Cape Diablo shimmered on the horizon, a lush emerald-green gilded by the dying light. For a moment, as the sun hung suspended in a painted sky, the island seemed bathed in gold. A glowing sanctuary that beckoned to the weary traveler.

As they approached the island, the sky deepened and the water turned dark, as if a giant shadow had crept over the whole area. It was a strange phenomenon, a trick of the light that seemed too much like an omen.

Carrie couldn’t seem to shake off a gnawing fear. The place seemed so wild and primitive. As the boat drifted silently toward the pier, she became aware of a dozen sounds. Water lapping at the hull…the startled flight of an egret…an insect buzzing near her ear.

And, in the distance, a scream.

Secrets of His Own
Amanda Stevens

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Amanda Stevens is the bestselling author of over thirty novels of romantic suspense. In addition to being a Romance Writers of America RITA® Award finalist, she is also the recipient of awards in Career Achievement in Romantic/Mystery and Career Achievement in Romantic/Suspense from Romantic Times BOOKclub. She currently resides in Texas. To find out more about past, present and future projects, please visit her Web site at www.amandastevens.com.

CAST OF CHARACTERS

Carrie Bishop—Searching for her friend on Cape Diablo resurrects an old demon…and awakens a long-dormant passion.

Nick Draco—His secret threatens Carrie’s search for her childhood friend.

Tia Falcon—A runaway bride who escaped to Cape Diablo after leaving her fiancé at the altar. Now she’s disappeared.

Trey Hollinger—A jilted groom with an explosive temper.

Nathaniel Glover—The monster who abducted Carrie and Tia when they were adolescents. He was never apprehended.

Ethan Stone—A mysterious stranger who lives in the upstairs apartment…and never shows his face.

Alma Garcia—She has lived in isolation on Cape Diablo for thirty years.

Robert Cochburn—An ambitious attorney with a taste for the finer things in life.

Zeke Trawick—His supply boat is the only way on and off the island.

Contents

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Prologue

The body would start to smell soon.

I should have dumped it in the swamp right after it happened, but I was too afraid of being seen. Even on Cape Diablo, eyes were everywhere. I could feel them on me now as I lay naked in the dark. Grabbing a blanket, I pulled it over my feverish skin and tried to ignore the trickles of sweat that slid down my temples and ran back into my hair.

I hadn’t slept in days. Squeezing my eyes closed, I willed myself to succumb to the exhaustion, but it was no use. My mind raced with fragmented images. I’d killed someone, but I hardly remembered the act at all. Rage had blinded me and by the time I emerged from that terrible haze, the body lay at my feet.

I could still smell the blood even though I’d scrubbed the walls and floors until my hands grew raw. It had taken me a long time to get everything cleaned up, and then I wrapped the body in several layers of plastic and tried to forget what I’d done. Told myself I wouldn’t dwell on it.

And I hadn’t until now. But tomorrow was Tuesday.

The supply boat ran on Tuesdays. Any visitors to the island would likely come then.

The driver would drop off provisions and passengers and wouldn’t return until Friday. That would give me three whole days. Three days in which there would be no way off the island. No communication with the outside world. No one to stop me from doing what had to be done.

That was why Cape Diablo was so perfect for someone like me. A person could disappear out here and never be heard from again.

Chapter One

Carrie Bishop clung to her cap as the supply boat headed due west, into the sunset. Just minutes from Everglades City, civilization ended and the topography became a vast no-man’s-land of sparkling channels that wound for miles through dense mangrove forests and swampy grass flats.

Once the refuge of pirates, the area had now become a sanctuary for modern-day smugglers bringing drugs, guns and humans across the border. Lawless and primal, it was the perfect place for a runaway bride to disappear.

Which was undoubtedly why Tia had fled to the islands after leaving her soon-to-be groom at the altar, Carrie decided as a wave bounced her up off the seat. Tia hadn’t wanted anyone to find her, especially her ex-fiancé, a handsome executive with an explosive temper.

Carrie wouldn’t have thought to look for her here, either, if not for the postmark on her letter. Known as the Ten Thousand Islands, the area could be extremely inhospitable to anyone without a good map, a GPS device and a can of heavy-duty bug spray.

Thank goodness she’d been able to hitch a ride on the supply boat, Carrie thought. She would never have been able to find the island on her own.

Although being miles from nowhere at the mercy of a complete stranger wasn’t exactly her idea of a fun day. And the driver had certainly done nothing to put her at ease. When she’d met him earlier at the marina, he’d snatched the money from her hand with barely a grunt, his manner so abrasive that Carrie might have had second thoughts about climbing aboard if the attorney who’d leased Tia the apartment hadn’t been at her side.

“Don’t worry. Trawick’s bark is far worse than his bite,” Robert Cochburn had assured her. He’d driven down from Naples to meet Carrie in Everglades City, and to her relief, he’d decided at the last minute to make the trip out to the island with her. “Besides, he’s the best driver around. He can navigate these waters blindfolded. Just relax and enjoy the ride.”

If only she could, Carrie thought as she watched Pete Trawick with a wary eye. But she found the man just plain creepy. His cold, assessing gaze made the hair on the back of her neck stand on end, and the way he looked at her conjured up memories that both she and Tia had been running from for years.

Suppressing another shudder, Carrie turned to Cochburn. “How much farther?” she shouted over the roar of the outboard motor.

“We’re almost there.” He flashed a smile. “Beautiful country, isn’t it? Florida’s best-kept secret.” He’d taken off his jacket and tie before they left the marina, and now with his cuffs rolled back and wind blowing through his thinning hair, he hardly resembled the conservative, fortysomething attorney she’d first met at the marina.

When she’d talked to him on the phone the day before, he’d tried to discourage her visit to Cape Diablo, but Carrie had remained adamant. Without his cooperation, she would simply find her own way to the island because she wasn’t going back to Miami until she’d seen for herself that Tia was okay. It had been nearly two weeks since she’d received her letter, and Carrie had grown more and more worried with each passing day.

And then there’d been that strange phone call two nights ago. It had come just after midnight, and the connection had been so weak, the voice on the other end so garbled that Carrie couldn’t be sure the caller was Tia. But something in the woman’s voice—a note of frenzy—had instilled a deep sense of foreboding in Carrie.

Of course, she could be overreacting. A recent break-in at her apartment had left her on edge so it was entirely possible that she was letting her imagination get the better of her.

But no matter how many times she tried to convince herself there was nothing to worry about, Carrie couldn’t shake the notion that her friend was in trouble. If anything happened to Tia and she hadn’t done everything in her power to help her, she would never forgive herself. It was hard enough dealing with the old guilt.

“Have you ever been to the islands before?” Cochburn shouted over the engine noise.

Carrie nodded. “Once, when I was a kid. My father brought me here on a fishing trip.”

“Then you know enough not to wander too far off the beaten trail. Navigation is a nightmare down here. A novice could get lost and never be heard from again. Not to mention a certain unsavory element in the area.”

“I’ve read about the drug smuggling that’s so prevalent.” Just weeks ago the news had been dominated by a story about an elderly couple who’d disappeared while sailing in the area. When their bodies had washed ashore, authorities concluded they’d been murdered and their yacht hijacked by drug smugglers.

“These waters can be extremely dangerous,” Cochburn said grimly. “I’m not trying to frighten you, but I do feel the need to caution strangers to the area. If you exercise good judgment and a little common sense, you should be fine.”

Carrie felt a prickle of unease at his words. Had he given Tia the same warning? “You don’t need to worry about me. I’m a city girl at heart. Once I’ve seen that my friend is okay, I’ll be on my way back to civilization.”

Cochburn’s gaze fell on the duffel bag at her feet. She knew what he was thinking. If she’d only come for a quick visit, why had she bothered to pack a bag?

The answer was complicated. The length of her visit depended on Tia’s state of mind. She was prepared to stay for as long as she was needed, but if Tia was fine and enjoying her privacy, Carrie had every intention of turning around and heading straight back to the mainland. But judging from the tone of that letter, she very much feared the worst.

What if Tia had reverted back to her old self-destructive ways? What if Carrie was too late to save her?

What if, what if, what if? She’d told herself a long time ago that she was through playing that game, but old habits died hard.

She glanced back at Cochburn. “As I told you on the phone, I don’t want to intrude on Tia’s privacy. If she came out here to get away from it all, I intend to honor her wishes. At the same time, though…” She trailed off, her gaze moving restlessly back to the water.

“You’re concerned about her,” he said.

“It’s been nearly two weeks since I last heard from her. And you said you haven’t talked to her, either.”

“But that’s hardly cause for alarm,” Cochburn said. “I only met her briefly when she signed the lease agreement in my office. There’s no reason she would get in touch with me unless she had a problem with her accommodations.”

“But I can’t imagine why no one in Everglades City remembered seeing her,” Carrie said with a frown. “She has a very distinctive face.”

He shrugged. “I wouldn’t read too much into that, either. Pete makes a supply run out to Diablo twice a week. The tenants never have to leave the island if they don’t want to. That would explain why no one we talked to at the marina remembered your friend.”

Yes, that made sense. Tia had always been a loner and normally Carrie wouldn’t have given her absence a second thought. She would have assumed that Tia needed time to heal after calling off her marriage to Trey.

But the tone of her letter coming on the heels of the breakup…

And then that weird phone call…

Carrie shivered in the late-afternoon heat. “Tell me about Cape Diablo,” she said to Cochburn as they approached another channel and Trawick powered down the engine, making conversation a little easier. “How did it get the name?”

“Probably the handiwork of some resourceful pirate looking to frighten away looters from his treasure,” he said with a grin. “There’s always been a bit of mystery associated with the island. Strange lights, phantom ships…that sort of thing. No doubt that’s why Andres Santiago chose the place to build his home.”

“Santiago was something of a pirate himself, wasn’t he?” Tired of fighting the wind, Carrie took off her cap and rested it on her bare knee as she finger-combed her tangled hair.

“I see you’ve done some research.”

She smiled. “A little. Tia mentioned Santiago’s name in her letters. She seemed so fascinated by the family that I suppose she aroused my curiosity.”

“I’m not surprised,” Cochburn said. “Most everyone around here is a little weary of the story, but I can see why a newcomer might find it intriguing. Back in the late sixties and early seventies, Andres Santiago ran a fleet of boats to Central America, smuggling guns into the area and drugs, among other things, out. He built the house on Cape Diablo so that the authorities wouldn’t be able to keep track of his comings and goings.” He paused. “You have to wonder, though, what kept his poor wife sane, trapped on that tiny island with only small children for company.”

“What was she like?” Carrie asked curiously.

“The first Mrs. Santiago died in child-birth…that’s about all I know of her. But the second wife had a rather colorful past. She was the daughter of a Central American dictator who was overthrown by a military coup back more than thirty years ago. The father was later executed, along with most of his family and staff. The only two survivors were his eldest daughter, Medina, and Carlos Lazario, her bodyguard. Somehow Andres managed to get both of them safely out of the country and he brought them back here where he later married Medina. Carlos still lives on the island. He and Alma Garcia, who was once nanny to Andres’s children, are the only permanent residents of Cape Diablo.”

“And the Santiagos?”

Cochburn turned to stare at the spindrift behind the boat. “The whole family went missing one night. No one ever knew what happened to them. But then…you said your friend wrote to you about the island so I’m sure she must have mentioned the disappearances.”

“Yes, she did. But I’m interested in hearing the whole story.”

Carrie couldn’t tell if he was pleased or annoyed by her request. “There’s not much I can add. The entire family vanished one night while the servants were on the mainland celebrating a holiday. When Alma and Carlos returned home just after midnight, they discovered the family missing and traces of blood in the boathouse. The authorities suspected foul play, but the case was never solved.”

And thirty years later, the mystery of the missing family still had the power to fascinate.

Perhaps even to possess, Carrie thought uneasily as she remembered the strange undercurrent in Tia’s last letter.

“Maybe Andres was afraid the authorities were on to him so he loaded his family into one of his boats and fled in the middle of the night,” she suggested. “The blood in the boathouse could have been a ruse to throw the police off track.”

Cochburn’s eyes met hers. “That’s an interesting theory.”

She smiled at his tone. “But you’re not buying it?”

“I barely remember Andres Santiago, but my father was the attorney who arranged the trust that allows Alma Garcia to remain in the house. The two of them were very good friends even though they were as different as night and day…the dashing smuggler and the straitlaced attorney.” He paused, and his expression turned pensive. “I never learned how or why they became friends, but I do know that my father remained loyal to Andres to the end.”

“So what did he think happened to them? If he was that close to Andres, he must have had his own theory.”

“He believed that someone Andres had crossed in the past came looking for revenge or else the insurgents who killed Medina’s family wanted to make sure she could never return to her homeland. In either case, my father was convinced the family met with a tragic end because if Andres was alive, he would somehow have managed to get word back to him.”

Carrie mulled over the possibilities for a moment. “What about the nanny…Alma Garcia? Was she never considered a suspect? It seems she’s the one who benefited most from the family’s disappearance.”

Cochburn grimaced. “If you call living alone on an island all these years a benefit. Alma didn’t inherit the property outright, and the only monetary compensation she receives is a small monthly allowance that barely takes care of her basic needs, much less the upkeep of the house and grounds. That’s why some of the property has been converted into apartments and rented out. Her inheritance was hardly the kind of fortune that would motivate one to mass murder. Besides, my father said that she was devoted to those children. She loved them as if they were her own. She would never have done anything to harm them.”

Stranger things have happened. “Why do you think she’s stayed on the island all these years?” Carrie asked.

“One can only speculate, but I think at first she was waiting for the children to return. Then later, once loneliness and dementia set in, she forgot why she was there. Whatever her reason, she’s remained in that house all these years, living in her own little world.”

Carrie tried to imagine what the woman’s life must have been like for the past thirty years, but it was hard to put herself in Alma Garcia’s place. Carrie had been born and raised in Miami, and she loved the daily hustle and bustle of big-city living. As a graphic designer for a local magazine, she was used to a hectic pace. She’d go crazy living so far from civilization. “You say she’s one of only two permanent residents on the island?”

“Yes, and as you can see, the area is quite isolated. If your friend came out here looking for solitude, she certainly found it.”

Carrie didn’t bother telling him that Tia had come to Cape Diablo for more than just solitude. She’d been running away, not only from a future with a man she no longer wanted—a man she might even have come to fear—but from a past that would haunt her for the rest of her life. Carrie knew what that was like because she shared Tia’s past. The two of them had been running from the same nightmare since they were twelve years old.

“Are there any other tenants?”

“A man named Ethan Stone moved into one of the apartments a few days ago. I don’t know much about him. His secretary made all the arrangements, but I gather he’s a Wall Street–type suffering from a bad case of burnout.”

“He has my sympathies,” Carrie murmured.

“And, of course, there’s Nick Draco, the carpenter I hired to do some repairs. He’s staying in the old servants’ quarters.”

“So at the moment there are only five people living on the island,” she said.

“That’s right. Like I said, if your friend wanted solitude, she came to the right place.”

They both fell silent after that, and Carrie turned her attention to the scenery as she tried to imagine Tia’s frame of mind when she’d traveled across these same waters three weeks earlier. She must have felt desperate when she’d fled Miami, but why Cape Diablo? Carrie had never even heard of the island. How had Tia found out about it?

Perhaps a friend or colleague had told her about it, Carrie decided. It was the kind of place that would only be advertised by word of mouth. Not at all like the five-star resorts Trey was undoubtedly used to, which was probably why Tia had chosen it.

For all Carrie knew, Tia had been contemplating the trip for weeks as her wedding day approached and her jitters had turned into panic. Maybe she hadn’t been able to work up the courage to call off the ceremony until faced with the inevitable.

Tia had left a note for Carrie in the bride’s room, begging her to break the news gently to the distraught groom. Trey Hollinger had put up a poised front for the hundreds of guests assembled in the chapel, but once he and Carrie were alone, he’d unleashed his fury on her. She’d tried to convince herself his misplaced anger was classic kill-the-messenger syndrome, but Trey’s wrath cut more deeply than that. He blamed Carrie for what happened. Everything had been fine, he’d raged, until she’d started planting ideas in Tia’s head.

“I know what you did to her back then. She told me all about it…how you ran off and just left her there. And now here you are back in her life and look what’s happened. You just couldn’t let her be happy, could you?”

Was he right? Had her rekindled friendship with Tia somehow set her friend back on the path of self-destruction?

Retrieving Tia’s letter from her bag, Carrie quickly scanned the contents for the umpteenth time, hoping for something that would reassure her. But far from putting her mind at rest, a fresh reading only deepened her foreboding.

After the first paragraph, Tia never mentioned Trey’s name. It was as if she’d put him completely out of her mind. Instead, she’d written about the island and the missing family. By the time she’d scribbled the last page, she’d begun—unwittingly, Carrie hoped—referring to the Santiagos by their given names, as if she’d known each of them personally.

I’ve seen photographs of the children. What beautiful little girls! I don’t know why, but I feel strangely drawn to them. Sometimes I go down to the beach and try to imagine the two of them collecting shells, building sand castles, playing chase with the surf. Reyna, so quiet and shy, and Pilar, too adventurous for her own good. They remind me of the way you and I once were.

Carrie’s grip tightened on the paper.

Maybe it’s because of our own tragic past that I feel so compelled to find out what happened to those little girls. Did they sail off with their father and stepmother that night or did something dark and sinister befall them? Are they out there somewhere leading normal, happy lives, or do their spirits still wander restlessly through the halls of this crumbling mansion?

I know how strange all this must sound to you, Carrie. It’s hard to explain, but I don’t think I can leave here until I find out what happened to them. Sometimes I think I was drawn to Cape Diablo for a reason. It’s as if the island itself is trying to tell me something…and it won’t let me rest until I uncover its secrets.

“CAPE DIABLO, DEAD AHEAD,” Pete Trawick shouted over the engine noise.

His gruff voice drew Carrie’s attention from Tia’s letter, and as she glanced up, she found Robert Cochburn watching her intently. The moment their gazes met, however, he smiled and jerked a thumb toward the front of the boat. “Heads up. You don’t want to miss the scenery. The island is beautiful this time of day.”

Carrie folded Tia’s letter and returned it to her bag, then stood to get a better look at the view. Backlit by a glorious sunset, Cape Diablo shimmered on the horizon, a lush emerald green gilded by the dying light. For a moment, as the sun hung suspended in a painted sky, the island seemed bathed in gold. A glowing sanctuary that beckoned to the weary traveler.

Grabbing her camera, Carrie snapped a few shots, but as they approached the island, the sky deepened and the water turned dark, as if a giant shadow had crept over the whole area. It was a strange phenomenon, a trick of the light that seemed too much like an omen. Carrie couldn’t seem to shake off a gnawing fear. The place seemed so wild and primitive. Anything could have happened to Tia out here.

As they approached the island, Carrie could just make out the red roofline of the house through the trees and to the right, an old, wooden boathouse nestled in a tiny cove.

Trawick turned the bow neatly toward the inlet and after a few moments, cut the engine. As they drifted silently toward the pier, Carrie became aware of a dozen sounds. Water lapping at the hull…the startled flight of an egret…an insect buzzing near her ear.

And, in the distance, a scream.

Her glance shot to Cochburn. “What was that?” she asked in alarm.

“A falcon, most likely.” He put up a hand to shade his eyes as he searched the sky. “There it is. See it? Circling just above the treetops.”

“A falcon?” Carrie asked doubtfully. “Way out here?”

“These islands are on the migration route. Maybe this one got lost from its cast as they flew north. When I was a kid, you could come out here in the spring and fall and spot dozens flying over Cape Diablo. My father said Andres found a wounded one once and nursed it back to health. He kept it in captivity for a number of years, but I suppose it was released after his disappearance. Who knows?” He gave Carrie an enigmatic smile. “Maybe the one you just heard is a descendant.”

A wounded falcon seeking refuge on Cape Diablo.

Cochburn didn’t seem to realize the irony, but to Carrie, it was yet one more clue as to why Tia had chosen such a remote location. If she’d known Cape Diablo was on the migratory route of the falcon, she might have taken it as a sign. She seemed so…mystical these days.

As the boat thudded softly against the rubber tires hanging from the pier, Cochburn climbed out and offered a hand down to Carrie. Gathering up her bag and cap, she grabbed his hand and let him pull her up.

They left Trawick unloading the supplies as they made their way along a trail that wound through a jungle of mangroves. In spite of the insect repellant she’d sprayed on before leaving the marina, Carrie had to constantly swat mosquitoes from her face as they emerged into what had once been a landscaped yard but was now overgrown with palmettos, bromeliads and swamp grass.

The house itself was still magnificent, a Spanish-style villa that appeared untouched by time as the late-afternoon sun glinted off arched windows and turned the white facade into gleaming amber. Carrie caught her breath. She’d never seen such a beautiful place.

But almost immediately she realized the soft light had created an illusion. A closer examination revealed the overall state of disrepair. Some of the roof tiles were missing and the salt air had rusted the ornate wrought iron trim around the windows and balconies. In dreary corners, lichen and moss inched like a shadow over crumbling stucco walls.

A subtle movement drew Carrie’s gaze to one of the balconies, and as she lifted a hand to shield her eyes from the glare, she saw the outline of a woman standing at the railing looking down at them. Carrie couldn’t make out her features clearly, but she had the impression of age and frailty.

And then a strange dread gripped her. As their gazes clung for the longest moment, Carrie suddenly had an overpowering sensation that she was in the presence of evil.

Whether it was coming from the woman on the balcony or someone else on the island, she had no idea.

Chapter Two

Carrie must have made some inadvertent sound because Cochburn stopped on the path and glanced around. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m…not sure.” Her gaze was still on the balcony, but the woman had stepped back into the shadows so that Carrie could no longer see her. “I thought I saw someone up there.”

Cochburn glanced warily at the house. “It was probably Alma Garcia. Her quarters are on the third floor. She must have heard the boat.”

“It was so strange,” Carrie murmured. “For a moment, I thought…”

“What?” he asked sharply.

She shook her head. “Nothing. I got the impression she wasn’t too happy to see us, that’s all.”

He shrugged, but not before Carrie had seen something dark in his eyes. “She’s not exactly thrilled with having tenants on the property, but she’s harmless. Crazy as a bat, but harmless. You don’t need to concern yourself with her. I doubt you’ll even see her again. She keeps to herself most of the time.” He turned back to the path. “Come along. Tia’s apartment is this way.”

Crazy as a bat, but harmless.

Hardly a ringing endorsement, Carrie thought uneasily. Just what had she gotten herself into?

Not that she was in any position to judge. She’d spent more than a few hours on a therapist’s couch herself.

And Tia…

Poor Tia had her problems, as well. A precarious mental state was nothing new for her, unfortunately, which was why Carrie was so worried about her.

Tia had been emotionally fragile for years, but Carrie had hoped that she’d grown stronger since they last met. Evidently not, or she would have stayed and faced Trey herself on their wedding day.

Unless she had good reason not to.

Cochburn led Carrie around to the back of the house and through an old gate that opened into a large, central courtyard enclosed on one side by a long L-shaped wing of the main house and on the other by a freestanding, two-story pool house. At the far end was a cracked adobe wall topped with faded red tiles that matched the roof. Terra-cotta pots dotted the stone floor, but the flowers had mostly withered in the heat and the water in the pool was blackish green and opaque.

In spite of the obvious neglect, however, touches of a once-gorgeous oasis remained in the cascade of scarlet bougainvillea over the walls and in the tinkle of a nearby fountain. A lazy breeze drifted through the palm fronds, carrying the scent of jasmine and the barest hint of rain. And through an arched opening in the back wall, Carrie caught tantalizing glimpses of water undulating in the sunset like yards and yards of russet satin.

The only thing to disturb the almost total quiet was the sound of the ocean and the distant drone of a generator that supplied the island’s electricity.

Carrie wanted a moment to take it all in, but Robert Cochburn seemed in no mood to linger.

“Your friend’s apartment is just over there.” He pointed to the pool house. Like the main house, it was white stucco with a red tile roof and a curving staircase that led up to a shady loggia on the second level. “She’s on the ground floor.”

“Thank you for taking the time to come out here with me,” Carrie told him. “I’m not sure I could have found the right island without you. You never said, but…how did Tia know about this place?”

“She saw one of our newspaper ads,” Cochburn said. “The same way most of our tenants hear about the apartments.”

Carrie nodded. “I assumed it was something like that. Well, thanks again for everything.”

He smiled. “No problem. Glad I could help.”

She watched until he disappeared through the gate, then she turned to Tia’s apartment. Carrie had no idea the kind of reception that was in store for her. Tia was hard to predict. She could be warm and effusive one moment, distant and brooding the next. But Carrie understood better than anyone her friend’s mood swings.

Bracing herself for Tia’s possible irritation, Carrie walked up two stone steps and stood in front of a set of French doors that opened onto the courtyard. Shades had been pulled over the panes making it impossible to see inside. She knocked softly at first, but when she got no response, she rapped harder and called out Tia’s name.

Stepping back from the door, she scanned the other windows, her gaze rising to the loggia. No one was about and the predusk calm that settled over the courtyard seemed ominous, as if the place had been abandoned in a hurry.

Moving back to the door, Carrie knocked again, then tried the latch. It was unlocked, which could mean that if Tia had stepped out for a few minutes, she probably hadn’t gone far. Then again, maybe there was no reason to lock doors on Cape Diablo.

Carrie hesitated, not quite sure what to do. She didn’t want to intrude on Tia’s privacy, and yet she’d come this far. She couldn’t turn around and leave without making sure her friend was all right.

Another thought suddenly occurred to her. Tia had run away from Miami with barely a word to anyone. What if she’d already packed up and left Cape Diablo?

Only one way to find out.

Taking a deep breath, Carrie pushed open the door and stepped inside the gloomy apartment.

COCHBURN GLANCED WARILY over his shoulder as he walked up the steps to the old servants’ quarters located on the south end of the island near the swamp. He’d spotted Nick Draco on the roof of the main house when he and Carrie were in the courtyard so he thought this might be an excellent time to have a look around.

He didn’t know why, but he was starting to get nervous about bringing Draco to Cape Diablo. In hindsight, he should have been a little more careful in screening the applicants who’d responded to his ad, but there hadn’t been that many. And no wonder. Who in their right mind would want to spend a summer working on this godforsaken island?

Nick Draco had seemed the most capable of the lot, and when he hadn’t balked over the miniscule wages being offered, Cochburn had hired him on the spot.

But he’d been second-guessing his decision ever since. For one thing, the background information Draco had provided on the application seemed a little sketchy, and for another, the guy’s cold, relentless stare was the most unnerving thing Cochburn had ever experienced.

Draco had the look of a man who’d as soon slit your throat as not, and Cochburn was a coward at heart. Always had been. But he also had a vested interest in Cape Diablo—and what might be hidden here. According to local legend, Andres had left a fortune buried somewhere on the island. If Draco had come here to look for that money, Cochburn wasn’t about to get caught unaware. It wouldn’t be the first time a fortune hunter had wormed his way onto the island.

The outbuildings were even more dilapidated than the main house, and as Cochburn crossed the rickety porch, he glanced around in distaste. He supposed some might find the overgrown island quaint and primitive, but he detested coming out here. He preferred the yacht clubs and the exclusive condo communities in Naples.

Cape Diablo was an albatross around his neck, and he couldn’t wait to unload it. Unfortunately, because of Andres Santiago’s trust, that wasn’t going to happen until Alma Garcia was either dead or committed. A missing tenant, however, might go a long way in convincing the authorities that the old girl needed to be institutionalized. Especially—God forbid—if evidence of foul play turned up.

With Alma finally out of the way, Cochburn would have free rein of the place. If the money was here, he’d find it before he put the place on the market, but in the meantime, he had more pressing worries.

Taking out a handkerchief, he mopped the sweat off his brow as he knocked on the door, even though he already knew the carpenter was still up at the villa. Still, he was wary enough of Draco to take precautions.

Throwing another look over his shoulder, Cochburn took out a key and slipped it into the keyhole. When the door refused to budge, he realized that Draco must have changed the lock. Cochburn gave the knob a frustrated rattle, then withdrew the worthless key and walked over to peer into one of the windows.

“Looking for something?”

Cochburn froze. He hadn’t heard so much as a twig snap in warning, and now the deep timbre of Draco’s voice sent a chill up his spine. Sweat trickled down his temples and he swore under his breath. He was no damn good at this. He should have sent a professional to investigate Draco. But the fewer people who knew about the island’s secrets, the better.

He gave himself a split second to recover before he turned. Whatever nerve he’d managed to recover fled at the sight of Nicholas Draco.

The younger man had taken off his shirt in the heat, and the sheen of sweat along sinewy muscles made Cochburn uncomfortably aware of the spare tire around his middle. He hadn’t worked out in years, and in a fair fight against Draco, he’d be a dead man. In a dirty fight…he’d still be a dead man.

Draco propped both arms against the newel posts, but the relaxed pose didn’t fool Cochburn. His muscles were bunched, as if ready to spring like a cat, and his gaze—that relentless stare—never left Cochburn’s face.

“You didn’t answer my question,” he said softly. “Are you looking for something?”

Cochburn cleared his throat. “Yes, as a matter of fact, I was looking for you. I wanted to ask how you’re progressing on the repairs.”

One brow lifted. “That’s funny because I could have sworn you saw me on the roof a few minutes ago.”

Cochburn assumed what he hoped was a look of mild surprise. “You were on the roof? Sorry I missed you. I guess I was a little preoccupied.”

“So I noticed.”

Cochburn smiled in a knowing way. “She’s a real looker, isn’t she?”

Draco shrugged. “If you like blondes. Who is she?”

“Her name is Carrie Bishop. Actually, she’s the other reason I came down here to find you. She’s a friend of one of the tenants…Tia Falcon, the brunette who lives in the pool house. I’m sure you’ve seen her around.” When Draco didn’t respond, Cochburn said hurriedly, “Anyway, she seems to think that something may have happened to her friend.”

“Why?”

Cochburn hesitated. “Something about a letter she received, I gather.”

“And what does any of this have to do with me?” When Draco placed a foot on the porch, it was all Cochburn could do not to back away. Unfortunately, he had no place to retreat.

He moistened his lips. “I wondered if you’d seen her lately…say, in the last day or two.”

Draco gave him a quizzical look. “I thought you were paying me to fix the roof, not keep tabs on your tenants.”

“Yes, of course. But it did occur to me that your paths might have crossed. It’s a small island. Not much in the way of distractions.”

Draco’s gaze narrowed. “What are you getting at, Cochburn?”

Sensing he was treading on dangerous ground, Cochburn immediately backpedaled. “Nothing. Nothing at all. I just thought I’d alert you to the fact that we have company on the island. If Carrie Bishop doesn’t find her friend, she may come down here looking for her.”

“Then maybe you’d better pass on a friendly piece of advice.”

The edge in Draco’s voice chilled Cochburn’s blood. “What’s that?”

If possible, the gray eyes went even colder. “You go poking your nose in places it doesn’t belong, what you might find is trouble.”

“TIA? ARE YOU IN HERE? It’s me…Carrie.” She paused just inside the door of the apartment to allow her eyes time to adjust to the dimness.

Slowly the room came into focus, and Carrie glanced around with interest. To the right of the French doors was a small sitting room furnished with wicker chairs and gauzy white curtains and to the left was a kitchenette. Straight ahead an arched doorway led to a shadowy hallway and presumably a bedroom and bath.

It was cool inside the apartment, which meant that the stucco walls were thick enough to keep out the heat. And sound, Carrie realized. Inside, she could no longer hear the generator.

Her gaze moved back to the sitting room. A tiny niche in one wall provided just enough space for an old ebony desk. The surface had been neatly cleared, but the chair had been shoved back and left askew, as if someone had risen abruptly. Carrie frowned when she spotted it.

The misplaced chair was the kind of detail no one else would even have noticed, but she knew her friend too well. Tia was a stickler when it came to her personal space. Everything had to be orderly. Throw rugs positioned precisely. Pillows arranged on the sofa just so. Her tidiness was the one thing she could always control, no matter what.

So what had brought her up from the desk and driven her out of the apartment so quickly that she hadn’t taken the time to straighten the chair or lock the door?

Carrie tried to convince herself she was making too much of that chair, but the premonition that had gripped her for days wouldn’t let go. Something was wrong. She could feel it.

Had Tia’s nightmares come back? Had they driven her from her own wedding and brought her here, to the almost complete isolation of Cape Diablo? Had she tried to shut them out by pulling the blinds over the windows and immersing herself in another family’s tragedy?

Or was something far more sinister at work here? Had Tia inadvertently stumbled upon the answer to a thirty-year-old mystery?

Carrie turned to search the rest of the apartment. As she made her way down the narrow corridor, she became aware of a smell. Something faint. A lingering odor of decay that turned her stomach and made her heart pound in agitation.

It was only a trace. She’d watched enough crime shows to know that the stench from a dead body would be overpowering so she tried not to panic.

Tia is fine, she told herself over and over. The apartment needed airing out, was all.

But as she stepped into the tiny bedroom, her gaze darted almost fearfully around the small space. Her first reaction to the spotless condition of the room was intense relief.

“Thank God,” she whispered, realizing that she had been bracing for the worst ever since she’d gotten off the boat.

Like the rest of the apartment, the room was immaculate. The bed was made and the floor free of discarded clothing. Tia’s things were stored in the closet and her suitcase shoved out of the way on the overhead shelf. Everything was in its proper place, just the way she would have left it.

So why did she still feel that terrible sense of doom? Carrie wondered.

Walking over to the French door, she drew back the curtain and stared out at the overgrown garden. She unlatched the door and pulled it open, allowing a fresh breeze into the room. Almost immediately the scent from the hallway faded.

Carrie started to turn away when a movement beyond the garden stopped her. Someone was coming up a path that led back into the mangrove forest, and for a moment, she thought it was Cochburn.

But as the man emerged from the trees, she saw that he was younger and taller than the attorney, with closely cropped hair and a lean, muscular body. He wore faded jeans and a shirt that hung open, revealing a bronzed chest and—Carrie would have sworn—the handle of a gun protruded from his low-riding waistband.

Nearing the house, he buttoned his shirt as he glanced over his shoulder. There was something oddly covert about his movements, and Carrie remembered her conversation earlier with Cochburn about the unsavory element in the area.

Quickly, she closed the door, then stepped back into the room before the man spotted her. He seemed to be heading directly toward her, but at the last moment, he veered off the path and disappeared back into the trees.

Who was he? Carrie wondered with a shiver. And why did he have a gun?

She watched for a moment longer, but when he didn’t appear again, she turned and walked over to examine a framed photograph Tia had left on the dresser.

The picture had been taken at summer camp the year she and Tia turned twelve. They were both beaming with arms thrown over each other’s shoulders. The two of them had been inseparable back then.

How odd that Tia had kept the photograph all these years and brought it with her to Cape Diablo. Carrie had long since put away everything that reminded her of that summer.

The knot in her chest tightened. It still hurt to see their shining faces in that snapshot and know what the future held for them. She and Tia had been so happy that day. So eager for a summer adventure.

But a week later, their lives had been changed forever. In the blink of an eye, the innocence had been lost, replaced by the kind of horror most people could hardly imagine.

The day of the abduction had started out like so many others that summer. The sun had been out. Carrie could still see the way the light dazzled off the man’s wristwatch.

He’d seemed cute and harmless at first. It was only later when she’d seen that terrible tattoo on his chest that she’d begun to have an inkling of just how evil he really was.

“Don’t leave me here, Carrie. Please, please don’t leave me….”

She squeezed her eyes closed as Tia’s desperate plea echoed through her head, followed by her own hollow promise.

“I won’t leave you, Tia. I swear I won’t….”

But she had left Tia. She’d left her all alone in that hellish place. Carrie had managed to get away, and the police had later told her that her escape had probably saved both their lives. But Carrie hadn’t seen it that way, and neither, she feared, had Tia.

In spite of everything, though, the two of them had managed to resume their friendship, but nothing was ever the same after that summer.

It had almost been a relief for Carrie when the two of them had gone off to separate colleges and eventually lost touch. Away from Tia, the nightmares and guilt had finally faded.

Then, just a few months ago, Tia had come back into Carrie’s life. She’d called out of the blue one day, shocking Carrie from the pleasant complacency her life had become.

“I’m getting married and I want you to be my maid of honor. There’s no one else I’d rather have with me than you, Carrie. We’ve been through so much. Please say yes.”

Of course, Carrie had said yes, even though she’d had some trepidation about renewing the friendship. After years of struggling to ‘find herself,’ she’d finally gotten her life on track. She had the job of her dreams with a local magazine, a great apartment, a small circle of friends. So what if she hadn’t met that special someone. So what if at times loneliness threatened to engulf her. She’d finally put the past behind her and that was all that mattered.

Or so she tried to tell herself.

But Tia’s phone call had brought it all back. The nightmares and the guilt.

Carrie had worked long and hard to exorcise her own demons, but they were always there lurking in the deepest recesses of her subconscious, waiting to undermine any intimate relationship she might have hoped to establish.

The guilt was still there, too. She’d gotten away from their abductor before he’d physically harmed her, but Tia hadn’t. What must her nightmares be like?

They’d never talked about what that monster did to her, but Carrie knew. Deep down, she knew.

The wedding was to be Tia’s exorcism. A chance to finally put the past to rest and have the kind of fairy-tale life she’d always dreamed of.

So what had happened? Carrie wondered. What had ended the dream and driven Tia away from the church that day? Had she simply gotten cold feet or had she discovered something about Trey Hollinger that had frightened her into running away?

And why had she brought the photograph—such a painful reminder of the past—with her to Cape Diablo?

A noise from the sitting room brought Carrie around with a start. Her mind flashed instantly to the man she’d seen a few minutes earlier on the path. He’d still been some distance from her so she couldn’t be sure that she’d seen a gun, but the very idea that someone might be armed and dangerous on the tiny island made her hesitate at the doorway.

“Anyone home?” Robert Cochburn called from the sitting room.

Recognizing his voice, Carrie let out a breath of relief as she replaced the frame on the dresser, then walked down the corridor and through the archway.

The attorney hovered on the threshold, giving her an apologetic smile as soon as she entered the room. “Sorry to just barge in like this, but I did knock. I guess you didn’t hear me.” His gaze darted to the hallway behind her. “I trust you found your friend?”

“Unfortunately, no.” Carrie brushed a restless hand through her hair. “I don’t know where she is.”

Something flickered in his eyes, a shadow that made Carrie wonder. “How did you get in here?”

“The door was unlocked.” Realizing what he might think, she said quickly, “I wasn’t snooping. I just wanted to make sure everything was okay. I thought Tia might have left the island for good.”

“And?”

He had the oddest expression on his face. Carrie didn’t know what to make of it. “Her clothes are still hanging in the closet so I assume she hasn’t gone far.” She glanced over her shoulder. “There’s a smell in the hallway. I think an animal might have gotten trapped in the walls and died.”

Cochburn grimaced. “I wouldn’t be surprised. The house is old and falling apart. I’m sure there are dozens of ways for mice and rats to get in. I can have someone check it out if you want.”

“I should probably leave that up to Tia. It’s her apartment.”

They both walked outside then and Cochburn closed the door behind them. As they moved into the courtyard, Carrie suddenly remembered something in Tia’s letter.

Sometimes I go down to the beach and try to imagine the two of them collecting shells, building sand castles, playing chase with the surf. Reyna, so quiet and shy, and Pilar, too adventurous for her own good. They remind me of the way you and I once were.

Her gaze lifted to the upstairs windows at the back of the house. She almost expected to find Tia gazing down at her, but instead there was nothing but light reflecting off glass.

She rubbed her hands up and down her arms as she continued to stare at the windows. Someone was up there. Not Tia perhaps, but someone. Carrie was sure of it. She could feel those invisible eyes on her, and the dread she’d been fighting since she’d gotten off the boat seemed to seep all the way down into her soul.

Something bad had happened here. It was as if those lingering emotions had morphed into a physical presence, one that watched and waited and played on vulnerabilities.

She’d only felt this sensation one other time….

Don’t, Carrie warned herself nervously. It wouldn’t do to make comparisons.

It was just an old house. And something bad had happened there. It was no secret. A whole family had disappeared. Little wonder the place seemed to reek of sorrow and tragedy.

“Which bedroom belonged to the Santiago children?” she asked suddenly.

The question seemed to catch Cochburn off guard. “I beg your pardon?”

“I was just thinking about something Tia wrote in one of her letters. She seems so fascinated by the Santiago family, especially the little girls. I wondered if she might be up there for some reason.”

“Oh, I doubt that.”

Carrie turned at his adamant tone. “Why do you say that?”

He hesitated, then shrugged. “Because if she were up there, she would have seen you by now and come down.”

“I suppose you’re right.”

“I really don’t think there’s cause for worry,” he insisted. “She’s probably gone back to the mainland for a few days.”

“But if that were the case, someone in Everglades City would have seen her,” Carrie said.

“Not necessarily. We only talked to a few people at the marina. The place is full of tourists this time of year. Faces tend to blend together.”

“But surely Trawick would have remembered taking her back to the mainland.”

“Trawick delivers supplies and mail to Cape Diablo, but his isn’t the only boat for hire in the area. She could have made previous arrangements with another driver. Or Carlos may have taken her back. You said she wasn’t expecting you, so it’s very possible that you’ve simply missed her.”

Carrie hated to think that her trip to Cape Diablo had been a waste, mainly because she didn’t know where to go from there. Searching for Tia in the Ten Thousands Islands would be like looking for the proverbial needle in a haystack.

She bit her lip. “I should talk to Carlos. And what about Alma Garcia? She was standing on the balcony when we came up. Maybe she saw Tia leave. Do you think it would be possible for me to talk to her, as well?”

Cochburn frowned as his gaze shot up to the third-story windows. “Alma…isn’t exactly receptive to strangers,” he said doubtfully. “Perhaps it would be better if I go up alone and have a word with her. Meanwhile, why don’t you check with the other tenant? He may know where Tia’s gone off to, and if not, we’ll go find Carlos together.”

Carrie nodded. “What did you say his name is?”

“Ethan Stone. He lives in the apartment above Tia’s.”

Carrie started for the stairs, then turned back when Cochburn called out her name. “Yes?”

He paused, as if preparing to broach a tricky subject. “I don’t want to sound overly dramatic, but I meant it earlier when I said that you shouldn’t go wandering off on your own, even here on the island. Cape Diablo is small, but it’ll be dark soon and the south end is nothing but swamp. It can be pretty treacherous if you don’t know your way around.”

She thought again of the man she’d seen earlier and nodded. “Thanks for the warning. I’ll wait for you before I leave the courtyard.”

“Good. I’ll meet you back here in a few minutes.”

They separated, and as Cochburn headed for the main house, Carrie walked up the stairs to the second-floor apartment and knocked on the door. A fly buzzed past her face and she swatted it away as she knocked a second time. Finally she gave up and headed back down the stairs to the courtyard.

In spite of Cochburn’s warning, she was tempted to strike out on her own to look for Tia. Carrie hated feeling so helpless, but she supposed the attorney was right. It would be dark soon and she didn’t know the terrain. She wouldn’t be of any use to Tia if she got herself lost or injured in the swamp.

Standing at the edge of the pool, she stared into the murky water and wondered what she could do. Was it time to go to the police?

And tell them what, exactly?

It was doubtful they’d treat Tia as a missing person. She’d run away from her wedding to come here to the island of her own free will.

The letter Carrie received had been a bit strange, but certainly nothing the police would construe as evidence. And as for the midnight phone call, Carrie wasn’t even certain it had been Tia’s voice on the other end of the line. The police would probably argue that Carrie had been too quick to jump to conclusions. And they might very well be right. What if she’d launched a wild-goose chase because of nothing more than an overwrought imagination?

Maybe she wanted Tia to be in trouble so that she could ride to the rescue and clear her conscience once and for all.

Okay, enough with the psychoanalyzing, Carrie chided herself. She’d once paid a therapist a fortune to do exactly that….

Her thoughts scattered as she caught sight of something in the pool. The water was so dirty she could barely see through it, but something white gleamed on the bottom.

It was probably nothing more than reflected light, but for a moment it looked as if…

No! It couldn’t be.

But it was.

A body lay on the bottom of the pool. Carrie could just make out the outstretched arms, and her hand flew to her mouth as her heart slammed against her chest in horror.

Chapter Three

Tia!

Without thinking, Carrie kicked off her shoes and prepared to dive into the murky water, but someone grabbed her arm and yanked her back from the edge. She spun in shock, her gaze colliding with her captor’s. She recognized him at once. He was the man she’d seen earlier from Tia’s bedroom.

Fear shot through her as she tried to tear her arm from his grip. “Let me go! Someone’s in the water!”

He held her fast. “Take it easy, okay? It’s not a body.”

“But I saw—”

“Trust me, you don’t want to jump in that water. Just stand back.”

Releasing her, he bent to pick up a metal pole that had been discarded near the side of the pool. Plunging it into the filthy water, he dragged the bottom where Carrie had seen the body. As he parted the water and stirred away dead leaves, she caught another glimpse of the outstretched arms.

Sick with dread and fear, she watched him maneuver the pole beneath the lifeless form and pull it up to the surface.

He was right. It wasn’t a body. He was able to lift it too easily. But Carrie couldn’t stop shaking even when she saw that what he’d snagged with the pole was an old shirt.

Stepping back up to the edge, she peered into the water, praying that nothing else was down there. But the flash of white she’d spotted earlier had indeed been nothing more than fabric. Somehow the shirt must have floated open on the bottom of the pool, making her think that she was seeing arms and a torso.

Behind her, the man tossed the pole out of the way, and the loud clang of metal against stone caused Carrie to jump.

She turned in embarrassment. “You must think I’m an idiot.”

“It was an honest mistake.”

His voice was deep and strangely unsettling. And his eyes…

My God, Carrie thought. She’d never seen a pair of colder, bleaker eyes.

Except…

She blinked away the memory as she found herself at a complete loss for words. She didn’t usually rattle so easily, but after days of worrying about Tia and then spotting what she thought was a dead body in the pool…it was all taking a toll on her poise.

And now that deadly stare.

She glanced away. “I’m not usually so excitable. But I came all the way out here to see my friend and no one seems to know where she is.” She paused, then said apologetically, “Not that you have any idea what I’m talking about. Maybe we should start over. I’m Carrie Bishop.”

She started to extend her hand, then thought better of it. Did she really want to make physical contact with a man whose eyes seemed to pierce right through her soul? “You’re not by chance Ethan Stone?” she asked hopefully.

His expression remained stoic, but a shadow flickered in his eyes. “Not even close. I’m Nick Draco.”

Nick Draco. Carrie rolled the name around in her head. It sounded familiar for some reason. Had Tia written about him in her letter? “Do you live on the island, Mr. Draco?”

“For as long as the job holds out.”

Ah. Now she knew who he was. He was the carpenter Cochburn had told her about. That would certainly explain his dark suntan and the muscles she could see bulging through his shirtsleeves.

“Mr. Cochburn mentioned that he’d hired someone to renovate the house.” She glanced up at the crumbling mansion. “You certainly have your work cut out for you. It’s a beautiful place, but it looks as if it could take years to restore.”

“I’m here to plug a few leaks. I doubt Cochburn has much more than that in mind.”

His gaze never left Carrie’s face. Tiny shivers raced up and down her spine. She couldn’t remember the last time a man had affected her so strongly. She wanted to look away again, but his eyes were almost hypnotic.

“Why did you think I was Stone?” he asked suddenly.

She shrugged. “I was looking for him earlier and when I turned and saw you standing there, I guess I just assumed you were he. Sorry for the confusion.”

“No harm done.”

Without another word, he started to turn away, but Carrie said, “No, don’t go. I’d like to ask you something.”

He waited reluctantly, one brow lifting as his gaze connected with hers again.

“As I said, I came out here looking for my friend…Tia Falcon. Do you know her?”

“Brown hair…about your size?” His eyes dropped slowly, then lifted. “I’ve seen her around.”

Carrie tried to ignore the ripples in the pit of her stomach. “Do you remember the last time you saw her?”

He thought for a moment. “A few days ago, I guess.”

“Are you sure it wasn’t more recent?” she asked anxiously.

He frowned. “Could have been, I guess. I can’t say for sure. I stay pretty busy around here. I don’t keep track of who comes and goes.”

Somehow Carrie doubted that. She had a feeling Nick Draco missed very little of what went on around him. “But it’s such a small island. If a boat came out here to pick her up, you would have seen it, surely? Or at least heard the engine?”

“Not necessarily. Depends on where I happened to be at the time.” He studied her for a moment. “You seem pretty worried about your friend. Was she expecting you?”

“No. I didn’t have any way to let her know that I was coming.”

“Then maybe she went back to the mainland for a few days.”

“That’s what Mr. Cochburn said.” Carrie wrapped her arms around her middle. “But I just can’t help feeling that something is wrong.”

His gray-blue eyes watched her intently. “Are you suggesting she met with foul play?”

The blunt query took Carrie aback even though she’d been dancing around the same question in her own mind for days. She’d had a premonition that Tia was in trouble ever since she’d received that strange phone call in the middle of the night. No, before that even. The uneasiness had started when Tia had fled her own wedding.

Up until that point Carrie hadn’t wanted to give credence to her doubts about Trey Hollinger, but when she thought back to the way his temper had exploded after learning he’d been left at the altar, she was hard-pressed to believe he hadn’t played some role in Tia’s running away.

His anger had been over the top that day, and Carrie suspected that if she’d been alone with him, his rage might even have escalated into violence. She hated to admit it, but he’d frightened her. And she didn’t frighten easily these days. Or at least, she rarely let herself succumb to her fears.

She couldn’t help wondering if Tia had witnessed that side of Trey, too. Had she glimpsed something in her handsome fiancé that had scared her so badly she hadn’t dared face him on their wedding day? Had she been running from Trey when she came out here?

Was she still running from him?

Carrie had a vision of Tia’s battered body lying in the bushes somewhere. Or underwater, her wrists and ankles tied to weights.

After everything she’d been through to come to that fate…

A fist of fear closed around Carrie’s heart. For one split second, she thought she might actually be sick.

“Are you okay?”

She swallowed past the lump in her throat. “I’m just worried about Tia. Mr. Cochburn thought that she might have gotten a ride back to the mainland with Carlos Lazario. Have you seen him today?”

“No, but Carlos couldn’t have taken her back. His boat has a broken fuel pump. He’s waiting on a part from the mainland.”

“I…see.” Until that moment, Carrie hadn’t realized how desperately she’d been hoping for a logical explanation for Tia’s absence. Now the last door had been slammed in her face, and she didn’t know what to do.

“Has it ever occurred to you that your friend might not want to be found?” Nick Draco asked quietly.

Carrie glanced up. “Why would you say that?”

He shrugged. “People usually come to a place like this for one of two reasons. They’re either running away or they’re hiding from something.”

Or someone.

Carrie wanted to ask which category he fit into, but she held her tongue.

“Maybe she knew you’d come here looking for her so she left.”

“She couldn’t have known I was coming. I didn’t tell anyone.” Too late, Carrie realized her mistake. She was miles from civilization and she’d just admitted to a stranger that no one knew where she was. She’d said nothing of her plans to anyone at the magazine and her parents were in Europe for a month. And her friends…Carrie hated to admit it, but they probably wouldn’t miss her, either. They were accustomed to her sometimes eccentric behavior.

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