Lovers Never Lie (17 page)

"You didn't leave me any choice." She frowned at him through the glow of the candle on the table between them.

"No," he said repressively. He didn't want to go through the arguments again, was not willing to spend their few remaining hours together fighting.

"Tell me again why I can't go," she demanded.

"Andropolous won't be expecting me, might not know who I am." Even as Andrew said it, the possibility seemed remote. "I'll rent a boat and go over early, stake the place out." Perhaps going over the details one more time was good. It would let her feel involved without exposing her to danger. Earlier her eyes had taken on a stubborn look that frightened him.

"He said I was to meet him at the fortress on Spinalonga Island." She pronounced the Greek name haltingly. "It eems an isolated place to meet. Do you think he suspects we're on to him?" Her clear eyes demanded an honest answer.

He shrugged, no longer able to lie.

Her gaze narrowed. "You
are
taking the police?"

"And tell them what? That I'm after jewel thieves. I'm the one who has the diamonds." Diamonds Stacia had brought into the country illegally. "I have to go myself."

He had to go for Nancy, for Stacia too. "Besides, the police are useless." He stood. "Forget it for now. We're supposed to be having a good time."

He held out his hand. "Dance?"

For an instant she hesitated, then put her hand in his. He pulled her into his arms and it felt as though he'd come home. She intoxicated him, entranced him, filled him with desire, made him crave for this manhunt he'd embarked upon to be over.

Her breasts brushed his chest and he felt her nipples harden. With a cry, she drew back.

Stacia pushed against his arms. She could no longer dance with Andrew and hide how hurt she felt. So far the evening had passed in a tension-filled blur of food and wine, but she couldn't feel his body next to hers knowing she was just a pawn in his diamond game.

He had used her, manipulated her, and in the end on that rock, against her better judgment, against all that she knew or guessed, she had handed him her heart. She'd been wrong to do that. Safety didn't come in numbers, particularly didn't come in twos. If you wanted to be free from pain, you were best off alone.

Stacia fought back the tears that welled in her eyes, but they refused to go away, half blinding her with their moisture. Andrew suddenly released her hand. She stood motionless, bewildered, so engrossed in hiding her emotions, she'd been unaware the music had changed. Until now, rock tunes from another continent and an earlier decade had reverberated through the room. Now, in its place, came the insistent sound of Crete.

With a start, Stacia noticed that most of the tourists had left. With their leaving, an ancient energy had emerged. A power, a love of life, one so all encompassing it was embodied in the pulse of the music, the sensual gyration of hips, the ruby red of the wine, and the joyfully intense smiles of the Greek dancers around them.

Andrew held up his hands, palms toward her. Hypnotized, she raised her hands also. Their palms touched, yet didn't touch, were apart, yet together, more a connection of auras and a fusing of spirits than two people joined in dance.

She'd never danced like this before, as though her legs were controlled like some puppet on a string. Her feet had never been this sure of movement in the past, had never known so completely where to go. The music drove her before it, lifting her feet and her heart. It stirred her breast and loins, brought heat to her cheeks.

A current flowed in the space between her and Andrew, and brought with it a thread of joy demanding acknowledgement. She smiled at him, not wanting to, but unable to resist, and he returned her smile so warmly the pain in her heart receded to a dull ache in her chest.

Then the music quickened and the couples merged into two lines; one of women and one of men. Still, they didn't falter.

Andrew wove in and out on the periphery of her vision, his face, chest and legs blurred by the shadowy light and the fluid movements of the dancers. But his eyes met hers in a constant, steady gaze. He welded her to him in the weightless jubilation of the dance.

When the music finally ended, he was opposite her again, tall, solid and devastatingly desirable. He held out his hand and for a long moment she simply stared at it. But in the end she clenched her fist and walked away.

He caught up with her before she reached the door, his fingers touching her shoulder with the strength of steel.

Stacia shuddered, overwhelmed with longing and utter despair.

Chapter 11

Stacia noiselessly opened the door of her room and peered through the crack. There was no one in the hall beyond. She should be happy about that, but fear snaked down her spine.

She edged through the door, the soles of her running shoes squeaking on the hall's tiled floor. She held the plastic bag containing the package carefully, not wanting the paper inside to crackle. She had to convince Andrew to take her with him, something he would never do if she had the package on her. She would pretend all she carried was bread and cheese, something to eat after their meeting with Andropolous was over.

The package was the only weapon they had. If Andrew got into trouble, if he couldn't subdue Andropolous as he believed he could, she would offer the villain the diamonds and buy their safe passage back to Agios Nikolaos. Andrew would get what he wanted, would know who Andropolous really was... but he'd be safe, and that was all that mattered to her.

She paused in front of Andrew's door, suddenly afraid to knock. He wouldn't want to take her, but that was too damned bad. Andropolous played to win. Meeting him alone was crazy. If Andrew persisted in refusing to call the police, she'd leave him no choice but to use her as a back-up. All she had to do was convince him of that.

Stacia glanced at her watch. Seven o'clock. Andropolous's note had said to meet him at nine. Andrew had told her last night he intended to leave at eight, saying that would leave plenty of time to find a fisherman willing to boat him across the water separating Crete from Spinalonga Island, then wait like a Venetian taxi until he was done.

According to the guide book, the fortress itself was Venetian, an imposing stone structure that guarded the Mirabello Gulf. It also said that early in this century it had been used to house lepers. It seemed appropriate, somehow, that it was here they'd meet Andropolous, a lonely spot already resonant with misery and fear.

At least, she wouldn't be alone. Andrew would be there. Andropolous, too. Goose bumps rose on Stacia's arms.

Hastily, she tapped on Andrew's door. No answer. She tapped harder. Still no response. She laid her ear against the wood, but heard no sound within, no shower water running or rustling of clothes. Her heart skipped a beat. He must have left already, must have gone without her.

She turned and sped toward the stairs, taking them two at a time, her fingers trailing the railing, ready to clutch at it if she stumbled. She prayed that with movement her mind might stop its racing, stop visualizing the ways Andropolous might hurt her, and forget how Andrew already had.

She only slowed when she reached the lobby. She nodded sedately to Mr. Stefanos at the reception desk, but was careful not to look in his direction. This cutting off of other people was not what she'd intended for this trip, but it was necessary now if she wanted to avoid questions.

A brisk breeze blew in from the sea and up the narrow street to the hotel. When Stacia stepped outdoors, her shirt flattened against her chest. She wrapped her arms around her body, trying to give herself warmth. If she went back for a sweater now, she might not find the courage to embark again.

The nearer she got to the marina, the more she wished she was anywhere else on earth. The ache in her chest had spread and left her numb. Better that way. It was easier to bear than being able to feel.

Not as many skiffs bobbed alongside the dock as she'd imagined there would be. Where was Andrew? Her fingers closed convulsively on the handle of her bag. Had he already gone? She should have realized from the fresh fish in the restaurants they had passed yesterday morning that the fishermen would be up and out on the water before dawn.

Taking Andrew with them.

Had he lied to her? Had he been so determined she not come he'd given her the wrong time?

At the far end of the cement dock, one boat remained. It was bright blue, the color of the sea and the color of Andrew's eyes. Stiffening her resolve, she moved toward it. She would follow Andrew to the island and meet him there. It might be better that way. No convincing to be done.

The fisherman in the boat was short but broad-chested. The red scarf he wore jauntily around his neck relieved the unrelenting black of his attire.

Stacia approached him. She prayed he would think her merely eccentric, a crazy tourist with an unusual request for this time of the morning,
not
see her as a smuggler with a package full of diamonds.

Smiles. Gestures.
Parakalo. Ne. Ochi.
The extent of Stacia's linguistic fluency was reached within seconds. But in the end she settled in the bow of the fishing boat and moved with it as it chugged its way across the water. A long, narrow island loomed before her in the early morning translucence like a home for the
Cyclopes.

The fortress grew larger as they drew near, towered over the bare land surrounding it in a threatening mound of grey stone. Windowless slits, like empty eye sockets, dotted the walls and stared down at her, seemed to be daring her to approach.

There was no sign of Andrew. His boat must be moored at a different cove than the one they aimed for. This cove was perfect with its clear water and sandy beach, unusual on this coastline of rocks and crevices. Only the fortress rising on the cliff beyond spoiled the view. The fortress and the terror it promised.

She could only imagine the man she had come to meet; swarthy and paunchy, strong and intimidating, or perhaps clean shaven and educated, someone with the brains and guts to pull off such a theft.

The skiff crunched against the cove's gravel bottom. Stacia glanced at her watch and frowned. Eight o'clock. It had taken longer than she had expected to get here. Andropolous could be here already, though there was no sign of him, either, no movement, no boat. With a tight-lipped smile, she thanked the fisherman and scanned the sea beyond his shoulder. There was still no sign of Andrew. He must be up at the fortress.

She gestured to the fisherman to wait and started up the narrow path. The higher she got, the more lightheaded she became. Only a mountain goat would enjoy this view. She didn't like heights. She'd found that out one summer when she begged her boyfriend of the moment to take her climbing. She had frozen in the middle of the cliff, unable to go up, or down, or sideways. Her boyfriend had encouraged and cajoled, but nothing he said convinced her it was safe to move. She clung to the rock face, her fingers frozen in place until a park ranger edged across to rescue her.

Stacia shuddered, was glad this cliff had a trail. If she was able to fight the urge to look down, she might not be undone as she'd been before. Though looking up was just as bad. The vision of clear, blue sky atop an unending line of grey granite was dizzying in the extreme.

The urge to check her bearings came again, and she succumbed to a swift glance below.

Her boat was leaving!

She moved too suddenly. An avalanche of gravel flew from beneath her feet and skittered down the trail. She shouted, her voice pitched abnormally high with shock. The sound echoed off the rocks and bounced back at her. The taxiing fisherman, already clear of the shallow water, glanced up at her and waved.

"Come back," Stacia screamed again, gesturing wildly with her arm.

The fisherman waved back, grinning cheerfully up at her. He obviously didn't understand her any better than she had him. With his engine going, he probably couldn't even hear her voice, and she could do nothing but watch helplessly as the boat put-putted its way back to Agios Nikolaos.

The package she carried seemed suddenly too heavy, the urge to retreat overwhelming. But if she bolted when the going got tough, Andrew would have to face the danger alone. Dismally, she faced the rocky trail and took another step upward.