Beyond Fearless (5 page)

WITH THE SPOTLIGHTS
in her eyes, Anna could see only vague outlines of the people sitting in the audience. But she felt a presence at the back of the room. A man so focused on her that his gaze was almost like a physical touch.

She took a calming breath and stretched her arm toward the wings, making a theatrical gesture. “Lights, please.”

At her command, the house lights came up about halfway, bathing the room in a warm glow that was not enough to reveal the dirt on the floor.

In the illumination, she knew where to look for the man who was watching her. She intended to flick her gaze right by him. Instead, she stopped abruptly, taking him in.

He was sitting at a table in the back, dressed in a dark T-shirt and jeans, one of his legs stretched out at the side of the table. He looked tall and tanned, with brown hair streaked by the sun. His eyes were large and dark—watching her with an intensity that made her throat tighten. Yet at the same time, she saw something vulnerable in his gaze, as though he was as wary of her as she was of him.

Unbidden, an image swam into her mind—the two of them standing together on that broad, windswept plain, the only two living beings in an uninhabited world. She wore a gauzy green dress. And he was naked to the waist, his broad chest covered by a mat of sun-bleached hair. When he pulled her body against his, the contact was electric.

Stop it,
she ordered herself. With a mental shake, she banished the fantasy from her mind before it could suck her under and break the concentration she needed to get through her act.

A woman in the audience shifted in her seat, and Anna realized she had been standing mute for several seconds. Clearing her throat, she said to the room in general, “Thank you for joining me. I see some of you have been here before. Welcome back.” She smiled, hoping that the facial expression looked genuine.

She had delivered this patter a thousand times. And she was good at it. Smooth. And lucky she could function on automatic pilot.

“If you're just joining the show, you're probably wondering what the hype on that poster outside is all about. Of course it was designed to lure you inside so you could enjoy the island drinks the Sugar Cane Club serves. But now that you're here, let's boogie.”

Appreciative laughter rippled thorough the small show room, and she knew that the vacationers gathered in front of the stage were on her side. They'd give her the benefit of the doubt—until she screwed up.

“This is an audience participation event. So I'm going to ask you to do some of the heavy lifting. If you'd like to volunteer to be part of my act, I can tell you things about yourself. It works like this: My assistant will walk around with a tray. If you like, you can put some personal item on it. Something that you've owned for a while. Like a watch or a ring or a key chain. Don't worry, I'm not using my act as an excuse to take possession of your property. But if you'd like to leave something behind, make it appealing. Diamond rings are always good.”

Once again laughter rippled, and she smiled. “I'll pick up some of the objects from the tray. And when I do, I'll be able to share some of your memories. It's as simple as that. So if you'd like to give it a try, pass me those rings and watches.”

Etienne took the tray from her, then stepped down to the level of the audience and began to walk among the tables.

At first, nobody responded, but she was used to a bit of reluctance.

“Don't be shy,” she encouraged, knowing that it would take only one man or woman to get the ball rolling.

A woman handed over a scarf patterned with green leaves. After that, a flood of earrings, watches, and key chains followed.

Anna watched closely. Instead of participating, the man with the sun-streaked hair kept his hand clenched around a bottle of local beer.

Etienne returned to Anna and set the tray down on a bar stool he had brought to the stage.

She stared down at the collection spread before her, feeling a ripple travel over her skin. Something bad was in that pile of stuff. Something she didn't want to face. But she couldn't be sure what it was.

The scarf appeared harmless enough. It was lying curled in a circle at the side of the tray. She glanced at the woman who had set it there, a redhead who looked to be in her early thirties. She was with a man, probably her husband, and she smiled when Anna picked up the scarf.

“We've never met—right?” Anna murmured.

“Right.”

“And you haven't filled out any personal questionnaires since you came to the island.”

“That's right,” the woman confirmed.

Anna closed her eyes, focusing on what the silky fabric had to tell her, then grinned.

“You two are in Grand Fernandino on your honeymoon, aren't you?” she asked.

The woman blinked, glancing down at the impressive diamond ring on her left hand, then back at Anna. “Yes.”

Enjoying herself now, Anna ran her thumb over a bright green leaf in the silk pattern. “You were married in Boston. Well, in the suburbs—at Don's country club.” She gave the woman a warm look. “This is your second marriage, and your little girl, Grace, was your maid of honor.”

The woman looked astonished. “How…how do you know all that?”

“I can pick up impressions from the objects you leave on the tray.” She continued to finger the silk as she spoke. “Like…I know Don proposed to you on the golf course. At the eighteenth hole. When he picked up his ball, he slipped something into the cup—that beautiful engagement ring you're wearing. Very romantic, Don.”

The audience was staring at her with respect, now that she'd proved her worth.

She returned the scarf. “Thank you, Melinda, for sharing such nice memories,” she said.

Etienne began to clap, and the audience joined in. She flicked her gaze to the man in the corner and saw he was still holding on to his beer bottle and staring at her.

She picked up a man's watch—an expensive model, with real gold links in the band, she was sure. Immediately she got a picture of a small boy, huddling in the dark, in a shed. Outside, the wind howled, and the boy curled up in the corner, wrapped in several empty feed sacks to keep warm.

She wished she hadn't been attracted to the watch. She wanted to slam it back onto the tray. Instead, she squeezed her fingers around the metal, striving for closer contact.

“You're sorry you broke the pitcher, Teddy,” she whispered.

In the audience, a large man with a high-domed forehead sat up straighter, then leaned toward her.

She hadn't known who put down the watch. As she turned toward him, the room fading around her. In a quiet voice, she spoke only to him. “You didn't mean to break the pitcher,” she said again, her voice low and far away. “And you know your momma is going to be sad. She doesn't have the money to replace it. But she's worried about you now. You have to go back in the house. Because she doesn't know you're in the shed. And a storm is coming. You don't want her going out in the storm.”

“You can't know anything about that! How do you know my mom used to call me Teddy?”

Ignoring the outburst, she continued. “It was a long time ago. The next week, you went out and got a job after school.” She paused for a minute. “Sweeping up the store for old Mr. Winslow. He gave you an employee discount—and you bought your momma another pitcher.”

“Yes.”

Tears gathered in her eyes. “And now she lives in a nice apartment that you bought her. And she has the best of everything.”

“I never knew why I went back in the house,” he said in a hoarse voice. “Were you really there?”

“I…don't know,” she answered honestly. She thought she was simply viewing the past. But she'd talked to him as she saw him hiding in that shed. Had he actually heard her? Sometimes when she was in the midst of a session, it seemed that way. But was that reality?

It was the kind of question she'd asked herself dozens of times—and never been able to answer. Maybe someday.

She returned the watch to its owner, knowing the audience was waiting for her to amaze them again. Quickly, she reached toward the tray, and her hand collided with a stainless steel ring that had a plastic sea horse at one end and a set of keys at the other. Instantly, her fingers began to burn, and she heard the sound of a woman screaming in terror.

“No,” she breathed, wondering if she'd spoken aloud.

ZACH WATCHED ANNA
turn pale. When she swayed on her feet, he tensed, prepared to leap from his chair and charge up there to steady her. But before he could move, she straightened her shoulders and pulled her hand back from the tray, wiping it against the fabric of her skirt as though she were trying to clean it.

Then her hand darted out again and quickly picked up an earring.

She squeezed it in her fist. Then after long seconds she said, “Patty? This is your aunt's earring, isn't it?”

A woman in the second row of tables moved in her seat. “Yes.”

The conversation went on, with Anna telling the woman details of her life. He looked around, seeing the audience hanging on her words. They were fascinated with her. So was he.

But he was interested in the other people there, too. The man who had introduced Anna was looking at her with a lot more than casual interest. Actually, for a moment he looked like he wanted to eat her alive. Then he straightened and turned away, as though he was aware that he'd better keep his emotions in check.

Zach noted that Anna had grown more cautious about which objects she picked up. She stayed on stage for almost an hour, then passed the tray back to the audience, returning the items still there.

She left the stage to thunderous applause. She'd turned the crowd from skeptics to believers. And Zach was among the converts.

He started to stand, then sat down again, wondering what he'd intended to do. Charge into her dressing room and grab her hand?

The image in his mind was very strong, but Zach forced himself to settle back in his chair and look relaxed while the band played a forty-minute set of calypso tunes mixed with disco. Some of the patrons danced to the loud music. Others left the club.

Zach ordered another beer and leaned back, listening to the music and watching the action. Some of the dancers looked like married couples. Others were single men and women tourists who appeared to have hooked up at the bar. And some were men dancing with island women who had materialized out of the shadows. Probably Bertrand charged them a fee for coming in here. Maybe he even took a cut of any business they drummed up.

 

ANNA
closed the door behind her and leaned against it. She needed fresh air, not the stale atmosphere of the club. But she didn't want to go outside, so she paced back and forth in the tiny dressing room.

A knock on the door made her jump.

“You all right?” Bertrand called.

“Yes. Fine.”

“You looked a little nervous.”

“I've got an upset stomach,” she answered. That was the truth, but not because of anything she'd eaten.

“You need anything?”

“I'll take an antacid. I'll be fine.”

To her vast relief, the club owner went away. In the next second, she thought she could have used the distraction, because she was left with her fantasy—the place outside the world, where she'd met another man.

No. Two men. There had been two of them, she reminded herself. The one holding her in his arms and the one in the distance, who had called her there.

She might be making that part up, but she was pretty sure that he had broken her and the other guy apart and sent her hurtling back to the world. At least that's what it seemed like.

She wanted to know what it meant. At the same time, she didn't want to know. And she wasn't sure which need was stronger.

She sat down in the chair, thinking that she would put herself into a light trance to relax herself before the next show. But the fantasy had swept her away the last time she had done that.

With a shake of her head, she closed her eyes, struggling to calm the pounding of her heart as she waited to go out on stage again.

Or could she say she was sick, and just go back to her hotel?

Of course not!

But her stomach was churning. Because one of them was out there. The man who had been holding her, kissing her. She had seen him sitting in the corner, watching her.

She clenched her teeth. She was building a hell of a lot of assumptions on one daydream.

Maybe it came from this club. Some other woman had sat in this chair and touched the dressing table, and Anna was picking up memories from her, just the way she did in her act. Only this was bigger, more full-blown. Because…

She fumbled for a reason and decided that maybe the woman was a psychic. Yes, that was it. Bertrand had hired another psychic, and she'd left her energy here.

The explanation didn't make perfect sense, but it was enough to calm her. Enough to make sure she went out there and did her second set.

And what about the man in the corner? Well, he was an attractive guy. Obviously intrigued by her abilities. Which was why he was so focused on her.

 

WHEN
the band finally stopped playing, Zach breathed out a small sigh. Looking around, he saw that half the audience for the second show had already sat through the first. So that meant he wasn't obsessed. Right? Other people were just as interested in Anna.

When Anna took the floor again, she kept her gaze away from him. But when she called for volunteers, he was tempted to put something on the tray the big guy carried through the audience. If she picked up something of his, she'd have to admit he was there.

Yet he held back. Although he wanted to make contact with her, he didn't want to do it through a key ring or a watch. He wanted it to be personal. And private.

Yeah. Good luck.

During this second performance, Zach paid more attention to the subtle cues Anna gave off. As she spoke to the owner of each object, she seemed totally involved with the person. Yet as soon as she put the item down, she withdrew behind an invisible barrier, firmly giving the message that the intimate contact had ended.

After the show, he told himself he might as well go back to his hotel. Instead, when he'd stepped out of the club he started down the block, wondering if he could find the stage door.

And do what? Ask questions? No. Not ask, exactly.

He wanted to know if she had pulled him onto that windswept plain with her. And he knew the way to find out was to touch her.

The craving for physical contact surprised him. Not just for sex. Something more. Something he couldn't name.

He stopped short. What the hell was wrong with him? He prided himself on calculating the risks before he went into any unknown situation. Now he was throwing caution out the window.

But that didn't stop him from rounding the corner and turning into a narrow alley that smelled of garbage.

He walked a few feet farther, his eyes probing the shadows, thinking it was an excellent location for an assault.

Was that why he was feeling the back of his neck tingle?

He'd learned to pay attention to his intuition. Treading softly, he listened for the sound of footsteps behind him. Two men were following him, judging from the echoes on the cobblestones.

Did this have something to do with yesterday? Were they out to get the guy who had made José confront Pagor down in the
Blue Heron
?

Or could Terrance Sanford have sent them? That would be an interesting twist. What if the man didn't want his brother found? And first he'd set up the Pagor scam to scare away the island diver. Now he was after Zach.

Or was it simpler than that? Had these guys been waiting around, hoping to surprise some unfortunate tourist in the alley?

The men behind him drew closer.

Still, it could be innocent, he knew—two guys coming home after a night on the town.

He kept walking, planing his next move. When he reached the back of a house where a couple of empty trash cans partly blocked the alley, he picked up one of the cans, turned, and saw two men with island features, dressed in jeans and dark T-shirts.

Both of them held knives, and Zach figured they weren't planning on using the weapons to pick their teeth.

He raised the can above his head, then hurled it at the closer man. It hit the assailant square in the midsection, and he sank to his knees.

Both men cried out, the one who'd been hit howling in pain.

The other charged around his friend, knife at the ready. “Bad mistake, mon.”

Zach had spent a lot of his life in port cities and had learned his street-fighting techniques the hard way.

He dodged to the side, then aimed a kick at the guy's gut, sending the man sprawling on the ground, out of the action for the time being.

In one of the houses down the alley, a light went on. But nobody came out, and Zach was pretty sure that the local residents weren't going to get involved in the fight. Would they call the cops? Probably not.

The man on the ground lay without moving. But there was still his companion to contend with, the one who'd taken the trash can in the gut. He climbed to his feet and dragged in several shallow breaths, then started forward on legs that weren't entirely steady. He was hurting, but the murderous look in his eyes told Zach that the injury had only made him more deadly.

“Come on, you bastard,” Zach called.

The man grunted and looked Zach up and down. Then he charged, slashing with the knife as he came.

Zach dodged back, then lashed out with his foot again, connecting with the man's hip. He'd been aiming for the crotch, but the guy had better instincts than his friend; anticipating the move, he turned at the last minute.

When Zach took another step back, he found his shoulders pressed to the wall.

Both men were on their feet, facing him. They might have set out to rob him, but the stakes were higher now. He'd offended their honor, and he saw murder in their eyes.

Well, he wasn't going down if he could help it. Looking around for a weapon, he spotted a broom handle sticking out of a trash can beside him. He pulled it out and swished it through the air, pleased with the whistling sound it made. Too bad it wasn't an old-fashioned broadsword.

The two men eyed the stick, staying well back. They knew he was a competent fighter, but they still thought they could take him.

“Come and get it,” he taunted. “Aren't the odds good enough for you?”

He hoped the insult would knock them off their stride. But before they could charge, a door to his right opened.

Company.

The man who stepped out was Etienne Bertrand.

Unfortunately, Anna was right behind him.