Beyond Fearless (11 page)

She knew he'd picked up her thoughts. When a flush of embarrassment warmed her cheeks, he stroked his hand there.

“You weren't prepared for something like lightning striking?” he asked softly.

“No.”

“Neither was I.”

“But you went after me.”

“Yeah. The moment I saw you, I knew we were going to be important to each other.” His breath hitched. “And for the record, it scared me. I thought about sailing away from you.”

“Thank God you didn't.”

They lay silent for several heartbeats, holding on to each other.

She felt a question building in his mind. A question he didn't want to ask.

Tension coiled inside her as she waited.

“Were your parents disappointed with you?” he finally asked.

“I…” She huffed out a breath before starting again. “Dad was always so damn busy with his get-rich schemes that I didn't know him that well. It seemed like work was more important to him than family.” She unconsciously lowered her voice. “But maybe he stayed away from home so much because he didn't know what to do with a kid like me.”

“Is that what you really think?” he asked sharply.

She ran her finger along his arm. “I used to think so. You know how kids are. They assume trouble in the family is their fault.”

“Yeah.”

“Then I guess I realized that he wasn't much for home life.”

“So maybe your mother was the one who wanted a kid, and he went along with her because that got her off his back.”

“Maybe.” She sighed. “If so, it didn't work out the way she expected. I know Mom wished I were closer to her.”

She wanted to push for answers—to find out what had made them…different. But because their thoughts were so close, she felt him backing away from the subject. And she wasn't going to start off the relationship by pushing him.

He combed his fingers through her hair. It felt good. And arousing. She wanted him again, and she knew he wanted her, too. But for now, she was just enjoying being close to him.

And he knew that, too.

 

JOSEPH
Hondino stood at the window of his little yellow house, looking at the magnificent view of the harbor. It was one of the things he appreciated about the island.

He had been born and come of age in this port city. And he loved the warmth and generosity of the people who lived here.

Since he'd become a Vadiana priest forty years ago, he'd done his best to serve them. They might live in a place where tourists came to relax and enjoy the sun, but their lives were hard, and he tried to help them with their problems. To give them hope for the future.

He'd been delighted when Raoul San Donato had joined his congregation. And he'd instructed the young man in the way of the Blessed Ones. He'd thought Raoul might take over from him when he got too old to lead his flock.

But Raoul had other ideas. He wanted to push his mentor aside. And he was using the psychic powers he possessed to do it. Raoul was perverting the tenets of the religion that Joseph served. He was mixing up the results of his own psychic powers with the power of the saints.

That was bad enough. But it was worse that he pretended to be on the side of the people, when it was clear that he was working strictly for himself. He wanted to be the unofficial king of this island. Maybe even the official ruler—in the tradition of the strong men who stepped in and took over the governments of third-world countries. They made all sorts of promises to their followers. But it turned out most of the wealth and comfort was reserved for them. And that was the real tragedy of what was happening with San Donato.

He'd fooled too many people on the island—people who thought that he could lead them to a better life. Somehow the forces of Good and Evil in the universe had become unbalanced. Were the Blessed Ones really favoring Raoul San Donato?

Joseph had gone to a few of the ceremonies held by his old disciple on the other side of the island, staying well in the back. And he'd seen some weird sexual practices up on the altar that had made his jaw drop. What started at the altar spread to the congregation—so that the worship sessions ended up in a sexual orgy.

Joseph grimaced. The way San Donato was perverting their religion made him sick. Did his poisonous ceremonies find favor with the saints?

Perhaps they were intrigued. Perhaps they were waiting to see what would happen.

Although Joseph knew the balance in the universe would eventually right itself, eventually might not be soon enough, not when the negative was in the ascendance and the good had been suppressed.

One thing Joseph understood deep down at the level of his gut. The false priest would eventually destroy himself. But the people of the island were the more immediate problem. San Donato was gathering more and more of them to himself. And if he swept them into danger, Joseph would never forgive himself.

 

ANNA
snuggled beside Zach, basking in the warmth and closeness. She'd felt like she was in danger. Now she was safe—with this man who had come back to her after years of being apart. Well, they hadn't been together in any conventional sense. And they hadn't been adults then. But she'd had a special connection with him all those years ago. And against all odds, they'd found each other again. Cosmic coincidence? Or something more?

She was turning that over in her mind when she felt a jolt of alarm.

“We have to get out of here,” she whispered, climbing out of bed and picking up the clothing that she'd been wearing.

Zach didn't question her. He just stood up and began pulling on his T-shirt and jeans.

“Make the bed.”

“Huh?”

“It's important to make the bed,” she whispered.

“Why?”

She dragged in a breath and let it out. “I don't know.” She felt frustration and a terrible urgency rising inside her. “Stop wasting time. I've got to wash. So nobody knows we were making love.”

She dashed into the head adjacent to the cabin and grabbed a washcloth, wetting and soaping it, then washing quickly. After rinsing it out, she hung it in the shower, like Zach had left it. Then she dried off with the towel hanging on the rack.

When she returned to the cabin, Zach had made the bed, pulling the duvet back into place and plumping the pillows so that it didn't look like they had just climbed out of the bed—out of each other's arms.

She didn't understand why that was important. She only knew her life might depend on it. And Zach's life.

He cupped his hands over her shoulders, his fingers digging into her skin.
Life and death?

Yes.

She dressed quickly. She had just thrust her feet into her sandals when she felt the boat sway as someone climbed aboard.

ZACH HAD TO
protect Anna.

That was his first thought as he whirled away from the cabin door.

“Zach, we have to…” Anna cried out.

“What?”

“Work together,” she gasped.

“How?”

“Like we sent out that message before.”

“We don't even know if it really did anything.” This wasn't theoretical. It was up close and personal, and his self-protective instincts instantly went into old patterns. Without even thinking about what he was doing, he leaped toward the dresser where he kept his gun.

Before he could reach the drawer that held his Sig Sauer, two armed men burst into the cabin.

They looked tough as barnacles. And neither of them had the features of islanders. These were outsiders. Hired guns. From Terrance Sanford? Or maybe Sanford's brother? Was the whole thing with the sunken boat a setup?

The questions flashed through his mind as one of the men rushed him, weapon drawn. The other covered Anna.

“Move a muscle, and I shoot the lady.”

Zach went stock-still.

He wanted to scream as the thug closest to Anna pulled out a pair of handcuffs and handed them to her. “Put them on,” he clipped out.

She held the cuffs in her hand, looking down at them, then pleadingly at Zach, and he knew she was trying to tell him something—mind to mind. Something that would save their butts. In the alley, after the two men had attacked him, he'd sent her a message. But he couldn't go the other way. Not unless they were touching.

His body rigid, he strained his mind to pick up what she was saying. But it didn't work. When he wasn't touching her, they might as well have been on opposite ends of the island.

He needed that physical contact. And he longed to lunge across the room and grab her arm to forge the connection. Hell, he should have listened to her and done it two minutes ago.

But there was no chance of that now. They'd both be dead before they could make any kind of contact.

Anna took her lower lip between her teeth. He knew she'd been playing for time. And it had just run out.

“Do it!” the man ordered.

With her lip still clenched between her teeth, she snapped the cuff around one wrist. He saw her fumbling with the other one, saw her intense concentration and knew she was still silently trying to talk to him.

He gave his head a small shake. With a defeated look, she did the other wrist.

As he stood beside the bed, he wanted to roar out his frustration, but he kept his anguish locked in his throat.

A sound in the companionway made him look up as a slim man walked into the room.

“Got them, Bill,” the bigger guy said.

“No names,” he snapped, giving the speaker a narrow-eyed look. Then he glanced from them to the made bed that looked like nobody had been in it.

“Keep them apart.”

Anna gasped when she saw him. “You. You're the man who was following me. In Denver. And on the island.”

His gaze shot to her. “You couldn't have spotted me.”

When Anna opened her mouth, Zach sent her an urgent message.
Don't argue with him. Don't contradict him. Let him think he's in charge.

She closed her mouth abruptly, and Zach relaxed a beat. It looked like she had heard him. So the communication was working—one way. She was used to picking up memories from people, and she could catch what he was saying to her. Too bad he couldn't hear her thoughts.

Not yet. Or would they ever have a chance to make it work?

Anna flicked her gaze to him, then away, and he was sure she had heard that. Almost imperceptibly she lifted one shoulder.

“Cuff him,” the slim guy ordered.

The man who had come at him whipped out another set of cuffs and secured Zach's wrists—in front of him, he noted. Not the best way to restrain a prisoner, but he wasn't going to point that out to these bastards.

Bill gave him a satisfied smirk, then walked around the cabin, opening drawers and poking inside.

Zach watched him intently, but Bill didn't pocket anything, even the gun, and he didn't find the stash of U.S. bills hidden in a compartment behind one of the drawers.

Which meant that when he and Anna got out of this, they'd have some cash.

She looked at him, then away, and he gave her a quick grin, telling her that he wasn't going to give up.

He realized the reason for the search when Bill opened a cabinet and pulled out a sweatshirt.

“Hold your hands so I can drape this over the cuffs,” he ordered.

With no other options, Zach obeyed.

His gaze slid to Anna. She was staring at the men with wide, terrified eyes.

Bill pulled down a jacket and laid it over Anna's cuffs, then used his own jacket to hide his gun.

“Why are you doing this?” Zach asked.

“It's how I get my kicks.”

“Are you working for Sanford?”

“Who?”

The way he said it told Zach he'd never heard of the guy.

“Quit talking. We're getting out of here. Off the boat and into a car by the dock. I'd prefer not to kill you in the middle of town, but if you try anything funny, you're dead.”

Zach sent Anna another mental message.

Hang tight. We'll get out of this. Do what they say
—
for now.

This time, her back was to him, and he didn't know if she heard him. But he repeated the words more than once, hoping that he was getting through to her. For all the good it did either one of them.

Sure, he could tell her they'd get out of this, but he didn't know how they were going to do it. Right now their only choice was to follow directions.

As he allowed the men to lead him off the boat, he silently prayed. He hadn't prayed in years. Now that he was in bad trouble, he was suddenly asking for God's help.

He looked around the dock and spotted José, the diver who had been down with him a few days ago and had been busy since then, spreading the word about their run-in with Pagor.

The man stared at him and Anna and the thugs, probably taking in the situation instantly.

Yeah, we're in trouble.

When Zach shot him a hard look, the guy turned away and pretended great interest in a nearby boat.

Well, what had he expected? Probably this was just what José had been waiting for. Bad luck—the direct result of disturbing Pagor down on that wreck.

Was there some way to make a break for it?

As the thug with Anna grasped her arm, Zach kept looking around, hoping for a car crash or something else to distract these guys for a moment.

But the port area was quiet. Nobody interfered as they walked to a black car that was pulled up along the curb.

 

ACROSS
the street from the docks, a small, barefoot boy named Tomaso hugged the edge of a parked car, his eyes trained toward the
Odysseus
. One of the rich men in town, Raoul San Donato, was paying him big bucks to keep watch on that lady from the Sugar Cane Club. She'd gone onto the ship, and she'd been in there for a while. Long enough for her to have some fun with that diver guy. The one who was mixed up bad with Pagor.

Now more guys had come on board, and Tomaso wasn't sure what to do. Should he run to San Donato and tell him? Or should he wait to see what happened?

When the woman and the men came out, he kept his eyes trained on her. She looked scared. And her arms looked funny with a shirt draped over them.

He should get San Donato. For sure.

Or should he follow the men?

Before he could decide which way to jump, the big men pushed her and the diver guy into a car. The rest of them climbed in, and they drove away.

Tomaso swallowed. He'd lost them. Would San Donato still pay him? Or should he run away?

 

THEY
drove out of town, with Zach in the back and Anna in the front. Were they going out in the jungle, where these guys could shoot them and bury the bodies?

After a few minutes, he was pretty sure they were headed toward one of the private airstrips on the island.

Jesus, now what?

The car stopped at the edge of a narrow ribbon of blacktop. Nobody seemed to be in the shed that served as an office. These guys had probably paid off the staff.

The men hustled Zach and Anna out of the car, then the one named Bill ran toward a small plane that was sitting at the edge of the runway.

Zach had been hoping they could get away before now. But when Bill came back, he ordered them toward the plane.

 

RAOUL
was in his art gallery with an old guy who was staying in one of the big hotels and wanted to surprise his wife with a piece of island art. Stupid move. In his experience, the tourist guys were better off letting the women pick their own art. But he nodded and smiled and started writing up the ticket, hoping she wasn't going to return the expensive carving.

When Tomaso burst through the front door, he gave the kid a sharp look, then finished up the transaction. The boy stood there shifting his weight from one foot to the other like he had to pee.

He would have told the kid to get out of there—now—but the look on the small face told him something was up. When the customer had left, Raoul flipped the Closed sign.

“What happened?” he demanded.

“De woman leave. Wit de man who own the Pagor boat. And other men.”

“She was with
him
?”

“Yeah, mon.”

“Why didn't you tell me?”

“You said to stay wit her.”

Raoul repressed the impulse to take the kid by the shoulders and shake him. He knew it wouldn't do him any good.

“Where they go?” he asked, hearing the raw edge of his voice.

“I don't know, mon.”

“Into the city?”

“Into a car.” Tomaso looked like he'd done something wrong.

Truly, Raoul wanted to throttle the boy. But what had happened wasn't Tomaso's fault. Instead Raoul took a dollar bill from the cash box and handed it over.

The kid looked wide-eyed at the money. “You want me to do sumpin' else for you?”

“Not now. Go on.”

As soon as Tomaso had stepped onto the sidewalk, Raoul locked the door and headed for the shrine out back, praying that Ibena could tell him where Anna had gone. On his way to the shed, he opened the cage and plucked out a chicken, carrying it flapping and squawking to the back of the yard.

He didn't have time for refinements. He knelt before the altar, chanting his prayer and holding up the chicken so that Ibena could see. Then he broke the chicken's neck and slit the bird's throat, letting the blood drip into the bowl that sat on the altar.

“Tell me where my queen has gone,” he asked. “The queen who will rule this island with me. With your help,” he added, lest the goddess think that he had forgotten his place in the scheme of saints and men. “I need your help. Show me what is hidden to my own eyes. Show me where to find her.”

He squeezed his eyes closed, praying that a scene would form in his mind.

At first he saw the street outside his shop's front door. But he knew that was a false image, born of his own desperation.

He banished the street scene, and opened himself to whatever image Ibena would send him.

And when he saw one of the airstrips outside the city, he gasped.

She was leaving.

No, she wouldn't leave him. Someone was taking her away.

 

“WHERE
are we going?” Zach asked.

“To meet our boss.”

The truth? Or a lie designed to keep him calm?

He thought he detected a lie, but there was no way to know for sure.

Despair threatened to swamp him. They were in a hell of a fix. And he didn't know how to get out of it.

He should have trusted Anna. He should have—

He cut off the self-accusation. There was no point in beating himself up over what he should have done. That was in the past. He had to figure out what to do now.

They hustled him onto the plane, then into a seat, where they fastened his seatbelt. Anna followed and was pushed into a seat across the aisle and also buckled in. They were in the middle of the plane. Bill and one of the big thugs were behind them. The pilot and one of the other hoods was in front.

Zach didn't know much about aircraft. Not the way he knew boats. There wasn't a chance of his flying this thing—even if he and Anna could somehow take it over.