was gloomy, quiet, as though the old building itself was waiting for the storm to land.
Hector paced in front of the bay window, and Reuben let him do so without interruption. You couldn’t hurry Hector, no matter how hard you tried.
When he’d gazed out at the wind-lashed palms for a while, and then seemingly studied every inch of the pine molding and floors, he turned around. “There’s trouble coming. I tried to keep it from you, but it’s bigger than me.”
Reuben braced himself. That his brother would admit to weakness was the most telling thing. He was not talking about the storm. “Who?”
Hector broke off, eyes narrowing as the floorboards creaked. “Who’s that?”
Gavin came into the room, his expression sheepish. “Sorry. Didn’t want to interrupt.” He held up his pack. “Thought the boat was leaving.”
Reuben introduced Gavin to his brother.
“A pleasure,” Hector said in a voice that indicated it was anything but.
“I’ll just go back upstairs. Call me when you’re ready to go.” He left.
Hector waited a long moment before he resumed. “It’s Garza. He wants Isla.”
Reuben steeled himself. “He’s always wanted it.” It was the perfect hub for him to get his drugs into Florida. The Garza family, led by Frank Garza, was in tight with the Colombian drug lords who flew their products to the Bahamas, using a number of ingenious methods to get it to prearranged spots in the ocean where speedboats would pick it up. What Garza needed was a piece of land with few people to interfere, within close proximity to the mainland, from which he could set loose his fleet of speedboats for any given operation, so many that the coast guard could not possibly nab the one vessel that held the illicit cargo.
“He’s decided it’s time to acquire it. Now.”
Reuben groaned inwardly. Plenty of dark shallow shoals around Isla where boats could lead authorities on a goose chase if it came down to it. Isla was perfect. Garza had sent people before with offers to buy. When he’d declined, one of Reuben’s bungalows had mysteriously burned down and his best boat had been scuttled. “I told him to his face that Isla was mine and I won’t sell it at any price, and he’s not going to bully me into handing it over.”
“And he believed you,” Hector said with a wry smile. “That is why he means to take it without your permission.”
Reuben studied his brother. “So he’s asked you to persuade me?”
“I refused, of course. My guy, Benny, arrived before they got too far into trying to convince me, but he knows we are close and so he asked me to tell you as a courtesy. I guess he thinks since we were in the same business together once, I will understand the urgency of his request. I do. He’s dead serious, Reuben.”
“I can’t believe this. I’ll go to the cops.”
“If you wish, but you and I both know that’s a waste of effort. You can never get any proof to stick on Garza. He’s like Teflon.”
Reuben’s mind raced. He forced himself to say it. “Hector, you’re clean, right? You weren’t trying to leverage your way back into the business using Isla?” He waited for his brother to face him, to look deep into his eyes and proclaim he had not returned to running the cocaine trade that had made his father rich.
Hector’s eyes burned, and Reuben knew he’d made a mistake. “It was not enough to have my wife almost kill me because she didn’t believe me? I’m to repeat it over and over to you, brother?” Hector closed the gap between them. “I made a promise to you. I was out of it. I promised Mia, too, but she wouldn’t believe me, and now I have no wife and she took my child.” His voice cracked slightly. “My wife, my daughter. Don’t tell me it will cost me my brother, too.”
Reuben gripped his brother’s shoulder. “No, it won’t.”
Hector allowed a tight smile, his gaze wandering around the aged kitchen. He touched the bruise on his cheek. “Isla is a wreck, you know. Maybe it’s not worth it.”
Anger flamed inside Reuben’s gut. It was worth everything. The old hotel and the island on which it barely stood were their mother’s legacy, the shining piece of hope she held on to when her husband took up drug running, when he turned into someone she could no longer respect. “I won’t let it go.”
“Our mother wouldn’t, either,” Hector spat, “and now she’s dead.”
The past crackled between them like lightning. “We’ve been through this. She wanted more for us.”
He shook his head. “She ran.”
“She felt she had no choice.”
“Our father loved her, worshipped her, like I did Mia.”
“Our father worked for drug runners.”
“Yet she did not mind the nice clothes, the private schools for her boys, the trips. She didn’t protest about those things, did she?”
“She stopped respecting him, Hector, and that was the end.” He added quietly, “You can’t force someone to love you.” That lesson was ground into him, at least.
Hector did not answer.
A palm branch slapped against the window. Reuben took a deep breath and stepped back. It was not the time. “I’m not giving Isla to anyone.”
Hector sighed. “I know, and I would be disappointed if you gave in. I just needed to warn you. There’s more coming at you than a hurricane, and you were never the ruthless type.”
Ruthless, Reuben thought, is a relative term. Though he wanted nothing more than to live a quiet life with his orange groves and to shuttle guests to and from the island, it might be necessary to fight.
I’m not afraid of a fight, little brother.
Not afraid at all.
* * *
Antonia hurried through the rain to the main house, hoping there might be some instant coffee she could help herself to before anyone else awoke. Truth was, she was hungry, too, but she would not take food from Reuben. It seemed wrong to take anything from him now.
Letting herself in quietly, she saw Reuben standing, hands on hips, face a mask of irritation or concern, she could not tell. She stopped in the doorway, uncertain. She’d just made up her mind to turn around and go see if she could find Silvio and convince him to ferry her without involving Reuben when, to her horror, Hector stepped out of the shadows, seeming not the least bit surprised to see her.
“Like the cat that keeps coming back,” Hector said, giving her the once-over.