The Island (2 page)

Shit. How long had he been asleep? Shaw didn’t bother check his watch. It was still set to LA time anyway. It was still daytime; that had to be a good sign. And he couldn’t have slept through the whole night, because he wasn’t starving.

Every muscle in Shaw’s body ached as he hauled himself up from the bed. He closed his laptop, grimacing at that particular breach of his own security. He would have woken up if anyone had tried to take it though, right? Not that it mattered in the grand scheme of things. His laptop was secure.

Shaw grabbed his shaving kit and staggered down the steps into the bathroom. His shoes crunched on the crushed coral floor. He splashed water on his face, stared into the mirror, and marveled at the dark shadows under his eyes. He looked like crap.

He shaved and then splashed water on his face again.
Wake up. Wake up. Wake up
! Jesus, he hated jetlag. He wished he knew the time so he could figure out how many more hours he had to fight off sleep. Because the sound of the ocean washing back and forth on the beach and the gentle patter of the rain wouldn’t help any.
Sleep, sleep, sleep
, the ocean murmured, and Shaw wanted to listen.

Shaw scrubbed his face dry and headed back up the stairs. He sat on the bed and pulled his shoes and socks off. He wriggled his toes on the rattan floor covering. Bare feet, that was more like it.

Shaw unbuttoned his shirt and shrugged it off, reaching back into his suitcase for a fresh one. He was about to change his trousers and underwear when he heard the squeak of the boards on the veranda, followed a moment later by a knock on the doorpost.

“Shaw? You in there?”

Vornis.
Game on.

Shaw rose. An easy smile spread across his face as he walked to the door and slid it open.

“Shaw,” Vornis said, extending his hand. “It is good to see you, my friend.”

Shaw shook his hand. “It’s good to be here, Vornis.”

Vornis wasn’t a large man, but he still managed to seem physically intimidating. He stood at just under six feet, with a paunch around his middle. His dark hair was gray at the temples and thin on top. His dark eyes were set into a pale, fleshy face. He wasn’t an attractive man, but he exuded an air of power that only the very naive or the very stupid didn’t see.

Shaw wasn’t stupid, and it had been a long time since he’d been anything like naive.

“How do you like my island?” Vornis asked, walking into the bungalow.

“It’s beautiful,” Shaw said. No need to moderate himself there. God’s honest truth. “I can’t wait to have a walk around.”

He knew Vornis had bought his Fijian island outright twelve years ago. It was remote, an hour and a half by chopper from the main island, but Vornis never arrived by chopper. The yacht, anchored in the secluded bay on the other side of the island, was his preferred method of travel. It would be Shaw’s as well, if he ever had that sort of cash. It was the sort of luxury Shaw could only dream about, and often did.

Vornis opened the fridge and drew out two beers.

Shaw had never seen Vornis drink beer before. He wondered if it was the relaxed atmosphere of the island, or, more exactly, if drinking a beer was the sort of thing Vornis felt he ought to do on a tropical island to show that he was relaxed. With Vornis, everything was for appearances.

Shaw accepted a beer and twisted the top of it. “Cheers.”

“Shall we sit outside?” Vornis asked.

They headed onto the veranda. So beautiful here, Shaw thought, so peaceful.

So remote. So dangerous.

Shaw looked out at the ocean. It had vanished under clouds now, but the rain was only soft. It was tropical rain. It smelled sweet, and Shaw knew that it wouldn’t be cold. A part of him wanted to get out underneath it, to tilt his face up to the sky and taste it.

God, the smell of it hit him like homesickness. His own fault. He’d let the Pacific work its old magic already. He’d been a different person the last time he’d stood on a beach with a beer and watched the rain on the Pacific.

Focus. You’re supposed to be smarter than this.

Vornis rested his beer on the rail of the veranda and watched Shaw watch the ocean. Shaw sensed his gaze—he felt it sliding over his skin like a touch—and didn’t comment on it. Nothing like the narrow, heated scrutiny of a predator to sharpen the senses. He should be thanking Vornis.

Shaw ran his thumb up and down the cold beer bottle, collecting condensation. He knew he looked relaxed. He almost believed it himself, and why not? There were worse places to be than on a Fijian island. In a tropical paradise, even the rain was nice.

At last, Vornis spoke. “I’m glad you’re here, Shaw. I have always enjoyed your company. I have been growing a little bored with nothing to do except play with my toy.”

“Toy?” Shaw asked.

Vornis was looking out into the rain. Shaw followed his gaze. He looked up into the line of trees, and he saw, and a moment later understanding caught him.

His stomach flipped.

Fuck.

Vornis had left his toy out in the rain. The toy was young, male, and lean. When he moved, his muscles shifted under his captivity-pale skin. He was walking in the rain like he couldn’t remember the last time he’d stood under a natural sky. A few steps forward and a few steps back; he was held close to the tree line by an imaginary leash. His skin gleamed under the rain. Shining droplets caught on full lips that were parted as he looked blankly at the world, his jaw hanging like a gormless child’s. His bare feet sank into wet grass. His long pants, hanging low on his hips, flapped wetly around his feet.

It was the pants that gave him away. They were khaki cargoes with a camouflage pattern. They were thin with wear and stripped of any identifying labels, but Shaw could hazard a guess.

Focus. Take a breath and focus.

He leaned on the veranda rail. “Military,” he asked Vornis, ignoring the sudden wild thumping of his heart, “or mercenary?”

Vornis only laughed.

Shaw shook his head wonderingly. “Christ, Vornis, you do like to walk on the wild side. Couldn’t you at least get him some new clothes?”

Vornis laughed and took a swig of his beer. “But I like to remember where he comes from. One of us ought to!”

Shaw raised his eyebrows and looked out at the young man again. He was hardly more than a boy, probably only nineteen or twenty. He couldn’t have done a lot of living before he was brought here, and Shaw didn’t like his chances for the future.

Shaw raised his beer bottle to his lips and forced himself to swallow.

Jesus, he did business with some frightening fucking assholes. Truth be told, Vornis wasn’t even the worst of them. Sure, he was a murdering drug lord, but at least he was up-front about it. And here, on his secluded little island, Vornis was almost friendly. His friendliness had a lot to do with the fact that Shaw had a Cézanne to offer him. Like a lot of thugs, Vornis liked to pretend he was cultured. The fact that he kidnapped, raped, and murdered anyone who crossed him was beside the point. He appreciated fine art and classical music. He must have been a gentleman.

“So, which was it?” Shaw asked. “Military or mercenary?”

A pair of armed security guards stood some distance away: more of Vornis’s private security team. They watched the boy intently, their hands on their utility belts. Shaw watched them as they watched the boy. They were too far away to hear what they said, but Shaw saw the way one of them smirked in his direction. There was something predatory about that smile, something proprietary. Shaw hid his misgivings under the gentle curve of his own smile.

Vornis sipped his drink. “That is the only surviving member of a covert team who made a strike on my Colombian compound eight weeks ago. The uniform is not American, but the boy is. CIA, I suspect.”

“CIA?” Shaw asked. The boy looked way too young to be a specialist in any field, let alone in black ops.

Vornis only shrugged. “What does it matter?”

Shaw raised his eyebrows. “In your place, I might be worried he had friends coming after him.”

Vornis laughed. “We’re a long way from Colombia now.”

Shaw watched the boy as he shuffled in the rain. “True.”

Watched, and tried not to see.

Shaw had an idea he wouldn’t like himself much if he had to keep looking at that boy and imagining the things Vornis did with him. Shaw had made a career out of morally reprehensible dealings, but he didn’t usually have his nose rubbed in them. Shaw liked to pretend he was a gentleman. It felt so much more civilized when he could pretend Vornis was a gentleman too.

Focus.

The palm fronds waved in the breeze, tipping rivulets of water into the sand. The sea was gray under the clouds, and Shaw hoped he’d at least get one postcard-perfect glimpse of the brilliant blue Pacific before he left. He had been hopeful that Vornis would extend his hospitality even before he’d seen the beauty of the island. He hadn’t anticipated any problems. He’d known what he was walking into.

Palm fronds, sand, the clouds and the ocean, but somehow Shaw’s gaze kept coming back to the boy. He didn’t just see flesh either. He saw straight past that, straight to his own…
culpability
? No, that wasn’t fair. He hadn’t kidnapped the boy. He hadn’t brutalized him and broken him. That was all Vornis, and in Vornis’s world, payback wasn’t only justified, it was necessary. It was the only currency men like Vornis dealt in: force. Shaw understood that.

And the boy must have known what he was getting himself into. He must have known the risks. Somewhere along the way, he’d signed on the dotted line and given his life away. He’d probably never seen this coming, though. Shaw wondered which was worse in theory, getting shot in the head or getting raped daily by Vornis? It wasn’t a choice he’d want to make, but any man who entered Vornis’s world had to know the risks. You knew them, you calculated them, and you decided whether or not to take the chance. Heads, you win, tails you lose, but nobody forced you to play. It was the kid’s own fault he was here

The breeze tasted of salt, and Shaw swiped his tongue over his lower lip. Being on the same island at the same time wasn’t culpability at all. It was coincidence.

Shaw smiled again. How useful that he could always soothe his own conscience. Soothe it or smother it, same thing. It took a special sort of pathology to look at Vornis’s captive American and blame him for his own misfortune.

Vornis saw where he was looking, saw his smile, and his eyes danced. “Nice, yes?”

Shaw couldn’t deny that. His cock had twitched the moment he’d seen the boy, but he’d put it down to jetlag, alcohol, and a long dry spell. “You’re a man of impeccable taste. I’ve always said so.”

Vornis laughed again, and Shaw pressed his advantage.

“Particularly in art.”

Vornis clapped him on the back. “It is late, my friend. We have plenty of time to discuss my latest purchase tomorrow. What is your rush?”

Shaw took another sip of his beer. “No rush.”

“Good,” said Vornis. “Make yourself at home. You look tired. Have a shower, and I’ll have something sent over from the main house for you. Business can wait for the morning, agreed?”

“Agreed,” Shaw said. “The morning.”

Shaw watched as Vornis walked down the steps. He stepped onto the winding path that led back away from the beach toward the main house and whistled sharply.

“Christ,” Shaw said under his breath.

He had the boy trained like a dog. One whistle and the kid almost tripped over his feet in his hurry to get to heel. Cowering and eager, just like a fucking dog. Shaw felt himself tense as Vornis ran a hand down the boy’s naked back, and he turned away. The beer he’d swallowed churned in his guts. Shaw drew a quick, deep breath and held it.

Focus.

It was none of his business. None of his fucking business.

He had to remember that.

Chapter Two

The shower was not as relaxing as Shaw had anticipated. His feet crunched in the coral as he washed his hair. It was the strangest sensation to be showering under the rain. The water from the showerhead was hot and the rain wonderfully cool. Even as he stood under the jets, Shaw could see the clouds slowly dissipating. The patches of blue sky were already beginning to darken into dusk. It felt good to be surrounded by nature. Too much time had passed since Shaw had been out of the city, or even spent the day barefoot. The tenderness of his feet against the coral attested to that. The shower could have been relaxing, it could have been heaven, except for Vornis’s American boy.

Shaw closed his eyes, sighed, and tried not to think about him. The boy was out of sight, out of mind. Out of sight, out of mind. If he kept repeating it to himself, sooner or later it would be true. He didn’t need to wonder where he was now or what was happening to him. He didn’t need to speculate.

None of his business. Not his problem. Too fucking dangerous.

Focus.

Shaw turned off the shower to find the rain had stopped. He crunched across to the sheltered half of the bathroom and wrapped himself in a towel.

He headed back up the steps into the main bungalow, and for a moment, the view of the ocean took his breath away. He could smell the saltwater. God, he’d love to have a view like this every day. The beach stretched out before him, the ocean receding all the way to the horizon. It was like looking at eternity.

There were no windowpanes in the bungalow. There were storm shutters, currently locked open, but the wide windows let the sea breeze straight through. There was a ceiling fan above the bed, but Shaw doubted he’d need it.

The grass matting scratched his feet as he crossed to the bed. He lay on his back, letting the breeze dry him, and pretended he was on a deserted island. There was no main house just up the path. There was no massive yacht anchored in the other bay. There were no armed guards. There was no tortured captive.

“Mr. Shaw?”

Shaw opened his eyes to see a woman by the door. “Yes?”

She entered and set a tray down on the table. “Your dinner, sir.”