Eyes of Fire (11 page)

 

Great. Jem had left her. If there was one thing Sam had learned from her father's love of the old black-and-white horror flicks, it was that you never left the girl alone.

Never mind the fact that the girl was a screaming idiot who would watch bony fingers reach for her or a hatchet fall and not even make a move to get away. You weren't supposed to leave the girl alone.

She stepped onto the porch. It wasn't exactly raining, but the moisture in the air was so heavy it seemed that the entire island was blanketed in fog. It wasn't an unusual weather pattern here. Most of the time the sun was shining and the weather was beautiful. A storm came, it got gray, it rained—and the next day, the sun came back.

She wished it was the next day.

“Jem?” she called.

She'd just made another mistake. The stupid girl always left behind a place of safety and walked right out where she would be most vulnerable.

What to do? Turn around and walk into the cottage? What if her attacker had slipped in behind her back and was now waiting for her to return to what she hoped would be safety, where she would lock herself in with the danger?

“You're taking to flights of fancy, Samantha Carlyle!” she murmured out loud. “It's this island living. Surely I wouldn't be quite so influenced by Mr. Adam O'Connor if there was a normal amount of healthy young males in my life. Not that men don't come here. They just come and go so quickly. Never a chance to get to know them. Never a chance to ask pertinent questions, like you are in good health, right? The men I do know are like relatives. Jem is like a brother, and where the hell are you, Jem! Jem!” She screamed his name.

Then she spun around, hearing a rustling in the hibiscus bush flanking the cottage to her left. She opened her mouth to scream. Something—someone—large, very large, was coming out from behind the bush.

“Oh, my—Jem!”

He stood up, pressing his palm to his forehead. A small trickle of blood ran down from his scalp.

“My God, Jem, what happened? If someone hurt you, he'll pay. I'll—”

“Sam, I'm supposed to be protecting you, remember? And besides, there was no one out here. I ran into the privacy fence around your bathroom while I was trying to be quiet and sneaky,” he said ruefully.

She stood back, frowning. “But you're hurt.”

“It's just a scratch. I'll wash it off. If you want to go over to the main house, I'll walk you over, then go to my own cottage and get some sleep.”

She smiled, got him a clean washcloth with ice to hold against the bump and quickly changed into jeans and a T-shirt. They started to walk to the main house together. Jem paused as they left her cottage behind, studying the ground by the bushes.

“What's the matter?”

“Look at all these footprints,” he said. “Some of them are mine, and some are probably yours,” he added with disgust. He shook his head. “Did that doorknob really turn? I'm feeling like an idiot. There was definitely no one there.”

“Maybe not,” Sam said.

“Let's not mention this, huh?”

She agreed. “Let's not.”

He left her at the door to the main house. She went in and found the living room, dining room, kitchen and bar all empty. She hesitated, wondering how the entire house could be empty, then wandered into her father's office.

Adam looked up as she entered. He was in black jeans and a black T-shirt. The color complemented his dark good looks, the ebony sleekness of his hair, the gray of his eyes. The shirt even seemed to make the muscled bronze of his arms more appealing.

“Dismal day, huh?” he said.

She nodded.

He stretched out an arm. “Come in and join me. I don't bite.”

“Really?”

“Not unless I'm invited to.”

She would have liked to dispute those words, but he was telling the truth—she knew from experience. It would be a lie to suggest that she hadn't invited what had happened between them when they first met.

“What are you doing?” she asked him. He was seated at the big old seafarer's desk. She chose one of the big leather upholstered chairs on the other side of it, curling her feet beneath her as she sat.

“Studying charts, notes, references.”

“Find anything?”

“Lots of things.”

She folded her arms over her chest. “I've studied almost everything in this room, and I never found anything. Except the obvious. Charts—dozens of charts. Books on the building of the
Beldona,
her cargo, her crew, her purpose in the New World. Speculation on the Steps. Advice on sailing through storms. Theories on the disappearances in the triangle.”

“Your father's notes?” he suggested.

“I've read them.”

“Hank's notes, as well?”

She nodded.

He stood, pushing a journal toward her. It was written in her father's handwriting. He tapped an entry made the morning Justin had disappeared. Sam leaned close to read the scrawl her father had left in the book. She squinted. It read,
Study ocean floor.

She sat back, shrugging. “I know all the dive sites. I've visited them all my life. I can see the ‘ocean floor' at all those sites with my eyes closed.”

Adam seemed disappointed. “All right,” he said, after a moment. “I've got another one for you.” He stood, taking another ledger from behind the desk, setting it down.

She thought that his fingers trembled slightly as he turned the pages of the book.

Hank's book. A diary he'd kept on his research. Every page seemed to be filled. He'd listed crew members by name, sails, masts, guns, ship's silver and china, glassware, cutlery. Then suddenly, as if it had been an afterthought, he'd written,
Things not what they seem?

“What do you make of that?”

“I don't know. Hank was…obsessed.”

Adam closed both books, staring at her. She wanted to return his stare, but she felt her gaze falling. She studied her hands. “It's a dismal day. Jem has gone back to his place to sleep. Jacques will be starting dinner soon. I wonder if anyone will even make it in to eat. I hope the weather clears for the morning.”

“Do you?”

“Of course. Everyone is so anxious to dive.”

“You're not.”

She shrugged, suddenly wishing she hadn't come in here. It was disconcerting to be here. On the one hand, it was oddly comfortable to be alone with Adam. On the other…It was torture.

Adam leaned forward suddenly. “Sam, you're like an ostrich. You want to hide your head in the sand so you won't have to realize that your father is dead.”

Tears pricked her eyes. She blinked them back. “You're wrong. I do realize my father is dead. I know it all too well.”

He stared at her, shaking his head sadly. “All right. You accept that he's dead. But you don't want to know
how
he died. You don't want to think that Hank Jennings found the same brutal end.”

She lifted her hands in a dismissive gesture. “You're wrong. No matter how they died, it had to be brutal. Drowning can't be easy. A heart attack, a—”

“It would be a little too convenient for both men to die of undersea heart attacks, don't you think?”

She sat very still, then closed her eyes for a moment, leaning back. She looked at him again. “When my father disappeared, I spent a week sleeping out on the dock, praying that he'd come back. Yancy and Jem finally convinced me that my sleeping on damp wood wasn't going to help anything. I still spent the majority of my time on the dock. I stood there, I sat there, I waited. I took the
Sloop Bee
out day after day. I talked to the Bahamian police, the Coast Guard, the FBI—divers, salvagers, you name it. I—”

“You wrote to me.”

She nodded, looking away. “Yeah.”

“I'm sorry, Sam. So sorry.”

She shrugged. “It's been a long time now.”

“Not so long since Hank disappeared.”

She shook her head, wishing he would go away. She didn't want to think about things that hurt so badly.

“The point is, Sam, something happened to them. You've got to come out of your shell. We owe it to them to find out what the hell happened.”

She hesitated, then leaned over the desk. “Give me a journal.”

“You said you've read them both.”

“I have, but…” She shrugged and admitted, “I missed both those entries you just showed me. Or, if I saw them, I didn't think anything of them. And it's a rainy afternoon. What the hell else is there to do?”

Adam passed her a journal, arching a brow, but her head was already lowered over the book he had passed her.

He smiled anyway, lowered his own head and tried to concentrate once again.

 

At around six Yancy came in. She'd made them Jamaican coffee, rich with sugar and whipped cream. She wound up staying, perched on another chair, and reading about the Spanish prisoners taken aboard the
Beldona.

Jem joined them at six-thirty, having gotten some sleep. The bump on his head was all but invisible. Sam kept her head studiously in her book while he explained that he'd gotten the bump from the medicine chest over his sink.

Jem read with them for a while. They exchanged books and read some more.

At seven-thirty Jacques—his chef's hat perfectly in place, his mustache perfectly twirled—stuck his head in. He cleared his throat, winking at Adam. “
Mon Dieu, ma cherie!
There are real guests here, as well, you know.”

Sam looked up, startled. She glanced at her watch. “My Lord, I've forgotten—”

“
Mais oui!
But
I
have not!” Jacques said proudly. “Your guests have made themselves drinks and are now in the midst of an Italian buffet.”

“Oh. Pizza night,” Yancy said.

Jacques rolled his eyes. “Pizza night! Where is the respect due?” he moaned.

“Thanks, Jacques. You're great!” Sam called as he disappeared down the hallway. “Well, I guess I'll see to the guests,” she said, rising.

Yancy followed her. “Can you help Jacques? I left Brian asleep. He'll probably be waking up soon, and Lillie went back on the mail boat this afternoon despite the rain.”

“I'll do dinner. Take a break if you want.”

“Thanks.” Yancy went upstairs.

Neither Jem nor Adam emerged from her father's office. Sam found the Emersons, the Walkers and Liam and Jerry munching on pizza, pasta and salad in the dining room. She joined them, noting that neither Avery Smith nor Jim or Sukee had chosen to come to dinner. All the cottages had little kitchenettes, and they were kept stocked with the basics. No one had to come to a meal if he didn't choose to. Sam imagined that Sukee and Jim were together and had things other than food on their minds. What Mr. so-called Avery Smith might be up to, she didn't know.

“I'm sorry we had such bad weather today,” she apologized in general, pouring wine for her adult guests.

“It wasn't so bad,” Sue Emerson said with a wink for her husband.

He slipped an arm around her adoringly. “Not bad at all.”

“It sucked,” Brad assured her.

“Brad!” his parents gasped in unison.

“We'll make tomorrow extra special,” Sam promised.

“Do you ever feel you've missed a lot—living on the island all your life?” Jerry North asked her suddenly.

Sam looked across at the blond woman who was studying her so intently. She shrugged. “I love the island. What could I have missed? Besides, I did go to college on the mainland. And any time I want to see it, a few hours will get me there.”

Jerry nodded, still watching her.

Liam didn't seem to notice. “Pizza's good,” he said with a grunt.

“The chef will be pleased that you're so satisfied,” Sam assured him.

Jerry smiled and looked at her own plate at last.

No one seemed of a mind to linger long over coffee. Dessert—delicious tiramisu—had scarcely been served before Darlene yawned, anxious to go to bed so she would be wide awake for diving the next day.

The Emersons had skipped dessert entirely, leaving hand in hand the moment they'd finished their meal.

Even Liam seemed quiet. He and Jerry left the main house right after the Walkers. Sam still hadn't seen Jem or Adam emerge from the office. While she was helping to clear the last of the plates, Jacques informed her that he had brought dinner to the men in the study.

Nice, Sam thought, irritated that Adam had taken over to the point that Jem had decided to keep studying with him rather than help her run the evening meal.