STORMY REUNION

Pulled from the waves and gasping for air, the last person Antonia Verde expects to be her rescuer is Reuben Sandoval. He may once have been the love of her life, but his drug-smuggling brother ruined their chance of happiness. Now with a storm blowing in, Rueben’s island hotel is her only refuge. Soon they find themselves trapped on the island with a killer in the midst of a dangerous hurricane. Antonia’s life is in Rueben’s hands—can she trust him with her heart, as well?

Stormswept: Finding true love in the midst of nature’s fury

The pull of the tide was strong, but so was she.

She sloshed out to deeper water and paddled past the sheltered cove. In the distance, the swaying cabbage palms that dotted Isla Marsopa bent under the increasing pressure of the storm. The familiar twinge twisted her gut as she thought about her past with Reuben Sandoval, exploring that tiny paradise.

Keep swimming, she told herself fiercely. Paralleling the shore, she fought the tumbling waves, making her arduous way up the coast, intermittently treading water to preserve her strength. In the distance, she caught sight of the dock where Reuben kept his beloved boat, and for a painful moment, she wondered if he had painted over the name on the stern, Black-Eyed Beauty, his nickname for her.

Over the cresting foam, she caught a glimpse of a Jet Ski moving slowly, the driver twisting his head around as if he was looking for something.

Not something. Her nerves sizzled.

Someone.

Her.

DANA MENTINK

lives in California, where the weather is golden and the cheese divine. Her family includes two girls (affectionately nicknamed Yogi and Boo Boo). Papa Bear works for the fire department; he met Dana doing a dinner theater production of The Velveteen Rabbit. Ironically, their parts were husband and wife.

Dana is a 2009 American Christian Fiction Writers Book of the Year finalist for romantic suspense and an award winner in the Pacific Northwest Writers Literary Contest. Her novel Betrayal in the Badlands won a 2010 RT Reviewers’ Choice Award. She has enjoyed writing a mystery series for Barbour Books and more than ten novels to date for the Love Inspired Suspense line.

She spent her college years competing in speech and debate tournaments all around the country. Besides writing, she busies herself teaching elementary school and reviewing books for her blog. Mostly, she loves to be home with her family, including a dog with social-anxiety problems, a chubby box turtle and a quirky parakeet.

Dana loves to hear from her readers via her website, at www.danamentink.com.

Force of Nature

Dana Mentink

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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He calmed the storm to a whisper and stilled the waves.

—Psalms 107:29

To the brave men and women of the U.S. Coast Guard.

Semper Paratus

Contents

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

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

DEAR READER

QUESTIONS FOR DISCUSSION

EXCERPT

ONE

Something about the man silhouetted on the dock made Antonia Verde’s body hum with tension. His aviator sunglasses caught the waning Florida sunlight as he peered at his sleek cell phone, his mop of sandy hair tousled around his face by a steady breeze. No different than any other tourist basking in the warmth of a late November afternoon, Antonia told herself, eyeing him from the beach below.

The waves, green-gold and fueled by an approaching storm, slapped at her ankles. The air held a sharp scent of rain, roiling clouds speckling the white sand with shadows. Perhaps it was the threat of inclement weather that made her jumpy. But it was an incoming tropical storm, nothing more, hardly a source of concern for a lifelong Floridian, and she’d wanted a quick sketch of the agitated surf.

More likely her uneasy feelings were a by-product of what she’d recently survived. Having just returned from San Francisco, where she was almost buried alive in an earthquake-ravaged opera house, she had a right to be jittery. Not to mention the fact that she’d had the uncanny feeling she’d been followed on her way home from the airport by someone in an expensive car. All she’d seen of him was a flash of an arm through the partially rolled-down window, a split-second glimpse of his face. Who would follow an out-of-work artist driving a beat-up Ford?

I’m just on edge, that’s all.

Memories from her disastrous trip needled her. So what if San Francisco had been a catastrophe, netting her no job and no money to help her sister set up a new life away from Mia’s terrible soon-to-be ex-husband. She was alive and ready to find a steady job if it killed her, and nothing—especially not her own paranoia—was going to delay that. Still, she wished she could rewind the afternoon and make a different decision, to choose to linger in the shabby old family home with the cracked tile in the kitchen and the screen door that didn’t quite close. There were plenty of flaws in that house, but the biggest of all was that it was simply a house now, not a home. That was what had driven her out to the beach, the solace of waves, the healing salt air.

She sucked in a deep breath, pulled her long black hair back from her face and squared her shoulders. Common sense returned in a rush.

Why shouldn’t she march right out of the water and climb up to the dock where she’d left her sketch pad and pastels? The man with the cell phone was just a tourist, gazing out across the waves toward the tiny resort island accessible only by boat, shrouded here and there by clusters of mangroves. It was the place where Antonia did not dare allow her glance to wander. Isla Marsopa. Porpoise Island.

Reuben Sandoval was there, she’d heard, still trying to resurrect the dilapidated resort. She knew Reuben was advertising for a painter, someone to create a beautiful fresco for his hotel, but she would rather walk across a bed of burning coals than become involved with him again. There was only a tiny part of her that did not echo with memories of Reuben, and she was desperate to keep that smallest bit intact.

The man looked up from his phone perusal, eyes flicking across the pristine white sand, then returning to settle on her. What was it about him that struck her as familiar? She bent and made a pretense of examining the ivory perfection of a lady slipper shell. Out of the corner of her eye she saw him dial his phone, eyes glued to her as he did so, and flick a glance toward his watch.

It hit her. His chunky gold watch, worn low and loose on his slender wrist, caught the sunlight. Could it be the same watch worn by the driver who had trailed her for miles from the airport? He’d passed her at times, eyeing her so closely it made her blood run cold, before he fell back to trail her some more. Her heart thudded. Was he sent by her brother-in-law, hoping she would lead him to where her sister was in hiding after her release from jail? Hector would do anything to get his daughter, Gracie, back, and to punish Mia for taking her. After a long moment, the man tucked the phone in his pocket, straightened his sleeve and walked away toward the end of the dock.

Relief and embarrassment tumbled inside her. Wrong about the watch, Antonia. Plenty of guys have gold watches, and she couldn’t see it clearly from this distance. She was truly paranoid. After having a drug runner for a brother-in-law and her sister thrown in jail for attempted murder, maybe it wasn’t such an unexpected turn of events.

She dug her toes into the sand, drawing comfort from the sensation that there was ground under her feet, even if she couldn’t see it through the agitated water. With a sigh that was caught up by the spiraling wind, she headed back toward the dock, stopping suddenly when the man appeared on the beach, his leather shoes out of place, scuffling through the sand.

Her pulse skipped faster as he put himself between her and the dock. She looked for someone else, anyone else, but the beach was quiet except for the slapping of the waves.

Antonia, take control. The solution was easy. No need for panic. She would swim a mile or so down the coast to another perfect cove that was much more popular, storms notwithstanding. She’d come back later for her art supplies. She was wearing a tank top and shorts instead of a swimsuit, but no matter. This man in his leather loafers and blazer was not about to follow her into the ocean. Problem solved.

She sloshed out to deeper water and paddled past the sheltered cove. The pull of the tide was strong, but so was she. Ignoring the spray tossed by the wind that stung her eyes, she kept a steady pace until she was a good fifteen feet in. In the distance the swaying cabbage palms that dotted Isla Marsopa bent under the increasing pressure of the storm. The familiar twinge twisted her gut as she thought about her past with Reuben Sandoval, exploring that tiny paradise.

Keep swimming, she told herself fiercely. Paralleling the shore, she fought the tumbling waves, making her arduous way up the coast, intermittently treading water to preserve her strength. In the distance she caught sight of the dock where Reuben kept his beloved boat and, for a painful moment, she wondered if he had painted over the name on the stern, Black-Eyed Beauty, his nickname for her.

Her black-eyed beauty was not enough to help him see the truth about his brother. Even when Hector Sandoval tried to kill her sister and Mia acted in self-defense, Reuben took his brother’s side and turned his back on Antonia and Mia, insisting to the police Hector had left the drug trade behind when their father died five years prior. She had to admit Hector had been convincing; both she and her sister believed he was on the straight and narrow, too, for a time. How wrong they’d been. Every one of them. The mistake had cost Mia everything, and Antonia the man she had loved more than anyone else on earth. Black-Eyed Beauty—now the name stung like salt in a fresh wound.

She didn’t have time to wallow in any more painful memories as she heard an unexpected sound, the throb of a Jet Ski engine. Swimming in little circles, she tried to locate the source, but the waves made it difficult. Over the cresting foam, she caught a glimpse of a Jet Ski moving slowly, the driver twisting his head around as if he were looking for something.

Not something. Her nerves sizzled.

Someone.

Her.

She suddenly realized this person was somehow connected to the gold watch man on the beach. Either that or she was completely crazy.

But the man on the Jet Ski was not out for a relaxing evening jaunt.

Her plan to swim up the coast was in serious jeopardy unless she could outwait him, outlast his game of cat and mouse. Tucking her chin low, she began to tread water, waiting for the cat to lose interest.

* * *

Reuben Sandoval tried again to sew a patch on the canvas awning that protected his boat from the elements. The material frayed, giving way like sand through his fingers until he threw the patch down in disgust. The thing was beyond repair, a feeling he’d begun to have lately about everything in his life.

The Isla Marsopa Hotel was deteriorating faster than he could patch it together. Ironic, since his brother, Hector, had enough money—the riches left behind by their father—to transform Isla into a place that would rival the finest hotels in Florida. But Hector would not touch Isla because it had been their mother’s, and Reuben would not ask for the same reason. And others. Their family had fractured neatly down the middle the night their mother snatched the boys from their father, Arlo, to pull them away from the drug trade, only to die less than a year later in a car accident. It had taken Reuben many years to understand her decision to leave, and his brother never had. One thing he knew with absolute clarity: he would not touch one penny of their tainted inheritance.

Reuben meant to restore the three-story Victorian jewel on his own, with whatever money he could earn from his struggling citrus grove. How could he not? Yes, the hotel was ramshackle and the guest bungalows outdated, but the grounds looked out on an ocean panorama that was unparalleled, and the rest of the island was a nature preserve, which ensured its wild beauty would remain unspoiled. Accessible only by boat, the island curved gently, embracing—it seemed to Reuben—the mangrove islands and lagoon in its sandy arms. With its old-world charm, Isla was the perfect getaway, and he knew it was the reason his mother had clung so desperately to this one asset left to her by her father. It was, quite simply, breathtaking.

Something bumped against his leg, and he bent to give the aged tabby a scratch. “Hey, Charley. Didn’t go fishing today, so I don’t have a treat for you. Weather’s not good, buddy.”

Charley pushed against Reuben’s hand, poking at him with a sandpapery nose. The cat ought to understand about bad weather. His mother found the half-drowned kitten shivering under an overturned boat in the wake of Hurricane Charley that blasted down on the island. Reuben cast an uneasy glance at the sky.

“Going to blow into a hurricane,” a gravelly voice said.

Reuben wasn’t surprised he hadn’t heard Silvio approach. The grizzled old man seemed sometimes to be part of the sand and surf and wind—always there, always had been. Behind him trailed a black man with an affable grin.

“Is that your vote or from the National Hurricane Center?” Reuben said.

“Don’t need anyone to tell me. Know it.”

Reuben nodded to the younger man. “You think so, too, Gav?”

Gavin scooped up the cat, which purred in delight. “Dunno. I’m from San Diego, remember? This hurricane stuff is your department. I’m just here to collect the meager pittance you provide me. Once I earn my master’s, I’m settling permanently in the Golden State. It’s safe there.”

“Yeah, those earthquakes are a piece of cake,” Reuben said.

Gavin waved a hand. “They’ll clean up from that last one eventually. It’ll cost a chunk of change, though, and speaking of change...”

Reuben laughed. “Yeah, I remember.” He fished a crumpled check from his pocket. “It’s payday.”

“Muchas gracias, Señor Sandoval,” Gavin said.

“De nada, Señor Campbell, and your Spanish is horrendous, by the way.”

With a smile, Gavin turned to go. Reuben wanted to let him. There was so much to do on the island, and there would be significant damage to repair after the storm receded, his mind added grimly, but he could not risk any lives. “Gav, take the extra boat and get back to the mainland. I’ll contact you after the storm passes.”

Gavin squinted. “I’m okay. I can hunker down in a bungalow until it’s over.”

Reuben shook his head. “This isn’t a run-of-the-mill storm. I’ll send Silvio and Paula with you.”

“Ain’t going,” Silvio said. “Haven’t secured all the windows. We’ve got a day or two yet anyway.”

Reuben doubted Paula, Silvio’s wife, would be interested in leaving any more than her husband.

Gavin crossed his arms. “What if I say I ain’t going either?”

“I’d say I’m your boss and you’re fired.”

Gavin broke into a wide smile. “When you put it that way... I’ll go get my pack. Call you after the storm passes.”

Reuben cast an eye along the surf again, surprised to see someone on a Jet Ski plowing through the choppy water.

“I’ll take care of the windows,” Silvio said.

“There’s no way I can crowbar you off this island, is there, old man?” he said, a mixture of love and exasperation blowing through him.

Silvio scratched his chin. “’Course not. You should go. I’m tougher than you, boy.”

Reuben laughed. After losing two fingers and sight in his left eye in Korea, Silvio just might be right. “But your wife is tougher than both of us put together, and if she’s staying, I guess we all are.”

Silvio sighed, the clouds painting odd shadows on his wrinkled face.

They both turned to follow the progress of the Jet Ski, which seemed to be puttering in aimless loops.

“Always one with no sense,” Silvio said. “Some tourist gonna get himself drowned for sure and wash up here for me to deal with.”

Reuben had to agree. If it was idiotic to stay on the island with an approaching tropical storm that was likely to morph into a hurricane, it was lunacy to be out prancing around on a Jet Ski at such a time.

The guy continued to travel in circles, stopping every so often to peer down into the water.

“Engine trouble maybe?” Reuben hazarded.

Silvio answered with a snort. “More likely doesn’t know how to run the thing. Rented it thinking he was going to be some sort of expert.” He plucked at a hair in his sparse beard.

Reuben was already moving toward his boat. The little nineteen-foot Bowrider was not much to look at and certainly not enough to enchant resort guests, but it was plenty able to get this nut back to land before he drowned himself.

“Leave him be,” Silvio muttered.

Reuben eyed the sun, which was beginning to sink into a clouded horizon. “Only another half hour before sunset.”

“Too bad. He can learn to respect the ocean the hard way.”

Gruff words from the guy who was following Reuben on board and helping him cast off. As they motored out, Reuben fought the wheel to keep the boat steady against waves determined to drive them off course.

The man seemed oblivious to their approach. He wore no life jacket over his massive, bare shoulders, water lashing his face, which was still too far away to see clearly. Stupid, but sturdy.

Reuben was amazed at how quickly the storm had worsened even in the past half hour. The Jet Ski driver had no doubt been taken by surprise as well, though he continued to meander rather than making for shore. “Hey,” Reuben called over the sound of the engine.

The man didn’t hear him.

Reuben edged the boat closer, ten feet away, until the guy looked up, face slack with surprise. “We can take you back,” Reuben shouted. “Climb aboard and we’ll tow the ski.”

The man didn’t react. Reuben assumed he hadn’t heard and was about to repeat the message when the craft abruptly turned around and sped off toward the Florida coast, heaving on the angry waves.

Reuben shot a look at Silvio, who was shaking his head. “Told you. Thickheaded. He’s got to learn the hard way.”

Reuben’s stomach tightened for some reason he could not fathom. He did not think the man had been circling in the midst of a storm for pleasure. There was something intense about the hostile stare, the tight mouth—something cold and hard. Contrary to Reuben’s assessment, the guy was obviously quite competent on his Jet Ski.

Silvio patted his shoulder. “Come on, boy. Enough good deeds. Back now. Got to batten down.”

Reuben snapped out of his reverie after one more look at the departing jet skier, who was nearly out of sight. He was ready to push back toward Isla when something caught his eye, a glimmer of color that did not match the angry gray of the sea. He looked again and saw only the roiling surf.

“Let’s go,” Silvio repeated.

“Hang on,” Reuben said, wiping the spray from his face. “I saw something.” Seconds ticked into a full minute. Another glimmer—yellow. Something yellow. His heart contracted. A swimmer?

“Hold her steady,” he shouted to Silvio as he climbed to the edge of the boat and over the metal railing, which was heaving so violently he could not hope to fish the woman, or whatever it was, out of the water.

“Ya crazy, boy?”

Reuben ignored him as he pinpointed the location of the yellow flash and dove in. The violence of the water disoriented him, and he closed his mouth to keep from swallowing. Now he could see nothing but a wall of ocean, pitching and heaving around him. He did a slow circle, salt stinging his eyes.

Silvio’s right. You are crazy. It had probably been a plastic bag or a towel lost by a careless beachgoer, certainly not a woman. He turned to swim back to the boat when he saw it again, only this time he was not imagining it.

Out of the gray surge he saw a woman’s raised hand, silhouetted for a moment against the waning sun. Then the waves rose up between them and she disappeared.

TWO

Antonia realized the error in her plan. Though the water was in the seventy-degree range, her teeth had begun to chatter and the inactivity left her chilled and numb. She couldn’t see the man on the watercraft at the moment, but she knew he could stay on that Jet Ski much longer than she could tread water. It was too far to shore, and even Isla Marsopa was impossible for her to reach without being seen.

Panic began to edge up in her gut as the waves slapped harder at her face and shoulders. She was beginning to lose her sense of direction as the cold gripped her. At one point she thought she heard a motor, but the roaring sea confused her ears. The sky was dimming. Soon it would be too dark for him to spot her, but it would also be impossible for her to find her way back to shore.

She would be adrift, gradually sucked under into a dark void until her lungs filled with water.

Antonia knew there were many more lives hanging in the balance than her own. If she died, who would help support Mia and Gracie? Who would send the small payments to their mother, who had moved into a trailer home in Jacksonville when she could no longer manage the house? Antonia tried to quell the panic and kicked harder to keep her chin above water. Soon she would have no choice but to make for Isla Marsopa and hope she could avoid detection. She did not allow herself to imagine what Reuben would say if she managed to make it to his shore.

What seemed like an endless amount of time went by before she realized she could not even hear the Jet Ski anymore, nor could she spot the driver’s bulky form over the cresting waves. Had he really gone? A wall of water obscured everything else from view. She did not dare believe it, but gone or not, she had to make for Isla before she drowned. She remembered her father’s voice, patient and soft, teaching her to swim when she was a child. Let the water hold you up, Antonia. Don’t fight it.

She tried to relax, but her fear had risen high enough to override good sense. Forcing her arms into action, she pushed in what she hoped was the right direction. Waves sucked and pulled at her and every stroke was a fight. Chin down, she fought as hard as she could against the ocean, but, like her father also reminded her many times before he passed, The ocean always wins.

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.

Antonia straightened, wishing she didn’t look quite so much like a half-drowned tabby. “I didn’t come back. I had an accident. Reuben is giving me a lift back to the mainland.”

“He isn’t hard enough to hold a grudge,” Hector said, eyes narrowing. “But I am.”

Reuben moved between them. “Not now.”

Hector shrugged. “We are finished with our talk. Don’t stay here, Reuben. It’s dangerous.”

Antonia noted the look between the two Sandovals.

“I’m going up to the cupola. I want to see this monster storm approaching. Maybe I will stay here and ride it out.” Hector walked close to her to pass by. She felt her nerves go taut, and she cemented her feet to the floor.

“You know that I will find my daughter,” he murmured.

“No,” she shot back. “You won’t touch her.”

He smiled. “Oh, yes. I will spend every penny and every remaining minute of my life until I find Mia, and then she will return to jail for stealing my daughter from me.”

Antonia felt her fingers balling into fists. “You won’t get a chance to hurt them again.”

“When Mia tried to kill me, she ended her right to be Gracie’s mother.”

“She figured out you were dealing drugs. You attacked her and she defended herself. She paid for that decision by going to jail, but now she’s free and you have no hold on her anymore.”

“You and your sister, you are trash, from a family of peasants.” Spittle gleamed on his lips.

It felt as if she had been slapped. Her father had been a fisherman, her mother a seamstress. Hardworking people who toiled every day of their lives to provide for their girls. And Hector, the man who never had an honest job, would dare to speak of them with such disdain?

Through the anger that nearly blinded her, she realized Reuben had stepped between them. He was inches from Hector. “Don’t talk to her like that.”

Hector’s eyes flashed. “She’s...”

“I don’t care,” Reuben said in a quiet voice that had the current of danger running through it. “You will not speak to her that way,” he repeated.

Antonia felt the tension ribboning through Reuben’s back, through the set of his muscles, the squaring of his jaw. She felt a flash of gratefulness.

Hector offered a half smile. “I was right. In spite of everything, you still have feelings for her.”

Reuben flushed. “I will not tolerate you disrespecting her, or any other woman, in my presence. We weren’t raised that way.”

Hector looked once more at Antonia and then stepped back. “I’m going up now.” He left.

Reuben sighed. “I’m sorry about that.”

She was breathing hard, trying not to cry. Gracie, sweet two-year-old Gracie. How could Mia keep her safe with Hector determined to find them?

Reuben’s brown eyes were soft, and he put a hand on her forearm. She pulled away.

“Don’t. We both know you think he’s right.”

“No.” Reuben shook his head. “He’s not right, and even if he was, he doesn’t get to speak to you like that.”

She gulped as he stroked a hand over her hair with the lightest touch. “No one will disrespect you around me.” His fingers trailed down her hair, onto her shoulder and dropped away, leaving a trickle of sparks behind. “Ever.”

She breathed hard, trying to gain some control over her stampeding emotions. Quickly she gripped his hand and then released it.

He turned away. “We’ll get you out of here as soon as it’s full light.”

Skin still tingling, she grabbed hold of the threads of common sense. Hector was bad, and supporting him made Reuben bad, too. She found that she had twirled a strand of her black hair tightly around her index finger. Quickly she let it go. “I’ll wait in the bungalow.”

“You don’t have to. Stay here.”

She wanted to stay, to sit in the worn cushioned chairs in this place that had once been a charming respite, to put away the horrible memories and remember the precious ones, like the chipped junonia shell that now caught the feeble light of dawn. Instead she turned a bit unsteadily and headed into the storm-charged morning.

* * *

Reuben went through the motions mechanically; downing a glass of orange juice, trying unsuccessfully again to persuade Silvio and Paula to leave the island, compiling a mental list of things to purchase on the mainland when he dropped off Antonia. Nails, more water, extra batteries, and then back to the island to secure the boats as best he could. None of the preparations dispelled the discomfort he felt at his brother’s visit. Trouble was coming from all fronts. He could not protect his brother; Hector would find a way to take care of himself. But he could, at least, deliver Antonia out of the battle zone. She would never understand why he supported Hector. It cut him. She, like everyone else, would forever believe the Sandoval boys guilty of their father’s sins.

He knew Hector, knew his faults and weaknesses, but he also knew how his brother defended him when they were teens, stood up for him against a crowd of people who believed him guilty of taking advantage of a local girl. The hatred of the community who was all too willing to accept that he’d done it. The sideways looks and sneered remarks of peers who believed the girl’s story. Cops with an eagerness to convict him glittering in their eyes right up to the moment when they decided they had no evidence to hold him. All because his last name was Sandoval. And when the half dozen boys cornered him at his uncle’s orchard and began to beat him, it was his brother who stood there beside him, taking the punishment, knee-deep in the melee until the cops arrived and broke things up.

That was the real Hector. Wasn’t it?

“Enough,” Silvio said.

Reuben jerked from his thoughts to find Silvio pointing at the water jug he was filling to overflowing in the sink. He turned off the tap. “I’m taking her back now.”

“Good,” Paula said.

Silvio chided his wife. “She doesn’t deserve that.”

Paula didn’t answer as she brushed a kiss on Reuben’s cheek. “Hurry back. Don’t want you caught in the storm.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Reuben said. He gestured to Silvio to follow him outside and told him about Garza’s threat. “You should take Paula away.”

“I’ll tell her, but she won’t budge.”

Reuben experienced twin pangs of both tenderness and worry. The emotions quickened his pace as he hurried to the Black-Eyed Beauty, his breathing edging up a notch when he saw Antonia waiting there, black hair ribboning around her like wings.

Gavin joined them and stood uncharacteristically quietly on the dock a few paces behind. He’d have to be blind and deaf not to pick up on the tension between the two of them. He merely whistled to himself and looked at the birds wheeling above the water.

Hector’s boat was gone, and Reuben felt a surge of relief. His brother was a distraction he could not afford. He marveled at the thick wall of black clouds, massed like soldiers on the horizon. This hurricane would not retreat until Florida had experienced the full weight of its power. There were no leisure craft to be seen out in the open. The water empty of the usual ocean lovers. Normally he relished the early morning quiet, but now it bothered him. He thought about calling Silvio to make sure he’d locked up, but was annoyed to discover he’d left his cell phone at the hotel.

“Look there,” Gavin said, jerking his chin toward the expanse of sea between Isla and the mainland. Just past a clump of black mangroves, a sixteen-foot skimmer tossed up and down on the waves. His gut tightened. Garza had an arsenal of men and boats. Had he decided to start his campaign of intimidation already?

“Whose boat is that?” Gavin asked.

“Not sure.” Reuben sent up a prayer that he would be able to deliver Antonia out of the nasty business. She’d been entangled in his family long enough. Their love was irreparably ruined, but he did not want to see her hurt. He would not allow it.

He blew out a breath when he realized the boat was anchored against the heaving waves. Ridiculous to be out in such weather, but the captain was certainly not one of Garza’s men poised to pursue Reuben. Not yet, anyway.

Reuben sucked in a deep breath full of humid air. Exhaling slowly, he tried to summon up a sense of calm as he strode toward the Black-Eyed Beauty. The smell hit him, pungent and foul. Gasoline. Moving closer he could make out the puddles on the bottom of the boat, filming the seats, dampening the wooden boards under his feet.

“Gas?” Antonia said, around his shoulder.

The crack of a gun cut through her words. He had time to look up and see the incoming flare as it arced gracefully across the sky, splaying a shower of sparks in its wake. Time stood still, freezing him with terror for one endless second before adrenaline propelled him into action. He turned and shoved Gavin off the dock and into the water.

“Swim, both of you,” he yelled, grabbing Antonia’s hand and yanking her to the edge of the dock.

She opened her mouth to scream or shout a question, but there was no time. He pushed her off the dock, her slender body neatly cleaving the water.

When she surfaced, he yelled, “Swim away from—”

The boat exploded behind them as the flare ignited the gasoline, fiery splinters spiraling around, painting golden arcs in the chaotic wind.

FOUR

Antonia felt bits of wood raining down, knifing into the water around her. She could not understand at first what had happened. Hot embers landed on her shoulder, burning through the wet fabric of her shirt. An eerie, orange glow lit Reuben’s face, and she could see lines of grief there, illuminated for a moment by the remnants of the Black-Eyed Beauty that crackled behind her. The sadness there took her by surprise, the naked sorrow now turning to something else before her eyes, something harder, something dangerous.

She swiveled in the water to get a look at the burning boat, which glowed like a torch floating on the restless sea. Another flare sailed through the sky and ignited the other boat docked there, a smaller motorboat that caught fire with a whoosh.

Acrid black smoke blossomed around them. Reuben grabbed her wrist and tugged her away, his grip so strong it hurt. He hauled her until they were out of range of the falling debris.

“What happened?”

Reuben’s expression was impossible to read in the weak light, but the intensity of his command was not. “No time now. Swim hard. That way.”

Gavin spat out a mouthful of water. “He’s right. Do it.”

She struck out in the direction he’d pointed, away from the dock and back toward Isla, headed for the gap in the mangrove fringe that proved the most direct route. Waves crested over her head leaving her breathless. The lightening sky proved a small measure of help, silhouetting the island against a backdrop of steel gray clouds, obscured here and there by the heavy foliage.

Part of her mind wanted to mull over the loss Reuben had just experienced. She’d been on or around boats all her life. Her father, a fisherman by trade, was on the ocean nearly every day until his death, and she’d been toted along with him from the time she was a toddler. She knew boats like she knew the vibrant colors of an ocean sunrise or the sound of the beach at night when there was no one around but the scuttling crabs. They were more than wood and engines. They were beloved by their owners, cherished, nurtured...and mourned.

Just swim.

It took all her strength to fight through the water, and even with every ounce of determination she found herself slowing against the storm-strengthened surf.

“Hold on to me. I’ll tow us.”

She turned off the arguments materializing in her brain and clung to the waistband of Reuben’s pants as he charged through the surf. Against her fingers, she felt the muscles of his back working, strong from hours of hard labor in his orange fields and hotel restoration. He’d always been strong. She’d never beat him at arm wrestling, not once besting him on their sprints around the island. She paddled as best she could to help propel them forward.

When she could feel the water shallowing out around them, she let go and began forging her own way toward the beach. Wind plastered her hair to her face and left her shivering as they slogged out of the surf; Gavin reaching out to help her. She longed to throw herself down on the sand, just for a moment, to allow her lungs to catch up, but Reuben grabbed her cold hand.

“Come on.”

He was nearly sprinting, and she marveled that he still had so much stamina after their frantic swim. Something was fueling him with an unnatural energy. Fear? Sorrow? Anger. The realization scared her. She scrambled after him, past the packed sand and through the ripple of ornamental grasses and clustered palms thrashing in the wind. Charging under the stately oaks dripping with Spanish moss and finally across the green lawn, they made it to the graveled path to the hotel veranda. Slamming through the front door, Reuben locked it behind them.

Silvio stood there with a phone in his hand, mouth gaping and eyes agog.

His wife ran into the room holding a pair of binoculars. “What happened? We heard an explosion. Silvio was trying to call you.”

“Someone blew up my boats,” Reuben snarled.

Antonia had seen Reuben angry before only a few times. Anger was not an emotion to which he succumbed to often, but now rage flickered in his eyes like a wakening giant. Snatching the phone from Silvio, he stabbed in the numbers. “I’m calling the cops. The guy doused the dock in gasoline and fired a flare from out there on a skimmer.”

Paula’s face went slack with horror. “What?”

“Who would do that?” Antonia finally managed around her chattering teeth. His eyes locked on hers, but he did not answer.

“I’d sure like to know the answer to that,” Gavin said.

A sinking feeling flooded Antonia’s stomach. Hector’s mob connections. Crime swirled around his family like a dark, fetid wind. Reuben must have read her thoughts because his mouth twisted.

The cold took over her body, leaving her shivering in the Isla Hotel lobby for the second time in as many days, the lazily turning ceiling fans cooling her even more.

Gavin absently picked up Charley and cradled the cat to his chest while staring at Reuben. “This kind of thing happen to you often, Mr. Sandoval? Pretty dramatic for a guy who grows oranges and runs a hotel on the side.”

Something glittered in Gavin’s eyes, a calculating look that surprised Antonia. Then again, the kid had a right to be suspicious after nearly being blown up right along with them.

Reuben paced as he waited, muscles in his clenched jaw rippling. “This is Reuben Sandoval. I need to talk to an officer about an attempted murder. Someone just blew up my boats. No, no one is injured. I am positive it was not an accident.” He paused. “Myself, an employee and...a guest I was ferrying to the mainland.”

Antonia didn’t know why the word hurt. They were not anything more than that, two people thrown together by chance. She was a guest on his island, an unwanted one.

Gavin set the cat down and Charley made his way to Antonia, sniffing at the water puddling around her shoes. She reached down to pet him, but the animal avoided her damp fingertips. Instead he sat a safe distance away tucked next to a conch shell on the bottom shelf of a massive bookcase, regarding her with an appraising look. I don’t know what’s going on, either, she wanted to say. Ask your owner.

Reuben made three dripping orbits around the lobby with Paula following, trying to thrust a towel around his shoulders. “Yes,” he snapped into the phone. “I understand that, but this is urgent. I know there’s a hurricane about to make landfall.” He blew out a breath. “All right.”

He pocketed the phone. “They’re prepping for the storm. They can’t send an officer out now, but someone will attempt to get here as soon as possible.”

“That right?” Silvio lifted a bushy eyebrow. “They don’t believe you, do they?”

“No. Cops are not going to believe anything from a Sandoval.” He kicked at a box sitting on the floor, punching a hole in the cardboard and making Paula jump. “They destroyed my boats.”

Antonia heard something in his tone that made her think he knew exactly who had done it. Paula interrupted her thoughts by going to the closet and getting down a basket of clothes. “Leftovers from the absentminded guests. Go change. Again.”

Gavin had already gone upstairs to do the same.

This time she didn’t bother to protest, squelching meekly into the tiny bathroom connected to the lobby. Avoiding her reflection in the mirror, which was no doubt ghastly, she changed into the faded jeans that were a size too big and the short-sleeved polo shirt in a pastel-pink color that she would never wear under other circumstances. Paula had even managed a man’s navy windbreaker, which extended past her thighs. There was nothing to be done about her sandals except to put them on again. Feeling marginally better, she returned to the lobby.

She found Paula in the kitchen, putting a kettle on to boil. Reuben and Silvio stood on the wide veranda, even more spacious since Reuben had removed all the quaint rockers, binoculars raised to their eyes.

“Do you see the skimmer?” she said, staying well back near the white-painted house to avoid the driving rain.

Reuben did not look at her. “No.”

Silvio spoke quietly. “Could be he’s headed back to the mainland.”

“Or could be he’s staying out of open water, hiding out in the lagoon.”

“Dangerous,” Silvio said. “With the storm coming.”

“He’s got a reason to finish the job,” Reuben said.

Antonia came closer. “What reason?”

A quiet voice interrupted. Hector strolled into the room, his face drawn. “His boss told him to convince you. He will carry out his orders, destroying everything until you capitulate.”

Convince Reuben? She took a step backward, a reflexive action.

Reuben appeared just as surprised. “I thought you left.”

“I sent Benny back. I wished to stay, to give you a hand with the hurricane preparations.” He flashed a distracted smile. “Now I see that you need another kind of help.” His smile vanished. “I did not imagine they would act so quickly, so blatantly, believe me. I would have dragged you off this island if I thought...”

Reuben and Hector locked eyes and Antonia could see that Reuben was struggling with some internal decision.

She felt lost. Someone blew up Reuben’s boat because their boss ordered them to. She wanted to press, but Reuben turned his back to her and spoke to Silvio. “We have to get her off this island, and Paula, too.”

“That’s not going to happen now, and you know it as well as I do.” Silvio jutted his chin at the ocean. “Both your boats just went up in flames.”

“The police...”

Hector laughed. “The hurricane makes landfall within hours. Police aren’t coming.” His tone was bitter. “Not for a Sandoval. We’re all trapped right here, like it or not.”

Paula called from the kitchen. “We’ll be fine then. If the cops can’t make it because they’re busy with evacuations, then this crazy man who blew up your boat won’t be able to call for reinforcements, either.”

“Unless they’re already here,” Reuben said so softly Antonia almost didn’t hear him.

* * *

Reuben shut down his worry long enough to focus on the practical. Hector was helping Silvio board up the windows on the third story. Paula was cooking something and retrieving all the potted plants from the veranda and balconies. Gavin had gone to make sure all the lower-level windows were secure. None of them could be budged from their duties, arsonist or no arsonist, except possibly Gavin, and he had no choice at the moment. That left Antonia to deal with.

If indeed it was Garza’s man who had tried to strand him here, he would not give up because of a storm no matter how intense. Since he could not get Antonia and Paula off the island, they were—to coin a phrase—sitting ducks. Paula would never leave Silvio’s side, but he figured Antonia would be safer the farther away she was from him.

He herded her along in front of him on the path to the bungalow, her pace slower than he would like as she picked her way around puddles, ignoring the rain. Antonia was a dreamer, an observer, walking through life as if the world that unrolled before her were meant to be studied and captured in memories or on canvas. He’d loved that about her, but right now, it was driving him nuts.

Along the way she peppered him with questions that he did not answer. Finally, she stopped him with a hand on his chest. His breathing ticked up a notch at the feel of her palm pressed against him. He found his own fingers curled around her wrist.

“It’s because of your brother, isn’t it?” Her black eyes gleamed, defiant, even in the steady rain. “Whoever that was, he’s after you because of Hector.”

“That’s immaterial.”

“No, it’s not. Your brother is a criminal, Reuben, can’t you see that? He’s dragging you down.”

“My brother is clean, Antonia. He got out of the business and he’s stayed out.”

“And you believe that?”

“I believe that. I’ve prayed every day for the past decade that Hector would go straight, and he has. He was trying to be a good father to Gracie.”

“He attacked my sister when she said she was leaving.”

“Mia had not a scratch on her. My brother was the one who needed stitches.”

“She thought he was going to kill her and take Gracie.”

“She thought wrong. Hector loves Gracie, and he knows she needs her mother.”

Antonia’s eyes flamed, and there was a note of entreaty in her voice. “He went after my sister. She defended herself.”

Reuben looked away. There was no time for this again. Not now and he shouldn’t have mentioned Gracie. “Okay, suppose that’s how Mia felt. She was scared. She believed she had to defend herself. I get that. Hector has a temper and he loses it sometimes. When Mia was released from jail they could have come to an agreement. All Hector wanted was to see his daughter.”

“He’s lying about everything, and you’re too blinded to see it.”

“Your sister is the one breaking the law by snatching Gracie from her father.”

She shook her head, eyes hard. “He’s a drug runner, Reuben.”

“That’s in the past, before he even met Mia. He made mistakes and I’ve forgiven him for that.”

She looked away and wiped the moisture off her forehead. “He doesn’t deserve your forgiveness.”

“Everyone deserves forgiveness, Nee. Didn’t you learn that in Sunday school?”

His arrow hit the mark, and she turned on her heel and walked ahead of him on the path, the anger and disappointment simmering between them, thick as the storm-soaked clouds. When they reached the bungalow, he held the door for her and made sure the lantern and flashlight were functioning. He folded the heavy accordion hurricane shutters over the window and clamped them shut. Antonia stood on the porch watching, her long hair swirling in the wind.

“This bungalow is the sturdiest thing we’ve got. Hurricane ties, nailed roof. It’s all up to code, so I’m optimistic.”

“What about the main building?”

Reuben shot a look at Isla, silhouetted against the sky like a grand lady, unaware of the disaster gathering around her. Built in the late 1800s, the beautiful three-story house had been damaged in past hurricanes, and repaired to the best of their ability at the time, but codes and materials had improved since then. There were always other items on the purchase list. He found it ironic that tourists came to Isla to experience a historic setting, yet they required all the expensive modern conveniences from Wi-Fi to flat-screen TVs. Isla was in desperate need of retrofitting, and now it seemed they were out of time. His stomach tightened as he pulled his thoughts back to the bungalow.

“In the small closet there’s access to a shelter underneath the bungalow if it looks like it’s not going to outlast the hurricane. It will keep you safe from the wind, at least until it floods. Hopefully that won’t be for a while. There’s water and some food. You’ll be okay.”

A fresh burst of wind rattled against the shutters. He handed her a second flashlight. “Lock the door and don’t open it unless it’s me or Silvio.”

The fear flickered in her eyes. “You really think someone is coming?”

He didn’t want to add to her fear, but he’d always told her the truth and he wasn’t going to start lying now. “Yes, I do. Garza wants the island, and he thinks he’s going to force me to give it up.” He hesitated. “I don’t want you involved in this, but I’m worried that you already are.”

She sucked in a breath. “The man on the beach and the one on the Jet Ski. You think they were Garza’s men?”

“I don’t know.”

“Why would they think scaring me would influence you? Everyone knows we’re not together anymore.”

Reuben felt the flood of feelings well up from deep in his soul. Not together, but you’ll always be a part of me. “Enemies will use anything, even the past. Maybe they thought they could still get to me through you.”

Her eyes locked on his. “Can they?”

He wished desperately at that moment that Antonia was still on the side of friend. Of all the things they had been to each other, he missed that friendship the most, the comfort of having someone on his side who knew him completely and loved him anyway. With the rest of the world he’d always had to wonder if friendly folks were cordial as a way to keep on good terms with the Sandoval family or out of fear of his brother.

Past history. Hector was out of that life, though he’d never convince Antonia of that.

“Keep the door locked,” he repeated before thrusting a bag into her arms. “Paula made up this food for you.”

Antonia blinked. “I thought she hated me.”

He shrugged. “She can’t stand the thought of anyone hungry.”

Antonia sighed. “So I’m supposed to stay shut in here while you fend off this man who just blew up your boats and tried to scare me on the beach?”

“When the police make it here it will all be over. They’ll get you back to the mainland.”

She took a step toward him, and he saw the beads of water imprisoned, trembling in the strands of her hair like tiny crystals. “What will happen to Silvio, Paula and Gavin while I’m tucked safely away in this bungalow?”

“Nothing.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because I’m going to find the guy who blew up my boats before he finds them.” And you.

Antonia jerked and he thought her face went a little paler, but it might have been a trick of the shadows from the waving palms outside. “Wait for the police. Please, Reuben.”

“Won’t get anybody here until after the storm.”

She toyed with the zipper on her windbreaker. “He’ll kill you. You’re an orange grower, not a commando.”

He saw his own grim smile reflected in the dark pools of her eyes. “One thing about the Sandovals is they know how to survive.”

He waited in the rain until he heard the sound of the lock sliding home.

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