Change of Plans

CHANGE OF PLANS

“I’ve never danced with anyone like you, love,” Mike whispered, his voice dark and husky. “You move like a flame at my fingertips.” He turned her around to face him and pulled her hips deliberately against him. “This is how we should have ended that tango.” His mouth was hard and hot on hers. Then, as he drove his tongue deep into her mouth, he bent her back over the railing for a long moment in the classic dip of the tango. She clung to his shoulders, while smoldering need for him flared through her body. When they straightened, his hands caressed her bare back and shoulders, then the silk that covered the curves of her hips. As he pressed her urgently against his heat, his lips moved hungrily over hers. Sara heard herself moan softly into his mouth. “The next steps of this tango demand more privacy.” His breathing was erratic and she could feel the urgency of his arousal through the silk of her dress. His eyes, dark as the midnight ocean, questioned. “Sara?” His kiss had robbed her of her defenses. He was a powerful magnet that called to every tingling cell in her body. She could only nod her assent…

PRAISE FOR CHANGE OF PLANS

“Tantalizing! Highly recommended…Sensual romance meets danger and intrigue. The heat of the Caribbean seeps into every page, emphasizing this suspenseful novel’s passionate, treacherous edge. Indeed, tantalizing love scenes intersperse suspicious characters and surprise revelations, thereby keeping the pages turning!” —Cindy Penn WordWeaving “4 Stars!…I felt as if I were on a roller coaster ride through this book. I stayed on the edge of my seat, nibbling my nails until I finished.” —Kathy Boswell Romantic Times Magazine “…An intensely romantic, wonderfully mysterious story set within the beautiful scenery of the Caribbean…A mystery in need of solving, a woman in need of protecting, and a man in need of loving: the perfect recipe for a good romantic mystery. Dee Lloyd mixes all the right ingredients into a good one.” —Julia Writers Club Romance Group on AOL “Masterful!…With a fascinating blend of light-hearted moments and suspense-filled exploits, Change of Plans is an extremely well-written

book. The characters are lively and realistic, the setting is exotic and romantic, and the plot is both warm and thrilling. It’s difficult to resist this story full of touching romance and international intrigue. Firmly in control of the pace at all times, Ms. Lloyd will take the reader from moonlight dinners to alarming attacks without batting an eye. The slower moments accentuate the action, and the romance enhances the danger, in this expertly woven story. Full of romance, mystery, and action, Change of Plans is an exciting ride from page one. Dee Lloyd has masterfully combined these exciting elements into a story designed to keep the reader enthralled.” —Sally Laturi Ivy Quill Reviews “…A very good story filled with romance, suspense, and intrigue. Mike and Sara are the kind of characters that keep things interesting. The secondary characters, the nasty ones, and the ones that are secret agents, never overpower the story. I loved this story and thought the way it ended was exciting.” —Hattie Boyd Scribes World Reviews “Highly Recommended!…A tale full of suspense, intrigue, action and a beautiful romance. All aspects of this book blend into a splendid novel…Ms Lloyd has penned a suspenseful story that will keep you on the edge of your seat well into the wee hours of the morning!…I highly recommend Change of Plans if you are in the mood for suspense and romance.” —Carol Durfee Romance Reviews Today

ALSO BY DEE LLOYD Ghost Of A Chance Mine Ties That Bind Unquiet Spirits

CHANGE OF PLANS BY DEE LLOYD

AMBER QUILL PRESS, LLC http://www.amberquill.com

CHANGE OF P LANS AN AMBER QUILL PRESS BOOK This book is a work of fiction. All names, characters, locations, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination, or have been used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, locales, or events is entirely coincidental. Amber Quill Press, LLC http://www.amberquill.com All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be transmitted or reproduced in any form, or by any means, without permission in writing from the publisher, with the exception of brief excerpts used for the purposes of review. Copyright © 2006 by Dee Lloyd ISBN 1-59279-484-X Cover Art © 2006 Trace Edward Zaber

Layout and Formatting provided by: ElementalAlchemy.com

PUBLISHED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

To Laura: who never ceases to fill me with pride and delight.

CHANGE OF PLANS

PROLOGUE

The woman leaned back in the black leather chair and stared unseeingly past the uncluttered Plexiglas desktop at the bleak winter scene outside the office window. Oblique lines of wet snow and freezing rain were being driven across the pane and the thin light of a March afternoon was fading fast. Eventually, all things came to an end. Her youth, her hopes of having a husband and her own babies, even of growing old with the only man she had ever loved were gone. A bitter smile curled her lip and her black eyes narrowed. Her self-centered lover was sure that he could have it all. He was confident she’d be content with the scraps of his affection; that she’d tolerate his marriage of convenience and still spend all her waking hours assuring his success and even, when he could find the time, welcome him to her bed. Underestimating her was going to cost him. She would see that his dreams, too, went up in smoke. She had already arranged for the big 1

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deal to get the money he needed for his campaign to fall through. She could hardly wait to see the dismay on his arrogant face when it happened. And her cousin had promised to eliminate that pale, sexless woman her treacherous lover planned to marry. He would never take her to his bed. She looked at her watch. Only a few hours now before her plans were set in motion. Within the week, he would pay for taking her years of devotion lightly.

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CHAPTER 1

Mike’s eyes wandered dispassionately over yet another woman’s body. There were dozens of them, alone or in pairs, all bright-eyed and eager. Every one of them seemed more than ready to leave the frigid temperatures that gripped the Lower Great Lakes area for a blast of sunshine and fun. One tall, dark-eyed woman of about his own age met his gaze with a challenging smile and an appreciative scrutiny of her own. Too aggressive, he decided, a little taken aback by her frank interest in the lower part of his anatomy. Have to make sure I’m the predator here. He was having trouble believing that he, Mike Garson, senior partner of Garson Construction International, was leaning against a concrete pillar, blatantly girl-watching like a lout in a fifties’ movie. All he needed was a Fedora tilted down over his eyes and a cigarette hanging out of the corner of his mouth. 3

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From his vantage point near the entrance to the departure lounges, he had a good view of the passengers lined up to go through airport security. Many of them would probably be heading for the charter flight that connected with the MS Theseus. If the right ones were taking it, the cruise mightn’t be a total washout. He hadn’t expected so many of the women traveling alone to be young and attractive. So far, two or three of them had been well worth his critical appraisal. Of course, no one else was in a class with the blonde being kissed good-bye by the smooth article in the gray suit. She had the cool Scandinavian look that had always intrigued him. Her shoulder-length hair was the color of the palest yellow rose, her back slender and her bottom curved and tempting. Mike was getting a kind of vicious satisfaction from this coldblooded search for an acceptable woman. He continued to study every woman who passed, but his eyes kept returning to the blonde. Gray Suit was going a little overboard on the kiss, but he was keeping his hands discreetly above the waist. Mike, however, could feel his own palms itching to cup the round firm flesh discreetly covered by well-tailored, pale green trousers. Whoa, Mike! An angry man could too easily get caught up in this role. Trying to steal someone else’s woman had never been part of his plan. All he wanted was to salvage his vacation, and some of his pride. He felt a twinge of distaste at the self-centered male on the prowl he had decided to become. Gray Suit was still kissing her! The woman evidently was beginning to find it tedious. He watched her open one startling turquoise eye to peek at her watch. Another insincere blonde. This one had Gray Suit fooled. The poor sap was probably convinced she cared about him. She had the grace to blush when she realized Mike had caught her checking the time, but he recognized her type. There was no danger of emotional involvement with this woman. If 4

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she was taking the cruise, and if she wasn’t meeting another man on the ship, she might fill the bill, not to mention the empty half of the double bed in his stateroom. His pulse quickened at the thought. Yes, it was a long shot, but if he played his cards right, there was a chance he could become intimately acquainted with that luscious body. And that was definitely something to look forward to. *

*

*

At the moment, all Sara Tolberg was looking forward to was distance from Stephen. She was beyond mere annoyance at him. In spite of the fact she had booked an airport limousine, he had insisted on driving her in from Rochester at four o’clock this morning. And now he was acting as if they were lovers parting. It wasn’t that she found his embrace repulsive; she simply wasn’t enjoying it. Didn’t he care she wasn’t kissing him back? She tried to move away, but he pulled her firmly back to him. She would never have tolerated this display from any other man. However, since the senator’s health had forced his retirement, Stephen and his fledgling political career had been very important to her father, and, of course, to her. Stephen knew very well that, although she was seething, she’d never make a scene. Short of hitting him or kneeing him in the groin, she didn’t know how to make him end his one-sided kiss. She hadn’t agreed to his marriage proposal, but he seemed to think that simply stating his intentions gave him some sort of rights over her. Of course, her father had led him to believe it was just a matter of time before she came to her senses. She managed to pull away from him and take a deep breath. “Good-bye, Stephen,” she said, patting his cheek. “You can tell the senator you got me safely to the plane.” “I will. Is there anything else I can do for you, my sweet?” “No, nothing,” she said, a little too vehemently. She lightened her reply with a laugh. After all, she reminded herself, she was fond of him. 5

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“You even provided more than my quota of kisses for the next two weeks,” she added, dryly. Stephen joined in her laughter, but though his lips smiled and his laugh lines crinkled, there was little amusement in his blue eyes. “That was my intention,” he said. *

*

*

A few feet away, Mike wondered if maybe he’d heard a trace of relief in the blonde’s laugh when she finally ended the kiss with some sort of quip that made Gray Suit smile. She looked more approachable when she laughed. As she was disengaging herself from Gray Suit’s arms, a short, gray-haired man in a three-piece suit with a folded Wall Street Journal tucked under his arm walked briskly past them. Without a hesitation in his step, he stooped slightly, then continued on his way with the blonde’s briefcase in his hand. It took Mike a full second for the theft to register and for him to shout, “Hey! Put that down.” It took even less time to get his body in motion. He was already in full flight when he heard the blonde cry, “Stop him.” The gray-haired thief must be younger than he looked. He sure could run and, from the way he was dodging around, he seemed to know the airport. However, Mike’s deck shoes had a better grip on the tile floor than the thief’s leather soles and his speed was fuelled by a completely inexplicable rage at the thief for choosing the intriguing blonde as his victim. Mike had almost caught up to him when his quarry suddenly turned a corner and headed toward a door marked “Airport Personnel Only.” Mike became aware someone else had joined in the pursuit. “Stop him!” the man who was pounding along a few feet behind him shouted. The gray-haired man spurted toward the door. Mike put on a burst 6

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of speed and was ready to tackle him when the thief tossed his folded newspaper at Mike’s face. Mike knocked it aside easily, but the unexpected move almost cost him his momentum. He cursed, then launched himself at the man just as he was yanking the door open. They crashed to the floor together and the briefcase went flying. Mike immobilized the smaller man easily with the sheer force of his weight and wrenched his arm up between his shoulder blades. At that moment, the uniformed airport security officer overtook them, still speaking on his cordless telephone. “Yes, we’ve got him. We’re at the top of the northeast stairs,” he panted, replacing the receiver on the hook at his belt. “Thanks.” He mopped his brow. “The lady screamed and you were already chasing this guy before I was sure what was happening. Man, you took off like a rocket.” Mike was getting to his feet, still holding the thief in an armlock, when two large men in airport uniforms emerged from the stairway. Relinquishing his prisoner to them, he brushed the dust off the knees of his pants. The garrulous security man who had followed Mike in the chase was still talking. “I figure he’s part of the gang that’s been working the terminal for two weeks now. It’s a pretty good bet people will keep their valuables in their carry-ons. “This is the first break we’ve had. He looks a bit older than the descriptions we have, but the technique’s the same. They’ve taken at least thirty pieces of hand luggage that we know of, but this is the first one we’ve caught in the act.” He stopped to take a breath. “What time’s your flight?” “Eight o’clock.” “That’s good. It won’t take more than a few minutes for you to give us a statement. Don’t worry. You’ll make your flight,” he assured Mike 7

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as his associates snapped handcuffs on the wrists of the silent, middleaged man. Under closer scrutiny, he looked more like a disgruntled banker than a luggage thief. The security man retrieved the briefcase from its resting place against the wall and checked the tag. “Smart woman. She put the flight number on it. We’ll see that she gets her bag on the plane.” Mike leaned closer to read the tag. The blonde was on his flight. Great! Things were looking up. But, first, he had to go and make his statement. He’d learned many countries ago that arguing with minor officials only delayed proceedings. Resigned to the inevitable, he followed the security officer to a nearby airport office, where he identified the stubbornly silent thief and dictated a brief statement. As he left the office, Mike shook his head at his impetuous action. He had completely lost his cool. Jim Greco would never believe that “good, old let’s-go-over-that-again Mike” had gone tearing off after a thief without a moment’s hesitation. His childhood buddy had played on Mike’s patriotism a few times to get him to do an unofficial errand here and there for the low-profile government agency that he worked for. Jim always found Mike’s caution and meticulous planning for those missions amusing. Why on earth had he gone chasing after the blonde’s briefcase? Was he adding grandstanding to his new playboy act? He was beginning to wonder if it was really preferable to being understanding and infinitely usable. He set his jaw. He was going to go through with it. No woman was ever again going to walk all over Mike Garson. The boarding had not begun yet when he entered the departure lounge. He stood just inside the door and scanned the crowd for S. Tolberg. That’s how the discreet little tag on her briefcase had identified her. She had even attached one of the bright blue MS Theseus tags that informed him her cabin was on Apollo Deck, the same deck as 8

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his own. Perfect. A small group of first class passengers was called for boarding and began filing out of the lounge. S. Tolberg was not among them. Then he spotted her. There was nothing flamboyant about her trim pale green jacket and slacks, but she drew his eye as if she had a spotlight trained on her. She was sitting quietly by the huge windows that looked out on the east-west airstrip. She had a sketchbook on her lap and was rapidly sketching a little boy, who was seated opposite her beside his dozing mother. So, she was an artist. The old Mike had always avoided artistic types—thought they might be too emotional and quirky for his tastes. Maybe it was time for a change of pace. Besides, S. Tolberg didn’t look either emotional or quirky. She seemed remarkably cool and self-possessed for a woman who had just been robbed. Her briefcase was already on the seat beside her. Spotting the theft had been a stroke of luck. It gave him a good excuse to approach her. His mouth twisted in an ironic smile. Another blonde. This one was better looking than Angela, though. Her hair was longer and paler, and her figure was definitely trimmer, but she appeared to have the same talent for feigning passion as his ex-fiancée. That poor guy who’d been kissing her certainly hadn’t received her full attention. She’d flushed guiltily when Mike had caught her checking the time. Was she hurrying to another lover? He realized with a shock how disappointed he’d be if she was. When the airline representative announced the boarding of the center section of the aircraft, S. Tolberg stood up. Even though Mike’s seat was in the same section, he decided to wait until after she had boarded to get into line. When she turned to pick up her briefcase, her loose blouse tightened momentarily over breasts that were at least as well-formed as her shapely derrière. He felt a slight, localized surge of heat at the 9

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possibility of getting close to her. What did he care if she had no more depth than a glossy photograph? If she was available, she might suit him very well. He ignored the nudging of his conscience. His new attitude was totally justified, he told himself as he took his place at the end of the line. What had his considerate treatment of women ever earned him? He’d never had any trouble attracting women, but he had been intimate with very few. He had chosen his chères amies carefully and had gone out of his way to avoid misleading them. He had made sure each of those cherished friends understood their romance would last only until he moved on to the next job in a few months. His recent experience with Angela had certainly opened his eyes. Those former lovers had probably been amused at his naive concern about their feelings. His big mistake had been breaking the rule of a lifetime never to settle for second best. On his thirty-fifth birthday, he had done some serious soul-searching and accepted that, as far as falling in love was concerned, he’d missed the boat. If the exciting and loving woman of his dreams existed, it was unlikely he was ever going to find her. However, if he wanted a wife and children of his own, he would simply have to be more realistic about what he expected in a wife. During his annual return to the States to visit with his parents last July, he’d been seduced as much by the contentment of his brothers’ lives and their warm invitations to come home and join the family business as he had by Angela. He’d known her since grade school and they had dated occasionally over the years, but he hadn’t slept with her until this summer. He’d thought they were going to have a good life together built on mutual affection and trust. And they would have the home and children they both wanted. Angela had agreed to marry him in eight months’ time when he finished building the power plant in Africa. 10

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He’d lived up to his part of the bargain. The lack of passion in Angela’s occasional newsy letters was no surprise. He’d answered in kind. But he never expected to find, when he arrived home, that she had eloped with her boss. He prided himself on being a good judge of character, but he sure had misread Angela. If the little girl he had protected from bullies in grade school and who had been a good friend for over twenty years could betray his trust, what woman could be trusted? Mike stood up abruptly and, with icy deliberation, picked up his carry-on bag. From now on, he resolved, female companions would join him at their own risk. He might be embarking on his honeymoon today without a bride, but he was not going to be alone long! *

*

*

Not far ahead of him, Sara was sinking into her aisle seat with a sigh of relief. She was on her way. Thank goodness, the couple who occupied the other two seats in the row were so obviously wrapped up in each other that they wouldn’t try to make conversation with her. It wasn’t even eight o’clock, but already it had been a long, difficult morning. Even at the unearthly hour she’d had to check in, the terminal had been jammed with excited vacationers eager to escape winter’s last few unpleasant gasps. Then, she certainly hadn’t expected Stephen, surrounded by those crowds of gawking people, to be so determined to make an exhibition of them both with his overly long good-bye kiss. The attempt to steal her briefcase had topped it all off. The thief would have been disappointed to find it only contained a change of clothes, her journal, a sketchbook and a paperback novel. No jewels. She touched her mother’s pearls at her throat. Apart from them, she wore only costume jewelry. Even though her case had been returned and no damage was done, the episode had left her uneasy. Disturbing, too, had been the large, tanned man who had chased the 11

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thief. Before she’d even seen him, she’d been uncomfortably aware of his eyes on her. With her anger at Stephen growing second by interminable second, she’d peeked at her watch. And those penetrating obsidian eyes had held her pinned for an embarrassing moment. A moment that was long enough to imprint his image firmly in her mind. With those mesmerizing eyes and his longish dark hair bound with a leather thong at the back of his neck, he was an imposing sight. Then the owner of those critical eyes had sprung into action like an attack dog when the thief took off with her case. By the time she had realized what was going on, it was too late for her to chase him herself. She took a long, deep breath and forced herself to relax in her seat. This was the first moment she’d had to herself since she’d opened her eyes this morning. If she ever saw the man with the eyes again, she’d have to thank him. Sara had never been easily intimidated, but she had to admit she would prefer not to face the full force of the stranger’s personality just yet. She didn’t think he’d been in the departure lounge. With any luck, he was bound for some other destination and their paths would never cross. Just thinking about his glowering black eyes made her shiver. That was ridiculous. On her worst day, she could face down an angry, even belligerent, union leader. The way she was overreacting to a man who had never even spoken to her showed how much she really needed this vacation. His glare probably had nothing to do with her anyway. Maybe his morning had been just as frustrating as hers. She picked up her novel. As she opened the paperback, someone in the aisle brushed against her arm. “Sorry,” a male voice said. As if she had conjured him up, the darkly tanned man with the snapping black eyes stood towering over her. He was folding his jacket 12

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into the overhead storage compartment. The friendly smile that beamed down on her changed his broad face completely. It was surprisingly attractive. “I see airport security returned your case.” His voice was deep and considerably warmer than she expected. The resonance in his bass voice struck a responsive chord that vibrated deep inside her. “It’s you!” she blurted. Where was the cool control she could usually maintain through endless hours of negotiations? “Thank you for getting it back for me. Most people wouldn’t want to get involved.” My goodness, he’s big! With his flat midriff at eye level, she could see he didn’t carry an ounce of flab on his muscular frame. “I’m relieved you weren’t injured rescuing my briefcase,” she babbled. “There wasn’t anything in it worth getting hurt for. Though I am thankful to have my book.” She waved the thick paperback at him. Sara knew she sounded as if she’d never seen an attractive man before. But his silent condemnation in the terminal had thrown her off balance. “I’m glad I could help,” he said, closing the lid on the overhead bin with a loud snap. “I’ll let you get back to your reading now. Maybe you’ll join me for a drink on board ship?” He was polite and charming, but there was a twinkle in his eye. He was amused that he made her nervous. “I’d like that,” she replied. She watched him sit down across the aisle a couple of rows away. Wouldn’t you know he was taking the cruise, too! Sara lowered her eyes to her book. She was still embarrassed at how blasé and insensitive she must have appeared earlier. She was being ridiculous. Why was she getting herself into this state about a stranger’s opinion? She was probably the only single woman on this plane who wasn’t hoping to meet an attractive man. A fleeting glance across the 13

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aisle assured her that the man in question was reading his newspaper, totally oblivious to the impact he had made on her. Anyway, he wasn’t the man she was supposed to be thinking about. She winced at the memory of her attempt to muster some enthusiasm for Stephen’s kiss. She was fond of him. He knew that. What he refused to accept was that was probably all she would ever feel for him. Was that enough to base a marriage on? She had been totally honest with him about her feelings, but he was sure she could learn to love him. Her father was equally determined she should marry Stephen. With a flash of irritation, she remembered her father’s face when he had pointed out, as if it were a grave character flaw, that she had recently passed her thirtieth birthday. Stephen was just the kind of son her father should have had. Will Tolberg had been a state senator from New York until a coronary had forced his retirement. Almost from the moment Sara had begun dating Stephen, the two men had hit it off. Her father admired everything about him—his brilliance as an electronics engineer, his proven business success, his charm, and the public spirit he demonstrated by running citywide food drives. The two of them were always in a huddle about Stephen’s imminent debut into state politics. That kind of activity was much more to Will Tolberg’s taste than trying to make himself useful in the travel agency his partner had run capably ever since Will went into politics. As Stephen’s only family consisted of a sister who lived in Barbados, the two men thought that marrying into the Tolberg family would be perfect for his image. It was too bad he couldn’t marry the senator, she thought peevishly. When she forced herself to think about it, she doubted there was a man alive whom she’d actually want to spend the rest of her life with. But how else was she going to have the children she was pretty sure she wanted? Perhaps she should settle for Stephen. She sighed. When she 14

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returned in two weeks, she would give him her answer. Alone on the MS Theseus, she would have time to examine her reluctance to marry him. “Think about me while you’re away, Sara. I miss you already,” Stephen had whispered into her hair, just before the thief had taken off with her briefcase, chased by the muscular giant with the dark tan. Stephen, probably embarrassed he hadn’t been the one to spring into action, had fussed about which valuables she had lost until she had described to him every item in the case and convinced him that she could afford to lose any one of them. Then he’d finally left, insisting she call him if she had any more trouble. Even though he could be tedious, she had come to count on him. She smiled. He had a lot going for him. She made herself think about his intelligent gray eyes, his well-groomed, thick blond hair, and his lean, elegant body. And she was still learning things about him that could surprise her. It had been unexpectedly thoughtful of him to send the birthday present to his nephew. According to Stephen, teddy bears were virtually impossible to get in Barbados and every boy should have his own Winnie the Pooh. Yes. She was glad he was fond of children. “I will think about us, Stephen,” she had promised. And she would. But not this minute.

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CHAPTER 2

As she descended the metal steps to the tarmac of the Tampa airport, the moisture-laden hot air enveloped her in a welcoming embrace. She could feel the weight of everyday responsibilities slipping away. True, she had chosen this particular cruise to see if it could be a mid-priced option in her father’s Mayan promotion. She wanted to encourage his first sign of interest in the travel agency since his health had removed him from his beloved politics. All she had to do was attend the short meeting she’d arranged with the Mexican tourism official in Cancun. Apart from that, she could relax in the sun for the whole two weeks. She could barely contain the happy laughter that was threatening to burst out. She contented herself with smiling broadly as she looked about her. She liked the general feeling she got from the mixed crowd of passengers straggling toward the buses that would take them to the ship. Quite a number were younger than she’d expected. Sara 16

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remembered the cruise she and the senator had taken after her mother’s death. It had definitely catered to a senior crowd. On the Theseus, she might even find a congenial female companion to team up with for sightseeing. At the docks, in line to show her papers one last time before boarding the ship, she had the odd sensation someone was watching her. She tried to ignore it, but the tingling on the back of her neck persisted until she finally gave in and turned around. No one behind her in the line looked at all familiar. However, sweeping her gaze around the flag-draped customs shed, again she met the compelling gaze of the tall, dark man. She wished she’d had her wits about her earlier on the plane. She hadn’t even asked his name. The supercharged message he flashed this time was a friendly one. She returned it cautiously and was relieved he didn’t take it as a signal to come across the shed to speak to her. She watched him stride up the gangplank. His well-muscled arms were like mahogany against his white sports shirt and the wind-ruffled tips of his unbound hair were sun bleached. Sara wondered what he had been doing to get tanned so deeply. And why such an attractive man was alone. But none of that, she hastened to caution herself, was any of her business. With cheerful efficiency, the cruise staff greeted her, checked her name off the passenger list, then gave her into the care of Carlos, her cabin steward. The genial, little black man took her hand luggage, led her speedily to her cabin, pointed out its amenities and left. For the first time in the long day, she was completely alone. The tiny, air-conditioned room was perfect. The top bunk had been folded back and fastened against the wall and the remaining single bed was covered with a navy blue-and-white spread that matched the draperies. Its small window looked out over the bow of the ship. Her father had been right; this cabin was a real bargain. Though much 17

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smaller, it had the same view as the luxury staterooms alongside it. Admittedly, at the moment, that view consisted of the stern of another cruise ship, but soon she would have the unbroken vista of the open sea. She debated taking a quick tour to acquaint herself with the public areas of the upper decks, but when the first of her bags arrived, she decided to do her exploring after dinner. Instead, she unpacked, showered and slipped on a simple mint-green cotton dress. The printed blue card on the vanity indicated she been assigned a place at dining room table ten for the second dinner seating. She was eager to see who chance and the maitre d’ had chosen to be her dinner companions for the next two weeks. When she arrived in the dining room promptly at eight-thirty, one of the waiters lined up beside the maitre d’ led her to table number ten. She was the first to arrive at the large, round table for eight, however, before she had time to do more than get a general impression of a huge, softly lit, mirrored room with linen-covered tables, fresh tropical flowers and gleaming silver and crystal, the table began to fill up. First to join her was an overwhelmingly genial English couple in their fifties. The man’s round face was flushed and his laugh loud and hearty; his wife’s narrow-featured face was set in a fiercely cheerful grin. Then came two obviously excited couples about her own age who appeared to be traveling together. The women did most of the talking, but they all laughed easily together. The last vacant chair tantalized her. She had her fingers crossed it would be filled by an intelligent woman interested in doing some quiet sight-seeing, but somehow, she wasn’t at all surprised when the large, tanned man slipped into it. Sara smiled a resigned greeting. “Sorry to be late,” he apologized to the table at large. “There was a bit of a mix-up with the luggage. My name’s Mike.” He was looking at Sara across the table, but the self-introductions 18

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continued around. Following established cruising practice, they gave only their first names. The middle-aged couple was Wilf and Bea. The other four consisted of Hazel and Mary, who were sisters, and their husbands, Joe and Martin. In the inevitable pause after the introductions, Mike again sought Sara’s attention. “This seems to be our day for luggage problems, doesn’t it, Sara?” Sara smiled back at him, remembering Mike racing full tilt through the crowded terminal after the luggage thief. “Mine was solved quickly, thanks to you,” she said. “I was startled when you yelled and started to chase that elegant little man through the airport. Then I realized he was carrying my briefcase.” “I surprised myself when I took off after him,” Mike said with a laugh. “So, you saved the day, did you?” the older man who had given his name as Wilf boomed. “Good for you!” “According to the security officer, they’d had a rash of thefts of hand luggage.” Mike was still speaking to Sara. “He said this thief was older, though, than the ones described by the other victims.” “Have you two known each other long?” Wilf’s wife asked. “We’d never met. That made it all the more surprising. You should’ve seen it,” Sara said, dramatically setting the stage with her hands. “The airport is packed. The lineup to go through security is over here. I’m saying good-bye to a friend over there. Then Mike, a total stranger, shouts, ‘Drop it!’ or something and takes off like an express train after a dignified-looking, little man who has just stolen my carryon. I’m left standing there like a wimpy heroine in a melodrama, wringing my hands and crying out like an idiot, ‘Stop him! Stop him!’ “People are craning their necks and bumping into each other to see what’s happening and my friend is babbling, ‘What did you lose, Sara? What did you lose?’ 19

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“I’ve never felt so foolish. I was afraid someone was going to get trampled or that my unknown champion was going to be injured trying to retrieve a sketch pad, a paperback novel, and a change of underwear.” Everyone laughed and conversation sprang up easily as the others reminisced about their own travel misadventures. Mike ordered champagne to launch their cruise. “To new friends and smooth sailing,” Mike said raising his glass. The words were spoken to the table at large, but his dark eyes bore into Sara’s as he drained his glass. The glass of wine fuelled the excitement of a first night aboard ship. As one toast followed another, an air of camaraderie grew among the group who would be tablemates for the next two weeks. Sara would normally have sat back and studied the others, but she found herself caught up in the high spirits of the evening. She could not help joining in the laughter and taking part in the repartee. Even so, her eyes still managed to return time and again to the vital bronzed man across from her. One of the other women asked about the tan. He explained he had just returned from building a power plant in Africa. Though he did more listening than talking, he radiated energy. She couldn’t help being drawn by his deep laugh and his mesmerizing eyes. This man, she thought wistfully, would not be on his own for long. She caught herself up sharply in mid-wish. The last thing she needed was another man. Anyway, even if she were interested, it would not take him long to discover just how disappointing a date she could be. She shrugged out of the way of the wine steward’s sleeve that had accidentally brushed her bare arm as he refilled her glass. She’d thought he had touched her earlier as well. Was she imagining things? Had Stephen’s recent campaign to get her into his bed made her see sexual overtures everywhere? After the meal, the middle-aged couple, Bea and Wilf, announced 20

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they were off to finish unpacking before the show in the main lounge. The sisters and their husbands were heading up to the casino to check out the quarter slot machines. Having had enough of crowds, Sara privately decided to begin her exploration of the ship with the deserted pool deck one level up from the dining room. She went out the first set of doors leading out to the deck and tasted the warm sea air. She walked slowly, enjoying and getting used to the slight rolling motion of the ship. When she reached the railing at the stern, she stood quietly and absorbed the sensations of being at sea. Although the ship was much smaller than some of the newer cruise ships, it was almost eighteen thousand tons. However, in the black tropical night, it seemed tiny and totally isolated. They were far enough off the coast of Florida to make it impossible to see a light on any horizon. Only the curling crests of the wake caught the light from the decks and splashed an eerie trail of white foam on the dark sea. The awesome silence was overlaid by the humming of the great engines and the rushing sound of water against the ship’s hull. Sara filled her lungs, then exhaled slowly. There was something intoxicating about the smell of clean salt air. The almost imperceptible, undulating motion of the ship and the warm sea breeze that caressed her skin were more seductive than any human lover she could imagine. Alone here, she was conscious only of the sensuous beauty of the night and the vastness of the dark ocean. *

*

*

Two decks above, Mike stood looking down at her. She was truly lovely. Her long pale hair was being lifted by the wind and the lush curves of her body were outlined against the sheen of the night sea. Something in her posture communicated to him an unexpected serenity and deep sensuality. What was the matter with him? Why was he up here mooning like a lovesick adolescent? This ethereal vision was the same shallow woman 21

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he had seen at the airport, bored with the kiss of her current lover. He wanted a playmate, not a soulmate. And if he wanted to be the man to take that delectable body to his bed, he had better make his move now. At dinner, Mike had been watching the subtle advances of the elegant Greek sommelier. Women who traveled alone were fair game in the cruise business, he’d been told. Of course, if he worked on a cruise ship and enjoyed providing romance on the high seas to single women, gorgeous Sara with her unusual eyes and corn-silk hair would be his first choice. Hell, he realized with a jolt, she was his choice. And he was going to stake his claim before anyone else did. Too late. Just as he started down the outside stairway, he saw a man approach the railing where she stood. Even though he was now attired in casual slacks and a white silk knit shirt, Mike recognized him as the wine steward. He was too far away to hear what the man was saying. *

*

*

“A little mal de mer?” The lightly accented male voice startled Sara. She reluctantly drew her eyes from the mesmerizing action of the waves in the silver light. The slender, dark haired man looked vaguely familiar to her. “Not me,” she said with an open smile. “I’m never seasick. I love every minute at sea. I’ve been looking forward to being alone with the ocean,” she hinted. She did not like to be rude, but she was not the slightest bit interested in his company. He was not going to be put off so easily. “You don’t recognize me?” His smile revealed an excellent set of teeth. “I’m Stavros…the sommelier.” When she didn’t react, he clarified, “The wine steward. I noticed you at dinner. It was my impression that you are not traveling with a companion?” He was hovering, his hand very close to hers on the railing. “Actually, I…” She wanted to discourage him at the outset. “I do have a special friend on board,” she said pleasantly but firmly. Looking 22

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about, she saw the tanned man from her table approaching fast. Mike, he’d said his name was. She smiled such a dazzling welcome he looked startled for a split-second. But then he returned her smile. Before she could speak, he slipped his arm around her waist and said, “So this is where you’ve been. I should’ve guessed. Shall we have that drink now, love?” Love? she thought, suppressing a grin. He was certainly throwing himself wholeheartedly into this rescue. “Yes,” she said simply. She waved a casual good-bye to Stavros as Mike steered her away. The muscles of the arm that circled her back were rock hard and the warmth of his hand at her waist sent tiny currents of heat racing over her skin. He held her loosely, but just close enough that his hard thigh grazed hers as they walked. She wasn’t used to being this aware of a man’s body. In her teens, she had dreamed of sensual, romantic moments like this, but somehow they had never happened to her. Scenes that were supposed to be romantic became prosaic when she was involved. She had survived by learning to turn the awkward moments into light-hearted jokes. But, for some reason, she didn’t feel out of place tonight. The warm, moist air felt silky on her skin, dark clouds scudded across the face of the huge tropical moon, and it felt right to be here with a handsome, attentive man. She relaxed for a moment against his arm, savoring the mood. She tensed. What was she doing? She took a deep breath and tried to sound casual. “Thanks for the help…again. You can take your arm away now.” When she saw the trace of bewilderment in his dark eyes, she grinned up at him to show that she had appreciated his act. “…love,” she added. He gave her a friendly squeeze before he released her. She liked the way he held eye contact when he spoke to her. In fact, she suspected 23

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she could grow to like a lot of things about this man. But that was not in her plans. He grinned back. “I was afraid I was padding my part, but I couldn’t resist it. Forgive me. It’s my first rescue of a fair lady.” Separated by a few inches, they strolled along in silence for a minute or two. “Would you like that drink I promised you? The piano lounge is on this deck,” he ventured when they reached the little forward observation deck directly above their cabins. “No, thank you.” Sara looked up at him. He had a nice face—rough-hewn, not too handsome. Most of the men she knew wore their hair cut shorter, but Mike’s shoulder-length dark hair suited his unquestionably male good looks. His large, expressive eyes and masculine, yet sensuous mouth combined pleasantly with his broad cheekbones and aggressive jaw. She forced her gaze away from his lips back to his eyes. “I appreciate the rescue, but I’m really not looking for male company,” she said, hoping her eyes did not reveal how truly sorry she was. “I’d only spoil your vacation.” “Spoil my vacation!” She was startled by his vehemence and the bitter edge to his voice. “This was supposed to be my honeymoon.” “Oh.” She could tell by the way he averted his eyes that he regretted his admission. “I am sorry.” “She married someone else before I got home for the wedding,” he mumbled awkwardly. “I’m only here because I’m too damned stubborn to pay for a cruise and not take it. Somehow it didn’t cross my mind to take out cancellation insurance for my honeymoon.” His laugh was short and bitter. They both turned their faces to the soft wind and leaned their forearms on the railing. A few minutes later, Sara spoke. “I’m here 24

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because I need some time alone to make an important decision.” “The guy at the airport?” Her slight nod pleased him. He was positive she wasn’t in love with Gray Suit and she impressed him as too smart to settle for less. That should not matter to him, but it did. Her candor and her smile were too appealing. If he had any sense he would run to the nearest bar to look for a different kind of candidate to share his luxury double bed. He needed hearty laughs with an uncomplicated woman. He had a hunch Sara did not fit the bill. *

*

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Sara took a deep breath. She couldn’t believe she was wondering how she could help Mike forget his broken engagement. It was obviously time to return to her cabin. The sea had become rougher since they’d moved farther out into the Gulf of Mexico. She adjusted her stance to keep her balance as the warm wind blew in her face and she tasted the salt on her lips. She would blame her strange mood on the rising turbulence of the night. She turned to leave. “Good night, Mike,” she said. “That waiter won’t be the only one, you know.” His smile looked genuine. “You’re too lovely not to be pestered. How would you like a buddy to ride shotgun?” She wished she could soothe the pain he was trying to hide, but she had to refuse his offer. “That’s very generous, Mike, but it wouldn’t be fair. You need a carefree woman to distract you. I’ll be fine. I’m good at deflecting passes. They don’t even tempt me.” This man could tempt her. The thought came from nowhere. He just nodded and said, with a grin, “Send up a smoke signal any time you need help. I’d better see you to your cabin. It’s getting a little rough.” 25

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As they moved away from the railing, she stumbled slightly. Mike steadied her and laughed at her embarrassed grimace. “You won’t believe how many years of gymnastic training it took to make me move this gracefully,” she quipped. He did not remove his hand from her arm. “That was the sea reminding us of the small print on our tickets. You may not realize it, but there’s a maritime law that states you must kiss a stranger on your first night at sea.” Before he released her, his smiling mouth brushed her forehead. “There. Now, the pressure’s off. I’ve obeyed the law. It’s your turn.” As he leaned toward her again, she was perfectly aware of how foolhardy it was to slip into playful flirting with this man. “I have great respect for the law. So, if I must…” she said, reaching up to place a butterfly kiss on his lips. The brief contact startled her. She jerked back. As she met his eyes in confusion, her tongue automatically moved to soothe her tingling lower lip. When Mike’s mouth covered hers, her lips parted of their own volition. She tasted the sea salt on his lips and the sweetness of his mouth as his tongue tentatively sought hers. Heat flowed through her veins and a peculiar heaviness formed in her breasts. When his large hands moved slowly down over her back and gathered her close, her body melted against him. This overwhelming flood of sensation was like nothing she had ever experienced. It was Mike who first pulled away. “Sara,” he whispered as he cradled her head against his chest. She could hear his heart pounding as fast as her own. “Sara.” She stepped back from his embrace, her eyes wide, shocked by her response to his kisses. Her response? She was not sure which of them had initiated the second one. “I don’t even know you,” she managed to say. 26

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Mike appeared to be equally stunned by the unexpected intensity of their kiss. “You will though, Sara.” He stated it as an undeniable fact. It was hard to call up the flippancy that usually protected her. “Not necessarily, stranger. I think we’ve fulfilled all the requirements of the law.” She flashed him a brittle smile. “See you at breakfast,” she said as she hurried away toward her cabin. It took a long time for the ship to rock Sara to sleep that night. Her thoughts were more turbulent than the ocean. She didn’t understand her impetuous behavior. Even the night she had decided it was time to give up her virginity to her eager college boyfriend, she hadn’t been out of control. But, tonight, when Mike had kissed her, there had been nothing rational about the sensations that had rocketed through her. She clenched her teeth and groaned with fury at herself. He was a stranger. She did not even know his last name. The purpose of this holiday was to give herself time to make a reasoned, mature decision about her future, not to discover, at the advanced age of thirty, the sexuality most women come to terms with in their teens. How would she be able to face Mike again after her wanton response to his kiss? Even if she avoided him all day, they would be facing each other every evening across the dining room table. It was ironic she had chosen this cruise because of the number of days at sea on its itinerary. She’d been looking forward to the isolation of those days. Tomorrow, she and Mike would be trapped together on this ship that suddenly seemed very small. Stephen. She was supposed to be concentrating on Stephen. He never made her feel she was losing control. The real problem was he didn’t make her feel anything very intensely. Did she really want marriage and a family enough to marry Stephen? Her father insisted that Stephen Cafik was the logical choice for 27

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her. He probably was. He was charming, good-looking, and certainly old enough to know what he wanted out of life. Good point. She knew him. They’d met when she was doing the legal work for the purchase of his Rochester plant. He soon became a handy and extremely presentable escort for professional functions and the occasional private party. In return, Stephen had been only too glad to have her introduction to the social and political Rochester establishment. The relationship had been perfect. Too bad it hadn’t stayed that way. A couple of months ago, Stephen had decided to change the rules. Now he said he loved her and wanted to marry her. Oh, why couldn’t it have been his kiss that had showed her what the fuss was all about? Growing up, her time and energy had been so taken up with school and training for gymnastic competition that she hadn’t really dated until college. She had quickly developed a light touch for moments that threatened to become tender. She hadn’t wanted anything more. A couple of experiments with sex had shown her how overrated that activity was. The sudden madness that had come over her tonight must be what she’d managed to avoid. That unrestrained wildness must be what Stephen wanted from her. For the first time, she realized if she accepted his proposal she would be cheating him of something vital to a marriage. She supposed that, in the back of her mind, she’d known that all along. She had to smile when she imagined her father’s reaction if she were to tell him that she’d decided not to marry Stephen Cafik because she’d been kissed by a devastating, itinerant construction worker. But she hadn’t quite decided yet. Remembering those moments with Mike on the windswept deck, a warmth stole over her, bringing with it the return of those new and 28

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disquieting emotions. She tried to force herself to think of Stephen’s handsome, intelligent face, but it was no use. The face filling her mind was a rugged one with black, black eyes. And a mouth she really wanted to kiss again. *

*

*

Sara couldn’t move. Her limbs were heavy and caught in some kind of silky bonds. On some level, she was aware of lurking dangers in the background, but she knew with certainty that her survival depended on freeing herself from this distressing web. An indistinct face with large, fathomless, black eyes hovered over her. Slowly and inexorably, they drew closer. She was being drawn helplessly up into their inky depths. Suddenly, sensuous lips were devouring hers. The heat of a kiss seared a path from her mouth to some place deep inside her that had been cold forever and desperately needed warming. She stopped struggling and pulled a hand free to reach up to touch his face and his hair as he drew her eager body into his powerful arms. She could actually hear the pounding of their hearts getting louder and louder. The sound slowly separated from the image as Sara surfaced from the dream. Someone was knocking persistently on the door of her cabin. She unwound the tangled sheets from her legs and stumbled out of bed, still half-asleep. As she was reaching for the doorknob, she realized it was the middle of the night. She stopped herself and called out, “Who is it?” “It’s Carlos,” an unfamiliar voice answered softly. Carlos? She did not know any Carlos. “Carlos, your cabin steward,” he said, as if that explained his presence at her door at this hour. She vaguely remembered the smiling young Jamaican who had ushered her to her cabin. He had proudly pointed to his name tag that could have read, “Carlos.” He had left his card on the vanity. 29

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“In case you need anything, anything at all, miss,” he had told her, with a broad smile, “day or night.” She flicked on the overhead light and checked the card. “Yes, Carlos,” she said. “You have an important message, Miss Tolberg.” There was real urgency in his voice. “Just a minute, Carlos. I’ll be right there.” Sara reached for her robe and pulled it on before opening the door. “Come in.” He stopped just inside the door. “I’m sorry to disturb you, miss, but you have a call waiting on the ship’s radio. You will have to come up to the radio room to take it.” “Are you sure it’s for me?” “Oh, yes.” He nodded gravely. “I was told it was your sister calling.” “My God!” she gasped. “Dad! Wait outside a minute.” She hurried him out into the hall and almost before the door had closed behind him, she’d pulled on a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt and had rammed her feet into a pair of deck shoes. As she rushed down the corridor with the steward in the lead, Sara berated herself for being selfish enough to take this vacation. She should never have let her father talk her into it. Although he seemed to have recovered from his heart attack, he had been warned that his heart had been damaged. She should never have left him. Mrs. Webster, his housekeeper, must have called Elsa in New York. Carlos knocked at a door that bore a discreet little sign that read simply “RADIO.” It opened immediately. The white-uniformed, balding radio officer jumped to his feet. He shook her hand, then waved her toward one of the two chairs in the room. “Do sit down, Miss Tolberg. I’ll contact the operator and have you connected in a moment.” “Did my sister tell you anything when you spoke to her?” 30

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“I wasn’t speaking directly to her, but I was told the caller had an urgent message and needed to speak with you in person. Hold on a minute and I’ll get you connected.” Sara was left with her anxious thoughts while the radio officer went about his business. She blessed the impulse she’d had to send Elsa the ship’s itinerary and its radio code in case she had to be reached. After a few minutes, she became aware that the officer was speaking angrily to someone. Finally, he turned to her. “I’m dreadfully sorry, but the caller hung up. The number she gave doesn’t answer. What do you want me to do?” Her mind whirled. Why would Elsa not hold on long enough to speak to her after calling her at two o’clock in the morning? “I can’t call my father at this hour,” she decided. “I’d better phone my sister back.” She rattled off Elsa’s New York number. It was not the one the caller had given. About half an hour later, she heard Elsa’s sleepy voice mumble, “Hello.” “Elsa, this is Sara.” “Sara.” Elsa sounded groggy and more than half-asleep. “Are you all right? Has something happened?” “That’s what I was going to ask you. I’m fine. I thought I was returning your call.” Sara couldn’t keep the impatience out of her voice. “You didn’t radio the ship?” “This isn’t funny, Sara. Do you realize what time it is?” There was the rumbling of a sleepy male voice in the background. “Sara’s all right, Tom.” Elsa’s husband, at least, was concerned about her. “Yes, she’s fine. It’s some kind of mix-up. Go back to sleep.” “Elsa, wake up. Why would I think calling you in the middle of the night was funny? I was rousted out of bed to answer an urgent radio 31

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call from my sister. You can imagine what I thought. You haven’t heard from Dad or from Mrs. Webster, have you?” “Not a thing.” Elsa was suddenly wide awake. “We were home all evening. No one called here. There has to be a mix-up on the ship. The message was for someone else. “Don’t worry. I’ll get in touch with them in the morning. I promise I’ll let you know if there’s anything you should be concerned about.” After apologizing for upsetting her and disturbing her sleep, Sara hung up. She was angry and more than a little bewildered. “You are absolutely sure the call was for me?” The radio officer picked up a small square form from the top of a pile. “No question of a mistake,” he replied, a bit defensively. “Here you are. Time: Thirteen-forty-five. Incoming call for Sara Tolberg. Cabin number A Nine. No print message. Holding for reply.” He thrust it at her. “You can keep that copy.” Sara stared at the sheet of paper. It explained nothing. Only her family and Stephen knew how to reach her. None of them would dream of playing a trick that would worry her like this. She thanked the radio officer for his trouble and left his crowded little domain. The sea was still rough and the ship was doing a fair amount of pitching as it ploughed through the heavy swells. The few people she saw were using the hand rails that lined the hallways and being good humored about the lurching they were doing. One laughing couple stopped to let her pass by them. The woman assured her, with a giggle, “Don’t feel bad about staggering. The only people who are walking straight tonight are the drunks.” Sara’s mind flashed to those startling moments after she had lost her footing on the observation deck and to the man who had held her. The sudden sexual hunger his kiss had aroused had sent her scurrying away 32

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like a frightened mouse. In spite of the threat he presented to her peace of mind, she wished she had his large, reassuring presence beside her right now. She was feeling uneasy and very much alone as she headed back to her empty cabin.

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CHAPTER 3

Carlos spotted her the moment her foot hit the maroon carpet of the Apollo Deck corridor. He hurried toward her, his dark face set in a concerned frown. “Is everything all right, miss?” he asked. She sighed, wearily. “It was all a mistake, Carlos. I spoke to my sister, but she hadn’t called me.” His frown deepened as he unlocked her door. “Let me straighten your bed,” he said, speedily suiting the action to the words. “That will help you to get back to sleep.” When he had remade the bed, Sara noticed that he quietly checked the closet and the bathroom. It seemed he, too, wondered why someone had lured both him and Sara away from her cabin in the middle of the night. They found nothing out of place. After he left, Sara undressed and climbed into her freshly made bed. Even though it had been a long and disturbing day, she really did not 34

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expect the freshly smoothed sheets to clear her mind enough to allow her to get to sleep. *

*

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In the large stateroom next to Sara’s, Mike lay wide awake. During the long, frustrating hours of the night, lying alone on the big moonlit bed, he had come to a conclusion. He had come on board with the express purpose of having a lighthearted shipboard affair. The fact was he’d been too long without a woman. The intensity and speed of his arousal when he’d kissed Sara had made that clear. He could find a reasonably attractive woman who was looking for a shipboard romance, but settling for a fling simply to appease the hunger that had grown over eight months of celibacy no longer appealed to him. He cursed his perverse nature that denied him a few pleasant hours and physical release. The only woman he wanted was Sara. He had decided at the airport that no one could match her in the looks department. But she was also delightfully direct and shared his sense of humor. Besides, he’d promised himself that he’d never again settle for second best. Even in choosing a short-term lover, he would stick to that. He wasn’t looking for a serious relationship, he quickly reassured the part of him that liked the novelty of playing an uninvolved, roving lover. Nor did he intend to trust Sara. He remembered the cool way she had endured the kiss of the lover she was leaving behind. She couldn’t possibly be as inexperienced as her reaction to their impulsive kiss on deck indicated. She’d looked stunned, even intimidated, by the fireworks in it. She’d sure run from him as if she were scared. However, no matter what the truth was, for the next two weeks, he preferred to believe she was new to passion, and he was the man who was going to awaken her dormant sensuality. That was as good a fantasy as any. 35

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Mike allowed himself to remember the kiss that had rocked them both. Of course, it had been a long time for him. Now, wait. He should be honest, at least with himself. He couldn’t remember ever having a simple kiss affect him like that. He was still aroused. He couldn’t pretend it hadn’t happened. He expected Sara was going to try to avoid him, but he wasn’t going to allow that. Somehow, he had to set a non-threatening tone for their relationship. In other words, he had to convince her he was just a nice, friendly guy before he maneuvered her into his bed. This kind of thinking was not helping him fall asleep. Eventually, he gave up trying. The sun had not yet risen and the sea was still quite rough. By the time he had fought to maintain his balance long enough to have a short shower, he was wide awake. He placed an armchair where he could see the corridor through the open doorway of his stateroom, poured himself a cup of coffee and settled down to wait for Sara. He felt a little like the spider in the nursery rhyme poised at the entrance to his parlor. *

*

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Sara got up at about the same time. In the long, dead hours of the night, she had tossed and turned, wondering why on earth anyone would make that phone call, and why she was so fascinated by Mike What’s-his-name. The moment the first pearl-gray sheen appeared on the sea outside her porthole, she showered, pulled on a white cotton shirt and shorts and headed out of her cabin to enjoy the sunrise from the open deck. When she stepped out into the silent corridor, she was surprised to see the door to the stateroom next door was open. She caught a glimpse of Mike, sitting close to the doorway, and gave him a little wave as she hurried past. She was delighted at how casual that wave seemed. She didn’t think there had been any outward sign of the way her heartbeat had sped up at the sight of him. 36

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The sea air was moist, yet warm. She breathed in its distinctive freshness as she descended the long flight of wooden stairs at the stern of the ship. The varnished hand railing was still a little sticky from the salt spray that had settled during the night. The deck hands had already hosed the decks and wiped down the deck chairs, but hadn’t yet got around to the railings. She sat at a small round table on the damp pool deck and fixed her eyes on the brightening horizon. There was something peaceful and awe-inspiring about being far from land, virtually alone on a gray deck of a ship that was a speck in a gray ocean. Two widely separated solitary figures stood at the railings, watching the low gray clouds slowly become edged with a border of golden fire. Then she sensed him approaching. He deposited two half-full cups of coffee on the table and sank into a chair. “Morning, Sara.” Mike, too, seemed to have adopted casual as the tone of the day. “I’ve gained a new respect for the waiters on board ship. It’s a good thing the sea calmed down overnight. Even on this calm sea, I spilled half the coffee on the way here. I bribed the steward to bring a carafe of coffee to the stateroom,” he explained with a proud grin. For a moment, he looked about twelve years old. She wished they’d known each other as children. Relationships were much simpler then. “Thanks for thinking of your needy neighbor.” Her smile was a little too enthusiastic for casual, but the sunrise was brilliant and golden and she was glad he was there to share it. They sipped their coffee in silence. Mike fetched the insulated carafe from his stateroom and topped up their cups. “This is nice,” Sara said with a contented sigh. “I love watching the sun come up over the ocean, and it’s nice to have company. The only other cruise I’ve taken was with my father. And he’s definitely not a morning person. He prefers to live at the other end of the day.” 37

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“I guess being in the construction business has conditioned me to get up early. I’ve spent so much of my life in hot countries that I like the mornings best.” Mike answered her eager questions about the living conditions in various out-of-the-way parts of the world where he’d worked, and how he, personally, spent his time in strange environments. “Aren’t you lonely?” she asked. “I’ve lived in other cities in the States, but I don’t know how I’d manage with different languages. Different customs.” “Usually there’s a small group of foreigners who spend their time together,” he told her. “The European commune. When they’ve read all each other’s books, they play a lot of cards, socialize. Somebody is always giving a course in something—crafts, aerobics, martial arts. I even had to learn ballroom dancing. The women insisted all the men take that one.” Sara just bet they did. Half an hour later, the sun was above the morning mists and a few more people had come wandering out on deck. A couple of them peered pointedly at their cups. “Those poor people have to wait until the staff bring the big coffee urns up to the Lido deck in another half hour. Would you help me remove the evidence?” Picking up the carafe and one of the cups, he walked briskly in the direction of their cabins. Not having been left much choice, Sara took her cup and followed. “Come on in,” he said, juggling the carafe and his cup as he opened the door to his stateroom. He placed them on the small table and turned to her with his right hand extended. “Now that we’ve shared a cup of illicit coffee,” he said with a grin, “perhaps we should share our last names. Mine’s Garson. Mike Garson.” 38

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She put her hand into his large, slightly callused one. “Sara Tolberg.” He held her hand just long enough. “Have a seat if you like. I’ll just get my camera. Did you notice what time breakfast is served?” he asked over his shoulder as he unzipped his camera bag. “Sorry. I didn’t take time to look at the schedule. I didn’t want to miss the sunrise.” And she’d had the vain hope she was early enough to avoid him. “I’ll check. All they serve up on the Lido Deck is a Continental breakfast. This morning, I want more than that.” Sara had stopped just inside the door. “You certainly have a lot more space in here.” What a brilliant comment. At least, she hadn’t mentioned the double bed. The stateroom was attractive. In addition to the partially screened full-sized bed, almost unheard of on a relatively small cruise ship, there was a sitting area with two royal blue armchairs, a sofa and a table. However, what drew her like a magnet was the double picture window that looked out over the pointed bow of the ship as it cut through the open sea. She found herself in front of it. “How exciting!” she breathed. “Yes,” he whispered as if to himself. Mike was close beside her…looking down at her. His head moved almost imperceptibly and, for a moment, she thought he was going to kiss her. However, he quickly turned his attention to the printed schedule in his hand. “According to this, we have forty-five minutes until breakfast. Just time enough for a brisk stroll. We need to get the blood moving. Right, pal?” She tried to read the expression in his dark eyes. His steady gaze assured her that he wouldn’t push her for more than friendship, unless she wanted him to. She decided to believe him. In spite of the little voice that warned her she was out of her depth with this man, the 39

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prospect of being swept along with him in his energetic attack on the day appealed to her. She nodded. “Right, pal.” She saw a surge of warmth in his eyes and he moved slightly toward her as if he were going to give her an exuberant hug, but apparently thought better of it. She told herself she was relieved. When they joined Bea and Wilf, the older couple, at the breakfast table, they were flushed with exercise and laughter. “Ah, more runners!” Wilf boomed. “You’ll have to join the evening joggers. It’s beautiful out there pounding the decks. Saw a few spills last night. Some of us didn’t have our sea legs yet.” His wife leapt in while Wilf was pausing for breath. She droned on interminably about all the people she had seen who were seasick last night. Then she went on about the probability that the two couples from Ohio who hadn’t made it to the dining room for breakfast were suffering from the same malady. Finally, Wilf interrupted with a mildly amusing story about people lurching around the ocean-tossed casino the previous night. *

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“I didn’t see the casino last night. After that long day of travel, I let the ship rock me to sleep early,” Mike lied. He let his eyes rest on Sara’s glowing face. Sitting there next to him, her face alight with enthusiasm as she described the dramatic rising of the sun out of the dark ocean, turning to him from time to time for corroboration of some detail, she was enchanting. Perfect for an enjoyable ocean-going fling—maybe even a memorable one! After Bea and Wilf left to meet friends for coffee on deck, Mike broached the subject of the next day’s activities. “So tomorrow morning we dock at Playa del Carmen,” he began, putting down his coffee cup. “The excursions look good. What’s your pleasure? Mayan ruins, beaches? Some of the most spectacular diving waters in the world are off the Yucatan. Are you a diver?” 40

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Sara’s low-pitched laugh was enchanting. “Hardly. I do snorkel, though. Do you dive?” “I’ve done some in my work. When you build bridges, you have to do some diving, but I enjoy snorkeling. Is that what you’re planning to do tomorrow?” *

*

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She conjured up a picture of his broad-shouldered, muscular body in a glistening wetsuit and caught her breath. Was she losing her mind? For someone who’d always thought women who rhapsodized about men’s physiques were silly and immature, she was having some unusual daydreams. “I thought I’d take a taxi to Tulum and tour the ruins, then do a little business for my father at Cancun. Maybe have a swim at that marvelous beach. What about you?” She tried to sound merely politely interested in his plans for the day. “I definitely want to see the ruins at Tulum and explore a bit. But I have a brief business meeting, too. I thought I’d rent a car for the day. Why don’t we join forces?” he suggested. “Your share of the car rental would be much less than your taxi would cost and our time would be more flexible.” “What a good idea,” Sara agreed quickly. “Just let me know what my share of the cost is,” she added. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I think I’ll go on deck and do a little serious work on my pale skin.” “Fine. Meet you by the pool.” Trying to feel indignant, she asked herself how he could just assume she’d want his company. Perhaps, herself answered, because she did. The hard lines of his face softened so nicely when he smiled at her. Even the heavily fringed coal black eyes seemed warmer when he did. By the time Sara had covered herself with sunscreen, donned her cotton beach robe over her green-and-white print bikini, and emerged 41

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on deck, Mike had already staked a claim on two deck chairs right beside the swimming pool. “About time you got here,” he said with a grin, as she deposited her towel on the chair beside him. “I thought I might have to approach a total stranger to apply this lotion to my back.” She hooted with laughter. “On that brown back? It’s too late for that, pal. You’ll never be pale and interesting.” His back was evenly brown, just a shade darker than his long muscular legs. It didn’t take much imagination to picture that marvelous back glistening with sweat as he maneuvered heavy equipment around a construction site under the tropical sun. He squinted up at her in a parody of genuine worry. “But what if I dry up and get all wizened? Please, Sara?” She gave an apparently grudging consent and poured some of the creamy liquid into the palm of her hand. “This has been in the airconditioned cabin. Be warned,” she said as she placed her hand on the small of his back. In spite of her warning, Mike started when she touched him with the chilled lotion. Then he moaned softly. She tried not to imagine what cold liquid being smoothed by warm fingers would feel like. She worked her way up his spine, her fingertips making small, slow circles, then poured another pool of cool lotion between his shoulder blades. As she smoothed that over the taut muscles of his back, she could feel him shudder. She pressed more deeply as she massaged it into his shoulders. “Oh, don’t stop,” he said when she raised her hands from the back of his neck. Sara was sure her face was flushed when he turned to look at her. “Sorry. Time’s up,” she said. “You’re done.” “Your turn.” “Oh, no. That’s not necessary. I did my own back before I left the 42

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cabin.” She was feeling aroused enough. She did not think she could handle having his hands on her. “Lie down.” He swung his legs over his deck chair so he faced her. There was no denying the determination she saw in his grinning face. “It’s only fair. Now I get to torture you with cold lotion.” His strong fingers stroking her flesh was indeed exquisite torture. From the evidence of his hard hands, Mike Garson was not the kind of boss who never picked up a tool on the construction site. She lay on her stomach and reveled in the slight roughness of his fingertips as they spread the sunscreen slowly over her back and shoulders. There was an intimacy to this activity that almost made her forget they were in the midst of a crowd of people. It was only their lack of privacy that kept her from turning over and pulling his head down for another of his amazing kisses. Then he stopped. “There you are,” he said, lifting his hands abruptly. He eyed her bikini bottom briefly and raised one hand slightly as if to give her bottom a playful slap. Not yet. She could almost hear the unspoken words behind the devilish grin. “That should keep you safe for a while. But we’ll have to keep an eye on that fair skin. This sun is stronger than you’re used to.” *

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The morning passed quickly. They lay on the deck chairs side by side, then took a cooling dip in the swimming pool. When a goodlooking, fair-haired man tried to strike up a conversation in the pool, Sara hardly noticed him. Mike did not go unnoticed either. His dark tan and solidly muscled body drew admiring glances from quite a few of the women sunning by the pool. When he went to the pool bar to get cold drinks, a vivacious little redhead stood very close to him and struck up an animated conversation. When the woman laughed easily up at him and laid her 43

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hand on his arm, Sara felt a sharp jab of resentment that took her by surprise. Mike was not, in any way, her property. She did not even want him to be. She was telling herself not to be such a fool when he returned with two icy glasses of mineral water. He placed them in her hands. “Hold this,” he said. Then, stepping behind her chair, his fingers lightly holding her upper arms, he bent to nibble moist kisses on her shoulder. She almost dropped the ice water into her lap. “Mike!” she gasped. “As I suspected”—he grinned, licking his lips—”lightly braised. I could’ve judged by the pink glow, but I knew you’d want to be sure with a taste test.” She should have been indignant, but she had to laugh back at him. Where was her common sense? “I wouldn’t have missed the taste test for the world,” she found herself saying. “Would the chef advise removal from the source of heat?” This was the kind of playful banter she had indulged in all her adult life. She had always been able to tease and joke in a way that everyone understood the sexual undercurrents were not meant seriously. This time the joke could well be on her. She had better regain her perspective. That was sound advice. At the same time, Sara couldn’t help hoping the redhead had seen the taste test. “Good thinking. If we get a table in the shade now, we’ll have it for the deck buffet. Then we won’t have to get dressed for lunch in the dining room.” When he took the glasses from her, the brush of his fingers reminded her forcibly that the tropical sun wasn’t the only source of heat. 44

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*

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There was a dreamlike quality to that golden day. They had a light lunch of salad and shrimp and wonderful crusty rolls under the shade of the upper deck as they watched children playing supervised water games in the pool. The afternoon slipped by with periods of reading and sunning, interspersed with desultory bits of conversation about their childhoods. Sara reminisced about swimming with her younger sister in the cold waters of Lake Ontario near Rochester, and Mike told her about summer days with his three brothers on a Lake Erie beach south of Buffalo. They compared tales about his progress through rough and tumble city hockey leagues and her involvement in the fierce competition of interstate gymnastics. The afternoon drifted by pleasantly. Sara had always been an almost painfully private person, but telling Mike about herself was easy. He had offered to be her “pal” and was almost behaving like one. However, he was sending unmistakable signals he wanted more than friendship from her. She could usually handle that. However, this time, she was seriously tempted to encourage him. She had to do something to steel herself against his dangerous charm and the mutual attraction that was accelerating too rapidly. When the time came to leave the poolside to get ready for the captain’s welcoming cocktail party, Sara knew she had to put some distance between them. “I hate to leave the fresh air, but I’d better go in to get dressed,” she said as she began to gather her things into her beach bag. “So soon?” Mike stretched and turned to her. “All right. What time do you want to leave for the captain’s party?” “I’ve really enjoyed today, Mike, but I think we should attend the party separately.” It was hard not to react to the confusion in Mike’s eyes when he blurted, “Why? I thought we were becoming friends.” 45

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“We are,” she assured him, “but two weeks is going to go by quickly. If you’re going to find a fun-loving woman, you can’t waste any more of your time with me.” “It’s my time,” he protested. Then his eyes glinted and the corner of his mouth lifted in a teasing grin. “We could work on your becoming fun-loving. Couldn’t we?” “No, we couldn’t,” she insisted. “You need to kick up your heels, find a little romance. I don’t want the same thing from this cruise that you do.” The little smile she mustered was not as positive as her words. “I’ll see you at dinner,” she said. *

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“If not before,” he muttered as he watched her walking away across the deck with that athletic grace he found so attractive. Her white terrycloth robe covered her bikini, but he could still admire her lovely long legs. Sara might not admit it, but she needed to “find a little romance” as much as he did. However, he doubted there would be anything “little” about a romance with Sara Tolberg. The woman who just left was nothing like the one he had imagined when he first saw her at the airport. This Sara would never buy his tried-and-true speech about the great fun two people could have living for the moment without the pressure of trying to build a relationship that would last forever. The intelligence in her sea green eyes would cut right through it to the selfserving motives underneath. Oh, hell, she’s probably right. Maybe he should take her advice and see what the cocktail party had to offer. The prospect was remarkably unappealing.

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CHAPTER 4

The cocktail party was well under way when Sara reached the lounge. She could hear the murmur of voices and soft background music as she approached the reception line. When the ship’s photographer snapped a picture of her shaking the captain’s hand, Sara knew she looked her best. The sun had given her skin a light peach tone and she had added only touches of eye shadow and lipstick. She had teased little wisps of blonde curl from the shining coil high on her head. The style made her look as if her hair had been slightly mussed by a lover’s hand. The aquamarine silk of her gown swept in gathers across her breasts from the single strap over her right shoulder and flowed snugly down her body to swirl in filmy folds above her knees. The pendant nestled between her breasts and the studs in her ears picked up the color of her dress. She thought wryly that she had taken a great deal of care with her appearance for someone who did not want to attract a man. 47

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The room was dimly lit. She paused hesitantly to look around the large, tiered lounge, with its small spotlighted dance floor that doubled as a stage. The waiter who beckoned her to a table where two men were already seated looked familiar. “Why, Carlos,” she exclaimed. “What are you doing here?” “Some of the stewards have to double as extra waiters for the captain’s cocktail party,” he said, with a proud grin. “The captain wants the service to be first class.” She sat down, chose a Manhattan from the proffered tray, then turned to look at her companions. Dressed alike in pale blue summerweight suits, they beamed at her with similar dancing blue eyes. Sara tried to remember where she had seen them before. “I’m Bart and this is Bret,” one of them said, then added with a little shrug, “Mother was addicted to TV westerns. And yes, we are. You get two for the price of one.” “That’s a relief,” Sara said with a laugh. “I’m not seeing double. I’m Sara. I know it’s rude to stare like this, but I’m trying to see if there is some way to tell you apart.” They laughed back. “I guess you mean when we’re wearing more than string bikinis,” the one who had identified himself as Bart said, catching his brother’s eye. “Let’s tell her.” Bret pointed to his right eyebrow. “I’ve a hairline scar right here, where my loving brother caught me with a fishing lure. Now,” he added with a crooked smile, “you have to get very close to see it.” “I have excellent eyesight,” Sara said, as she leaned forward slightly to examine the eyebrow. “I appreciate your sharing your secret with me.” “If we become good friends, I wouldn’t want you to confuse me with Bart.” Bret’s grin said he was only partly kidding. “Carlos deserves a huge tip,” he confided. “He’s our cabin steward and I thought I was joking when I told him to bring us the most 48

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beautiful woman on the ship. But he came through for us.” They nodded their neatly trimmed blond heads in mutual congratulations. Their cabin must be on her deck. That was a coincidence. Then Sara remembered. “Didn’t I crash into one of you in the swimming pool this afternoon?” “That was me,” Bart said. “I confess. I did it on purpose. My deck chair was almost beside yours, but I hadn’t had any luck getting your attention away from the big guy with the tan. The collision in the pool didn’t do me any good either. But”—he grinned from ear to ear—”here you are tonight!” Bret stepped in. “I’m trying to place your accent,” he prompted smoothly. It was not a dreadful cocktail party opening, but it sounded well-used. “New York State,” she responded. “Rochester. And you?” “Colorado,” he answered and looked as if he did not know where to take the conversation from there. “The half-day excursion to the Mayan ruins at Tulum looks interesting,” his brother broke in. “We’re thinking of going down to book it before dinner. Would you like to join us?” “Actually,” Sara said, “a friend and I are renting a car for the day.” “Do you think your friend would object to us joining you, then?” There was hopeful light in Bret’s eyes. “I don’t know,” Sara answered with an apologetic shrug. “I could ask him.” Both twins looked momentarily deflated by the information the friend was male. Then they did what apparently was their usual comedy turn of nodding sagely as they said in unison, “The guy with the tan.” The band chose that moment to sound a fanfare and a spotlight came up on the cruise director, who began to introduce the ship’s officers. 49

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Across the small dance floor, Sara spotted Mike sitting between two athletic-looking young women who seemed to be much more interested in him than in the Greek officers on the stage. He saw her and raised his glass. She pretended not to see him and focused her gaze on the stage. However, the group of men being presented, even though they were, for the most part, attractive in their white dress uniforms, could not compare with “the guy with the tan.” When the formal introductions were over, the band started to play a cheerful calypso tune and the ship’s officers left the stage to ask some of the passengers to dance. Sara looked past the dancers to the table where Mike was sitting. His head was turned away from her as he bent to hear something one of the smiling brunettes was saying over the loud music. Bret caught her hand. “Dance with me?” he asked. She should. That’s why she had come after all. “I’m sorry, Bret,” she said. “I have to leave. I didn’t realize there would be dancing and I made arrangements to meet someone before dinner. Maybe another time.” As Sara made her way back to her cabin, she tried to understand her behavior. Why had she bothered dressing up for the party? She had met two perfectly presentable men whom she knew she could handle, and she had escaped them as soon as she could without being too rude. The moment she entered her cabin, she was vaguely aware things were not as they should be. She could tell at a glance that the cabin was empty, but she’d left the bathroom door closed. Now it swung lazily with the motion of the ship. When a quick look told her nothing was amiss in the tiny bathroom, she closed its door firmly. She stood stock still. What was bothering her? It wasn’t that unusual for a door latch not to catch properly. Then she caught a trace of familiar perfume in the air. It was the scent her sister always wore. Chanel Number Five. But Elsa was in New York. 50

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Had she been robbed? She checked the drawer in the little bedside table. Her pearls were there. In fact, nothing at all seemed to have been touched. And now she couldn’t smell the perfume anymore. Had she imagined it? Anyway, who would choose her little cabin to rob when the expensive staterooms were here on the same deck? She made herself take a deep breath and calm down. It wasn’t like her to get spooked by a swinging door. She was staring out the porthole, hoping the spell of the moonlit sea would make the nagging, uneasy feeling disappear, when a knock came at the door. “Coming,” she called, thinking Carlos had finished serving at the cocktail party and had come early to turn down her bed. She opened the door to see Mike leaning nonchalantly against the doorjamb. “Aren’t you coming down to dinner?” he said. His voice was more hesitant than his posture. “I guess it is time to leave,” she said, aware her smile made no secret of how happy she was to see him. Being sensible about spending time with Mike just didn’t seem to be working. “I had a few bad moments back in the lounge watching the blond double threat try to charm you,” he admitted. “You wouldn’t throw over your pal for a couple of pretty faces, would you?” She grinned up at him and slipped her hand into the crook of his arm. Well, she did have to go to dinner, didn’t she? “How could I? We’re seated at the same table.” “I thought arriving together would send a strong message to the wine steward. We could put on a bit of an act for him.” He added softly, “You look especially beautiful tonight.” Their eyes met and held. “You look pretty good yourself,” she said. Pretty good? Only a man with shoulders like Mike’s should ever 51

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wear a white dinner jacket. His black eyes held golden lights as his gaze lowered to her mouth. When his head began to descend, it seemed perfectly natural to meet his lips. His mouth was gentle on hers. She was aware of the power he held in check. It was as if he, too, was hesitant to fan into flame the hot embers they both knew lay in wait. There was sweetness and a tentative promise in this kiss. He leaned back and his dark eyes searched hers. Apparently relieved, he said, “That was just to get us in the mood to put on a convincing act for Stavros. Had enough?” With a conspiratorial smile, she placed her forefinger on his lips. “Oh, yes, that’s enough. Don’t want to be over-rehearsed.” “You’re sure?” he tempted. “I’m sure.” But she wasn’t. She wasn’t even sure she recognized the laughing woman with her hand on the arm of the exciting man in the white dinner jacket. She bore little resemblance to the level-headed lawyer who had boarded the ship yesterday. As Mike guided her into the dining room, the touch of his hand, firmly and possessively on the small of her back, gave Sara the sense of being fragile yet powerful at the same time. No one else had ever made her feel so desirable. He pulled out her chair, outmaneuvering the waiter with a great deal of panache. When he rested his arm along the back of her chair so they could share a menu, his fingertips rested on her bare shoulder. She was intensely aware of his touch. Attending the cocktail party alone had certainly done nothing to slow her swirling descent into unfamiliar emotional waters. Tonight, there were no surreptitious little brushes of Stavros’ fingers as he poured the wine; he flashed a practiced smile at her, but kept his distance. As a matter of fact, even the other occupants of their table had difficulty engaging her and Mike in conversation. She noticed 52

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he listened to the talk about the following day’s activities, but added little more to it than she did. Sara was content to look into his eyes occasionally and smile at nothing at all. The only sensible explanation was that they were both a little dazed from spending more time in the sun than they should have. That had to be it. “That would be a great idea,” Mike was saying to the sunburned foursome who seemed to be waiting for her to contribute something to the conversation, “but Sara and I are renting a car tomorrow.” She shouldn’t like the touch of intimacy in his voice when he said her name. “Yes,” she stepped in. “We discovered we both had a little business in the area and thought driving would be the most efficient way to do it. With a car, we can do some sightseeing in whatever time we have left over.” She assumed the others had invited them to share the cost of a taxi when Mike volunteered, “I took a taxi the last time I was here. My driver spoke pretty good English and was well-informed.” This news led Hazel and Mary to question him eagerly about the various attractions of the Yucatan. The sisters, it seemed, had talked their unenthusiastic husbands into taking this cruise and were determined to prove to them that it had been a good idea. After the cold, gray weather they’d escaped, Mike assured Joe and Martin they wouldn’t be able to resist the exotic sights and flavors of Mexico they were going to experience in the morning. Pleasant as the dinner company had been, when they had finished their coffee, Sara was glad to accept Mike’s invitation to go to one of the quieter lounges to enjoy a glass of duty-free cognac. Mike leaned back into the soft, deep rose cushions of his easy chair and swirled the amber fluid in his snifter so it caught the light. “This is usually a terrible extravagance. Courvoisier Napoleon can spoil you for the cognacs most people are proud to serve you.” 53

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He took her hand and held her fingertips to his lips for a moment. When he released it, he chuckled ruefully. “I’m tasting you again. Not a good idea. I suspect you’re like the Napoleon, Sara. You’d spoil a man for anyone else.” Sara swallowed hard. This conversation should not be happening. She was trying to imagine a life with Stephen. And Mike had been in love with another woman last week. He’d been going to marry her! She must not get involved in a classic rebound romance, no matter how exciting Mike’s kisses might be. The irrationality of her behavior hit her. Her perspective had become so skewed she was actually contemplating a shipboard romance with a man she had known only one day. What was happening to her? She had reached thirty without ever feeling this insane craving to be held in a man’s arms. If she felt this way after a couple of kisses, would she ever be rational again if she let Mike make love to her? Somehow she knew his lovemaking would in no way resemble her uninspiring sexual initiation. If she found out, she’d regret it. “That’s not something you say to a pal, Mike.” Her voice was as light and cool as she could make it. “This is Sara, remember? Not the woman you were going to marry. Just the woman you’re going to explore Tulum with tomorrow. The one who explained last night that she wasn’t looking for a man.” Mike flinched as if she’d thrown ice water in his face. “I couldn’t ever confuse you with anyone else, Sara.” She watched him take a sip of the smooth fiery liquid and let it slide slowly down his throat. “Over the past”—he glanced at this watch—”Good Lord, it’s only been twenty-four hours…I’ve tried to learn as much as I can about you. And I want you understand me.” He seemed to be having difficulty putting his thoughts into words. “I want to be your special friend,” he blurted out. “I sound like an 54

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eight-year-old kid. I want to tell you. My engagement wasn’t what you’d expect.” “It’s not really any of my business.” She had a feeling listening to his confidences would be as dangerous as his kisses. “I’d like it to be.” He looked so determined that she sat back, took a sip of her cognac and waited. “I’d better start with what I do. The company that my buddy Marco and I own specializes in heavy construction. Dams, bridges—that kind of thing. The last six or seven years, I’ve never known what part of the world I’m going to be in next and haven’t had to answer to anyone.” “That sounds exciting,” she said. She could imagine him leading that kind of gypsy life. “A lot of it is, but it has its drawbacks. For one thing, I only see my family a couple of times a year.” He paused and Sara felt she should respond. “I know the feeling. My sister Elsa lives in New York City. She’s not far away, but I don’t get to see her enough either.” He pressed on. “Angela, that’s my ex-fiancée, is quite attractive and undemanding and I’ve known her since we were kids. Over the years, we dated casually whenever I was home.” The thought of Mike with attractive, undemanding Angela twisted something inside her. She hoped it didn’t show on her face. “Dad’s always wanted me to join the family construction business and, in the last year or so, settling down started to look good to me. Well,” he continued, “last July, Angela and I had a long talk. We weren’t getting any younger—she’s only a year younger than I am— and we both wanted a home and children. She agreed to marry me when my job in Africa was finished if I’d move the company to Buffalo. It wasn’t the love match of the century, but I trusted her. “I was stunned when I got home to find out she’d eloped with her 55

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boss. Of course, she hadn’t mentioned he’d been her lover for years. When I confronted her, she admitted she’d only accepted my proposal to put pressure on Harry.” “How could she do that to you?” Sara was more indignant than sympathetic. “I thought you were friends.” Mike shrugged. “I had a narrow escape. I am furious at the way I let her use me, but I’m not heartbroken. She was never essential to my happiness. But we had made a deal.” Sara stared out the large window at the moon path on the ocean. How could he have chosen a lifetime mate that way? Where was the love? Sara caught herself. She had no right to be critical. She’d been considering marrying Stephen for much the same reasons. He stared into his snifter. “I sound cold and unromantic, don’t I? I guess what I’m trying to say is that I’ve never been in love. I’m not against the idea, but it just hasn’t happened to me. At this late date, it isn’t likely to. I was pretty naive to think you could base a marriage on anything less. I’m afraid marriage is not for me. My woman and I would have to be so much in love we couldn’t live without each other before I’d even consider it. “There!” He smiled self-consciously. “How’s that for baring my soul? Come on, pal. Let’s go dancing.” Before she could react to his story, Sara found herself being swept down the corridor to the lounge where the band was playing a familiar show tune with a South American beat. She and Mike moved directly onto the uncrowded dance floor and gave themselves over to the rhythm. It was obvious after the first few steps that Mike loved dancing as much as she did. Though his fingers rested lightly on her lower back, their warmth seemed to control and caress her whole body. Sara abandoned herself to the sheer enjoyment of dancing in Mike’s arms. 56

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After the flying steps of the jubilant samba, Mike held her close in his version of the clinging Island shuffle. He draped her arms around his neck and placed his hands on her lower back. Their feet hardly moved an inch. His cheek was warm against her forehead and their bodies touched from their shoulders to their knees while they swayed to the insistent beat of the drums. Then, before they had fully emerged from the sensual haze they were in, the band began a sultry, teasing tango. The throbbing notes of the brasses stirred their already singing senses and the insistent beat of the drums drove their bodies to move with the tantalizing tempo. Mike’s compelling dark gaze held hers during the stylized seduction of the dance. The sinuous gliding movements of their bodies to the syncopated beat was almost lovemaking in itself. His thigh slid along the outside of hers, then, with a quick twist, thrust between her legs. He held her away from him so their eyes could share the heat of passion growing between them. Then he drew her alongside so her breast touched lightly, teasingly, along the side of his chest. He led her, controlled her, tempted and possessed her. When the music ended on a strong, triumphant chord, she leaned, warm and limp, against his chest. “Let’s get out of here,” he growled into her ear. The breeze on deck was warm but refreshing on her damp skin. Their arms were still about each other’s waists when they stopped by the railing. “I’ve never danced with anyone like you, love,” Mike whispered, his voice dark and husky. “You move like a flame at my fingertips.” He turned her around to face him and pulled her hips deliberately against him. “This is how we should have ended that tango.” His mouth was hard and hot on hers. Then, as he drove his tongue deep into her mouth, he bent her back over the railing for a long moment in the classic dip of the tango. She clung to his shoulders, while smoldering need for him flared through her body. When they 57

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straightened, his hands caressed her bare back and shoulders, then the silk that covered the curves of her hips. As he pressed her urgently against his heat, his lips moved hungrily over hers. Sara heard herself moan softly into his mouth. “The next steps of this tango demand more privacy.” His breathing was erratic and she could feel the urgency of his arousal through the silk of her dress. His eyes, dark as the midnight ocean, questioned. “Sara?” His kiss had robbed her of her defenses. He was a powerful magnet that called to every tingling cell in her body. She could only nod her assent. She slipped her arm around his waist and he held her tight to his side as they walked along the promenade. They mounted the steps to the upper deck together, and entered Mike’s stateroom without speaking.

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CHAPTER 5

Moonlight poured through the windows of Mike’s stateroom. It spilled over their still figures as they stood quietly, arms still about each other’s waists. Only the soft whirring of the air conditioner broke the silence. Mike’s pulse was racing, but he sensed Sara was becoming uneasy. A few minutes ago, she’d been as desperate to be alone with him, to make love, as he had. He turned her to face him. Though her face was flushed and soft with desire, he could see the beginnings of uncertainty in her eyes. Damn! With one more kiss, he could wipe away her doubts. Judging from the way her body had molded itself to his, when he’d kissed her after they left the dance floor, Sara wanted him. The urgency of his own need was becoming painful, but he refused to make a move Sara was not ready for. He wasn’t being totally unselfish. He wanted much more from her than one night. He had 59

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visions of two beautiful weeks of showing her how much pleasure a man and woman can share. He wanted to make her so happy and satisfied she would have no regrets when they went their separate ways. “Sara, are you sure?” Mike’s hopes plummeted. He could almost read her thoughts in her expressive eyes. *

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Was she sure? Only moments ago, all Sara had been conscious of was the raw need to feel Mike’s naked body moving against her, inside her. What was he waiting for? She wanted him to continue holding her and caressing her until neither of them could think. She didn’t want to wonder if she was going to disappoint him. A man who kissed as masterfully as Mike did was no novice. She wished he’d kiss her again and make her forget her self-consciousness. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. No, she wasn’t sure. She was aroused and tempted. Oh, yes. But she was not sure. She raised her hands to touch his face apologetically. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I never should’ve let it go this far.” Mike drew a deep ragged breath as he dropped his hand from her waist. The tension in his face betrayed how he was fighting to hide his frustration and disappointment. She felt so dishonest. She had behaved like the worst kind of tease. “Lucky for you, my sweet.” He smoothed a strand of silky hair off her forehead. “I happen to know another obscure bit of maritime law. A woman is allowed to change her mind once per cruise without penalty. Only once,” he warned, a hint of steel creeping into his voice. She looked up at him. His cheekbones were tinged with red; his body was tense; his eyes were black as night. Barely submerged passion glowed in their depths. In spite of his light words, she could see it was all he could do to hold himself in check. 60

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She nodded her understanding of what he had said, not willing to trust her voice again. Shame for her lack of control and for her cowardice had her on the verge of tears. Damn him! Why didn’t his frustration make him angry enough to lash out at her with the insults she deserved? Rudeness would allow her to retreat into a pretence of self-righteous indignation. His generosity denied her the right to blame the whole episode on him. “Good night then, Sara.” He guided her silently to the door and watched her walk the few steps down the corridor to her cabin. She felt like a fool. She was only delaying the inevitable. What was happening between them was too powerful to ignore for long. That was one side of the debate she held with herself well into the night. Several times, she almost gave in and returned to Mike’s waiting arms. But a lifetime of caution and disciplining her emotions kept her in her own bed. Against all odds, she was going to fight her overwhelming desire for this man. She would not succumb to an affair fueled only by lust. It all came down to that, didn’t it? And tomorrow, they were sharing that rental car. They would spend the whole day together in Cancun. Sleep, when it finally came, was full of threatening shadows and dark, turbulent waters. Sara did not awake refreshed. She dressed slowly, trying to put off the moment when she had to face Mike. She heard the announcement the ship had been cleared by Mexican immigration authorities, the calls for passengers who were taking the bus tour to Chichen Itza and those going on diving excursions. Finally, she could delay no longer. By the time she joined Mike on the Lido deck where she’d agreed to meet him for a croissant and coffee, the Theseus had been in port for about an hour. Most of the passengers having already disembarked, there were lots of tables on the open deck. Mike had chosen one 61

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overlooking the bay and the little beach at the base of the long pier. The purple, deep blue, and pale turquoise stripes of the water were so brilliant and dramatic that they looked unreal. “Good morning, Sara,” Mike said as he waved her over. He had his camera focused on her as she approached. “Beautiful morning.” “Isn’t it?” She put down her breakfast tray and looked past him at the spectacular view. She tried to avoid looking directly at Mike, but the fact his camera was aimed directly at her face made him difficult to ignore. “Could you point that viewfinder somewhere else for a while,” she asked, a little testily. “Sorry. But I’m fascinated. I didn’t think that color existed anywhere else in nature,” he commented as he snapped yet another picture of her against the background of the sea. “Right now there’s a line of pale bluish-green water just off the sand beach that matches your eyes perfectly.” He beamed at her. “Could I speak to the man behind the lens for a moment?” she requested, uncomfortable under his concentrated attention. Mike’s dress shirt and slacks looked slightly out of place in the brilliant sunshine of the Mexican morning, and his leather shoes were a totally incongruous reminder of the business world they’d left behind. She had really never seen him in the real world. “One more shot.” “Do you like this one?” Sara pulled a face. He captured it on film, then laughed as he put down the camera. “You asked for a moment? All my time is yours.” “Then tell me. How are we going to fit in all the things we’ve planned for today? We set sail from here at six o’clock tonight.” “Do you doubt the combined organizational ability and drive of Garson and Tolberg?” he said in mock dismay. “Don’t worry. I have a plan I’ve time-studied to the second. You have one minute exactly to 62

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finish your coffee, then five minutes to pack your bathing suit and whatever casual clothes you plan to change into after your business meeting. We muster at the top of the gangway in ten minutes. Be prepared to have a wonderful day of relaxation and fun on the count of three.” At Sara’s good-natured salute, he admitted, “Well, to tell the truth, I have the split-second timing worked out only until our meetings in Cancun. After that, I’ll switch command over to you. All right, pal?” “Fine with me so far, colonel.” Sara put down her cup. “But I’m warning you. Issue too many orders and I’ll lead the troops in mutiny.” They actually did meet in about six minutes. Then they collected the white Volkswagen bug waiting for them on the pier and drove to Cancun. “Maybe we should’ve gone separately,” Sara said. “I have no idea how long my meeting is going to take. My dad has finally discovered a part of the travel business where he doesn’t feel like excess baggage. He’s been setting up theme holidays that are beginning to take off. I’m so glad to see a spark of interest, I told him I’d look at bed-andbreakfast accommodations in the Cancun area. He thinks some of his clients might go for an economical alternative to the expensive hotels he’s booked for next winter’s Mayan tour.” She grinned. “A lot depends on how well this Rafael understands my high school Spanish and how good his English is. And if he’s even there on time.” “I’ll wait, Sara,” Mike assured her with one of his bone-melting smiles. “Of course, you might have to wait for me. I’m on a family mission, too.” As they drove along in the brilliant Mexican sunshine, he explained he was meeting a local real estate agent who had some detailed environmental and geological surveys of land near Tulum ready for him. Garson and Sons were considering it as a possible site for a golf 63

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course and hotel/condominium complex. Mike’s father was toying with the idea of expanding the development aspect of the family business in a big way. Mike suggested it was intended as bait to lure him into the fold. Rafael, the Mexican tourism representative Sara was meeting must have been out to prove to the North American travel agency that the Mexican mañana attitude was a myth. He was waiting when they drove up, ready to do business. After dropping Sara off at the convention center, Mike headed for his ten-thirty appointment at one of the mega-hotels on the beach. He had been afraid his meeting would take the better part of the day, but everything went so smoothly he found himself back at the center to pick Sara up shortly before noon, not really expecting that she’d be back yet. However, she and Rafael were standing outside the center. In spite of the heat, Sara looked cool and efficient in her white linen suit and pale green blouse. As Mike drove up, she and the tourism representative were laughing heartily. By the time Mike had uncurled his large frame from the confines of the little car, Sara had said good-bye and was hurrying toward him. He reached for her. Still laughing, she grasped both of his hands. “What good timing! Rafael and I just this minute finished what we can do today. I was trying out my Spanish. I thought I was thanking him for his help and congratulating him on his wonderful English,” she told Mike between gasps of laughter. “But I think I said something rude instead. Anyway, I’m ready to leave when you are.” “I’m ready for anything,” he told her. He could tell from the speed with which she removed her jacket and tossed it into the tiny back seat of the bug that she was relieved her business was done. Her exultant laugh was infectious as she slid into the rental car. “Bikini time! Take me to a beach.” 64

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He was glad to comply. “I relinquish command, admiral.” “Does the naval rank mean I’m in charge when we get back on board ship?” He gave her a slow wink and a sexy, crooked smile that made her want to reconsider her decision about shipboard flings based on lust. As he eased the car into the line of traffic, Mike checked his rearview mirror. “That’s funny,” he said. “See that motorcyclist wearing the black and white shirt and the black helmet? I could swear he was behind me when I drove along here in the opposite direction to pick you up.” “Maybe he was delivering something to the tourist center,” Sara suggested. “Might even be a different cyclist.” Mike concentrated on the road for a minute, then shifted his gaze for a moment to meet her eyes. “I took a room at the Marriott so we can change in comfort and shower off the salt after we swim,” he informed her casually. “Want to swim or lunch first?” “Both.” She gave him a silly grin. “Either.” *

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As long as he was with her, she did not care what they did. The subtle mixture of scents and the vitality that surrounded him engulfed her. She sensed anticipation rising in him to match hers. “Let’s just go as the spirit moves us,” he suggested. The hotel’s air-conditioned lobby with its lush greenery and cool colors was welcome after the heat of the noonday Mexican sun. Mike picked up the room key, then raised his eyebrows in a questioning look and gestured toward the restaurant. “I’m not hungry yet,” Sara responded to his unspoken question. “Why don’t we have a fast swim and have room service bring us a sandwich while we change?” 65

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She paused, then laughed ruefully. “We’ve certainly brought a North American approach to our day in Mexico. Rush! Rush! We-stillhave-to-see-the-beach-Tulum-and-Xel-Ha-lagoon-and-only-half-a-dayto-do-it-in.” She purposely spoke so quickly the words ran into one another. Mike chuckled and led her by the hand to the elevator. “This is the end of the rushing,” he stated. “Our business is done. Now our time is our own. If we miss something we want to see this trip, we can always come back.” Her eyes flew to his face. He didn’t seem to think he’d said anything significant. Of course, he hadn’t said that they’d return together. Mike ushered her into a sunlit gem of a room. There were a low table and two comfortable-looking chairs upholstered in green-andwhite cotton in the bay window and a matching sofa and armchair grouping along one side of the room. But dominating it all was a kingsize bed with an elaborately carved mahogany headboard and draped in emerald green satin. Mike stripped off his leather shoes and socks and his clinging dress shirt. “Good-bye, M. J. Garson, businessman,” he said as he tossed them toward one of the chairs. “See you in a couple of weeks. Come here, S. Tolberg. I want to see if I can discover the vacationing Sara who’s been hiding under that businesslike suit.” Without warning, he picked her up in a bear hug and swung her off her feet. His jubilant laughter was contagious. She held onto him for dear life, laughing for the sheer joy of being with him. Then he put her down and held her at arm’s length, his hands gentle on her upper arms as he looked at her. Basking in the warmth of his dark eyes, she raised her hands to his face, smoothing his forehead, the tiny untanned lines at the corners of 66

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his eyes, his broad cheekbones, the bridge of his nose, his firm lips. She ran her fingers through his thick dark brown hair, and closed the gap between them, raising her lips to his. As their lips moved slowly, softly, against each other, she could feel the passion begin to rise in her body and reveled in the sensation of his hard muscles pressed against her soft flesh. This felt so good, so right, so necessary. Mike was letting her set the pace. She wanted so much to show him, to tell him, how she was bursting with love for him. Love? Sara stiffened in his arms. Had she deluded herself to that extent? Only two days ago, she had wondered if what she felt for Stephen was a kind of love. Now she was trying to dignify lust with that label. *

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Mike felt her distance herself abruptly from their kiss. Was she feeling guilty about the gray-suited man at the airport? They were going to have to talk about him, and soon. But not yet. This full day alone with Sara was important for both of them. He wasn’t going to do or say anything that could cut it short. She was not the only one who needed time to come to terms with the amazing attraction between them. He had to play this lightly. “What’s the matter, love? Were you beginning to wonder if you were going to miss your swim in the Caribbean this afternoon?” He gave her bottom a dismissive slap. “Get your bathing suit on. Last one in the water gets to sit beside Bea at dinner.” As she dashed into the bathroom to change, she wondered if she was being fair in her estimation of Mike. She didn’t think a man who wanted only physical satisfaction could be so attuned to her unstated misgivings. When she emerged wearing a short robe over her bikini, Mike was on the balcony gazing at the wide expanse of sand beach and multicolored Caribbean Sea that seemed to stretch to eternity. 67

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“Look at that water,” he called. “Let’s go get it.” As they stepped onto the beach, Mike took her hand. “This sand isn’t easy to walk on.” He laughed. “Or in.” She’d never felt anything like the sensation of wading ankle-deep in sugar-fine white sand. “It tickles.” Her own laugh sounded a lot like a giggle. What was happening to her? Under the shade of a little banana-thatched shelter, Mike tucked his camera into Sara’s beach bag and covered it with his towel. The beach was virtually deserted at high noon. Their things should be safe enough while they had a short swim. Sara wanted to pinch herself to see if she was really here. The long, curving sand beach stretched as far as she could see. Along its length, the water was patterned in vivid stripes of turquoise and rich purple that eventually, farther out, blended into a broad expanse of deep Caribbean blue. She was used to living by a large body of water, but Lake Ontario’s waters washed the shores of familiar land. It was quite possible some of the water molecules in these waves breaking on this beach might have touched the coast of Africa. Up close, the water was crystal clear and pale green. The big rollers washed in steadily, then foamed over the hard-packed sand as they receded. Sand being sucked from under her toes as she reached the water’s edge was a weird sensation. When she’d waded in up to her knees, she was knocked off balance by a wave. Mike caught her and dragged her up against him. Laughing and sputtering, she clung to his shoulders until she could get her feet under her again. When her eyes met his, the laughter died. The sensation of their wet, naked torsos touching sent a jolt of electricity through her. From the fire in Mike’s eyes, she knew if she moved a fraction of an inch and kissed him, that they would make love right there in the waves. He held her gaze for a moment, then set her on her feet without a word. Holding her hand tightly, he turned them back toward the breakers. 68

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They made their slow way past the crests crashing onto the beach, then swam out, side by side, for a few hundred feet. Mike flipped over to float on his back and took her hand. They could have been the only two people on the planet. Silently, their fingers linked, they let the buoyant seawater wash them in to shore. They were wading back to shore when the sensuous spell was snapped. Sara suddenly pointed to the thatched shelter and cried out, “Mike! Look! Isn’t that the man who was on the motor bike?” She pointed to a tall, thin figure in a black-and-white shirt, who was in the process of crawling out from under the low banana thatch of the tiki hut where they had left their towels and her beach bag. “Hey, you!” Mike shouted. He began to run toward the hut as quickly as he could with the shallow water dragging at his feet. But however slow he was, he was faster than Sara. When she hit the deep, powdery sand, she found her bare feet had virtually no traction. No matter how hard she tried, she could make no speed at all. It was the kind of running you did in nightmares. When Sara arrived at the tiki hut a few moments behind him, Mike was still a little winded and scowling in frustration at the camera he held in his hand. “He’s long gone. You’d better check your beach bag.” “Hairbrush, lotion, sunglasses, towel, sketch pad and charcoal pencils,” Sara checked off. “Everything’s here.” She quickly ran the bristles of the brush through her wet hair. “You’re lucky he didn’t steal your camera.” Mike did not reply, but just stood frowning in the direction the man had escaped. Sara continued, hoping to salvage the idyllic mood, “Let’s not let him spoil our day. He was probably just curious. The sea and sand are too perfect. Do you mind if I do a couple of quick sketches before we 69

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go back to the hotel for lunch?” “Go ahead.” Mike turned his intense gaze on her. She was glad she had worn her relatively modest green bikini. She was comfortable with it. She continued brushing her hair, blatantly drawing his attention to it. After all, it was her best feature. “So, you’re an artist,” he prompted. He threw himself down on the sand in the shade of the thatched roof. “It’s a hobby. Doing the sketches helps me to remember details I don’t want to forget. Right now, I want to capture the lines of the tiki hut and you relaxing on the Mexican sand.” She flushed at her tacit admission she had that much interest in him. He grinned knowingly at her as she bent over the sketch pad. She hoped the strands of long wet hair hanging down in front of her face hid her expression a little. “That’s odd,” she said suddenly. Mike moved to her side. “I don’t understand this.” She stared at the creamy blank page in bewilderment. “The top pages have been torn out.” “What was on them?” Mike asked. This didn’t make sense, but it heightened the uneasy feeling that something very odd was going on. “Nothing very special. A drawing of my father and Stephen playing chess that I did last week. Some rough ones I dashed off while I was sitting in the departure lounge—just interesting faces and a couple of the planes on the runways. No one would want any of it. I was just doodling.” She sounded indignant. “They were still in the pad the day before yesterday when I was unpacking.” She stiffened. “What’s the matter? Did you sketch something else?” “No. I just remembered something I thought was strange. I’m probably being silly and it was nothing at all.” “Sara, you are the least silly person I’ve ever met. Whatever 70

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happened, it bothered you. Tell me about it,” he urged. “I wish I hadn’t said anything. You’re going to think I’m neurotic. I thought I smelled perfume in my cabin when I came back from the cocktail party yesterday. Only for a moment. I could even have imagined it. It was a scent my sister wears. Maybe I was thinking of her.” She seemed to be considering whether or not to continue. “That’s probably it. Our phone call the night before wasn’t too pleasant. Believe me, Elsa wasn’t pleased to get my call in the middle of the night.” “You called your sister from the ship?” “It wasn’t exactly my idea. Carlos came pounding on my door at about two o’clock.” “Carlos?” “Our cabin steward,” she explained, impatiently. “He told me I had an urgent radio message from my sister. All I could think of was that my father must have had another heart attack. When I got to the radio room, the radio officer discovered the caller had hung up and there was no answer at the number she was calling from. So I called New York.” Sara was trying to sound matter-of-fact about it, but she could not hide how shaken she still was by the call. “But Elsa hadn’t been trying to reach me. I don’t know anyone who would want to play a trick on me like that. I’ve been trying not to think about it, but I’m beginning to wonder if all these crazy things are connected. Oh, it’s too ridiculous.” *

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Mike did not believe in coincidences. For the second time in as many days a thief had been interested in Sara’s property. Then she had been called away from her cabin under false pretenses. There had to be a reason. Why would anyone want to search her belongings? What on earth was she mixed up in? He had a lot to learn about this too71

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appealing, green-eyed mermaid. “Ridiculous or not,” he muttered, “the sketches are missing.” “Oh, Mike, why would anyone be interested in my drawings?” “Maybe you sketched someone who shouldn’t have been at the airport. Do you remember what your subjects looked like?” He did not like the idea of her being the object of that kind of attention. In fact, he did not like the sound of any of this. “It can’t be that. I sketched an old man who was sleeping, a little boy with his tired mother, and a middle-aged woman who reminded me of an ostrich.” She smiled weakly at him. “Not one sinister gangster in the carload.” He took a deep breath and expelled it slowly. She was trying to make light of the situation, but the carefree mood of the afternoon was gone. “All the same, we’d better get you safely back to the ship. This isn’t the first time you’ve attracted thieves on this trip.” “But I have nothing worth stealing.” He could see she was almost in tears. “It has to be a coincidence. I feel like Alice after she tumbled down the rabbit hole. Why would strangers be interested in my absolutely ordinary possessions?” He had no answers for her. “I can’t go back to the ship yet,” she decided aloud. “I told Dad I would visit Tulum again to check that they haven’t done any further development since we were here two years ago. It’s important the details in his brochure for the Mayan tour he’s putting together are right up to date.” “Then let’s get some lunch.” He struck an exaggerated pose, flexing the muscles of his upper arms and chest. “You’ll have to capture all this in charcoal on another beach, another day.” He pulled her to her feet, kissed her lightly on the lips, and growled into her ear, “I’m hungry, woman.” 72

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His clowning seemed to have dissipated her uneasiness. “Me, too,” she agreed. “But first why don’t you lend me your camera? I’ll capture those muscles on film for now and make the sketch later.” He handed it to her. “Here. Just press the button on top, then release the lever to advance the film.” Then he stretched out on the sand and grinned at her as she snapped the shutter. “Mike,” she called in exasperation. “This is not my day. The film doesn’t want to advance.” “Here, let me apply my superior male intelligence to the problem,” he teased, ducking away as she pretended to hit him on the shoulder. When he took the camera from her hands, however, the smile froze on his lips. “There’s a good reason for that, I’m afraid. Our friend in the striped shirt has removed the new film I put in before I left the ship.” His sharp suspicious gaze stabbed her. “Sara, what the hell is going on here?” “You’re the one he was following,” she lashed out. “You tell me!”

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CHAPTER 6

Sara had a point, Mike had to admit. She had not been with him when he had first noticed the man on the bike, however, he couldn’t see why anyone would be interested in him. It had been three years since he’d told Jim Greco finally and irrevocably that he could find someone else to handle his occasional delicate pieces of business. At the time, only a handful of people had known of his involvement. He hadn’t seen Jim since. “Believe me, Sara, I have no idea what’s going on either. It was unfair of me to jump on you. Truce?” When she nodded hesitantly, he added, “Let’s go back to the room and have room service bring us that sandwich you mentioned while we rinse off the salt and get dressed.” Even though they showered and lunched in record time, if they were going to make it back to the ship before it sailed, they’d have only an hour to scout the walled city at Tulum. 74

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“Too bad we have to leave so soon,” Mike said with a regretful smile, as he closed the door on their room with its huge, unrumpled, emerald green bed. “I’d like to spend a few days on this beach. Maybe another time,” he said regretfully. He and Sara would not return to Cancun together. When he saw the same thought reflected in her rueful expression, he squeezed her hand. “Come on, pal. Lead me to the ruins. You’re about to experience sightseeing at the speed of light.” The single entrance to the ruined city of Tulum was a low, stone archway in a thick wall made of rough-hewn limestone blocks. “They designed it this way so invaders had to enter one at a time. When they stooped to enter through the low archway, it was easy to cut their heads off.” Sara opened Mike’s private tour with this gruesome tidbit, then led him directly to the disintegrating stone shelter that housed the untouched painting of the Monkey God. They hardly took time to admire its still-miraculously vibrant colors before picking their way across the broken cobblestones to a small, half-collapsed temple. “That’s a famous little fellow,” Sara said, pointing at a carving in the rock over the arch of a doorway. It was protected from the elements by an odd little banana-thatched roof. The head-down figure wore a large, ornate helmet. “He’s the Descending God. Do you remember the controversy in the popular press a few years back?” “Yeah.” Mike peered at the weathered carving. “When I was in high school, some guy had written a best-selling book saying it was evidence proving the existence of visitors from space. The current theory that ties together artifacts like this from all around the world is that there was a mysterious common ancestor. But I guess you could imagine that’s a space helmet he’s wearing.” “I’ve always thought his outfit looks remarkably like a space suit,” 75

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Sara agreed. “It’s one of my favorite modern myths.” Mike was even more intrigued by the large oven-like structures with blackened interiors that squatted on the lower of the two cliffs flanking the beach. He didn’t even want to speculate about the macabre uses they could have been put to. *

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The timing of their arrival couldn’t have been better. They had hit one of the few times of day the ruins were not inundated by busloads of tourists. When they climbed the steps of the castillo, a high pyramid with a small, two-room temple at the top, they were virtually alone. When they stood, in the blazing heat, on the platform at the crest, looking down the pyramid and the forty-foot cliff to the little beach at its foot, Sara was glad of Mike’s arm around her waist. On the climb up the steep incline, she’d felt a bit strange. The shallowness of the stone steps made it difficult to maintain her balance. She’d begun by climbing on tiptoe, then had switched to placing her feet sideways on the narrow steps. By the time she’d climbed halfway up, she wished she’d had the sense to wait at the bottom, or that there were some kind of hand railing to hold on to. Turning around to go back down did not seem to be an option. Dizzy and hot as she was, she was committed to completing the climb. It was too easy to identify with the human sacrifices who had climbed these steps to their ceremonial deaths. Mike must have sensed her trouble because he’d reached over and guided her to the next step. “I think you’ll feel more secure if I climb behind you, Sara,” he said. And with him directly behind her, occasionally putting a supporting hand on the small of her back, she’d made it to the top. “I hope you realize,” she told him, gripping his hands, “I’m not going back down those steps. Send a helicopter for me when you get back. Otherwise, I’m here ’til I die.” 76

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Mike laughed and pulled her into his arms. “I’ll keep you safe, Sara.” Looking up into his serious dark eyes, she could almost believe him. But, standing on the platform, feeling the seductive tug of vertigo pulling her down to the sea, she could not shake a strong sense of impending danger. Mike pointed with his free hand. “Do you see that rock formation shaped like a dog’s head at the edge of the beach? The waves flowing into it seem to give it huge slavering jaws. Fits right in with the intimidating face of this cliff. It’s easy to imagine the Spanish ships sailing over the horizon four hundred years ago to the uncertain welcome of the Mayans.” Even with Mike’s strong arm around her waist, Sara shivered. “Speaking of ships, we had better get back to ours,” he said. *

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He seemed to be able to read her mind, Sara mused as they drove along the bumpy road toward the harbor. She wished she understood him as well. How could he be so sensitive to her and yet, apparently, not give a passing thought to the woman who had almost become his wife? And what was he involved in that made the tall, thin man steal the film from his camera? After all, what did she know about this man? He had been watching her at the airport just before her case was stolen. Then he had been right on hand to return it to her. His kiss could melt her bones, but who was he? Maybe she was being unfair to him. One of her biggest assets in negotiations was her ability to size people up. She usually spotted the tiny eye motions some people made when they weren’t telling the whole truth, or the subtle kind of tension that often betrayed others as over-anxious or greedy. But her powers of observation seemed to be deflected by the magnetic force field surrounding Mike. His denial that 77

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the incident had anything to do with him rang true. And his suspicion she had some knowledge of why she was the target of the apparently pointless thefts seemed real enough. Still, she couldn’t allow herself to trust him completely…not yet. At the top of the gangway, they showed their boarding passes to the white-suited officer and Mike led the way to her cabin. “Let’s get this over with, Sara,” he said, stepping aside to let her unlock her door. “I’ll help you check your cabin.” “You don’t have to do that,” she protested. Mike reached past her and opened the bathroom door. “You thought someone had been in here before dinner last night.” “I could’ve imagined the perfume.” “Possibly.” He pushed aside the shower curtain. “But, in the middle of the night, someone went to a lot of trouble to get you out of your cabin. We’re going over every inch of it to see why.” Mike planted himself in the middle of the room. “While you check that none of your belongings are missing, I’ll look around for anything that shouldn’t be here.” *

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While Sara was going through the drawers in the shelving unit by the bed, Mike examined every exposed surface of the little room. He kept the “anything” he was searching for imprecise, but sophisticated electronic and explosive things lurked in the corners of his mind. He had no training in conducting a search. He hadn’t been chosen for the jobs he had done for the American government because of any kind of expertise. He’d been called in only because in his business he worked closely with the governments of various developing countries. He had acted as a reluctant go-between in a couple of situations where it had been vital that there be no official contact. And he’d hated every underhanded second of it. However, those brushes with the world of secrets could be making him overreact to the theft of a few sketches 78

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and his blank film. “Could he be after something you put in your safety deposit box?” he asked, trying to sound off-hand about it. “All I put in there was my passport and most of my travelers’ checks.” Her answer was reassuringly matter-of-fact. Sara had finished sorting through the drawers and shelves that contained her clothing and accessories and was reaching for the little pile of books on the end of the shelf beside her bed, when she gasped, “My journal is missing.” She shook her head in disbelief. “This is bizarre. There’s nothing in my journal that would interest anyone. I haven’t even had time to write in it since I left home.” He froze. “Think, Sara. Somebody obviously thinks you wrote some important information in that journal. When did you start it?” “Mike, I’m a suburban lawyer. I do mostly local labor negotiating and the odd bit of real estate. What could I jot down on a sketch pad or a journal that would matter to anyone in Mexico?” Mike waited patiently for her to answer his question. “All right!” She drew an impatient breath. “I start a new journal every New Year’s Day. I don’t write every day. Just when I particularly want to remember something.” She flushed angrily. “I use it to clarify my thinking sometimes. There are some private thoughts in that journal.” Mike did not know what to say to reassure her. He was becoming convinced she had no idea what she was involved in. But someone had taken the risk of entering her cabin under the eye of the cabin steward who must always be alert to the comings and goings in his staterooms. “Do you ever make notes about business in your journal?” “Almost never. Most of my work has been pretty straightforward since I moved to Rochester. I did have Rafael’s phone number at the 79

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Cancun Convention Center in it and—oh damn!—I jotted Stephen’s sister’s number in Barbados in it.” At Mike’s raised eyebrow, she explained, “He asked me to take a teddy bear to his nephew when we’re there. Stephen said teddy bears were impossible to find in the islands. This is annoying! Now I’ll have to call him to get the number.” He’d forgotten about Gray Suit. And he discovered he didn’t like being reminded. “I don’t want to call him,” she said, quietly. No. He didn’t suppose she did. Angela had shown him how easy it was for a woman to deceive a fiancé if she didn’t have to speak to him. Damn it! He’d been taken in again. Sara was on the verge of becoming part of Gray Suit’s family. “Where is the teddy bear?” he bit out. “On the top shelf with the life preservers.” She opened the closet door and pointed to a brightly decorated gift bag that was barely visible behind the orange life jackets. Mike took out the toy. It was a perfectly ordinary stuffed animal. There did not appear to be any unusual lumps in it. It did not crackle when he squeezed it. He wished he knew what the hell he was looking for! Sara took the bear from his hands. “This sounds silly,” she said with a frown, “but I seem to remember the bear as being a darker brown than this. And it was a bit cross-eyed. I remember telling Stephen he should name it Gladly after the bear in the hymn. You know, for Gladly the Cross-eyed Bear?” She met his unsmiling eyes. “Sorry. Bad joke. Stephen didn’t think it was funny either. But Mike, this is not the bear Stephen gave me. Nothing makes any sense. Who’d bother to steal one stuffed bear and replace it with another one?” “Maybe your friend, Stephen, has the answer to that.” Mike tried to keep a sickening possibility out of his voice. 80

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“You can’t think Stephen would…smuggle something in a gift. Why, that’s ridiculous. Stephen wouldn’t. He’s a very respected businessman.” “What business is he in?” Mike asked abruptly. “He manufactures some kind of electronic components. They just got a big government contract.” Her voice grew quiet. “I’m not exactly sure what they make.” *

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She looked at him aghast. Could Stephen, charming, civic-minded Stephen, possibly have a less admirable side? Could the man her father never tired of describing as “great husband material” and “the best prospect for New York politics in many a year” be in the unsavory business of selling government secrets? “No,” she decided aloud, “there has to be some other answer.” “There probably is,” Mike said flatly. “I’m as confused as you are, Sara.” Suddenly, she had the feeling Mike was no longer in her corner. He placed the bear back in its colorful bag on the shelf without further comment and they checked out the rest of the closet. Nothing else was missing. Except the exhilarating closeness they had been sharing. “I’ll leave you to change for dinner,” Mike said stiffly as he left. Sara was stunned by how quickly everything had changed between them. Mike hadn’t suggested going down to dinner together tonight. The warmth, the humor, the concern had vanished at the mention of Stephen’s name. Sara told herself this was as good a time as any for it to happen. Mike had said a permanent relationship was not for him. He apparently was used to moving from one relationship to another without a backward glance, but Sara suspected if she ever became involved with Mike, she’d never get over it. She was too smart to 81

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choose that kind of heartache. All she had to do was avoid him for the rest of the cruise. She would forget him…eventually. Only an hour after their six o’clock sailing from Playa del Carmen, she went out on deck to watch the ship maneuver its way into the dock in Cozumel. It was the kind of activity she thought Mike would enjoy, but he did not appear. There was no question about it. He was avoiding her. “There she is!” A cheerful voice greeted her as two blond, sunburned giants came up to her. “Just in time for a drink before dinner, Sara. You remember us, your cocktail party friends, Bret and Bart?” They flashed almost identical boyish smiles and offered their very presentable arms. “Will you join us?” She grinned. She liked their corny vaudeville act; they looked as if they were about to break into a soft-shoe routine. How could she refuse? Their light-hearted humor might be just what she needed. By the time she parted ways with the twins at the entrance to the dining room, Sara’s spirits had brightened considerably. Mike was already seated at their table. Although he greeted her and rose to pull out her chair, he didn’t speak directly to her and took care not to touch her. Conversation was more general tonight. The two couples from Ohio, their sunburns gradually turning to tan, enthused about snorkeling in the clear waters of the Xel Ha Lagoons. Mike was turning his charm on the others tonight. Even Bea stopped complaining about being forced to sit in the encroaching foliage of the plant that decorated their corner of the dining room. After he’d teased and flirted with her for a bit, she actually enthused about comparison shopping in the islands. “But would you believe,” she twittered in her nasal voice, “after checking all the duty-free shopping, I’ve found the best price for my 82

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Chanel Number Five right here in the ship’s gift shop?” Sara’s ears perked up, then she smiled to herself. Not in her wildest dream could she imagine Bea stealthily searching her cabin. After all, the perfume was a popular one. Sara was quiet. The unsettling events of the day were very much on her mind and she found Mike’s cool gaze unnerving. She felt he was assessing her every word and move. The sensitive and ardent man of last night and this afternoon had disappeared. “What do you say, Sara?” Hazel, one of the sunburned foursome, obviously had been speaking to her. “I’m sorry. What was that you asked?” “We’re all going ashore to the Mexican folkloric show at the nightclub in town. Are you going to join us?” “Thank you,” she answered, “but I’ve had a big day. I think I’ll turn in early so I can enjoy my day in Cozumel tomorrow. Enjoy yourselves,” she said to the table at large as she left. *

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Mike admired her poise as she walked out of the dining room alone. He wasn’t proud of his jealous sulk, but the reminder of her potential fiancé had hit him like a punch to the solar plexus. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of the wine steward staring intently after her, too. Mike rose abruptly from his chair. He might not trust her, but he did not want any more men in her life. He should have been faster on his feet. Outside the dining room, he could hear her low laughter. “Am I supposed to believe that wild story?” she was saying to one of the two blond men as he approached them. “Hello, Mike,” she greeted him politely. “This is Bret and his brother, Bart. They’re educating me about vintage television westerns.” Mike joined in the ritual of making hearty noises as the three of them sized each other up. Mike recognized that, unfortunately, the 83

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twins were not as lightweight as the image they projected. Behind their apparently casual interest, they were doing a businesslike assessment of him as the man who had been monopolizing Sara’s time. He liked them even less now than he had before dinner when he had seen them with Sara in the lounge. They were too entertaining and good-looking. Right now, they were trying to coax Sara into joining them for the evening. “Then there’s dancing on deck tonight for those who aren’t going to the nightclub,” Bret was saying. “Won’t you join us, Sara? I know you’re a terrific dancer.” He must have seen them on the dance floor last night. Mike remembered how abandoned that dancing had been. From the embarrassed look Sara sent him, she hadn’t forgotten either. “That is if you two aren’t…” Bret looked a little awkwardly at Mike. “That would be fun,” Sara broke in. “I don’t have any other plans. Mike is going ashore to the Mexican folkloric show.” That was obviously his cue to leave them. “Oh, I don’t know about that, Sara. I may hang around the ship.” He felt like such an immature jerk. He tried to ask her with his eyes to forgive him for his jealous sulk. “Save a dance on your card for me.” He touched her hand lightly, as he added, “Please.” Sara hesitated a moment. “Since you ask so nicely, I’ll try to fit you in.” She gave him a tight, little smile. “Until later then.” She turned away from him and, slipping her hands into the crooks of the twins’ arms, said, “Well, Bart, you and your brother were going to take me to the casino to show me some gambling riverboat style.” Mike tried to stay away, but after a few tours around the solitary decks, found himself in the casino. He didn’t approach Sara but observed her and her two escorts from a distance. Sara seemed to be enjoying the twins’ company. Bret was the quieter of the two men, inclined to sit back and chuckle at his more 84

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flamboyant brother, who was throwing himself into the role of Bart Maverick, riverboat gambler. Sara was doing a bit of gambling and quite a lot of laughing as Bart coached her at the blackjack table. When Sara caught sight of Mike at the slot machines and her smile dimmed, he finally did the right thing and left. He had no business ruining her evening. But he was going to show up to claim his dance. *

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A couple of hours later, he made his way to the brightly lit deck under the stars where the band was playing upbeat calypso and sixties rock. The cheerful music had gathered quite a good crowd. Sara, her cheeks flushed and her turquoise eyes shining, was coming off the floor after an energetic number with Bart. Mike met them at the edge of the crowd. “My dance, Sara?” His voice seemed to have developed some kind of a croak. Feeling more unsure than he had since he was a teenager, he reached for her hand. “Yes,” she said, slipping her warm fingers into his. Looking into her fascinating eyes, everything and everyone else faded into obscurity. As if on cue, the band switched to the romantic strains of an old Beatles’ tune. They exchanged wry grins and Mike drew her into his arms. “No, I didn’t bribe the band leader. Even if they played a march, Sara,” he admitted, “I wouldn’t be able to resist holding you close.” Actually, he forced himself to hold her quite loosely. However, their bodies moved as one as his hand on her waist guided her smoothly around the deck. After a few minutes, he whispered, “Look at me, Sara.” When she met his serious gaze, he said, his voice tight, “Forgive me. I was jealous. I have no right to feel that way, but I hate the thought of another man in your life. Will you give our friendship another chance?” 85

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Her lips were tantalizingly close. He wanted to kiss them, to take away the withdrawn look in her eyes. “I forgive you.” Her voice was soft and a trace regretful. “Will I see you later?” She shook her head. Mike stifled his disappointment. Sara was being wiser than he was. Self-preservation demanded a little distance and time away from each other. “Coffee while we watch the sun rise?” “Please.” Her smile was like the sunrise itself. His arms tightened around her for a moment, then he led her back to the table where the twins were waiting. *

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Some hours later, Mike stood at the window of his stateroom looking at the silvery gleam on the smooth waters of the harbor. He had too much on his mind to sleep. More disturbing even than the confused state of his emotions was the inescapable fact that someone obviously thought Sara was some kind of courier. Mike had no problem seeing her as a clearheaded and capable lawyer or as a competitive athlete. But the woman who had made sure he understood, right up front, precisely why she didn’t want a shipboard romance was no smuggler. He’d swear that her bewilderment this afternoon had been genuine. What’s more, she had reacted to having someone go through her personal possessions the way any innocent person would. She’d been resentful…not frightened or guilty, just quietly angry. The reserved Sara who had lost her composure in his arms was not a phony. The eagerness and lack of experience of her kisses had been no act. Memories flooded his senses—the taste of her mouth, the smoothness of her skin, the way she had pressed her soft breasts against his chest when she’d caught fire. Damn it, that had been real. 86

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Being jilted was turning him into the kind of man he despised. He was so determined not to be deceived again that he was devoting all his energy guarding his posterior. If Sara was being used as a courier, it was without her consent. And, even though Gray Suit’s place in her life was still a question mark, Mike had to do whatever it took to help her. He turned his attention back to the moving underwater lights he had been observing in the harbor. Why were the swimmers using lights around two yachts anchored not two hundred yards from the cruise ship? He laughed at himself. He was seeing spies and smugglers everywhere. They were probably a couple of yachtsmen doing a little illegal lobster fishing. He heard a light tap at his door. He opened it to find Sara standing stiffly in the corridor wearing a well-laundered green football jersey that reached to her knees. Her eyes were wide and frightened. “Please,” she whispered, “come. I want you to see this.”

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CHAPTER 7

Mike rushed past her into her cabin. Sara simply pointed at the little red book on the shelf by her bed. “I got into bed and reached for my novel. And my journal was on top of it,” she told him. “Who is doing this?” she whispered. “You don’t know.” It was not a question. She bit her lip to keep the tears that were welling up from spilling over. Mike believed her! “Have you touched it?” When she told him she hadn’t, he muttered, “Can’t see how we can get anyone to fingerprint it. There’s no point in talking to the Mexican authorities. They don’t have any authority on board ship.” He clamped his lips together and turned the full power of his dark gaze on her. “Would you let me look at it?” Without hesitation, she agreed. “Take it back to your stateroom with you, if you like.” 88

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“Am I leaving so soon?” Mike asked, putting his arm around her tense shoulders. “You’re too upset to sleep. Maybe I should stay a while. We can talk about why somebody borrowed it in the first place.” “No amount of talking is going to make any sense out of this,” she said, blinking back annoying moisture threatening to spill over at the concern in his eyes. “Why don’t you come back with me for a while? I have some cognac that might relax you enough to sleep.” He chuckled. “That does sound a little like, ‘Step into my parlor,’ doesn’t it? Believe me, sweetheart, I wouldn’t pressure you tonight. I promise to bring you safely back to your own bed.” Sara knew if she went with him now, she’d never find the courage to return alone to a cabin whose locks she had good reason not to trust. “I’m all right now, Mike. It just threw me for a minute when I discovered my cabin had been invaded again while I was out this evening. You can go.” He took her face in his hands. His firm kiss was amazingly comforting. If he was in league with whoever was harassing her, he deserved an Academy Award for his performance. “As soon as I’ve gone, wedge your chair against the door, under the handle,” he said, picking the journal up by its edges with his handkerchief. “Keep the phone by your bed. Call me, if you need me for any reason. Just dial my cabin number, A Eleven, and hang up after the first ring. I’ll be at your door before you can clear the chair away.” Then he was gone. Wishing she wasn’t so stubbornly independent, Sara locked the door behind him, leaned the high-backed chair from her vanity under the handle, and attempted to settle down for what was left of the night. She slipped into her narrow bed and drew the covers up under her chin. The clouds passing over the moon cast eerie shadows on the wall. It would have been easy to imagine all kinds of enemies, human and 89

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ghostly, lurking in the corners of her little cabin. But it was someone real who was tormenting her. This was absurd. No one had a grudge against her. In her law practice, there was the occasional angry loser in a hard-fought contract battle or a bitter divorce, but no one who would play this kind of cat and mouse game with her. Or was there? Finally, at four-thirty, she quit her fruitless examination of what she was seeing as a distressingly bland life. If she wasn’t going to sleep, she might as well get up and shower. By the time the sun came up in another hour or so, she’d be dressed and ready for the day. She was half-dressed and towel-drying her hair when the phone rang. It wasn’t a sound she expected to hear in the middle of the ocean. Maybe it was Mike. But how would he know she was awake at this hour? It was probably a wrong number. “Hello.” There was silence. No, there was the sound of breathing. Then the man spoke. She blanched when the rasping voice whispered his threat. “But, I’m not…” she began to say into dead air. The caller had hung up. Without making a conscious decision, she depressed the button for a dial tone and punched out the numbers of Mike’s stateroom. *

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Mike hadn’t had any more sleep than Sara had, but he was drinking strong, scalding coffee and feeling a lot happier about the world because he had been right about her. The Sara who had written that journal was the almost too-honest woman who was becoming important to him. She was no spy or dealer in contraband. And she was not going to marry Stephen Cafik. He had read the soul searching she had poured into her journal about that relationship. She wanted to play her part in her father’s and Stephen’s plans, but hadn’t been able to bring herself to respond physically to the man. Mike was savoring that bit of information when the telephone beside him rang. Within seconds, he 90

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was at her door. “Sara,” he called as he jerked it open. Sara, her feet bare and her blouse half buttoned, threw her arms around him. “You came,” she said, in a half-whisper, clinging to him. “He called me. He told me to put the plans in the plant by our table in the dining room tonight. Before I could tell him I didn’t know what he was talking about, he hung up.” Her lips were trembling and her eyes were wide and frightened. “They have the wrong person. I don’t know who they are or what kind of plans they want.” She leaned her head against his chest and closed her eyes. Mike held her quietly for a moment, stroking her hair. Then he said with more confidence than he felt, “It’ll be all right, Sara. We’ll handle it.” He pulled her down with him onto the unmade single bed. “Come here. Sit down and take a deep breath.” He pressed his lips against her forehead for a calming moment. “Now, tell me exactly what happened. I want to hear every detail.” She took a deep, shuddery breath and began, “I gave up trying to get to sleep about half an hour ago and had a quick shower. I thought I’d go up on deck. There would be crew there hosing down the decks about now. I was getting dressed when the phone rang. “The caller said, ‘Wake up, Miss Tolberg. We know you have the plans. If you don’t want me to do a little amateur surgery on that pretty face of yours, put the plans under the foliage of the plant by table ten tonight.’ Then, before I could speak, he hung up.” “Did you recognize the voice?” “He was whispering and there was some kind of static on the line, but I don’t think I’d ever heard the voice before. His words were pronounced very carefully, almost as if he were speaking a foreign language. But I’m not sure about that. 91

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“Oh, Mike,” she said in a flat, discouraged voice. “I don’t even know where to report this. And if I did, all I have is my own word that someone with a whispery voice threatened me. What do I do now?” He had no answer for her. Notifying anyone on board ship wouldn’t accomplish anything. He didn’t see how they could get any outside help before they sailed from Cozumel this evening. And tomorrow, damn it, they’d be at sea for the whole day. He didn’t have any choice. He was going to have to use the phone number Jim had pressed on him in Panama three years ago. He would radio from the ship, but Sara’s experience on the first night out did not give him a lot of confidence in the security of that area. God! Not knowing who and what they were dealing with was enough to drive a guy crazy. He would call when they arrived in San Juan on Friday. They would be in port for almost twenty-four hours. He and Sara could find a place with a secure telephone and stay there long enough for Jim to get back to him. If there were answers, Jim Greco could probably get them. Mike only hoped he could keep Sara safe until then. He expelled a long, disgusted breath. He’d never expected to reach out voluntarily to that strange world Jim operated in. Jim had always done the approaching and the convincing. Even when they were kids, he’d known which buttons to push to get Mike to go along with his schemes. More recently, Jim had argued that Mike’s reputation with foreign officials as a man whose word was his bond made him a good emissary for his country. The few quiet missions he’d done had left Mike with a distaste for the attitude that truth and justice sometimes had to be stretched and adjusted. In spite of that, on Friday, he would call Jim. “The first thing you have to do, love,” he said, “is finish getting dressed. Then we’ll have some coffee and think about this. Go ahead. I won’t go away.” 92

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Sara moved out of his embrace, slipped on her deck shoes, finished buttoning her blouse and tucked it into her flowered shorts. When she had brushed the tangles out of her hair and twisted it into a chignon, she looked a little steadier. By the time she was drinking coffee by Mike’s side on the little couch in his stateroom, she had regained a lot of her composure. “I don’t usually fall apart like that. Thank you for picking up the pieces.” She looked embarrassed. “But somehow I have to get the message to the people who think I have the plans they want. What do I do? Wear a big sign that says, ‘I don’t have any plans’?” He laughed. “Not if you don’t want to be thrown into the brig for blatant soliciting.” She joined in his laughter, and the tension began to fade to an almost tolerable level. “These people obviously think you’re a courier. Could you possibly have papers with you that you’re unaware of?” “I don’t see how. You and I went through everything in my cabin yesterday.” “Think, Sara. Did anyone give you a magazine or book to read on the cruise? Or a letter to deliver? Did you borrow any luggage?” “I bought my paperbacks at the airport myself. And the only thing I have with me that isn’t my own is the gift for Stephen’s nephew.” *

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Her eyes flew to his face, hoping he would not turn into the cold stranger he had become at the mention of her errand for Stephen. Yesterday, she’d been a tiny bit pleased at his jealousy, but she didn’t want to cope with it this morning. “Then I’m not letting you out of my sight until we find out who is behind the threats.” She had never wanted anyone to fight her battles, but the tension that had been like steel bands around her chest eased off a little. Mike 93

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would be with her to confront this faceless danger lurking in the shadows. He cared enough for her to want to protect her for the time being. She moved under the shelter of his arm that rested along the back of the couch. As his left hand slid down to her waist to gather her close, his right lightly traced the curve of her cheek. He drew his thumb slowly across her lower lip. “Of course,” he murmured against the smooth skin below her ear, “the easiest solution would be for us to stay right in this stateroom for the next two weeks. I could keep you safe. Right here in my arms.” His strong arms were a sweet haven, but they held danger of a different sort. The roughness of his fingertips moving on her skin set off sparks that threatened to burst into a conflagration. His lips moved along her jaw line. “We could have Carlos bring our meals and we could see the world through the window.” When his mouth captured hers in a hungry, coffee-flavored kiss, she couldn’t remember why she was resisting making love to him. She needed him. His strength, his passion were hers without asking. She wanted more but she wouldn’t ask for the impossible. With a shuddering sigh, she wound her arms around his neck and burrowed into his arms. “We could, couldn’t we?” She made her decision. “Yes.” *

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The word sent hot blood surging low in his body. He’d never needed anyone with the intensity that he needed her. He wanted to be inside her now, without finesse, without delay. He raised his head and looked into her incredible eyes, slightly unfocused with passion for him. “Sara?” he questioned. He had to be sure. “Yes,” she repeated. That was all he needed to hear. He devoured her mouth roughly, 94

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sucking her lower lip into his mouth, his tongue tasting, sipping greedily, plunging deep. She responded as she did to everything else, honestly. At first, the tip of her tongue tested his hesitantly, then with more assurance, then eagerly stroked and imitated his. She slid her hands under his shirt and her trembling fingers stroked his back. She was trembling! A trace of sanity slipped into Mike’s mind. Of course she was trembling. She was exhausted and frightened. She wanted him, but he would be taking unfair advantage of her emotional state. It took every bit of his willpower to resist. He broke off the kiss, then took her face in his two hands. He hoped his regret and his stillfierce desire showed on his face. It was essential she understand. “I’m afraid I’m pushing you too far, too fast, love,” he said. *

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“No. No. You’re not,” she denied, with a tiny catch in her breath. Had she done something wrong? “I want to make love to you for days on end. You’re the most desirable woman I’ve ever met.” He seemed to mean what he was saying. He was still breathing hard and his eyes were hot and heavy-lidded. “Then why?” He shook his head. “Your nerves are stretched to the limit. You need comfort and soothing this morning, not passion. This decision is too important to make when you’re still quaking from a threatening phone call. When you come to my bed, love, all I want you to feel is sheer happiness.” She couldn’t tell him that he’d just made her fall in love with him. That would be the last thing he wanted to hear. “It will be,” she replied. He opened his arms and she went to them again, this time quietly. 95

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He held her lightly against his chest and rested his chin on her hair while their racing heartbeats slowed down. “Now that I think about it, sweetheart,” he said after a few bittersweet minutes, “we didn’t come here to see the world through a window. We can’t ignore the phone call, but we don’t know how seriously to take it either. I think we should be wary of everyone but do our best to carry on as if the call had never happened. Don’t you?” Sara nodded. “Except,”—he wriggled his eyebrows and leered as he twirled an imaginary moustache—”I’m not letting you out of arm’s reach.” Almost as surprised at his heavy-handed playfulness as she’d been at his sudden retreat, Sara recognized his attempt to change the subject. She took her cue from him. “Why, sir,”—she did an equally bad job of playing a melodrama heroine—”I do declare you’ll ruin my reputation.” His grin showed his delight at her cooperation. Who’d have thought Mike Garson was a ham at heart? “That’s not all I’m going to ruin,” he rasped, with an exaggerated leer. “But first,”—he stood up and continued briskly in his own voice—”I need food. Let’s get down to breakfast.” Luckily, breakfast that morning was an open sitting buffet and they were able to take their food to a table for two. Sara wasn’t in any mood to socialize with strangers. She drank her freshly squeezed orange juice and was surprised to discover she was hungry enough to eat the croissant as well as the pieces of cheese, papaya and pineapple Mike had heaped on her plate. She suspected she was going to need all the energy she could muster. Unfortunately, as they ate, their uneasiness returned in full force. Finally, when they had eaten the last bite of pineapple, Mike took a deep breath. “Well, love, now, we have to do some serious talking.” Something in his voice alerted Sara to the fact he wasn’t happy 96

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about what he was about to say to her. “We’re not completely in the dark anymore. From this morning’s phone call, we know the mysterious plans were not in the stuffed bear. However, the searcher knew you had the teddy bear long enough in advance to get another one to substitute for the original. That indicates to me that your friend Stephen or someone close to him is very much involved in whatever is going on.” “That sounds logical, Mike, but it can’t be true,” she protested. “Stephen Cafik is one of the most respected men in Rochester. My father is so convinced of his good character that he’s going to announce his support for his political candidacy for congress at the next party meeting. No. There has to be another answer.” “We have to hope we can find it,” Mike conceded, without much conviction. “At the moment, the caller still thinks you have the plans he wants. So far, all he’s done is try to frighten you into surrendering them. We don’t know how far he’s prepared to go to get them.” He took a deep breath. “You’re too vulnerable alone in that cabin of yours. Until we get this mess straightened out, I want you to move in with me.” Sara raised her chin just a trace. Now she had her balance again, she decided she’d had just about enough of Mike deciding what was good for her. “Thank you for the offer, Mike, but I think you’re overreacting. I can manage on my own. I’ll speak to Carlos about keeping an extra careful eye on my cabin during the night.” “Think it through, Sara. You can’t obey the instructions. You don’t have the plans. You’d be less vulnerable with me. The sofa pulls out into a bed. I’ll sleep there, if that’s what you’re worrying about.” Now she’d insulted him. Sara shook her head. Things were happening too quickly. Her thoughts were whirling. He grasped her hand. “Come on, love. Let’s get out into the sunshine. You can decide later. Smile for me. It’s not the end of the 97

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world.” In spite of everything, she was actually able to smile for him. The man was intoxicating. Caught up in his vitality, she was even able to put the whispered threats out of her mind for most of the hour they spent looking out across the brilliantly colored waters of the harbor and the low, sun-baked contours of Cozumel. The water and the dock were busy enough to divert their attention. Large sailing yachts and imposing powerboats sat at anchor, while little outboard-driven craft danced around them. A steady stream of passengers headed down the gangway toward the shops and restaurants of the little town of San Miguel within walking distance of the pier. She and Mike admired the boats and laughed at the pelicans doing their funny, splay-footed dives into the water. Gradually, the gaps between comments became longer and longer. “Well, Sara,” Mike ventured, when she had been sitting in quiet thought for a few minutes. The tense lines of his face showed how much her reply mattered to him. “What have you decided?”

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CHAPTER 8

It took a while for Sara to answer. “I want to be with you,” she said quietly. His eyes held hers in the brilliant sunlight. Then, with a silent nod, Mike accepted whatever she was offering him. He did not reach for her, although her sea-green eyes drew him as the underside of a curling wave lured a surfer. He would wait until she was ready to make the first move. If it killed him, he would wait. But, he exulted, she wanted to be with him. They left the deck and went directly to Sara’s cabin without a word about the momentous step they were about to take. Instead, with feverish haste, they packed Sara’s things. In an amazingly short time, they had found room for all of her possessions in his stateroom. When he returned from stowing their empty suitcases in her cabin, Mike had a sense of the rightness of things. He did not, however, break the fragile, emotionally charged silence to mention it. 99

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Besides, he cautioned himself, Sara had agreed only to move in with him. Possibly, he was reading too much into her words. He had to remember Sara was making the move because she needed his protection. Just because he wanted her with an intensity that almost scared him, didn’t mean she felt the same way. He still had that damned irrational urge to settle down lodged at the back of his mind. It had led him to make one drastic error in judgment. What if he had married Angela before he’d discovered she was in love with another man! What he felt for Sara was physical—incredibly strong—but strictly physical. He’d wanted her from the first moment he’d seen her gorgeous body at the airport. Finding out she was a fascinating and challenging woman merely added a special spice to their affair. He paused in his lecture to himself. “Affair” had overtones of sneaking around for adulterous meetings in cheap motels. Circumstances were forcing Sara to live with him for a while. That sounded better. With the unpacking finished, the stateroom seemed incredibly small. Sara’s flowery scent filled the room. If he didn’t get them out of here in a hurry, all his gentlemanly resolutions about letting Sara set the pace would be shot to hell. “What do you say we do a little snorkeling?” he suggested. “We could stroll down the pier to that little bay the cruise director said is within sight of the ship.” “Sure,” Sara agreed, relief in her bright smile. “We can rent snorkels and fins at the beach. I’ve always wanted to see if Cozumel’s waters are as clear as they say.” The little cove was not too crowded. They rented the equipment from a young woman at a makeshift booth in the small bandstand back of the beach. Sara bought two bags of bread crumbs from one of the barefoot little boys who were selling them for “Only one dollar, 100

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missus.” They left their cover-ups and towels guarded by the same boy with the promise of another dollar. With her bag of crumbs held high out of the water, Sara swam out to the inflated rubber raft anchored a few yards out in the bay and which doubled as a feeding station. For a while she and Mike watched shimmering schools of colorful striped and mottled fish that had been hovering under the raft as they darted after the drifting clouds of crumbs they had tossed. When the crumbs were gone, they swam languidly together along the coral reef about a hundred yards away. The water was, as advertised, crystal clear and the underwater colors were vivid. Some of the corals looked like orange mushroom caps; some like long, gray, rigid fingers; and yet others resembled delicate purple fans. The fish were even more spectacular. Some little ones were brilliant yellow; others electric blue; and some larger ones, which nibbled calmly at the coral as they swam by, were iridescent green and purple. *

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Sara was obviously enchanted. Mike watched her move quickly and gracefully through the water, grinning happily around the mouthpiece of her snorkel, frequently touching him lightly to point out a fish or a spike of coral that pleased her. To Mike, she was the most delightful sight in the underwater world. *

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As for Sara, she was acutely aware of Mike close beside her. They swam to an old, submerged wreck at the far end of the bay to investigate the rusting hulk for a few minutes before making their way back to hover again over the teeming coral reef by the beach. She watched the play of Mike’s muscles as he swam and savored the anticipation of the night ahead. Still, in the back of her mind, the distressing doubts about Stephen 101

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gnawed at her. Mike was sure the papers she was supposed to have were related to Stephen, but she wasn’t ready to believe Stephen would sell government secrets. She could resolve those doubts with one phone call. Her father’s travel agency did business with the Presidente Hotel in Cozumel. If she telephoned Stephen’s office from there and told him about the bear’s changed appearance, his reaction would tell her what she needed to know. More than likely he’d laugh and say she was losing her grip to call long distance about such foolishness. Who cared what shade of brown a teddy bear was? Underneath it all, she felt guilty about Stephen…almost as if she were going to cheat on him by making love with Mike. She’d made no promises, but she had said she’d try to learn to love him. Now she was suspecting him of being a traitor. She felt like a slug. She had to find out. “Why don’t we try out the buffet lunch at the Presidente Hotel, instead of going back to the ship?” she suggested as they toweled off. “Dad would be pleased if I checked out the rooms he booked for his winter tour.” “Good idea. I liked the sound of the seafood buffet the cruise director described in her port talk. I can have a swim in the freshwater pool while you conduct your business.” Mike’s cheerful willingness gave her something else to feel guilty about. She certainly didn’t owe him an explanation for every little thing she did. However, she was discovering that being involved in an intimate relationship was not all sunshine and fireworks. And it hadn’t even started yet. By the time they reached the hotel, the noonday sun had long since dried them off. Sara was glad to get inside and find a table in the airconditioned lounge. “I never drink beer at home,” Sara gasped, “but in this heat, all I can 102

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think of is a cool Mexican beer.” “Dos cervezas, por favor,” Mike greeted the waiter. At Sara’s raised eyebrow, he laughed. “One of the handiest Spanish phrases I know.” Golden lights danced in his coal black eyes. Sara wondered how many languages Mike had learned a few handy phrases in. She knew so little about him. They were just having their first sips of the frosty brew when Mike looked toward the entrance and frowned. “It’s one of the twins,” he muttered. The brothers always managed to look as if they had just stepped out of a casual lifestyle TV commercial. At the moment, this twin had a young woman clinging to his arm. Sara recognized her as the wellendowed redhead who had been insistently friendly to Mike the other morning at the poolside bar. Mike scowled when Bart flashed a delighted beach-boy smile at Sara and made a beeline for their table. “Hello, there, Sara. Mike.” As he pulled out chairs for himself and his date, Sara checked the eyebrow. Yes, it was Bart. She greeted him by name. “You’ve met Billie, I imagine,” he said with a wide grin. “I think she’s talked to everyone on the ship.” Billie pouted her full lips at Bart, then turned her large, earnest, blue eyes on Sara. She had the intense look of an extremely nearsighted woman who wasn’t wearing her glasses. “I think people should be friendly, don’t you?” Sara could not resist the childlike seriousness of the question. She offered her hand across the table. “Yes, I do, Billie. I’m Sara. This is Mike. Did the port talk on board convince you to try out the buffet, too?” “I don’t know,” Billie replied, slipping her hand under Bart’s arm and smiling up at him. “We were sitting up on deck admiring the shoreline through my binoculars when Bart suggested we rent a motor 103

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bike and go places. This is our first stop.” With Billie there, no one else had to do much talking. The redhead was amusing if a bit vacuous, the seafood was fresh, and the Mexican beer was cold. When Sara announced regretfully that she had some business to look into with the hotel management, Bart and Billie decided to take advantage of the change rooms provided by agreement with the ship and join Mike out by the pool. The fact Sara had no appointment didn’t bother the hotel manager in the slightest. When he heard she was representing her father’s agency, he couldn’t be more helpful. He showed her the rooms reserved for the January and February dates, then insisted she use the telephone in his office for her call to Rochester. Within minutes, she found herself sitting comfortably at his desk dealing with the overseas operator. After a short delay, she had Rosalie, Stephen’s executive assistant, on the line. “Sara,” she said crisply, only a trace of her usual animosity coloring her smoky voice, “I’m afraid Stephen is out of town. Tell me, how is the cruise? Have you met anyone interesting?” Sara had long ago given up trying to be friendly with Stephen’s elegant assistant. Her many unproductive phone calls with Rosalie had begun three years ago when Sara had been retained by Caftech International. Working with Stephen had never been a problem. Getting Rosalie’s cooperation had been another story. To say the woman hated her guts was an understatement. Although Stephen told her she was imagining things, Sara thought Rosalie was in love with her boss. It’s too bad he didn’t return her love. Rosalie would be a good match for him. She wasn’t beautiful, but she had style and a voluptuous figure. Not to forget, Sara added grudgingly, she exuded a controlled Latin intensity that many men seemed to find attractive. In any case, if the false note of friendly interest meant Rosalie was 104

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extending an olive branch, Sara wasn’t in the mood to accept it today. “Everyone has been very pleasant, thanks.” “Of course. I meant have you made any new friends? Met any good-looking men?” Rosalie actually produced a giggle, as if they were old pals settling down for a little long-distance girl talk. When Sara did not pick up the gambit, she prodded further. “There must be some interesting people at your table.” “I’m at a table for eight, Rosalie. They’re mostly couples.” Her tone of voice discouraged any further quizzing. “You’re not having any problems with any of them, are you?” Problems! The story of what had happened to Sara since she left Rochester would leave Rosalie speechless. It might almost be worth telling it to make her stop using that silly girlish voice. “Good heavens, no. How could anyone have a problem on a Caribbean cruise? I’m having a wonderful holiday. I just wanted to speak to Stephen about something.” “Would you like to leave a message for him? I’m not sure when he’ll be back in town. Stephen would never forgive me if I didn’t find out all your news,” Rosalie persisted. This desire to prolong a conversation was certainly new. “Just give him my love,” Sara couldn’t resist saying as she put down the receiver. There was no danger Stephen would ever hear that message, she thought with a smile. Rosalie would cut out her tongue before she’d pass it on to him. As she headed toward the pool, she thought she caught sight of Bart heading out the main doors toward the parking lot. Mike was beckoning to her from poolside. “Bart and his friendly friend decided to leave.” Mike chuckled. “I thought it was odd they’d rent a bike if they were only going this far. I 105

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guess they felt the same way. Just after you went to see the manager, they left for entertainment farther afield.” “That’s odd. I thought I saw Bart leaving just as I came out here,” she said. “But I guess he’s not the only big blond guy around.” Mike frowned. “Would you feel safer back on the ship?” She considered for a minute. “No. We came to swim.” They swam. Then, while he lay on a webbed lounger reading, Sara finally had a chance to sketch him. The background was not the beach at Cancun, but the face and body were the same. His damp, shoulderlength dark hair gave him a slightly untamed, rakish look that she wanted to capture. As she penciled in the shape of his forehead, his high cheekbones and his solid jaw, she remembered tracing those lines with her fingertips. She licked her lips as she drew his sensuous mouth. Putting the familiar lines of his muscular body on paper had her squirming in her chair. Mike looked up from his book and caught her looking at him. Giving her a slow grin, he leaned over and kissed her lightly. “Yes,” he said. “It is definitely time to go home.” He made her feel real and alive. The thefts and threats…everything except her evolving relationship with Mike seemed unreal. To anyone watching them as they retraced their steps down the long pier, she and Mike were a couple without a worry in the world. Mike took a photograph of the graceful lines of the ship. One of the crewmembers was sitting in a rope swing suspended thirty or forty feet above the water from the bow of the ship, painting away the rusty ravages of the sea spray. Mike was whistling. Sara felt a kind of kinship with the man, whistling in the face of danger. She wondered what the man with the whispery voice was doing. And who he was. He could be a uniformed staff member, a passenger in a flowered shirt, one of the oiled male bodies basting by the pool. She could stand beside him on the deck, pass him in a corridor, even 106

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engage in casual conversation with him without knowing. She shivered in spite of the blazing sun beating down on the concrete wharf. *

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Mike took her hand. Sara obviously dreaded going back on the ship. He wished like hell he had been more serious about the martial arts sessions he’d attended with his construction crew in Africa, but he had never enjoyed fighting. He’d treated the lessons simply as a diversion to help relieve the boredom of the lonely months. All he could do for Sara was stay by her side and hope he could handle whatever happened. When they got to the stateroom, he could see Sara was uncomfortable in their new relationship—whatever that was. To take the pressure off, he made a big show of not being able to find his hairbrush. Then he teased her about taking up more than her share of the closet space and of covering the bathroom counter with her cosmetics. Then he challenged her to a cutthroat game of gin rummy. By the time she had thrown down her hand with a final triumphant, “Gin!” the awkward moment had passed and it was time to get ready for dinner. Predictably, the suggested theme for dress that evening was Mexican. Sara wore a loose lace-topped dress of beige crinkle cotton and a necklace of subtly tinted shells with matching earrings that he’d bought for her on the pier. The neat bow on the drawstring at the neckline was almost more than he could resist. “I don’t know about this shirt.” He raised a questioning eyebrow at her as he buttoned up the dazzling white guayabera shirt that had panels embroidered in white satin thread down the front. “Spectacular,” Sara breathed when she turned to look at him. “When the women try to lure you away tonight, don’t forget you have this refugee you’ve taken into your stateroom.” “No worry there,” he said. “Another maritime law states if a man convinces a woman to share his quarters, he must keep her close 107

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enough to be able to lay hands on her at all times. Let me demonstrate the laying on of hands,” he said showing her how it was done. The kiss that went along with the deed left them both breathless. “You see, I have to stay close to do that.” “To think I always dismissed maritime law as boring,” she murmured. “We’d better go now, love. After being near you in various stages of nudity for the last half-hour, I’m seriously tempted to take these clothes off again.” “Later,” she said. “That comes later. We have to keep an eye on that plant.” He agreed. If no one tried to get near it before the dining room emptied, the potential enemies would be narrowed down to the dining room staff. He tucked her hand firmly into his and, as they stepped out into the corridor, the public address system announced late seating dinner was being served. They were the last to reach the table. The two couples from Ohio were bubbling again about the fantastic day they had spent at the beach. “You missed a great party.” Hazel’s husband, Joe, initiated a conversation for the first time. “The snorkeling was so amazing I forgot about the time and burned the back of my neck again. But you should’ve been there to try the grilled lobster. Not me, the lunch.” He grinned widely, pleased with his little joke. He put his arm around his wife. “And the music was great for dancing.” “He’s been going on like this since we left the beach. You forgot to mention the great beer this time, though.” She laughed and gave him a quick peck on his sunburned cheek. “If Mexican beer is all it takes to make you want to dance, lover, I’m going to import it all year round.” The teasing and the laughter made the meal a cheerful one. Wilf was his usual exuberant self. Sara was more subdued than usual and 108

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kept part of her attention focused on the fern behind Bea’s chair. She absently echoed the others’ raves about the vivid colors of the fish and coral and the clear water, but volunteered little. Mike was alert to all movement around the table, but saw only the regular waiters and busboys doing their usual business. Sara smiled and responded to the lively conversation around them, but he could see the tension in her shoulders and the strain in her determined smile. When his eyes met hers, he tried to send the message that he wouldn’t let anyone harm her. His teasing about her newly acquired beer drinking habit almost coaxed a natural grin out of her. The only exception to the light mood was Bea. A little island of gloom in their midst, she was sullen and tense. When Sara asked quietly if she was feeling well, Wilf boomed, “I think the wife had a bit too much sun today. That’s all.” Bea sat silently, staring at her lap and ignoring them all. Mike and Sara were determined to be the last to leave the dining room. To that end, they ordered fruit and cheese for dessert and dawdled over it. Not a soul had showed any interest in the foliage by their table. Finally, except for Wilf and Bea, they were the last diners. Even their waiter’s seemingly endless good humor was becoming strained. “I really am unwell,” Bea muttered as if to herself. Her face was pasty and slightly green. She looked absolutely dreadful. Sara wondered if she knew how her dress’ shade of electric blue accentuated the pallor of her skin. Then she felt guilty for being so unsympathetic. Bea asked in a sad, little voice, “Will you come with me, Sara?” Then suddenly, without giving her a chance to refuse, Bea lurched from her seat. Sara had no choice but to hurry after the miserable little woman as she tottered through the maze of tables. Within moments of reaching 109

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the mirrored ladies’ room, however, Bea appeared to make a miraculous recovery. “I’m sorry to have made such a fuss,” she simpered as she splashed cold water on her face and blotted it with paper towel. “I can’t tell you how much I appreciate your coming with me. It was terribly warm in there. I guess I just needed to move out of the dining room.” She fluffed her garish, hennaed hair in front of the mirror. Her color had almost returned to normal. “Thank you, Sara,” she said. “I think I’ll be all right now.” When they emerged from the ladies’ room, the men were waiting for them on the landing. Wilf looked genuinely concerned. “How are you now, dear?” Even his voice was subdued. Bea’s response was uncharacteristically brief. “Better.” “Come,” her husband urged. “A walk around the deck and you’ll be right as rain.” His parting wave was absentminded as he hurried her out the heavy doors to the deck. *

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Mike and Sara made their way to a quiet lounge, with a small dance floor, beside the casino. An enthusiastic South American band backed up a male vocalist who confused volume with passion. Mike sat down beside her on a red leather love seat and leaned over to put his lips close to her ear so he didn’t have to shout. “Wilf and I followed you out and waited near the ladies room. But as soon as we got there, he said Bea had left her purse on the floor by the plant and dashed back into the dining room,” he told her. “Interesting?” Sara stared at him. “Wilf?” Sara had never envisioned her invisible enemy as a stocky, hearty fifty-year-old. “Do you think Bea was acting as a decoy to get us away from the table?” “What other conclusion is there?” In spite of his words, Mike 110

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sounded uncertain. “Maybe you did smell Chanel Number Five in your cabin when you returned from the cocktail party.” She thought of Bea with her whining voice and her garish, ill-fitting dresses. “I guess it’s possible.” Her voice faded away on a dubious note. “None of this proves they’re the ones. They sure don’t look dangerous. Though that would make them more effective. Oh, hell, we’re fighting shadows here!” Mike couldn’t contain his exasperation and frustration any longer. He needed some strenuous physical activity. “Come on, sweetheart. Dance with me.” They threw themselves into the Latin rhythms with abandon. Controlled by the music, they danced until the insistent beat drove the tension out of their muscles and they found themselves laughing easily. There was a fierce joy in touching and moving together, focusing every ounce of physical and mental energy on each other. They were both slightly winded when they finally sat down to have a cold drink. The dancing had worked out some of the physical strain, and even though they wondered what would happen now that Sara had failed to follow the whispered instructions, they were content to sit in silence for a minute. Sara shattered the mood. “I called Stephen today.” Mike was so choked with sudden anger that he could not look at her. He was not jealous. Sara wasn’t in love with Cafik. But didn’t she realize that contacting him was the last thing she should do? She was a lawyer. She must know how slim her chances already were of being extricated from the mess her precious, reputable Stephen had dragged her into. “Why?” He did not trust himself to utter more than the one clipped syllable. “I wanted to hear how he would react to the news that I think 111

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someone substituted another bear. I hoped he’d be as bewildered about it as we are. I wanted reassurance he’s not involved in whatever is going on here.” It all poured out. “Try to understand, Mike. I don’t love him and there’s no way I ever will. But I can’t believe I’ve been that wrong about Stephen for three years.” Her luminous eyes pleaded with him to understand. Oh, he understood all right. Had he not tried desperately to believe that his brother’s hesitant report Angela had eloped had been nothing but a particularly tasteless joke? No one wants to admit to being that gullible. He did sympathize with Sara, but she’d made a big mistake in phoning Cafik. “I didn’t get to speak to him, though. He was out of town.” “Who told you that?” he asked, relief displacing annoyance. “Rosalie DiLorenzo, Stephen’s executive assistant. You don’t have to worry about him returning my call. Rosalie is so hostile to me she probably won’t even mention that I phoned.” “What did you tell her?” “That I wanted to speak to Stephen. She asked if I’d met any interesting men and if I’d had any trouble, but I didn’t admit to either.” He opened his mouth to tell her how angry he was, but decided against it. “Is that important?” “I don’t know, love, but I wish you hadn’t made that call.” At least, she hadn’t had the chance to tell Cafik that someone suspected she was being used as a courier. “What does this Rosalie have against you?” “She and Stephen have worked together for a long time. I’m pretty sure she’s in love with him. I mentioned that to Stephen, but he laughed at the idea. Anyway, he’s all hers now. Oh, Mike, let’s not talk about this anymore tonight. I probably shouldn’t have called. I just hate all this uncertainty.” “All right. It’s ten o’clock. We should be setting sail right now. 112

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Let’s go out on deck and watch them casting off.” They strolled through the velvet night to the little forward deck where he had kissed her for the first time. There were about a dozen people there leaning over the railing and shouting encouragement to the sailor on the dock who was throwing a relaying line with a metal ball on its end to his counterpart in an open cargo door on the ship. Mike and Sara stood against the bulkhead, back from the crowd, content to watch the activity without becoming involved. The sailor on the dock was throwing the line used to haul the huge mooring cables ashore. It was fairly heavy, about an inch in diameter. A cheer went up when the ball was finally caught and the sailor leapt aboard. Then the huge mooring ropes, at least as big around as a man’s waist, were winched aboard. The powerful side thrusters moved the ship away from the pier and the main propellers pushed her forward toward the mouth of the harbor. They were under weigh on an unruffled sea. Eventually, the other spectators drifted away and Mike and Sara were left alone. The deck was steady and only the light breeze from the forward motion of the ship fanned their faces. The ship’s horn gave a farewell blast as they cleared the harbor. Neither of them spoke for a long time as they leaned against the railing. Mike’s arm was draped about her waist. “When we stood here a few nights ago, I was an angry man,” Mike mused. Sara had told him in no uncertain terms she wasn’t looking for a man and to find a carefree woman to amuse himself with. And look at them now. He had a sudden, sick feeling. Sara couldn’t think he was just amusing himself with her, could she? Well, wasn’t he? The hell he was! He didn’t know where they were headed, but she was more important to him than that. 113

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He turned her to face him. “I want you with me now, Sara,” he said with an urgency he felt to the marrow of his bones. “And I hope we’ll want each other for a lot longer than this cruise.” *

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She returned his tender kiss with all the love that was welling up in her. She realized it wasn’t love Mike wanted from her, but there seemed to be something other than lust in his eyes. And if he really did want to see her after the cruise was over, he could grow to love her. No matter what, she was going to savor the rest of the time they had together. “Let’s go inside,” she whispered. Arms entwined about each other’s waists, they walked slowly along the moon drenched deck to what was now their stateroom. Carlos stepped out of his little supply room, waved and gave Mike an okay sign. “I told Carlos you were staying with me and asked him to keep a special eye on our cabin. I explained I was uneasy about the prank call you’d received the other night,” Mike said as he unlocked the door. “Wait here, love. I’ll just double check.” He slipped the electronic key from its slot and into its container inside the door and did a fast sweep. Then he drew her over to the windows. “The lights of Cozumel are disappearing,” he said. Sara didn’t want to look at anything but Mike. She desperately needed his touch, his taste, his kisses. For the first time in her life, she ached to feel a man’s strong arms around her, his rigid heat inside her. “I don’t care,” she whispered, looking steadily into his intense dark eyes. He stood motionless. Taking two slow, deliberate steps that brought her within inches of his tensing body, she raised her hands to his shoulders, then pressed her lips to the hollow of his throat. She could 114

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feel the tremor that went through his body. “Mike,” she whispered, “please make love with me.” “Oh, Sara,” Mike said, his voice rough and unsteady, “I think I’ve wanted to make love with you all my life.”

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CHAPTER 9

Mike’s body reacted to her soft entreaty as if it were a military command to snap to attention. At the touch of her lips against his throat, hot blood rushed to ready his male member so enthusiastically he was afraid that their lovemaking would be short-lived. He wanted her and. after his months of celibacy, the pressure to bury himself in her heat was almost unbearable. He squeezed his eyes closed to help him gain control. He could feel her hot gaze caressing his face, as her fingertips feathered over his features. Through the light cotton of her dress and his shirt, he could feel her nipples awakening against his chest. Her swaying hips grazed his lower body again and again in an untutored, instinctive enticement. He pulsed in an ecstasy of pleasure and pain that soon would demand relief. He would never forgive himself if he didn’t make tonight an experience Sara would remember forever. The candid revelations of her 116

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journal had made clear her doubts about her own sexuality. He groaned. No matter what it cost him, he was determined to take Sara to heights she’d never dreamed of. It took a tremendous act of will, but he shifted his hips away from the seductive movement. His hands on her waist held her still and he leaned back to look at her. God, but she was beautiful! Her lips were parted in a soft smile as old as Eve. He pulled the pins out of her hair so it flowed to her shoulders like a luminous curtain in the moonlight. It trailed across his face as he kissed the side of her neck and tasted the fragrant pulse point that throbbed there. “Lovely! So lovely,” he murmured, as his lips and tongue nibbled their way across her jaw and circled her lips. His hands left her waist to seek the luscious weight of her breasts. He squeezed gently and her nipples grew diamond-hard against his palms. Loosening the drawstring in the lace top of her dress, he moved the fabric aside. His fingers kneaded her softly and his thumbs traced languid circles around her pale areolas, which puckered at his touch. She moaned and tried to move her nipples into the path of his stroking thumbs. Instead, he took one nipple into his mouth. As he teased it, then the other, with his tongue, then sucked gently, Sara drew in a sobbing breath that made his heart beat even faster. She tugged his shirt out of his pants and slid her hands under it to stroke slow circles that trailed fire on the skin of his back. Her exploring fingers moved lower to touch the clenched muscles of his buttocks. He gasped. Recklessly, he spread his legs apart and lifted her so he could press her intimately against his straining zipper for an exquisitely painful moment. *

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Sara had never been so hot. The heat pooled low in her body and turned the unfamiliar tension there into a twisting flame that demanded 117

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to be quenched. She needed to feel Mike’s bare skin against hers. She began to undo the buttons of his shirt. She had to touch, to nuzzle, even taste the tanned skin of his chest, the dark line of fine hair that led so enticingly down beyond his belt. Mike stilled her hands. “Wait, love. Let me,” he said as he quickly stripped off his clothes. She had seen him almost naked on the beach earlier, but she was unprepared for the sight of his strong, muscular body fully aroused. She drew her breath in sharply. His answering smile was unselfconscious and proud. Sara slipped off her sandals and was about to take off her dress when Mike stopped her hands. “I’ve been thinking of doing this all night,” he murmured, as he finished untying the drawstring in the lace neckline of her dress. He pulled it wide, then lowered it slowly. As he bared her shoulders, her breasts, her stomach, he trailed moist, nibbling kisses over them. Then, as he dropped her dress to the floor, he knelt before her and explored the sensitive depression of her navel with his tongue. Sara tried to pull him up. She needed to feel all of his body against her sensitized flesh. “You’re driving me crazy,” she moaned. “Be patient, sweetheart. This is going to be worth waiting for,” he said. He moved his head even lower, his open mouth licking and kissing her slightly rounded abdomen, and then, through the triangle of lace, the damp, hot center of her need for him. His trembling hands glided over the contours of her back, her waist, then brushed the white lace panties down her thighs. As Sara stepped out of them, he stood up so he could feel, at last, her satin skin against the length of his body. *

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She moved against him eagerly. However, the heat and pressure growing in his groin told him that another minute of feeling her full breasts rubbing back and forth against his chest and her soft tight curls 118

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rocking slowly against his thigh would end their lovemaking right then. He wanted more for Sara than the quick release he feared was all too imminent. Still clasped against him, he carried her to the bed. Sitting her on the edge, he knelt in front of her. “Please, Sara. Let me just look at you.” Mike let his hot gaze travel slowly over her body. She was every man’s dream. Her waist was small and her breasts were full. Her turquoise eyes, silvery hair and the high cheekbones of her oval face spoke of her Scandinavian ancestry, and her smooth, strong body showed her years of gymnastics. He ached to possess that beauty. “You are exquisite.” He could barely croak the words. *

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When he leaned forward and touched her nipple with the tip of his tongue, she felt the tingle even in her scalp. When he took it into his mouth again, molded it with his tongue, then sucked gently, a jolt of electricity shot to her female center. She moaned and reached for him. “Wait, love. I want to make our first time something to remember.” “Please, Mike,” she urged, not sure whether she was asking him to continue or stop his sweet tormenting. “Please!” Then they were side by side on the bed. He moved his mouth to her other nipple as he stroked her hips, her stomach, then the insides of her thighs. His fingers stroked her silvery curls, then parted the hot, wet petals beneath to work magic on the tiny sensitive nub that nestled there. She clutched his head tightly to her breast, while she gave herself over to the waves of intense pleasure he was creating in her. It wasn’t enough. Only feeling him inside her would satisfy her now. “Please, Mike. Please, I want you. All of you,” she moaned urgently. When he turned from her to open the drawer in his bedside table, she whispered urgently, “We shouldn’t need it. I’m taking the pill.” 119

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“I want to be sure nothing harms you,” he replied, his shaking hands dealing as rapidly as they could with the little foil package. *

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He’d been celibate since the last time he’d been with Angela, months ago. He didn’t know why the fact Sara was using some form of birth control came as a surprise. When she’d boarded the ship she’d been contemplating marriage to Gray Suit. Even at this moment, in the midst of their lovemaking, with Sara pleading for him to complete the union of their heated bodies, the thought of her kissing another man tore at his heart. *

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She caught the odd look in his eyes. Surely he didn’t think she was still considering Stephen’s proposal. Sitting up, she wrapped her arms around him and pressed her sensitive breasts, still damp from his mouth, against his chest. “You must know I could never marry him now.” She tried to tell him with her mouth and her body how completely he had captivated her. Her voice was husky with her need for him. “Mike, please. Love me.” *

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Surging joy intensified his body’s urgency. She was free! It took what was left of his control to enter her slowly. She was so tight! He had been aware that her responses to him had seemed more instinctive than experienced, but it must have been a very long time since she had made love. He tried to hold back, but she ground herself against him, then wrapped her strong, shapely legs around him and took him fully into her. For a moment, he held her, overwhelmed by the towering sensations of heat encased in heat, of coming home. And then the 120

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compelling rhythms of the sinuous dance they created together took control. The languorous beat quickly became a fiery bolero. His slow, powerful thrusts gathered speed until the momentum of their lovemaking spun them out of time. “Michael!” she cried as her pleasure peaked and the waves of her release shattered her. *

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With an exultant shout, he reached his own climax, then collapsed in her arms. When his weight pressed her into the bed, she knew a sweet completeness that she never wanted to end. She was unaware tears were trickling down her cheeks. “Oh, my love,” he whispered. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.” His eyes were concerned as he began to roll off her. “I’m too heavy.” Her soft arms and legs restrained him. “Don’t move. You didn’t hurt me, Mike. I don’t know why I’m crying. It was so beautiful.” Her tremulous smile convinced him. “You were so beautiful. I never imagined making love would be like that.” He never had either. “Oh, Mike,” she breathed. “I love the feeling that you’re part of me.” He kissed her damp cheeks and then slowly, thoroughly, her mouth. “You’re part of me, too, Sara.” *

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As he whispered the words, Mike realized how easy it would be to try to fit her into the impossible dream of his woman, the one he might be able to love, who would bear his children, give his life a purpose. His inner voice told him it was safer to remain uninvolved, to trust only himself. But, even if it would never come true, it was a beautiful dream. “Let’s go to sleep now, woman,” he chuckled, as they lay side by side, her head cradled on his shoulder. “For some reason I’ve had 121

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insomnia lately.” Then he decided to tell her something few people knew. “You called me by the wrong name, you know.” “The wrong name?” “You said, ‘Michael.’” “You prefer Mike, I guess.” “Actually, don’t laugh. It’s Michelangelo. My Mom’s Italian.” Sara stifled a giggle. “That explains the dark eyes,” she said solemnly. “Michelangelo.” The syllables rolled lovingly off her tongue. “I like it.” “Like it,” he said with a sheepish grin, “but keep it to yourself. It took a lot of schoolyard fights to make sure I got called Mike.” She ran a finger down his chest. “Your mother must’ve had a premonition you’d grow up to have a beautiful body.” He grunted. “Men aren’t beautiful.” In this fantasy he was enjoying, he couldn’t resist imagining little bodies they could create together. He saw beautiful blond children with green eyes. Maybe one with black hair. He put the vision out of his mind. The present was dream enough. His pressed his lips to her forehead. His fingers smoothed her hair, as hers moved lazily on his chest. “I don’t want to move. I might break the spell,” she murmured, snuggling against him, her smooth, warm skin like satin against his. “Will you hold me?” “All night, my love,” he answered, slowly caressing her back until his hand rested possessively on the curve of her hip. “But if you keep on wriggling like that, it’ll be a while before we get any sleep.” It was, in fact, a considerable time before they slipped into satisfied slumber. As the intermittent moonbeams played on the bed, they touched and kissed as they learned each other’s bodies. Shy at first, gradually becoming bolder, Sara captivated him. Her openness and the 122

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completeness of her surrender enchanted him. Yes, if anyone could, this woman might be able to make him fall in love. The idea terrified as much as it tantalized him. *

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Sara wakened to the unfamiliar heat of a distinctly male body spooned around her back. A heavy leg was draped across hers, and a large hand was splayed over her ribcage just under her breasts. Yet she didn’t feel trapped. She was right where she wanted to be. The hours she had spent in Mike’s arms replayed through her mind as she ran a finger lightly over the backs of the long fingers that had caressed her and made her feel so loved. Loved? Wait a minute. Nothing had been said about love. She might be unfamiliar with intimacy, but she wasn’t naive. He had called her his “love” in the heat of passion, but that could be common in the language of lovemaking. She knew nothing about that. But she was positive that “making love” was the right term for what they had been doing. She did not know exactly what Mike felt for her, but it was more complex than a simple desire for her body. A small doubt about his motives flashed through her mind. She knew so little about him. She put the doubt firmly aside. She refused to believe that the generous and joyful lover who had initiated her so masterfully and sensitively in the rites of lovemaking last night could be conspiring to hurt her. Sliding her hand up his muscular arm, she turned her head slightly to look at him. He was awake. His dark eyes were warm yet wary as they searched her face. “Hi,” his husky voice greeted her. “How are you this morning, love?” Tentatively, she smiled and reached up to stroke the morning roughness of his jaw. “Happy,” she said as she wrapped her arms around his neck. “I 123

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rather like waking up like this.” She kissed him warmly and deeply, reveling in the stirrings of his awakening body against her abdomen. “You’ve created an insatiable monster, Mr. Garson, sir.” “I like to think I’ve earned that term of respect.” Mike’s smile was smug. “And I am at your service, ma’am. For as long as you want me.” Her deep sigh was one of satisfaction. “I feel as if I’ve been given the keys to the candy store.” Mike’s stomach growled. “Quiet, down there,” he said. “Speaking of food, perhaps we should go in search of some breakfast,” she suggested halfheartedly. “It’s not at the top of my list of things I’d like to do right now.” His fingers toyed with a lock of silky blonde hair that lay on the pillow between them. “But I guess you’re right. Want to use the shower first?” Her mouth was too close and too appealing not to taste one more time. “Perhaps together would be better,” he managed to say in a few minutes. “Or later.” Eventually, they did shower. *

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It was almost noon before they felt ready to allow other people into their world. Dressing together took a long, long time. The sun was bright, but the Gulf of Mexico was much too rough for swimming in the pool. There were miniature tidal waves crashing end to end under the heavy rope safety netting. The section of wooden deck between the pool and the pool bar was drenched from the overflow. Mike dragged a couple of chairs to a sunny but sheltered place around the corner from the wide pool deck, and they looked out at the sea birds flying over the deep blue ocean and the white caps glinting in the sunlight. Mike was trying to get a picture of one of the schools of flying fish that occasionally flashed across the rolling waves of the Gulf. 124

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“I’ll never be a nature photographer,” Mike exploded. “Don’t have the patience. Those flying fish are too far away for my regular lens and they’ve disappeared into the foam before I can find them with the telephoto.” He had just put the camera back in its case when a half a dozen porpoises chose to make a surprise appearance, cavorting in the ship’s wake. Mike swore and took the Exacta out again. “I think I got some good shots of those little devils.” He sighed. He’d shot a full roll of film before the playful mammals tired of the sport and left. Even with nature’s best attempt to divert him, he was unable to get his mind off the featureless man who had threatened to take a knife to Sara’s face. Mike was accustomed to taking quick, decisive action, but he couldn’t barricade Sara in his cabin. He was severely tempted to use the ship’s radio to contact Jim, but common sense insisted he wait until tomorrow afternoon when they reached San Juan. This enforced inactivity was almost intolerable. By mid-afternoon, he and Sara were jogging laps around the boat deck of the ship to rid themselves of the tension. One of the cruise staff had informed Sara that a single lap was one-eighth of a mile, and she was determined to complete four miles. After an hour of broken field running around sauntering passengers and roving bar waiters, neither of them was sure how many laps they had done. Mike put his arm around her shoulders and drew her to the railing on the more sheltered side of the ship. “That’s it. Four miles,” he panted. *

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She laughed and put her arm around his waist. In spite of everything, she had never felt more alive. So this mixture of exhilaration and anxiety was what being in love was like. 125

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“My brother, Ed, had hamsters when we were kids,” Mike told her. “They used to run for hours on their little exercise wheels. I’ve developed a real sense of kinship with the poor, dizzy, little beasts this afternoon.” Sara laughed and agreed that they’d had more than enough exercise and fresh air. She even accepted his challenge to see who could make a paper cupful of coins last longer in the casino. Mike won their competition hands down. Sara lost her ten dollars in a matter of minutes, but every time they were about to leave, Mike won another small jackpot. “Let’s just see how long it takes me to lose this,” he said. Two hours later, he was still protesting that his luck should run out soon and increasing his winnings by the minute. They were hooting with happy laughter at the perversity of Lady Luck as they rushed back to the stateroom so they could change in time for dinner. It was fortunate that the dining room was so festive that evening. In honor of Greek Night on the Theseus, the menu was entirely Greek and a special show was scheduled after dinner in the large show lounge featuring members of the ship’s staff. The maitre d’ was to sing, and a beaming, excited Stavros informed them that he was performing in several of the dances. “You will come to see me dance?” He flashed his winning smile at each of the ladies in turn as he encouraged them to try the ouzo set out in wineglasses on the table. “You will shout ‘Opa’ when you see some difficult steps?” “Opa! Opa!” With the inspiration of both his and Bea’s glasses of ouzo, Wilf was well into the spirit of the festivities. Sara welcomed the diversion. She forced her anxieties out of her mind. She was going to enjoy the party. Only she knew it, but she was celebrating her first taste of love. The potent, licorice-flavored ouzo seemed to create an instant party atmosphere. Their waiter hovered 126

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over the table, explaining the ingredients in the aromatic Greek dishes that he ladled onto their plates, while Stavros, personally, saw that everyone’s glass was kept full of dry Greek wine. Bea’s little, whining voice that went on and on about the overactive air conditioner in the lounge formed a slightly annoying counterpoint to everyone else’s hearty laughter. “You will promise to wear a sweater to the show,” she said, for the second time, looking pointedly at Sara’s bare arms and shoulders. Hoping that it would stop Bea’s complaining, Sara solemnly promised to wear a sweater. After dinner, she and Mike went down to the tour desk on the main deck to buy tickets for the Thursday afternoon and Friday morning tours of San Juan. They had worked their way to the front of a long lineup, when the sight of Bea walking past them toward the purser’s office reminded Sara about the temperature in the lounge and her promise to Bea. “My sweater!” she exclaimed in exasperation. “If we’re going to get seats anywhere near the stage for the Greek show, we won’t have time to go to the stateroom after we get the tickets. I’ll run up now and get the darned sweater. I can be back before you’ve finished your business here.” *

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Before he could suggest she take his place in line, she was out the door to the deck. Mike thought of forgetting the tour tickets and going after her. He didn’t like the idea of her being alone out there. But the damned tickets were part of his plan for confusing the opposition when they got to San Juan. Besides, she had decided to leave so suddenly she would likely be back before anyone realized she was no longer by his side. He wished she’d taken the inside route where there were more people, but she loved the sea air. It was one expression of the zest for life and talent for 127

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enjoying it that drew him to her. *

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Sara made her way as quickly as she could through the crowded, glassed-in promenade along the side of the main deck. The attractive bar had wicker tables and chairs with flowered cushions set in a background of tropical trees and plants. People standing in the aisles waiting for tables or chatting with friends slowed her progress. She waved at Bart and Billie, who were sitting very close together at a table near the end of the glassed in section of the promenade. Bart returned her wave. At least, she assumed it was Bart. She couldn’t see the scar, but he was with Billie. She wondered if he and Bret had told Billie about the distinguishing scar. She suspected Billie was too nearsighted to see it anyway. Finally, she got by the last chatting couple. Instead of the usual relief she felt when she reached the fresh sea air and the relative solitude of the open deck, she felt only a strange apprehension. The deck was unnaturally empty. Of course, everyone was in the lounge waiting for the Greek show, she reassured herself. A long, icy shiver crawled up her spine. She looked uneasily over her shoulder and walked faster. There was absolutely no one in sight. Her own rapid footsteps were loud in her ears. For the first time in her life, Sara was nervous about being alone. Why wouldn’t she be? What was she trying to prove being out here on her own? She’d been warned, for heaven’s sake. She quickened her pace as she climbed the two flights of outside stairs to the boat deck. The ocean was black. The moon hadn’t risen yet, but there were millions of stars. If Mike were here, they would take time to look at the brilliant display together. What a dimwit she was! Why hadn’t she waited for him? What did it matter if they didn’t get good seats for the show? The lifeboats, lashed to their metal supports, hung over the railings 128

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along the length of the boat deck and made it necessary to walk close to the metal wall of the ship. Sara’s pace quickened. She strained to hear any sound of footsteps behind her. For once, she was oblivious to the soft breeze on her face. Suddenly, she sensed she was not alone. She looked over her shoulder, but saw no one. The only person on deck was a lone jogger, far ahead of her. Her mind was playing tricks on her. Nevertheless, edgy, she half-walked, half-ran along the dimly lit deck. As she approached the stairway to Apollo deck above, she noticed the string of lights attached to the bow standard was not lit. The darkness on the stairway was no problem, she told herself. She could still distinguish the white railing. Looking up, she could see light coming through the window in the door to their corridor, which was right at the top of the stairs. She was almost there. She was extending her hand to take the railing when a hard hand covered her mouth and dragged her roughly into the blackness under the stairs. The callused hand hurt her lips as she was jerked back against a tall, bony body. The acrid smell of male sweat assaulted her nostrils and she felt cold metal being pressed against her throat. A harsh voice whispered, “The plans, miss. Where are they?”

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CHAPTER 10

“Listen carefully.” Even in her fear, Sara recognized that odd English accent with its trace of something guttural underlying it. The man who held the knife to her throat was her early morning caller. “Don’t try to turn around. Cooperate and I won’t hurt you. I need the designs you’re carrying and you are going to give them to me. When I take my hand off your mouth, you are going to tell me where they are. Then we will fetch them together.” Sara’s heart was pounding in her ears. She must gather her wits. The self-defense workshop she’d attended at the local community center hadn’t equipped her to handle this situation. With that blade at her throat, she had no freedom of movement at all. The palm of the hand that covered her mouth was unpleasantly damp with perspiration. Her attacker was nervous. “I’m going to take my hand away now. Don’t think of screaming. I 130

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could carve that smooth cheek and disappear long before anyone arrived. Believe me, you’ll tell me eventually. Where are the plans?” When he removed his hard hand from her mouth, she tasted blood. Her lip must have caught the edge of a tooth when he had yanked her back under the stairs. “I don’t know,” she gasped. “You have the wrong woman.” The blade moved quickly with a light slicing motion across the skin just below her ear. With horror, she could feel tiny trickles of blood inching down her neck. The soft voice was inhuman in its lack of emotion. “Now you have a small souvenir of your stubbornness. The next cuts will be deeper. Don’t insult my intelligence. I know you were given the plans. If you don’t want me to begin on your face, tell me now. Where are they?” If she could stall without antagonizing him, maybe she’d have a chance to get away. She could hear the rhythmic footsteps of an evening jogger pounding on the deck above. Perhaps she could attract his attention. “It’s possible…” she stammered, “that what you want is in the envelope I put in the safety deposit box, but I’m not sure…” At that moment, Sara caught a glimpse of another figure silently materializing out of the darkness. “Drop the knife,” barked a voice she thought she recognized. Her attacker’s head whipped around to face a gun barrel glinting in the faint light that spilled down from A Deck above. Sara took advantage of her attacker’s split second of surprise to jab him hard in the stomach with her elbow and, with her other hand, push hard at his knife hand. Then she let herself slide to the deck. He lunged for her. “I said, ‘Drop it!’” Bret snapped. “Or I’ll blow your head off.” The knife clattered to the deck. “Bret?” she ventured. What was he doing with a gun in his hand? Before she could say any more, the jogger she had heard on the 131

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upper deck bounded down the stairs to join them. It was Wilf. “What’s going on here?” he gasped when he spotted Bret’s revolver. “That man attacked me with a knife. He grabbed me and pulled me under the stairs.” Sara pointed to the tall angular figure. His features were shaded by the shadow of the lifeboat fixed in the metal cradle above his head, but she could see, in the half-light from the forward lights, that he was dressed in the dark pants and T-shirt of a crew member. “Sara, you’ve been cut!” Wilf said solicitously, reaching out to touch her neck. The moment Wilf stepped in front of Bret’s gun, the crewman pushed Sara at Bret. Then he vaulted to the deck below with a cursing Bret and Wilf right behind him. Wondering how long her legs would continue to hold her up, Sara stood trembling in the dark, gripping the handrail. She was still struggling to regain her composure when Wilf and Bret returned. The older man was apologizing profusely to a furious Bret. “I’m sorry if I bungled things,” Wilf was saying, “but I was so shocked to find someone pointing a gun. And Sara bleeding. I was just out for my usual evening constitutional. I didn’t expect…” “Are you all right, Sara?” Bret pressed his neatly folded handkerchief to her neck. It came away with a surprising amount of blood soaked into it. “That bastard nicked your ear, too. They bleed like the devil. Here, hold the handkerchief to the cut.” Wilf hovered silently for a minute, then said with some strain evident in his cheerful voice, “Well, then you seem to have everything under control. I didn’t see much, but if you need a witness, call on me. I’ll just toddle along and find the wife.” “I’ll take you to your cabin, Sara. That guy got clean away,” Bret said, with a venomous look after the departing Wilf. 132

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He put a steadying arm around her shoulders. “What were you doing out there anyway? I thought you’d be heading for the Jupiter Lounge to see the big show.” Sara began to explain, “I was getting a sweater from the stateroom.” Then she realized. “Mike! He’s probably wondering what’s happened to me.” She and Bret had just stepped into the corridor on Apollo Deck near Mike’s stateroom when they saw him striding toward them. When he spotted Sara holding a handkerchief to her neck and Bret hovering over her, he broke into a run. “Sara,” he exclaimed, “you’re bleeding!” Then, his eyes hard as jet, he whirled on Bret. “What did you do to her?” Bret returned his glare. “Not me, buddy. Let’s get out of this hallway and I’ll tell you what happened.” Once inside their stateroom, it was Sara, with a tight grip on Mike’s hand, who told the story. “But I’ve no idea who he is,” she finished. “If he’s a member of the crew, he’s not one I’ve seen in any of the public areas. I’m going to have nightmares about that dreadful whispery voice.” *

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The eyes she turned up to Mike were wide and frightened. No wonder. He wished he’d been with her. They might know a little better what they were dealing with. “I should thank you for chasing away my attacker, Bret,” Sara said. “However, I’m a little curious about why you happened to be carrying a gun.” “A gun?” Mike jerked around to face Bret. Bret looked distinctly uncomfortable. “I’m sorry you had to see that, Sara. It’s not something I can explain right now.” He raised his hands with his palms toward Mike in a gesture that asked him to back off, but he met Mike’s eyes squarely. He obviously 133

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didn’t intend to say any more. At least, not tonight. Bret didn’t seem to pose an immediate threat to Sara, but his appearance on the scene tonight meant the situation was more complicated than they’d thought. Apparently, more than one faction was interested in “the plans.” Mike hoped to hell Jim was going to be able to cast some light on this whole ugly mess. “If I’d been able to hold onto that character,” Bret told Sara, “we’d all have a better picture of why he attacked you. How much do you know about your friend Wilf? He sure turned up at the right time for the guy with the knife.” “He’s not really a friend. He and his wife are at our table.” Mike cut in, “He talks a lot, but doesn’t say much. I don’t even know where they’re from. Do you, Sara?” She shook her head. “Now Mike is here to keep you company, Sara, I’ll go and report the incident to the staff captain. He’s the officer responsible for safety on board,” Bret said. “I’ll go with you,” Sara said, preparing to get up. Mike’s arm tightened around her shoulders. “Why don’t you stay here with me, love, and relax for a few minutes? Probably all the staff captain can do about this is write up a report. And he can damn well come here if he needs information Bret can’t give him.” “Mike’s right,” Bret said. “My bet is the minute he hears you’re a lawyer, he and the ship’s doctor will be at your door to hear your version and check your injury. His main concern will be avoiding a lawsuit.” His words turned out to be prophetic. An anxious, middle-aged ship’s officer, with the ship’s doctor in tow, arrived almost immediately. They introduced themselves and listened politely to Sara’s vague description of the man who had attacked her. “It is unfortunate you did not see his face clearly, Miss Tolberg,” he 134

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said. “I’ll write up a report on the incident and, if you wouldn’t mind coming to my office on Main Deck in the morning, you can check it for any omissions or inaccuracies. If you will permit it, Dr. Mastoris would like to examine you now to see what injuries your attacker inflicted on you.” After the doctor verified Sara’s only injuries were the shallow cuts on her throat and her earlobe, they left, apologizing profusely on behalf of the shipping line, and declaring they would do their utmost to find the man responsible for disrupting her holiday. By then, Sara’s lips had begun to tremble. Mike poured them each a stiff shot of cognac. Sara obliged him by taking one small swallow. Then, in the shelter of his arm around her shoulders, she stared silently at the swirling golden liquid in her snifter. “I didn’t tell Bret I was a lawyer,” she announced. Mike frowned. “You’re sure you didn’t mention it?” “I’m positive.” He was all too willing to be suspicious about Bret. Partly because Bret had been the one to come to Sara’s rescue. Mike should never have allowed her to go on deck alone. But what was Bret’s interest in all this? Could he have arranged to have the crewman to attack Sara so he could appear to rescue her? Bret had seemed to be genuinely embarrassed about Sara seeing his gun. What legitimate reason could he have for being armed? And how did good, old Wilf fit in? Mike would like to hear Wilf’s version of the attack. This was the second time he’d been in the thick of things at a crucial moment. Things were getting out of hand. The people who wanted whatever Sara was supposed to be carrying were prepared to do violence. She’d narrowly missed being hurt. It was a good thing they’d be docking in San Juan tomorrow afternoon. After he talked to his old buddy, perhaps they wouldn’t be operating in the dark. 135

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*

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Sara’s thoughts were less pleasant. Even with Mike’s arm around her, her insides were still quaking. She had never thought of herself as a physical coward. In New York City, she’d lived alone and never hesitated to go about her business at night. However, this danger was immediate and personal. The man with the knife had made it clear he’d have no qualms about cutting up her face or even killing her tonight to get what he wanted. How had he known she would be on deck? And what was Bret’s interest in all this? He almost seemed to be expecting the nameless attacker. And he’d known she was a lawyer. Finally, it seemed a huge coincidence Wilf should turn up just in time to let her attacker escape. What would the unidentified “they” do next to get the papers she didn’t have? “Are you all right, love?” Mike smoothed wisps of hair off her forehead. “I’m not looking after you very well, Sara.” “It was my own fault. I should’ve waited for you.” Mike shrugged. “I don’t know what you’ve stumbled into, Sara, but we’re out of our depth here. We need to call in some expert help.” “You sound as if we can just look up James Bond in the Yellow Pages,” Sara snapped. “Not quite,” he said. “But, when we get to San Juan tomorrow, I’m going to try to contact a man I used to know who works for the American government.” Sara hated the disturbing little doubts that kept creeping into her mind about the man she was falling in love with. Could Mike have been lying to her, making love to her to gain her trust for some unknown purpose? That was ridiculous. But it was amazing he knew how to contact an American agent on the spur of the moment. “How did you come to know him?” He’d never know how important it was to her that she be able to believe his answer. 136

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“We went to school together in Buffalo. Then I did him a couple of favors a few years ago.” He must have seen her uncertainty. “I’ve never worked for a government agency, Sara,” he stated. “I’m exactly what I told you. I’m a contractor.” She had to trust him. “I’m sorry. I just don’t know what’s real any more,” Sara admitted. “But what can we tell your friend? We don’t know anything, except I was attacked by a tall, thin, dark-haired man.” He pressed his lips against her forehead. “Jim Greco has his fingers on a lot of threads. He should be able to find out something.” *

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He hoped Greco was grateful enough for the job he had done for him in Panama. “You’re not alone, sweetheart. You’re safe, here in my arms,” he soothed, and gradually his kisses drove the quaking fear away. Long into the night Mike tried to show her how important she was to him. Later, in the dreamy aftermath of their lovemaking, as they lay entwined, Mike whispered, “Sara, you know how special you are to me, don’t you?” He accepted the sound she made as she nuzzled the smooth skin at the base of his throat as a positive response. *

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When the MS Theseus cleared American customs in San Juan at two o’clock the following afternoon, Sara and Mike were first in line at the top of the gangway. He could tell Sara was anxious to get away from the confinement of the ship and the eyes of the unknown enemies there. She started off across the gangway at a brisk pace, but Mike caught her hand and slowed her down. “There’s no rush, Sara,” he told her loudly enough for the couple 137

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behind them to hear. He smiled and held her hand firmly. “The tour buses won’t leave without us.” He pointed down at the busy wharf and the huge container pier across the way as if they did not have a care in the world. “Look around. You’re enjoying seeing San Juan harbor for the first time. You’re going sightseeing and shopping. You have all day.” They forced themselves to stroll across the elevated gangway and down the long escalators inside the port building. When they reached the few open stands and shops on the ground floor, Sara even stopped to browse through the souvenirs for a minute. Then, instead of heading for the buses they held tickets for, they ambled over to the area where the taxicabs were waiting. As they were among the first passengers to hit the taxi ranks, they got a car easily. Mike did not recognize anyone who disembarked with them. Of course, that didn’t necessarily mean they weren’t being followed. To be safe, he had the driver take them around the old walled city and El Morro, the massive sixteenth century fortress that guarded the harbor. Even from the outside, it was impressive, however, exploring the secrets its huge walls contained would have to wait for another visit. When he was sure no car had followed them, Mike had the driver drop them a couple of blocks farther along at the busy Calle Fortaleza pedestrian mall. Their first stop was a gift shop crammed with Puerto Rico pennants, T-shirts, postcards, and green frog souvenirs. Mike surprised her by placing a pair of garish rhinestone-studded mirror sunglasses on her nose. “You aren’t serious about my wearing these,” she said, with a shudder. “Bear with me. I’m suffering, too. When you have those dreadful glasses on, I can’t see your eyes. However, they do allow me to check to see if we’re being followed. One episode like last night is too many. From now on, we’re going to make sure you’re very hard to find.” 138

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“I guess I can wear them this afternoon, if you promise me I can toss them out when this is over.” “Done,” he said, scanning the store behind her in the reflection on her glasses. “We’ll shop a while, love,” he continued. “Pick ourselves up some clothes and whatever else we need to go out to dinner and to stay overnight in a good hotel.” Like carefree tourists, they strolled in and out of elegant boutiques. In one of them, Sara bought a white linen sundress with a jacket. She found a daring gold bikini with a gold mesh cover-up and sandals in another. They wandered through several men’s wear shops before Mike found a lightweight beige jacket and tan slacks that suited him. Sara bought him a wild orange-and-red print bathing suit. Mike almost enjoyed his painstaking search through the entire stock of three jewelry stores to find the right shade of turquoise earrings for her. All in all, they spent at least three hours wandering in and out of crowded stores. That was about two hours longer than either of them wanted to shop. Mike constantly checked the mirrored glasses. They were passing one of the elegant old hotels of San Juan when he took Sara’s hand and, as if on impulse, steered her through its doors. Under the pretense of admiring the statuary in the newly refurbished lobby, he checked again that no one had followed them. Satisfied they were alone, he booked a suite for the night. “We will be safe here, Sara,” Mike explained, as they made their way to the elevator. “No one has any idea where we are, so I’ll be able to make my phone calls. We can relax for a whole day without looking over our shoulders and still get back to the ship in time for tomorrow afternoon’s sailing.” He pressed the button to summon the elevator. “By the way,” he whispered, “I registered as Mr. and Mrs. Vincent.” At her raised eyebrows, he disclosed, “It’s my middle name, I’m afraid.” 139

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“My goodness, Michelangelo Vincent. And you still love your parents.” She grinned. “I’ll keep your secret. For a price.” “I’ll pay.” He chuckled. “You certainly will,” she whispered as another couple approached the elevator. The suite had a large, high-ceilinged living room, two bedrooms and a modern bathroom. When he saw the oversized bathtub, Mike said, “I must’ve had a premonition when I bought that bubble bath for you today.” He looked uncomfortable. “Why don’t you have a long, relaxing bath while I go into a bedroom to make my calls?” “You’re sweet. What a nice way to tell a woman you want a little privacy.” Sara kissed his cheek. “I could become very fond of a tactful man like you.” He jerked her tight against him and kissed her hard on the mouth. “Sweet!” He snorted in mock fury. “It’s too bad I have to make this call. But be warned. When I’m through, I’m going correct that attitude.” When he could hear the water had stopped running into the tub and that Sara was easing herself into it, Mike steeled himself to dial the number he had memorized almost three years ago. He waited. Finally, on the fourth ring, much to his relief, the receiver was picked up. “Yes.” The light, assertive voice had not changed in three years. “Michelangelo,” Mike replied. Jim had thought it amusing to make his identification the name Mike had hated so much in school. “Mike!” There was some warmth mixed with the curiosity in Jim Greco’s voice. “Good to hear from you.” “I need a favor, Jim.” Giving only as much detail as necessary, Mike outlined the events of the previous week. “I don’t know what we’re facing here, Jim.” He came to his prime 140

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request. “Can you run a check on some people for me? You might have run into them in your business.” “Sure. Who?” “Try Stephen Cafik and Rosalie DiLorenzo. They live in Rochester, New York. The others I’m afraid I have only first names for. They’re passengers on the MS Theseus, which is sitting in San Juan harbor at the moment. An English couple in their mid-fifties named Bea and Wilf, and big, blond twins, somewhere in their thirties I’d say, named Bret and Bart, if you can believe it.” “I’ll do that.” Jim’s voice was all business now. “Don’t leave the hotel. One of our people will be in touch.” Without another word, he hung up. So that was the way it was. Jim hadn’t asked a single question. That could mean he was all too familiar with the unidentified “plans” and, probably, with a few of the players in this mysterious game. Mike wondered which ones.

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CHAPTER 11

Sara stood silently in the doorway wearing a dusty rose bath towel wrapped like a sarong around her body, drawing a brush through her long, wet hair. Mike met the question in her eyes. “I called,” he said. “Jim says they’ll be in touch. Now, we wait.” He crossed the room and drew her tense body into his arms. She was damp and fragrant. He wished he could keep her far away from Jim Greco’s violent world and its peculiar morality. But she had stumbled or been tricked into some part of it. He gathered her closer. Her warmth and scent surrounded him and began to drive the black thoughts from his mind. Sara nuzzled his neck and placed her lips on the pulse beating there. She put her arms around his waist and stood on tiptoe to kiss his lips. “Hold me tight,” she said. “I need to know you’re real.” She ran her hands up his arms and shoulders, then moved her palms over the rapidly heating skin of his back. 142

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With a throaty growl, he deepened the kiss. “I’m real, all right,” he muttered indistinctly, as his mouth and lips nibbled their way down her neck to the valley between her breasts. What was all too real was that, whenever Sara was near, he lost that essential bit of protective detachment he’d always been able to maintain, even in the throes of passion with anyone else. He stilled his lips. A breath of sanity cleared his mind. They needed to be alert for whatever the evening held. He had a nasty suspicion from Jim’s tone of voice that, far from being extricated from whatever Sara had become involved in, they were about to be catapulted into something even worse. “Sara…” He breathed huskily as he fought the desire to take her to their own private world where no danger threatened. “Put some clothes on. We need to have our wits about us. We’ll have an early dinner and wait for Greco’s messenger.” He didn’t release her for a long heartbeat. “I won’t let anyone hurt you, love. You’re my woman now,” he whispered into her hair. *

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“Yes, Mike,” Sara murmured, the bittersweet truth of her reply catching at her throat. For the foreseeable future, she was his woman. “I seem to be.” Later, as she looked at Mike’s rugged face across the room service table, Sara thought about how much he had come to mean to her. She smiled to herself, remembering what the driver of the shuttle bus in Tampa had said as he directed them to the ship. “Get ready to spend the next week in paradise.” He was pointing at the gleaming hull of the MS Theseus. She’d dismissed his words as just another theatrical pitch to enhance the cruising mystique. However, even though you couldn’t describe the past week as heavenly, it certainly hadn’t been the real 143

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world. The bliss she found in Mike’s arms had fulfilled the driver’s prophecy before the bizarre occurrences had crowded in. Maybe Mike’s friend would be able to rid them of the intrusive nightmare. But would Mike still be there when he no longer felt he had to protect her? Of course, at any moment, he could realize his feelings for her were a fantasy he’d created to cushion the pain of his broken engagement. That thought chilled her like an Arctic blast. Her bleak thoughts must have showed on her face. “It’s going to be all right, Sara,” he said. His warm hand covered hers on the linen tablecloth. “We’re together and no one can find us right now.” A crash and a muffled oath came from the bedroom. In one swift movement, Mike pushed her to the floor and leapt to extinguish the lights. “Don’t move!” he ordered in a harsh whisper. Sara obeyed for a moment, then slowly raised her head from the rough carpet. In the dim light from the tall, narrow windows, she could barely make out Mike’s crouched form. He was moving silently along the far wall toward the half-open bedroom door. She could see no movement beyond the doorway. Other than the soft whirring of the airconditioning, all she could hear was her own rapid breathing and the pounding of her heart. Mike was unarmed. The intruder was sure to have some kind of weapon. Mike could be killed while she huddled there on the floor doing nothing. Even with his strength, Mike would be no match for an armed opponent, unless he had the element of surprise on his side. She could provide a distraction. Quietly, she got to her knees and groped around the surface of the table until she found her water goblet. She grasped it, and picked it up, prepared to hurl the heavy crystal missile at the first sign of anything moving through the doorway. 144

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The overhead lights snapped on in the bedroom. Sara threw the goblet at the same instant Bret moved into the doorway. He swore and stood there, scowling at her and rubbing his wet shoulder. “Good shot, Sara,” Bret snapped. Mike stepped in front of her. “What the hell are you doing here?” he snarled, dropping into a semi-crouch and readying his hands to attack. Bret moved into a more defensive stance, but backed up a step. “My boss sent me with some information for Michelangelo Vincent,” he replied quietly. Mike stopped dead. “You? Jim sent you?” He dropped his hands. “Not a very impressive entrance,” Bret admitted, looking chagrined. “I was congratulating myself on how quietly I had dealt with the door lock, then I walked into a bench.” Bret started toward the door. “Bart is in the hall. Is it all right to let him in now?” “Stay where you are.” Mike flipped on the overhead light in order to see him better. “That doesn’t explain why you broke into the bedroom like a thief.” “Hey, I’m on your side. Jim Greco sent me.” Bret raised his hands, palms forward, in the universal gesture of non-belligerence. “There are some very nasty people who want to spend a little quality time with our Sara. We wanted to make sure no unwanted guests had dropped in on you.” “Let him in,” was Mike’s grudging reply. *

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He should be relieved Jim’s men had arrived so promptly, but he was unreasonably annoyed it should be the good-looking twins who’d be ensuring our Sara’s safety. He didn’t think he could handle that. He looked over at her to see if she was pleased to see them. He didn’t know exactly what he expected, but her furious 145

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expression surprised him. “The two of you were following me the whole time,” she exploded, as Bret let his brother into the room. “You pretended to be my friends because you thought I was a criminal.” Neither of the twins showed any visible reaction to her anger. “I’m sorry you feel that way, Sara,” Bart said in a matter-of-fact voice. “Yes, we’ve been observing you. Don’t blame us. Blame the unsavory company you’ve been keeping. We still don’t know how deeply you’re involved in Stefan Cafik’s deals.” He emphasized the name Stefan. “Our boss is still trying to discover that,” his brother added. “However, there’s no doubt about the fact you were carrying some extremely important and confidential material that should never have been in your lovely, little hands.” *

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She blanched and went very still. Was no one what he seemed? Stephen, the affable, handsome man who wanted to marry her, was a traitor. No, Stephen was Stefan, who was a traitor. The fun-loving twins were government agents. What was Mike Garson’s other persona in this Through the Looking Glass world she found herself in? She shrugged off Mike’s arm that had seemed so protective just a moment ago and wheeled on him. “And you,” she whispered harshly. “Are you really someone else? Are you pretending, too?” Anger flared briefly in his dark eyes. Was she imagining a flash of hurt at her lack of trust? He replied simply, “No.” Sara bit her lip and sank onto the satin-covered sofa. She covered her face with her hands. “All right!” Mike turned abruptly to the agents. “Give. What’s this all about? What are these plans everyone is so concerned about, and what do they have to do with Sara?” 146

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With a sideways glance at Sara, Bret began, “It has a lot to do with a man Sara knows well. I’ll give you some background on her friend, Stefan Cafik. He emigrated from Prague to the States with his mother and older sister when he was seven, and grew up in New York City next door to Rosalie DiLorenzo and her brother Pete. “By the time they were teenagers, the three of them were business partners. For quite a while, they did very well in the lower echelons of the drug trade. Although the police were almost sure they were involved, somehow they never had enough evidence to prosecute. They’ve moved on from the drug trade, but they’re still partners. Pete is married to Stefan’s sister, Vera, and Rosalie has been Stefan’s mistress for almost twenty years.” Sara raised her head and drew in a sharp breath. She turned to Mike. “I wasn’t very bright, was I? I took his proposal at face value, and worried about hurting his feelings. He must’ve found it terribly funny when I told him I thought Rosalie was in love with him.” Bret was the one who responded. “Don’t feel too badly. Stefan has fooled some astute people over the years. He’s brilliant. Before he was twenty-five, he had a degree in engineering and a doctorate in electronics, and he still had a clean police record.” “The senator thinks he’s squeaky clean,” she said, making a last futile attempt to deny what she was hearing. “The three of them,” Bret went on relentlessly, “set up Caftech Industries in New Jersey. Rosalie is the business mind, Pete is the contact man, and Stefan is the electronics genius. They don’t appear to have a scruple amongst them. “Over the years, Stefan’s brilliant, inventive mind has won them a lot of government contracts. His consulting gives him contacts all over the world. We began to notice when a major technological advance was leaked to some enemy power, too often Stefan’s name surfaced in the proceedings. Sometimes as a consultant, sometimes as the designer of a 147

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component.” Don’t tell me any more. The words screamed inside her head. Stephen had fooled her so completely. When he’d been frank about his intention to use her connections to further his political ambitions, she’d considered that to be proof of what an honorable man he was. When he’d told her he loved her and wanted to marry her, she had felt guilty because she wasn’t able to love him back. The Stephen she knew was all smoke and mirrors. She’d never even met the man Bret was describing. She’d almost decided to share her life with a total stranger. “It’s quite an operation,” Bret went on. “Pete even runs a handy little airline that flies charters and freight out of Barbados. He’s the wheeler-dealer who actually makes the deals. Stefan is a good front man.” “And now, my father is backing him to enter state politics,” Sara half-whispered. “He has to be stopped.” “Exactly,” Bret replied. “They were trading information long before they moved Caftech to Rochester. We’ve found no evidence their activities are politically motivated. When the Defense Department became committed in Caftech’s latest project, our department became involved in a big way.” Bret leaned forward. There was real urgency in his voice. “We want Stefan Cafik. But we have no actual proof that would stand up in court that he’s selling electronic secrets. Our contact at Caftech informed us last week that the testing on their revolutionary radar-jamming device was completed. The company’s report won’t reach the Defense Department for another week or more. The plans would be more valuable if they were sold before the unit was even put into production. “The same contact found out Sara had booked a Caribbean cruise and would probably be carrying a microchip containing the designs. The assumption is she or an intermediary would pass it to Pete, who’d 148

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complete the sale to a South American buyer.” “But how could you know I was taking a cruise?” Sara protested. “I didn’t decide to go until a couple of days before we sailed. And it was my dad’s suggestion, not Stephen’s. Oh,” she said, “of course.” Stephen could easily have put the idea into her father’s head. “I was the lucky guy who was supposed to romance you and find out more about the deal. We hoped, because of your clean background, I could convince you to give evidence against Cafik,” Bret continued with a wry smile. “We all know how far I got with that. Bart and I kept close track of you, but the only person you met besides Mike was the Mexican tourism official in Cancun. We couldn’t find anything to indicate he was anything but what he appeared to be. Mike was our prime candidate for the intermediary, but Jim set us straight on that.” Much as she hated Bret’s information, she had to believe him. She was in deep trouble. Stephen and the DiLorenzos were not amateurs, and Jim Greco’s agency suspected her of being part of their organization. “Bret,” she said earnestly, “I was not given any microchip. I’m finding it hard to believe what you’re saying about Stephen. There’s never been a breath of suspicion he’s anything but a successful, civicminded businessman. My father has been pushing him at me because he is so respectable. You may not see it, but I’m the victim here.” “I tend to believe you, Sara.” Bret was having difficulty looking her in the eye. “But then, I’m the guy who read your journal.” He hurried on. “On the other hand, we can’t ignore the fact you did have the microchip.” “Did have?” Mike jumped in. “It was in the bear’s glass eye. We removed it before the other people got into the act.” Sara was getting more annoyed by the minute. “And that’s another thing.” She got to her feet. “You had no right to enter my cabin. How 149

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did you get in without the cabin steward seeing you?” Bret stared her in the eye like a kid who knows he’s in the wrong and has to brazen it out. “It was necessary to get the chip. I arranged a call for you on the ship’s radio the first night out.” “You did that to me!” she cried. “I thought my sister was calling to say my father had had another heart attack. I called Elsa and worried her.” “I’m sorry. I never intended to upset you,” he said stiffly. Bart interrupted to change the subject. “Jim said Mike told him the people who are trying to hijack the designs switched bears on you. I don’t know who they are, but they’re pretty amateurish. That means they’re unpredictable. We do have something going for us, though. I spotted someone I think is familiar among the passengers and Jim’s doing some checking for us.” After a slight pause, Bart continued, “They apparently knew you’d be on the ship and you had the plans, but they couldn’t have known the information was on a microchip if they felt it was necessary to take your sketches.” “Unless they switched the bears earlier and discovered the microchip was missing.” Mike stood up abruptly. “All of that is your problem now,” he said. “My concern is keeping them away from Sara. Her involvement has been completely innocent and you know it.” “Sara can tell us when and where she’s to meet Pete.” Bret’s voice was flat and icy cold. “We need that information so we can be at the sale of the documents.” Sara’s indignation resurfaced. “If you read my journal, you know as much as I do. I have a phone number for Stephen’s sister, Vera, in Barbados. I’m to call and arrange to meet her when we arrive next Wednesday.” “That gives us six days.” Infuriatingly cool, Bret met Mike’s furious eyes. “Sit down, Mike, 150

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and I’ll tell you both what Jim has decided will happen next.” Bret paused. Mike hovered, grim-faced, by Sara. “We have a secure villa in St. Lucia where you’ll be staying until after Sara’s meeting with Pete and his wife. Bart will fly you there tonight. He’ll stay in the next unit and set up surveillance so you’re not surprised by any unwelcome guests. We’ll make sure you get to Barbados in plenty of time to meet the DiLorenzos on Wednesday.” Sara forced herself to look at Mike. She’d gotten herself into this situation, but Mike didn’t deserve to be dragged into it. She tried to sound more positive than she felt. “You should go back to the ship, Mike. You had nothing to do with this. You’ve never even met Stephen.” Mike stared at her in disbelief, then he turned and spoke to Bret as if he had not heard her. “All right,” he said, nodding his grudging acceptance of the plan. “Do we leave our things on the ship?” “That’s already looked after. Jim had us pack up your things and take them to the airport. You won’t be missed tonight because quite a few of the passengers will dine ashore and spend the evening at the casino,” he explained. “We don’t have a lot of choice, Sara,” Mike said. “I guess not.” Sara tried to shake off the shock of Bret’s revelations. She had to think this through. “No one will miss us until we don’t turn up for the eight-thirty sitting for dinner tomorrow. By then, the ship will have been at sea for hours. It’ll be too late for anyone to follow.” “Yes,” Mike added. “And they’ll be at sea until they dock in St. Thomas on Saturday morning.” When he turned to Bret, his face was set and grim. “I’ve known Jim Greco long enough to know he’s not doing this out of the goodness of his heart. I don’t want him to use Sara as a decoy.” 151

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Bret’s wry grimace was not reassuring. “Jim didn’t tell me what he intends. But if I had to spend a few nervous days waiting around to find out, I’d be happy to do it in a luxury resort villa in St. Lucia. You can’t dream a location more beautiful than that.” He leaned forward and smiled reassuringly at Sara. “This hasn’t been the greatest holiday, has it? Trust me. We’ll do our best to get it sorted out quickly. Try to relax for the next few days, Sara. Just enjoy,” he urged. She wasn’t fooled into thinking he had her best interests at heart. However, this was the first sign that the pleasant man she had joked with on the ship hadn’t completely disappeared. *

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Mr. and Mrs. Vincent left the hotel without checking out. Wearing the clothes they had purchased in the Calle Fortaleza mall, they looked like any other holiday couple going out for a night on the town. A white Lincoln was waiting by the curb. “Good evening, sir,” Bart said, as he held the door open for them. “The casino, you said?” They soon left behind the brightly lit streets of the heart of the city for quieter, more residential ones. Palm trees, palmettos, and brilliant branches of flamboyant and bougainvillea rose above thick concrete walls sculpted with distinctive openwork. Those walls and wrought iron grills surrounding most of the houses gave the only clue this was not any other southern American city. On the four-lane highway that led to the airport, signs of modern San Juan life were too evident. The squat, utilitarian factories, the traffic, the crowded four-story apartment buildings, the pervasive concrete and strewn garbage seemed to tell a story of a country with all the disadvantages of industrialization and few of its advantages. In the dark night, the lush green mountains making up most of the large island were not visible to mitigate the bleakness of the city. 152

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On the tarmac of the modern airport waited a fifteen- passenger turbojet displaying the logo of a well-known multinational corporation. Bart drove directly to it and, after consulting with the mechanic who’d been checking it out, ushered them aboard. “Take a seat. Any seat in the house,” Bart called out. He caught Sara’s eye and added, “You have a couple of hours. You could even have a nap.” “Good idea,” Mike said, flipping back the arms of the middle seat and reaching into an overhead bin to find a pillow and blankets. “Come on, love. You’re exhausted.” He wrapped his arms around her and placed her head on his shoulder. “Try not to think. Just close your eyes.” She pretended to do what he suggested, but behind her closed eyes, Sara was wide awake. In just five days, her world had been turned upside down. She was being threatened by people she didn’t know. She and her lover, whom she had never seen before last Saturday, were being whisked into hiding by American agents who were convinced Stephen was a traitor and suspected she was part of his dealings with enemies of their government. She had lost all control of her life and was in free fall. The first step into space had been succumbing to Mike’s overpowering sensual magnetism. Now, totally vulnerable, she found herself, in the wake of Bret’s revelations, doubting her own judgment. If she’d been so wrong about Stephen, how sure could she be about Mike? His strong arm snuggled her closer under the rough blanket and his other hand smoothed her hair away from her face. “You can trust me, Sara.” It was as if he could read her thoughts. “We’re being given time we need to get to know each other better. No one can possibly have followed us tonight. We’ll be out of the way and safe, while the professionals deal with government business.” His soothing voice stilled her panic. Mike had the sexiest voice in 153

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the world. Dark and rich as chocolate, it stimulated every nerve ending in her body. Even now, she could feel the stirrings that could flare into passion at a touch. However, mostly, she was happy to be held and thankful he’d be with her to face the uncertainties of the next few days. She lay half-dozing in his arms until they saw the cluster of lights that was Castries below them. They had just fastened their seat belts when plane banked suddenly. Sara stifled a scream as they turned directly toward a wall of rock, then descended sharply into the shadowed cleft between the looming mountains. Within seconds, they were on the ground, rolling a few yards to the end of the short runway. “Sorry, folks,” Bart’s cheerful voice called out. “There’s no gradual approach to this landing field.” She could say the same about her life. *

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Rochester Rosalie stared at the telephone on her desk as if she could make it ring by the force of her will. Her lacquered nails beat a rapid tattoo on the polished wood. Her nerves were shot. She hadn’t expected the waiting to be so hard. The three days since her cousin’s Monday afternoon phone call had crept by. When Sara had called on Tuesday wanting to speak to Stephen, the cold bitch had been maddeningly close-mouthed. She’d refused to rise to any of Rosalie’s baited questions. “Give Stephen my love,” she’d said in that controlled voice Rosalie hated. What did Sara know of love…love too powerful to be contained and burned your flesh like acid when it was not returned. Even Stephen, who was the most unobservant of men, had commented that Rosalie was terribly fidgety lately. She’d had to be 154

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especially inventive in bed to divert him from asking why. It was not easy to be spontaneous now she knew Stephen considered their relationship to be purely physical. All these years she’d thought they’d been making love. And all the news in Monday’s call from Cancun had been bad. First had come word that the microdot Stephen said had been inserted into the glass eye of the bear was missing. Stephen hadn’t lied to her. He suspected nothing. They were partners. Besides, Stephen was focusing his famous powers of concentration and brainpower exclusively on realizing his political ambitions. The first step was the deal with Ortiz. It would never cross his mind that his Rosalie would want to scupper that. Then what had happened to the microdot? She found it hard to believe Stephen’s mealy-mouthed, little lawyer was acting on her own. But she must be. Unless the tall dark man her cousin said Sara was sleeping with had taken the plans. She wished they’d found out more about the man who had swept Sara off her feet. Rosalie’s smooth brow creased in a frown. Something didn’t ring true. Stephen had sworn Sara was a cold fish—that trying to romance her was no pleasure for him. He’d laughed at Rosalie’s jealousy, saying he was courting Sara purely for the senator’s endorsement and continuing support. Stephen wasn’t sleeping with her. She’d know. But would a woman as repressed as Sara was supposed to be fall for a total stranger? She spat out a colorful Italian curse. Why did she believe a man who’d claimed to love her for twenty years, then decided to marry another woman? She’d been foolish about Stephen long enough. Her cousin said they were going to threaten Sara Monday night and tell her where to drop off the plans. That sounded pretty feeble. Rosalie cursed her chicken-livered cousin’s caution. They needed to 155

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take action. Get the plans and get rid of Sara. That was the deal. The shrill ringing of the phone broke into her angry thoughts. “Yes,” she snapped. “I’m calling from a pay phone on the pier in San Juan.” Her cousin’s well-modulated voice was a trifle strained. The words were rushed. “It’s about time,” Rosalie said. “Did you find the chip?” “We’re having some trouble getting to Sara. She’s moved into the boyfriend’s stateroom. Joseph caught her alone on deck last night and was just starting to work on her when another man—not Mike—a big blond guy—pulled a gun on him. Joseph got away, but we’re no farther ahead.” Rosalie took a second to digest this last piece of unpleasant news. “Where is Sara now?” “I don’t know. She and Mike bought tickets for the city tour, but they didn’t turn up at the bus.” “I thought you said you could handle this!” Rosalie exploded. “Forget the plans. Find Sara. Get rid of her.” “Take it easy, Rosa. You don’t make decisions about the plans. When we made the deal, the plans became ours. After Sara tells us where they are, we’ll take care of her for you.” There was a thread of steel that reminded Rosalie of her father in the smooth voice. “You’d better do a better job than you’ve done so far, if you don’t want that interesting note you signed for me five years ago to turn up in the D.A.’s office.” “Don’t threaten me.” The bluster in her cousin’s voice rang hollow. “You know I’d do it,” Rosalie stated. “All right. Find Sara. Get what information you can about Mike and the blond man. Call me tomorrow morning before the ship sails.” She hung up the receiver and stared into space. Rosalie had always known what she wanted and how to go about getting it. Right now she 156

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was uncertain and confused. There were too many uninvited players in this game. She suddenly wished she could talk to Stephen about it. But she had burned her bridges where he was concerned. She was on her own.

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CHAPTER 12

Sara peered through the window of the little French car into the black St. Lucian night. As they drove through the winding, dimly lit streets of Castries, she was aware only of a series of stark images and warm, humid darkness. She caught glimpses of proud white-stucco homes in uneasy proximity to stacked hillsides of rusted, corrugated iron shacks. Perhaps it was because she was running for her life, but she found something ominous in the blur of dark faces and the silhouettes of anonymous lean forms lounging in the shadowy doorways of shops. Although the occasional brilliantly lit hotel or restaurant lightened the atmosphere briefly, she was glad when they left Castries behind. At every turn in the twisting road outside the city, their headlights caught breathtaking splashes of brightly colored blossoms and foliage. Then, after seemingly endless tunneling through the unbroken blackness of the tropical night, the car’s beams illuminated the famous 158

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logo on the imposing white stone walls that guarded the resort. Bart spoke briefly to the guard at the gatehouse before inching the Renault slowly along the paved drive through the landscaped grounds. Sara laughingly pointed out a sign just inside the entrance that warned them of Sleeping Policemen. They had only to roll over one man-sized traffic bump to understand the message. The little car came to a stop in front of one of a half-dozen duplex villas that hugged the top of the cliff overlooking the hotel’s beach and the entrance to Castries harbor. While Bart checked the security devices and did a thorough electronic sweep of the villa, they waited in the car. “All clear,” Bart said when he returned. “Just inside, there’s a video camera trained on the front door. I’ll be monitoring that from the other half of the duplex. We’re on a cliff overlooking the ocean, so there’s no access from any other direction. We have a tap on the phone, but apart from that, the villa is bug-free.” He swung Sara’s two large suitcases out of the car and up the steps into the small foyer. “It’s all yours,” he said, handing Mike the key. Mike thanked him and put his bags beside Sara’s. Then, he and Sara stood at the foot of the steps and watched Bart open his door and disappear from sight. Sara was beginning to recover from the shocks of the evening. In fact, the satin caress of the tropical night air on her skin, and the vibrant colors of the tropical foliage around the doorway were stimulating a rising thrill of excitement. She and Mike were safe for now and they were going to be together. She wanted to snatch every precious moment given to them. A shiver of anticipation exploded in a low, sexy chuckle as she grinned up at Mike’s solemn face. He was too tense. “Well, big boy.” She batted her eyelashes in a slow burlesque of seduction and a ridiculously inept attempt to imitate a Mae West voice. 159

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“Are you ready?” With an exaggerated sway of her hips, she preceded him up the steps. His surprised chuckle vaporized the tensions of the past few hours. He overtook her, picked her up in his arms and carried her rapidly up the last few steps into the foyer. He winked at the camera as he passed it and called out, “Good night, Bart.” When they reached the sunken living room, he kissed her. Then he lowered her slowly over his hardening body. “I’d say I was way ahead of you, love.” Little sparks were dancing in his coal-black eyes. He set her down on the arm of the royal blue couch and bent to kiss the tip of her nose. With the hard lines of his face relaxed in a sensuous smile, Mike took her breath away. Her hands were busy unfastening the top few buttons of his shirt when he raised her to her feet again. “Before you lure me into your bed to have your wicked way with me, shall we check out the accommodations?” “All right, handsome,” she acquiesced. Just once, she blew gently on the tanned skin she’d uncovered. The way Mike’s hands tensed involuntarily on her waist was very gratifying. “But don’t think admiring the real estate is going to distract me from business.” She looked around and noticed how striking yet comfortable the blue and mint-green appointments of the sunken living room were. She dropped the nasal Mae West drawl. “Mike, this is perfect.” She sighed. “It’s an oasis.” She was glad to have reached it. Today had certainly been as grueling as a trek through a harsh desert. Two steps up was a little wet bar and, behind that, a wall of 160

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louvered doors. Sara slid back the folding wooden slats that screened the rest of the tiny efficient kitchen. It was bright and set up so they could be totally independent of the hotel if they chose to be. Moving her forefinger down the fine line of black silky hair that began at about the third button of his shirt, she growled in a voice that was unfamiliar but all her own, “We won’t have to leave the villa, not even for meals.” “Come on, woman. Let’s get this tour over with. Upstairs, first,” he commanded with a light slap on her bottom. She laughed and ran up the stairs ahead of him, just far enough ahead of his hands to tantalize him. At the top of the stairs that led from the foyer, were two mediumsized bedrooms, a bathroom, and a small stucco balcony that looked out over the ocean. They glanced into the bedrooms, but stopped for a moment on the balcony to look at the Caribbean laid out in front of them. Sara cried out in delight, “Look at the sheen on the water, Mike. The moon must be beginning to rise over the mountains behind us.” He stood behind her for a minute, lightly caressing her bare arm, as she gazed out at the water. Then he muttered, “That’s enough for now, Sara. We’ll come back up in the morning when we can see something. Now, we check out the ground level patio.” When she looked up at him, her heart leapt at the hot impatience in his eyes. “Then the bedroom,” he whispered with a slow grin. Beyond the sliding glass doors of the living room was a perfect little patio. Surrounded on two sides by a curved concrete wall, it was indirectly lit by floodlights hidden in the narrow band of foliage on the other side of the low wall. As they stepped onto the tiled floor, they could hear the waves rushing on an invisible beach far below in the darkness. A white wrought iron table and chairs were only a few feet 161

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from the steps down to a little eighteen-foot plunge pool. The underwater lights cast green patterns on the concrete wall that curved to a height of about twelve feet, guaranteeing privacy from the villa on the other side. Over the whole wall cascaded bougainvillea of every shade of peach and purple. “Oh, Mike,” she whispered, pointing wide-eyed at the pool. A few dark velvet petals floated on the surface of the water. “I don’t think we’re in upper New York state any more.” Just inside the doors to the patio, off the living room, was the whitecarpeted master bedroom. Another set of glass doors opened directly onto the deep end of the pool. Those doors were very close to a large, green, satin-covered bed. “This time, sweetheart,” Mike murmured into her hair, as he lowered the zipper of her sundress, “the big green bed is going to get rumpled. Oh, yes. Very rumpled.” *

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Mike’s efforts to skim Sara’s dress down past her hips were hindered by Sara’s efforts to tug his shirt sleeves over his hands. The fierce determination on Sara’s face suddenly struck him as endearing and hilariously funny. When he began to laugh, Sara stopped struggling with the button of his shirt cuff. Her indignant eyes met his for a split second before she recognized the ridiculousness of the situation and dissolved into laughter. “Ladies first,” Mike said, presenting his left wrist. His right hand was removing her dress. When he was shirtless and her dress lay on the floor, the playful laughter stilled. Their eyes locked in a moment of raw, primitive need. He was amazed at the urgency of his desire for her. Instead of sating his appetite, each time they made love his hunger for her grew. Even now, not long before sunrise, their bodies weary from the difficult day, he needed to feel her loveliness, warm and welcoming. He needed 162

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her love. Whether he liked it or not, she was becoming essential to him. Their lovemaking was exquisitely slow and tender, unlike anything they had experienced before. Sara’s soft hands stroked and caressed him; Mike’s fingers touched and explored gently. Their mouths tasted each other’s dampening skin. When the slow-building wave of their passion reached its towering crest, they clung fiercely to each other until, shuddering, they felt their consciousness disintegrate like sea foam that floated skyward before it sank to the sea. The aftermath was calm contentment. Mike lay on his back, looking fondly down at her as she slept trustingly in his arms. His niggling doubts were gone. Sara’s openness and honesty were never more evident than when they were making love. She hid nothing. Her need for him, her pleasure and a kind of trust that left her open and vulnerable—all were given freely. With her head on his shoulder, her silky hair draped over his chest, and her hand resting on his waist, he drifted off to sleep wrapped in a contentment totally new to him. *

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Sara’s eyes snapped open. She’d been startled awake by the sound of a tremendous splash. Not three feet from the edge of the bed, the sliding door to the plunge pool was wide open. She saw Mike’s head surface. When he shook it violently to clear the long, dark hair from his eyes, a few cool drops of water landed on her bare stomach. She moaned a wordless reproach, rolled over and put her pillow over her head. Even the pillow did not muffle the unmistakable sounds of a big man hoisting himself out of the water. She lay, tense and waiting, until she felt water dripping on the small of her back. She flipped over quickly to find Mike intently wringing the water out of his hair. “Oh,” he said with a wide grin, “did I wake you?” As he reached out wet arms to pull her against his dripping chest, 163

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she slithered out of bed and took two quick steps into the water. He was right behind her. Their naked bodies glistening, they frolicked like two otters in the confines of the sunlit pool. It was funny how, virtually in protective custody, she felt a freedom and joy she never had before. Brought up with family saunas, she’d never been self-conscious about her own body, but she was surprised at how easily she and Mike had become accustomed to their new intimacy. It was exhilarating. She looked at his muscular body floating beside her and felt the excitement he always aroused in her. “You’re such a beautiful man,” she murmured. He ran a wet finger down her arm. “And you, my love, are the perfect woman.” He took her hand and pressed its palm to his lips. “As I see it, we have a major decision to make here. We could take our magnificent bodies back to bed, or I could make us some breakfast and we could go exploring.” “You’re going to cook? I can’t wait.” There was teasing disbelief in her voice as she climbed hastily out of the pool. Mike was close behind as she stepped onto the patio. “I’ll cook for you, sweetheart, but not until I’ve had my morning kiss,” he stated, pulling her into his arms for a leisurely kiss that quickly became hungry. “Maybe breakfast could wait a while,” he muttered, as his lips traveled down the smooth skin of her neck. “Oh, no. You promised food,” she reminded him. “I’ll make you a deal. Let me have the first shower, then I’ll unpack while you cook.” “Deal,” he agreed as they reluctantly pulled apart. Within the hour, they were showered, dressed and unpacked. When Sara went out to the wrought iron table on the patio, Mike was putting a carafe of coffee on the table beside two plates of croissants, ripe Camembert cheese and juicy slices of papaya. She cut off a tiny bite of cheese and popped it into her mouth. “Delicious,” she murmured. “Whoever stocked the villa knew his 164

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cheeses.” “One of the advantages of an island with strong ties to France,” he explained. “Attractive breakfast, but you promised to cook if I unpacked,” she teased. “Where I come from, cooking usually means heating something on a stove.” “I made the coffee,” he said, with the broad smile that could always turn her to jelly. She smiled back. “It’s good, too. I’ll let you cook breakfast every morning.” “You’re not a cook?” “Not on my holidays.” He could make what he would of that. In her own kitchen, Sara enjoyed cooking when she had the time for it, but today she didn’t want to think about her regular life. She was trying very hard to concentrate on the here and now. *

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From where they sat, drinking strong Colombian coffee, they could look out through the large, shiny leaves of a tall autograph tree to the entrance of Castries harbor a mile or so away. If they moved a few feet closer to the bougainvillea-covered wall, they could look down at a golden sandy beach about two hundred feet directly below them. “You missed an unbelievable sunrise, love. Before I did my cannonball splash into the pool this morning, I came out here. The clouds were clearing off the mountains, and the sun was rising through the shreds of morning rain.” He gestured to a point where the path through the palm trees opened onto the beach. “Down there, I saw a young man face the east, take off his red T-shirt, and kneel on it as if it were a prayer mat. Then he lowered his head to the sand for his morning prayers. I wanted to call you to see it, too, but I was afraid he’d hear me, and I didn’t want to 165

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interrupt his moment of privacy with his God. I said a prayer, too,” Mike said, almost under his breath. He swallowed the last of his coffee and, a little too firmly, put down his cup. What was this compulsion to share every waking thought with her? When he spoke again, his tone was brisk. “Time to go. We have to check out the beach. Grab your towel and your lotions, pal. You’ll need a strong sunblock this close to the equator. Let’s hustle. We don’t want to miss a moment of today. It’s all ours.” And their day was everything they could have hoped for. The golden sand was a little coarser than the white powder of Cancun, but firmer under foot. The translucent green water of the Caribbean splashed on the shore in long, rolling waves that pulled the sand out from under their toes as they walked the waterline. Hand in hand, they strolled along, sharing quiet talk and smiles as if they were the only two people in the world. There were a few guests on the lounge chairs in the dappled shade of the trees lining the beach, but after checking that none of them looked familiar, Mike and Sara paid scant attention to them. However, quite a few pairs of eyes watched with envy the tall, dark, well-built man and the graceful blonde woman who were so obviously in love. The only hawkers on the beach were a few women selling brightly colored cotton shirts and dresses. Sara was taken by the style of a long halter-topped beach dress with a skirt slit almost up to the thigh. “I wish you had one in green,” she said to the young woman who stood aside quietly while Sara examined her merchandise. “Orange isn’t my color.” “I can make one for you,” the woman said, quickly rummaging through the shirts flying in the breeze suspended from a branch. She triumphantly produced one in a wild green African print. “I make a 166

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beautiful dress for you in this cloth. Twelve dollars. You like?” “I like very much,” Sara admitted, “but we won’t be here long enough for that.” Dark brows contracted in a frown. “You be here tomorrow?” “Yes,” Sara admitted. “I make it tonight,” the woman promised. “You have it tomorrow.” When Sara held the orange dress up against her, Mike raised his eyebrows in mock horror at the height of the slit. “I hope you aren’t intending to let anyone else see you in that,” he said. “With an endorsement like that, I’ll take it,” she told the woman. “I’ll pay the whole twelve dollars myself,” Mike said as they left the young woman jotting down Sara’s measurements in a dog-eared notebook, “if you’ll agree to wear it for me tomorrow night. Let’s see if someone at the hotel can get us a cook to prepare meals at the villa.” “Perfect,” Sara said, starting to jog down the beach toward the main building of the hotel. The young man at the front desk combined the typical first-class hotel attitude of “anything to make the guest happy” with the delightful laid-back charm of Caribbean hospitality. “No problem, sir,” he said with a smile. “You go out on the beach and ask anybody for Therèse. Everyone knows her. She sells beach clothes and she is an excellent cook. Therèse will help you for sure.” And he was right. They approached the slim woman from whom Sara had ordered the beach dress. “Therèse?” she said. “She is my cousin. She’s down there.” She pointed to the other end of the beach. “Therèse!” she shouted. The voice her tiny body produced carried at least a mile. “Come here!” She beckoned and pointed at Sara and Mike. “They want you.” Sara thanked her by buying a headscarf to match the beach dress. 167

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Then they walked along the golden sand to meet Therèse. Therèse was a large woman with a deep laugh and flashing white teeth. She would be happy to cook for them. Mike was so taken with her rich, musical voice and her animated sales talk that he permitted her to measure him for some “real sexy man’s shirts.” “I will go to the market before the sun is up and buy the freshest, the most beautiful fish and vegetables for you. I am the best cook. You will want Therèse to cook for you every night,” she pronounced, with a twinkle in her eye and a mischievous shrug that would have done Maurice Chevalier proud. In their present mood, Mike and Sara were willing to believe her. Sara even allowed herself to be talked into commissioning a longsleeved beach cover-up from the same fabric as her beach dress. Therèse agreed to bring it along with Mike’s sexy shirts to the villa the next evening when she came to cook their dinner. By the time they had completed their business in the bright sunshine of the beach, they were ready to retreat to the shade where a smiling boy, about ten years old, who just happened to be another cousin, wove them sun hats out of fresh palm fronds. He measured their heads with one long thin strip, then leaned lazily against the trunk of a palm tree as he swiftly wove the shiny green strands into broad-brimmed hats. When he placed his creations on their heads, Mike reached for his money, but the boy was not finished. “One moment,” he said. His fingers flew as he fashioned a tiny bird on a long straw that he attached to each hatband. “That’s how you know it from St. Lucia,” he informed them. Now, their heads appropriately shaded, they walked down to the large, free-form pool by the hotel for a swim, and lunched under an umbrella at poolside. The relaxed atmosphere was such a contrast to the tension of the past few days that confidences came easily. Sara found herself telling 168

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Mike about her dream of making her name in labor law. She thought she was on her way when she was chosen to article with one of the most prestigious law firms in New York City. “They asked me to stay on with them, but the senator had his heart attack. Elsa and her husband were expecting their first child, so it was up to me to move back to Rochester to look after him. I’m ashamed to admit how sorry I felt for myself at the time. He and Mom were always there for us. I think Mom was even more eager for me to win the gymnastic competitions than I was. Even my father tried to get to the big meets.” “Are you still involved with gymnastics?” Mike asked. “I work out. I knew long before my mother did that I didn’t have what it takes to be an Olympic athlete. It was a valuable experience, though.” She grinned. “Competing against an ideal of perfect gymnastic form sure keeps you humble.” “From where I sit, I can’t see what you have to be humble about. Your form looks ideal to me,” Mike said, raising his glass of mineral water in a silent toast. “Do you think you’ll ever go back to New York?” He hoped she’d say no. After the isolated job sites of the past few years, he’d find it a big adjustment to go back to any city, even a small one. Blast it! He was doing it again. They weren’t going to be together that long. If Sara weren’t in such trouble right now, he’d be running for his life. At least, he would if he had any sense. “My sister and I couldn’t wait to get to New York and Elsa has never left. To be honest, though, I probably would’ve chosen a smaller city eventually.” She laughed self-consciously. “Why am I telling you all this?” “You’re only human, Sara. Knowing you’re a dutiful daughter can’t make up for sacrificing your dreams.” He took her hand as he went on, “I’m struggling with my own selfishness right now. If I go back to my 169

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rambling life, my parents are going to be deeply disappointed. My partner was going to handle the overseas work, while I dealt with North American contracts, but the way things turned out…” He shrugged. “I’d like to see more of my family. Maybe I could handle it if…” My God! He had been going to tell her having her with him could make the difference. He shook his head as if to clear it of the notion. “If what?” Sara prompted, when his voice trailed off. “My mind was wandering. I don’t know what I was going to say.” He smiled sheepishly. That was a pretty feeble reply. *

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Sara knew what he had been going to say, though. The better she got to know Mike, the harder it was to accept he really hadn’t loved Angela. Living in the same city as his ex-fiancée and her new husband would definitely be a minus factor. There would be constant reminders of his empty dreams every time he turned around. She understood the pain of his rejection; she was feeling pangs of her own. “You’d get along well with my mother,” he mused. “You have the same zest for life. She’s a five-foot-nothing dynamo.” He chuckled fondly. “Her black eyes just crackle when she’s mad at you and she makes you feel like the most important person in the world when she isn’t. “Even while she was raising three sons, she did all the paperwork for Dad’s company, and intimidated construction workers whenever they came near the office. They’d do anything for her. And she can talk Dad into anything.” “Even naming his son Michelangelo, I imagine.” Sara loved the light in his eyes when he talked about his family. “Even that,” he agreed with a grimace. “She’d approve of the way you tackle life.” Sara fought to control the elation his words sparked. She told herself he was spinning daydreams to keep their minds off the enemies, 170

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who were, no doubt, drawing nearer. After this was over, Mike would go back to moving from one foreign construction site to another. There would be no room in his life for her. However, she liked the daydream. She grinned back at him. “Now, my Dad,” Mike went on, “just sits back and enjoys the fireworks. Arguing isn’t his style, but even Mom doesn’t try to push him around. We all know he has a will of iron and is too smart to be manipulated.” “It’s too bad you didn’t inherit his hard-headedness,” she teased. “What I admire most about you is the gracious way you follow instructions.” “Did you have any interesting instructions in mind?” His smoldering dark eyes indicated his imagination was working. “But I should warn you. There are a lot of Garsons. Aunts, uncles, cousins…as well as Mom and Dad, my brothers, their wives and my three nieces and two nephews.” “You love them all very much, don’t you?” “Of course!” Apparently, that went without saying. “But, with seven people that strong-willed, it’s not safe to get together at election time. Maybe with your labor law background, you could fit in as a mediator.” Mike’s family sounded loud and warm and impossibly appealing. “Thank goodness, this is just a daydream,” she said, “or I’d be terrified at the prospect. Of course, there’s a chance they might simply ignore me if I tried to mix in.” “A feisty, gorgeous blonde? Not likely!” He leaned back and chuckled. “My nieces and nephews are growing up and they know me only as Uncle Mike who comes once or twice a year with presents. And my parents are healthy right now, but I could wake up one day in some godforsaken desert to find out they’re no longer there to come home 171

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to.” He took a deep breath. “How did I get so serious?” He plunked his palm frond hat on his head at a rakish angle. “Come on, love. Put down your soda. We still have two swimming pools to test out.” Arms draped loosely around each other’s waists, they started back down the beach. *

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Some sun-drenched hours later, feeling more than a little waterlogged and drowsy, they began their climb up the narrow paved road to the villa. As they approached the open-air restaurant about a third of the way up the hill, they could hear recorded calypso music playing in the cool, flagstone bar area. “Would you like to stop for a cold drink?” Mike suggested. She was about to say she’d rather wait until they got back to the villa when a voice called to them. “Sara! Mike! Over here.” Bart was in the corner of the patio that had the deepest shade and was farthest away from the pathway. He held up his glass of beer and beckoned. “I’ve been saving a table in the shade.” Sprawled elegantly in his chair, wearing baggy blue shorts and a designer knit shirt, Bart looked the image of a holidaying, slightly bored bachelor, who was finding himself at loose ends. A closer look at the steely blue eyes in his tanned face, however, showed how deadly serious he was this afternoon. It was as if the flamboyant comedian who had been Sara’s shipboard gambling coach had never existed. He flagged down a waiter. “How about a cold drink? A beer?” “A Mexican beer would be perfect.” Sara sighed. “Thanks.” Mike ordered the same. When the waiter had left, Bart spoke softly. “I just had a call from Bret. He got some interesting information from Jim about our friends, Wilf and Bea Jackson. “They’re an interesting pair. Wilf is in the import-export business. 172

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Apparently, he sells a variety of commodities to the highest bidder. We looked at his customer list and discovered Wilf’s most important contacts are in the Middle East.” Bart stopped to take a swallow of his beer. “Most of his deals seem to stay within the letter of the law, but he’s been known to trade in gun shipments of questionable antecedents, the odd suspicious securities transaction, and once or twice”—he looked at Mike as he paused for emphasis—”he’s been suspected of trading in information.” “It hard to believe Wilf is smart enough to be in that business,” Mike said. “He certainly had me fooled. I was convinced he tried so hard to be affable to hide the fact he’s not very bright.” “Oh, he’s bright enough,” Bart said. “And his latest wife, Beatricia, your unattractive, uptight table companion, is quite a talented role player. It took me a while to recognize her. The last time I saw her, she was a seductive blonde who’d enticed some very canny customers into a stock deal we were not quite able to prevent. That’s more their style of operation. She and Wilf keep a low profile, and don’t work for any one government. “Everything points to them as the ones who are trying to hijack the plans for the radar device. We still have no word on where they picked up their buddy with the knife. They usually work alone. However, Jim has some feelers out. “He did discover the man who tried to steal your briefcase at the airport, Sara, was not part of the gang working the terminal. Someone paid him to get it. He doesn’t know who. At least, he isn’t saying.” Mike and Sara’s beer arrived and Bart signed for it. When the waiter was again out of earshot, he continued, “Here’s a surprise connection I’ve been saving. Bea Jackson is not English. She’s from New York. And her maiden name is DiLorenzo. She turns out to be Rosalie’s cousin.” He allowed the shock waves to dissipate in the silence that fell after 173

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Sara’s gasp of disbelief. Mike’s words were slow and measured as he tried to sort out the implications of Bart’s words. “And Rosalie is Stephen’s mistress and business associate.” He paused. “I can’t imagine any reason Stephen would hire someone to steal his own microchip or put Sara in danger. After all, he wants to marry her.” “Marry Senator Tolberg’s daughter, you mean,” Sara interjected, with a touch of bitterness. “That’s a very important step in his political plans.” “Somehow I doubt that’s his only motive,” Bart interrupted. “But even if it is, Rosalie could be jealous and angry enough to do exactly that. She’s been part of Stephen’s life since the early days in New York and probably wouldn’t take the fact he’s determined to marry another woman in her stride. Besides, she comes from a background where revenge is a way of life. If the plans were hijacked and sold to another customer and Sara’s attacker followed through on his threats to disfigure her, Rosalie would feel she had made Stephen pay for leaving her. And, of course, she’d have gotten even with Sara, too.” Sara clutched at Mike’s hand. The nightmare was back in full force, more vivid than ever now that the featureless faces had come into clear focus. The unidentified attacker with the knife could be a shadowy figure in a bad dream. But Rosalie and the Jacksons were definitely of this world. Even Mike’s magic touch when he put his arm around her didn’t help much. Sara hadn’t been involved by chance, or inadvertently by Stephen’s poor judgment. She had been the intended victim all along. “Of course, I may be assuming too much from the fact the two women are cousins,” Bart continued, trying to minimize the threat that still existed. “Rosalie could just have let something slip in Bea’s presence about Sara being used as a courier. Or she might not have anything to do with the attack on Sara.” 174

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The word “disfigure” hung in the air. “This does it. I need a gun,” Mike stated with the air of a man used to having his orders obeyed.

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CHAPTER 13

Mike took a deep, resigned breath. He remembered too clearly the feel of cold sweat trickling down his back and the slippery metal of the revolver in his hand, while he’d held off the two men who’d ambushed him on his way to the critical meeting in Panama. In those tense minutes, he’d had to face the fact he actually could kill a man if he had to. That realization had triggered his decision to inform Jim he’d have to find some other patriotic citizen to play go-between. “Everything’s under control,” Bart assured him. “Bret’s keeping a close eye on the Jacksons.” Mike fixed him with a skeptical eye. “I swore I’d never carry another firearm. But right now, it looks as if it’d be damned stupid for me to stick to that.” Sara shuddered. “For the first time in my life, I wish I hadn’t been so stubborn when my father wanted me to learn to handle one.” 176

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She looked at the two men who had assumed responsibility for her safety. Mike came to his feet. “Let’s see about that weapon, Bart.” The other man did not put up any further argument. “I have a revolver I can lend you,” he said. The three left the restaurant and resumed the climb up the curving road to the villas. “We’re probably overreacting, Sara. The weapons probably won’t be necessary.” Bart was trying to reassure her. “Bret did mention one more thing. The purser told him the Jacksons were cutting the cruise short in St. Thomas. Of course, they don’t know you’re not in Puerto Rico. They’ll probably take the first flight back to San Juan to look for you.” That would be the logical thing for them to do. “Bret is keeping close tabs on them. The St. Thomas police have agreed to allow Bret use of their communications and, if necessary, some manpower while the Jacksons are on the island. Jim’s making similar arrangements in San Juan.” “How did he manage that so quickly?” The fog of fear had lifted enough for Sara’s natural curiosity to click in. “It’s easy to forget Puerto Rico and the U.S. Virgin Islands are American territory. Government ties are close.” At Bart’s villa, they waited outside while he went in to check their unit to be sure they hadn’t had any unwelcome visitors. He wasn’t gone long. “All clear,” he said. “Step inside where it’s cool. I’ll check the tape from your entranceway camera,” he said. He ushered them into a unit with a layout and color scheme identical to theirs. Except for Bart’s compact audio and visual monitoring equipment, which dominated the sunken living room, they were in an reversed version of their half of the duplex. They walked out 177

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onto the patio. It, too, mirrored their own. “Everything is on the wrong side,” Sara muttered. She looked up at Mike’s face, then stood on tiptoe and kissed the tiny scar on his temple. “Almost everything. Thank goodness, that scar is still on the left side. How did you come to have this one solid landmark in a topsy-turvy world?” One touch from Sara and he was instantly greedy for more. “Fell out of a tree when I was seven,” he murmured against the almost invisible mole on her right shoulder. He placed his open mouth on it, then circled it gently with the tip of his tongue and said, “That mole is in the right place, too. Bart had better hurry because very shortly I’m going to find it necessary to verify my bearings by checking that your other mole is still on the left side.” Color tinged her cheeks at the thought of his touch on the mole high on the inside of her thigh. “Bad timing,” she said, with a low chuckle. Bart chose that moment to join them. “Here’s the equipment you asked for. That’s my own Beretta. Not government issue.” The lethal-looking revolver and the box of ammunition in his hand abruptly snapped them back to reality. *

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The next morning, one week almost to the minute since Sara had first seen Mike at the airport, she stood barefoot by his side on the wet tiles of their St. Lucian patio. They were watching dark clouds move out to sea, trailing the last shimmering wisps of rain off the misty mountain slopes. The soft, warm air was gentle on her skin and the early morning sunlight backlit Mike’s hair against the dark sky. The silence was almost palpable. The only sound was the regular cadence of the waves washing the sand below them. Mike drew her to his side and pointed between the branches of their autograph tree to the dark figure at the edge of the palm trees. 178

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As the unknown young man knelt and pressed his forehead to his red shirt, Sara closed her eyes and joined him in a wordless prayer. She acknowledged her fear and wondered if the man on the beach prayed out of simple piety or if he, too, prayed to be given the strength he needed. She was uneasy about her docile acceptance of Mike’s protection. When she faced adversaries at the bargaining table, her toughness and quick thinking were her biggest assets. Would those qualities surface when she needed them? She was impatient to face her enemies. The longer she had to wait, the more accustomed she was becoming to this debilitating dependence on Mike. And when he stopped being there? When he no longer felt she needed him, would he move on without her? Sara didn’t want to face that thought. The fantasy he loved her and wanted her with him forever was holding her together. Slowly, she drew her hand down Mike’s bare back, until it rested on the scrap of nylon covering his hard buttocks. The muscle bunched under her fingers. She turned in his arms to face him. The collar of her terry cloth robe gaped as she leaned back to see his face. “Is this the day you wanted to take a boat down to Soufrière to walk into the active volcano?” she asked. Sara’s question was more innocent than the sultry look in her eyes. Her fingers began to feather over the exact spot on his waist that she knew to be ticklish. He laughed and tickled her ear with his tongue, while she laughed and squirmed against him. He undid the belt of her robe and pushed it off her shoulders. When it fell to the pool deck, he lifted her against him and started down the steps into the plunge pool. “You’re creating a live volcano of your own right here. Hold on tight, witch woman, and we’ll see how much steam we can generate in this little pool.” *

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His words were lighthearted, but Mike needed to make love to her. He hoped that it would exorcise the devils of uncertainty that plagued them both. Neither of them tried to slow down the spark that leapt immediately into a full, roaring flame. The joyous elation that possessed him as he thrust into her again and again was so overwhelming he felt as if he was dredging up the bottom of his soul and pouring it into her. What he was feeling was too powerful to be called love, but that was the word he used when he found his cataclysmic release. “Oh, God, Sara! I do love you,” he cried, as if the words had been wrenched out of the depths of his being. Sara clung to him as if she would never let him go. When he lay on the hot tiles of the patio with Sara’s head on his shoulder and his lips pressed to her forehead, Mike lazily, gently, stroked her silky skin. His relaxed body was still reverberating with the echoes of their passion, but his mind shifted back and forth between being blissfully content and aghast at his new vulnerability. He had never before given without keeping something in reserve. Sara must be experiencing something similar, he assured himself. She couldn’t give so completely and not feel the same way. On the other hand, she’d never spoken of her feelings, never said a word about the future. What was going on behind those blue-green eyes? Possibly he was imagining a depth of feeling that was not there. After all, he had indisputable proof of what a poor judge of women he was. He didn’t think all she wanted was a willing partner to help her explore her newfound sexuality…or a bodyguard. He was running scared, that’s all. Sara reached up and lightly ran her fingers over his lower lip. He caught them and held them lightly with his teeth. “A sign of life!” Her smile was dreamy. “That must mean we both survived the volcanic eruption.” 180

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“Just barely.” He nibbled her fingertips. He sat up and looked at her intently. “You’re a dangerous woman, Sara. You have made me need you.” He was quiet for a few moments as his blunt fingers gently traced her high cheekbones and the curve of her jaw. “I’ve never told a woman I loved her before.” “Were you telling the truth, Mike?” The question hung in the air. “I’m afraid so,” he said, solemnly. “I can’t fight it any more, and it scares the hell out of me.” He could see the warmth in her eyes cool to ice. Damn! Damn this need to be totally honest with her. *

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She should have been ecstatic the words he had uttered in the heat of passion hadn’t been spoken lightly, but she could feel the fantasy slipping away. The Mike who loved her in her fantasy didn’t have that tortured look. He’d been happy in their love. Luckily, he would never know how deeply she’d deluded herself. “Don’t let it worry you, Mike.” Colleagues who had too late realized they’d pushed Sara too far would have recognized the porcelain shell that slipped over her features as she spoke. “I’m sure it’s either temporary insanity,” she said, “or one of those exotic diseases people get in the tropics. You’re sure to get over it.” In one graceful movement, she got to her feet, gathered up her robe, and moved swiftly toward the sliding doors. “I’m going to have a long shower,” she stated, without looking at him. “I’ll have it upstairs.” Somehow, she made it upstairs and held back the tears until she was in the shower. He did not want to love her. Well, damn him, she hadn’t asked him to. Why couldn’t he have left things the way they were? 181

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They had been living a dream, and now he had ruined it. She’d been greedily stockpiling memories against the day when he would be gone because she had been foolish enough to fall in love with him. She had flagrantly teased and seduced him, thinking she was pleasing him. She’d been forcing him to an emotional pitch he didn’t want to reach. She had been totally self-indulgent. Oh, he’d been willing. Their lighthearted lovemaking had made him happy, but now it was deepening into something more serious, he was struggling against it. Well, she had too much pride to try to tempt a reluctant lover. If he wanted to see her as a siren luring a virtuous hero against his will, they had no future together. Their love affair was over. What better way to end it than with that fantastic lovemaking in the pool. The world might end, as T. S. Eliot had said, “not with a bang, but a whimper.” But not this love affair! The tears flowed and she surrendered to great gulping sobs under the covering noise of the shower. Then she put on her robe, climbed into one of the upstairs beds, and cried herself to sleep. *

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It was almost the middle of the afternoon when Sara faced her red, puffy eyes in the mirror. Tolberg the Iceberg looked parboiled, she thought wryly. When Elsa’s fiancé had revealed Sara’s college locker room nickname, she had been hurt by it, but at the moment, it was laughable. The image in the mirror, however, was anything but funny. Cold water alone was not going to restore that face. She caught a splash of color on the floor by her foot. The shorts and tube top she had laid out to wear that morning were folded on top of her makeup case. Mike must have come up to check on her and brought them so she could repair the ravages of her weeping and get dressed before she had to face him. She bit her lip and fought back another bout of tears. No wonder she loved him. 182

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*

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Mike was relieved when he saw Sara step out onto the patio. She looked every inch the controlled professional woman who had stepped aboard the plane a week ago. She had her sketchbook under her arm and was carrying a plate of cheese and crackers and one can of soda. “I assumed you’d have had lunch by now,” she explained cheerfully. “I dozed off after my shower.” Mike smiled a cautious welcome. “I had a sandwich a while ago. I’ve been relaxing here with my book.” So she had decided they were to ignore the whole issue of his injudicious admission that falling in love with her frightened him. He’d go along with that. But it wouldn’t change the undeniable fact he was in love with her. “You could’ve gone to the beach without me,” she said. “No, I couldn’t,” he said, calmly, determined not to let her provoke him. “With the Jacksons planning to leave the ship for parts unknown, we both should stay close to home for the next little while or, at least, until we learn where they are.” Only yesterday, he would have made suggestions about how they should wile away the time. “Anyway, we have the marvelous Therèse to look forward to. She should be here in a few hours to prepare ‘the best dinner you ever ate.’” “I can hardly wait to see you in the ‘sexy man’s shirts’ she made for you.” Sara’s laugh tinkled vivaciously, but her unnaturally bright voice held no trace of seduction. With an uncomfortable smile, Mike turned back to his book. He didn’t know how to apologize for telling her the truth. He could only hope she’d get over being hurt by his words and try to understand what he meant by them. He wished he understood it himself. But he had a sneaking suspicion he’d been avoiding this overwhelming emotion all his life. 183

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They spent most of the sun-drenched afternoon in uncomfortable silence. About five o’clock Mike went next door to borrow a deck of cards. Bart came back with him to challenge them to a game of Hearts. It was a diversion and passed the time, but Bart’s company was not relaxing. Even though he won the Hearts game, his good humor was as forced as theirs was. Finally, at six o’clock, he refused a rematch. “I’m going to retire champion of the St. Lucia tournament,” he said. “I’d better go back next door. Bret was supposed to call me around noon, and I haven’t heard from him. He usually phones when he says he’s going to. I’d like to call the ship, but I think I should contact the St. Thomas police first. Bret could’ve left a message there for me. I have a funny feeling he’s trying to get in touch with me.” When he was gone, Mike commented, “The tension is really getting to him.” “I hope that’s all it is,” Sara said, with a frown. “My secretary is a twin and sometimes she senses when her twin brother needs her or if he’s in trouble. She’s very casual about it. She calls it ‘the twin thing.’” “Let’s not borrow trouble. We’re not dressing for dinner, are we, milady?” “This is as dressed as I get. Okay?” Things were looking up. It was a small smile but, at least, she was smiling at him.

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CHAPTER 14

Therèse blew into the villa like a burst of fresh tropical air. Laden with one large straw basket of food and another of clothing, she called a cheerful greeting from the doorway. Sara could feel the tension in the room dissipate. Under Therèse’s direction, Mike spread his new shirts and Sara’s dresses on the living room couch so they could admire her handiwork. Therèse stood at the entrance to the living room, hands on her hips and beamed at their enthusiastic praise. Then she bustled into the kitchenette with her food basket and unloaded it as if she had run their household for years. Sara was fascinated by the exotic vegetables and silvery fish Therèse removed from their brown paper wrapping. “What in the world is that?” she asked, pointing to a pale green, lumpy vegetable that looked a bit like a diseased squash. “Oh, that is truly beautiful. But I tell you later,” Therèse said, 185

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shooing them out of the kitchen. “First, you try on the clothes. I need to see if they fit.” Their assurances the clothes were perfect had no effect. She was cheerfully determined that they model her creations before she would identify her culinary treasures or make a start on their meal. Mike’s black cotton shirt with its gold and white pattern and the deep V-neck that displayed his muscular tanned chest was indeed sexy. When Sara returned from the bedroom wearing the two-piece green print creation she had ordered from Therèse’s cousin on the beach, Therèse threw up her hands and laughed with joy. “I will take your picture,” she crowed. “When people see how sexy I make the clothes, I sell so much I will finish my house two years sooner.” She dug deeply in one of the copious baskets and pulled out an old Polaroid camera. She posed them carefully on the patio so she included the purple bougainvillea cascading over the wall behind them. “Now, Mister Mike, put your arm around your beautiful lady. Not around her shoulders. Like this,” she said, putting the camera down and taking Mike’s hand and placing it on Sara’s bare midriff, just above her navel. Sara felt the flash of heat in every part of her body. “Now put your faces together. Yes!” She gave a deep, rich, suggestive laugh. “That is the kind of sexy picture I want.” Sara smiled, but the posed photograph was such a travesty of the happiness she and Mike had shared just a few hours earlier that it hurt. The shutter snapped. “I am building a beautiful house for my family,” she continued as she rummaged again in a straw bag. She triumphantly produced a photograph of two smiling children, about five and two years old. “See my beautiful boys. They will live in a nice house. Every time I cook like this, it is a bag of cement. It costs much money to buy a bag of cement in St. Lucia.” 186

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She rattled on about life on the island as she finished taking out the ingredients for their dinner. Mike and Sara perched on high stools at the kitchen bar and sipped cool white wine. They didn’t have to initiate any topics, only provide conversational cues. The occasional nod or short comment was enough to ensure the cheerful monologue would keep flowing. Therèse carried on a running commentary, punctuated by hearty laughs, as she prepared the food. “This is flying fish.” Her hands moved like lightning as she scaled, cleaned and arranged the fish. As she pulled their tails through the fishes’ mouths and dipped them in seasoned flour, she commented, “This is the St. Lucian way.” She waved what looked like a large, dark green banana at them. “This is plantain. It is not sweet like banana. And this is christophene.” Her rich laughter bubbled out at their dubious faces when they looked at the lumpy squash. “Christophene is the most delicious vegetable. See, I put garlic and butter in it. You will see. Tomorrow I bring other vegetables you will love. And langouste. The fisherman promised to get it special for me.” She was blatant and irresistible. Mike met Sara’s eyes in the first honest laugh they had shared since their joyous lovemaking in the pool that morning. “Yes,” Sara answered his unspoken question. “I love Caribbean lobster. Shall we have Therèse cook it for us, Mike?” “I wouldn’t miss it,” he agreed. As she had brought enough food for a banquet, they prevailed upon Therèse to join them for dinner. As long as they kept her with them, it was easy to keep the mood light. However, when the enterprising St. Lucian woman had taken her cheerful departure, with a large enough tip to buy several bags of cement, the heavy silence fell again between them. They dawdled over their after-dinner coffee out on the patio. The 187

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only light came through the glass doors from the living room and the eerie green light from the depths of the plunge pool. “I had so much sleep today I’ll probably read very late tonight.” Sara broke the silence as she began to get up from the table. “I’ll sleep upstairs so I don’t keep you awake.” *

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Mike took hold of her hand to keep her with him. He could not leave things like this. “Please don’t leave just yet.” She hesitated a split second, then turned to face him. Before she wiped all expression from her face, he caught a glimpse of her unhappiness. The last thing he had wanted to do was hurt her. His attempt to be honest with her had backfired. She did not understand because she had listened to only part of what he had said. He wanted to reassure her, but it was hard to explain his need to struggle for control over the powerful emotions that gripped him. “Please, Sara,” he urged, in a low voice, “give me a chance to convince you how much I care about you.” It broke his heart to see her expressive face completely closed to him. “Every minute we’re together, you become more important to me.” She seemed to be listening. “I think that’s the trouble. Oh, hell.” His face twisted with frustration. “I can’t find the words.” They were face to face, not a foot of space between them, but he felt isolated and miserable. The magic that had gripped them was too new, still too fragile, to rely on. He didn’t want to lose it, but he didn’t truly believe it was real. “I understand this much, Mike. Everything between us has happened too fast.” Sara’s delivery of the short speech she’d obviously prepared while she was dressing upstairs was flat and unconvincing. “We both need time to think about who we are and what we want,” she carried on in her lifeless voice. “Neither of us wanted to become 188

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involved from the beginning. We let the circumstances fool us into thinking that the amazing physical attraction between us was something else. I don’t think we can discuss our relationship rationally until we’ve had some time apart.” In spite of her even tone of voice, something in Sara’s eyes begged Mike not to force the issue. He suspected that she, too, was battling the intensity of her feelings. Maybe he had given her the excuse she had been looking for to back away from him. “How are we going to do that?” he protested. “The guys in the black hats are still out there. Be sensible, Sara. You have to stay with me, until they’re out of the picture.” *

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Be sensible? She was suddenly rigid with anger and indignation. She tried the silent litany that had worked over the years. Relax, she thought furiously. You gain nothing by getting angry. You are renowned for your calm. Being calm gives you an advantage over people who are emotional. You never fly off the handle. Suddenly, the temper she had trained herself to submerge in the face of prejudiced gymnastics judges, strained labor negotiations, the courtroom, her father’s demands since his illness, erupted into flame and sparks. “Be sensible? Where do you get the nerve to tell me to be sensible?” She was trembling with rage. “I’m the one who is attempting to deal rationally with a man who makes wildly passionate love to me one minute, then says he really wishes he didn’t feel anything for me the next. I’m trying to accept that I’m just fine to share some spectacular sex with, but not to love. It seems to me that trying not to get more deeply involved with you is the ultimate in being sensible. I want you to leave me alone.” Her fists were clenched as she struggled to keep the edge of hysteria out of her voice. 189

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Mike was dumbfounded by her reaction. This morning, when he had blurted out his reaction to the discovery he loved her, he hadn’t thought about her emotions. With his clumsy words, he had unintentionally inflicted pain he wished with all his heart that he could erase. He wanted to take her in his arms and tell her how important she was to him, but, obviously, that was exactly what she did not want. Into the quivering silence, came the unfamiliar but welcome sound of a telephone ringing. Mike picked up the receiver on the second ring. “Yes,” he snapped. Jim Greco wasted no time in greetings. “Michelangelo? Greco. I don’t want you to set foot outside the villa until I see you in the morning.” Jim was always terse, but this harsh edge in his voice was new. “We’ve lost track of the Jacksons and we need Sara alive and at hand. She’s all we’ve got right now. Stick to her like glue. I’m on my way to St. Lucia now.” Without waiting for a reply, he rang off. Mike’s worst fears were being realized. Jim had decided to use Sara, and Mike didn’t know how to stop him. Anything that stood in the way of what Jim Greco perceived were his country’s interests was expendable. There would be no talking him out of it. The illusion of safety that the villa had provided was gone. Sara still remained where he had left her. She looked so lovely and forlorn in that revealing green beach dress they had bought on the beach only yesterday. Would she ever come to his arms with laughter again? He tried to sound matter-of-fact. “That was Jim Greco. He’ll be here in the morning and he doesn’t want us to leave the villa until he arrives.” “Fine. I wanted to have a chance to speak to him in person. I wasn’t 190

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intending to leave the villa. I’ll move my things upstairs.” Mike forced himself not to look at her as he sat on the arm of the sofa. “Jim made a point of telling me not to let you out of my sight. I promise I won’t touch you if you don’t want me to, but we’re going to have to sleep in the same room.” Color shot back into her cheeks and her eyes flashed. “What right does Jim Greco have to prevent me from sleeping alone?” “Sara, I hoped I wouldn’t have to tell you this. I don’t know any details, but they’ve lost track of the Jacksons. Jim is concerned about your safety.” “I see.” She wrapped her arms around herself and backed a step away from him. “It’ll be all right. There’s plenty of room for both of us in that kingsize bed. If you like, we can improvise a bundling board with pillows from the beds in the other rooms.” He took her chin between his forefinger and his thumb and raised it so he could look into her eyes. “I’d never intentionally hurt you, Sara. You mean too much to me. If you want me to keep my distance, I will, even though it’s the last thing in this wide world I want to do.” *

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Even the harsh lines of his face looked softer as she read the wordless message in his dark eyes. He cared about her. But she had already cried her tears and begun her mourning for the love that had existed only in her fantasy. It was over. There was no point in torturing herself any more with what she wished was the truth. The real world was confronting her on all sides. Tomorrow, she would face whatever new horrors Jim Greco was bringing with him. Tonight, she was facing the reality of the end of her only love affair. “Then,” she said, turning her face away, “we’d better construct that pillow barrier.” 191

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*

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It was no surprise to Sara that she got virtually no sleep that night. She was acutely aware of Mike turning restlessly on the other side of the frail barricade of pillows separating them. She lay there on her half of the big bed, berating herself for being fool enough to fall in love with him, and worrying about what was bringing Jim Greco to St. Lucia. How had the Jacksons managed to evade both Bret and the St. Thomas police? Anxious and unhappy, she witnessed every long hour of the night as it dragged by. She would have sworn she hadn’t closed her eyes at all, when she awakened to the aroma of coffee and the loud sound of splashing through the open doors to the plunge pool. The rush of happiness that filled her died a painful death when she moved her leg and encountered one of the pillows that had formed the No Man’s Land between their two warring countries. Barbed wire could not have hurt more. She pulled on her robe and walked stiffly to the bathroom, without even pausing to wave at Mike as she passed the patio door. She showered quickly and emerged dressed for the meeting with Jim Greco. She hoped her flowered cotton skirt and white peasant blouse made her look fresher and more alert than she felt. She poured herself a cup of the coffee Mike had prepared. Mike was just toweling himself off on the patio when the phone rang. He reached it before she did. “Yes. Fine.” He put down the receiver and tugged a T-shirt on over his damp skin. “Jim’s next door,” he told her. “He’s on his way over now.” He was still pulling on a pair of faded denim cutoffs when a peremptory knock sounded at the door. Moments later, he ushered an unsmiling, hard-faced man onto the patio, where Sara stood holding her untasted mug of coffee. 192

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“Sara,” Mike said, “this is Jim Greco.” At first glance, the man looked more like a disapproving accountant than a government agent. He was of medium height, with a receding hairline of light brown hair, and wore rimless bifocals. The hazel eyes behind the glasses, however, were sharp. It was obvious, too, that he was no desk-bound bureaucrat. His loose beige cotton shirt did not completely camouflage his muscled shoulders and arms, and he had the smooth gait of an athlete. Mike’s childhood buddy was looking distinctly unfriendly. “Sit down,” he commanded. The screech of metal scraping across the tile was strident as he dragged out a heavy wrought iron chair for himself. “The news from St. Thomas got worse after I talked to you last night, Mike. Before they disappeared, the Jacksons put our man out of commission, perhaps permanently.” “Bret’s been hurt?” Sara was startled into asking. “They stabbed him and left him for dead on the floor of his stateroom. He would’ve died if we hadn’t had one piece of luck. The Do Not Disturb sign they hung on the door should’ve kept people away until at least noon today. However, when one of the cruise staff tried to push the day’s activity schedule under the door at about six-thirty last night, it wouldn’t go in all the way. She pulled the notice out with a large blood smear on it. “She got the cabin steward to open the door and found Bret in a pool of blood. He’d dragged himself as far as he could, but hadn’t quite made the door. Fortunately, he was still alive. “The ship’s doctor patched him up as well as he could. Then, since they were still in port, they notified the St. Thomas police, who had Bret flown to a Miami hospital. He’s in bad shape but was still hanging on in intensive care as of a few minutes ago. Bart flew back to be with him.” 193

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Mike and Sara exchanged glances. The twin thing was in both their thoughts. “Poor Bart,” Sara whispered. “It must’ve been happening when he was so upset yesterday afternoon.” She couldn’t imagine anything worse than knowing and yet not knowing something dreadful was happening to someone you loved. “And the Jacksons?” Mike asked. “We don’t know where they are. They could be in any of a hundred hotels or tourist homes, but the St. Thomas police feel, most likely, they’ve slipped off the island. Probably by boat.” Jim’s eyes glinted behind his glasses and his voice became thinner with controlled rage. “Judging by the police description of what they did to Bret, they probably now know where you are. And are on their way here.” They could even be here! She struggled to control a wave of panic. Mike moved quickly over to her. The warmth of his hands on her shoulders calmed her enough to be able to think. “Now what?” she challenged Greco. “Are we going to do something? I’m not too keen on waiting meekly for them to use the same techniques on me. I know Mike is armed, but Bret was experienced in this kind of thing and his revolver didn’t keep them from getting at him.” Jim pursed his lips and looked at her through narrowed eyes. “Your suggestion?” He sounded weary and anything but receptive. “We seem to have two different interests involved here. And that’s aside from your agency.” She was in control of herself now, sorting information as she had so often done at the negotiating table. “Stephen and his brother-in-law, Pete, were using me, without my knowledge, to transport some miniaturized form of classified designs, which they planned to sell to foreign interests, probably South American. They don’t know I’m aware of any of this. And, quite likely, 194

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they don’t know they’re being investigated by your agency. “Then there’s Rosalie and the people working for her. Stephen, apparently, has misjudged her badly. He had no idea that her jealousy and desire for personal revenge would be strong enough to jeopardize their own operation by sending the Jacksons to hijack the plans. I suspect the plans were the incentive Rosalie used to induce them to get rid of me.” “There’s more than that,” Jim contributed unexpectedly. “Beatricia owed her. The digging we did into Ms. Jackson’s past showed that, a few years ago, she was cleared of involvement in a hit and run killing by an alibi contributed by her cousin, Rosalie.” “Then she’ll do her best to do what Rosalie asked.” She thought a moment. “The Jacksons must’ve been so surprised when they discovered Bret’s interest in them that they panicked and attacked him. However, in spite of what they’ve done to Bret and what they threatened to do to me, their capture is not your prime objective. Stephen is the man you’re after.” She had him. She had watched the growing respect in his eyes for her grasp of the situation. He was ready to listen to her suggestion. She suspected he was way ahead of her. “Yes?” Jim prompted. “I can help you get him here.” She had not moved her level gaze from Jim’s eyes. “It’s in my own best interests. The moment you capture Stephen and everyone knows the plans are safely in your hands, the main incentive for the Jacksons to complete their deal with Rosalie is gone. Then I’ll no longer be threatened.” Mike loosed his grip on her shoulders and moved around so they could face each other. “Look at me, Sara. I’m not going to let you put yourself in more danger than you’re in already. This is not our fight. Jim will have to get 195

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Cafik without your help.” She took a deep breath and resisted the temptation to match Mike’s angry tone. “It most certainly is my fight,” she stated quietly. “I wasn’t cut out to be a helpless pawn, Mike. Stephen pretended to care about me and he used me. I agreed to do a personal favor for him and he involved me in his slimy business. I trusted him. I have no choice. I have to pay for that error in judgment. How could I be stupid enough to trust a man with no conscience?” “I understand why you’re angry, Sara. But I’m not going to risk losing you. Get used to the idea you’re not going anywhere without me.” The steely glint in Mike’s dark eyes and the stubborn set of his jaw were the most beautiful sight she had ever seen. Jim cleared his throat. They’d almost forgotten he was there. “To get back to the issue at hand,” he interrupted, “I agree with your analysis, Sara. We must keep our priorities straight. Our primary goal, as you suggested, is to catch Stefan Cafik, ideally in the act of selling classified information to a foreign power. “Until we discovered you were delivering the microchip to Cafik’s brother-in-law, we had no idea when or where the business was going to take place. We weren’t even positive Pete DiLorenzo was the dealmaker. “This time, because we know you were to meet him when the ship docked in Barbados on Wednesday, we figure he’ll be meeting with the buyer some time that day. We’ll be there to catch DiLorenzo in the act. Our problem is Cafik will be safely in Rochester. Unless you can get him here for us.” Sara began to breathe more easily. It sounded as if Jim was convinced she wasn’t part of Stephen’s activities. At least, he was willing to accept her offer of help. “What if I were to telephone him tonight and tell him not to drive 196

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all the way to the airport to meet me next Saturday because I’m not planning to be on the plane?” Jim nodded and said dryly, “That should get his attention.” “Then,” Sara went on, “I could tell him I left the cruise because I met a man—a fascinating world traveler who swept me off my feet. This exciting man convinced me that some private time in St. Lucia would help us to get to know each other better. I could explain how miserably sorry I am that our relationship didn’t work out.” She gleefully expanded her idea. “While he’s reeling from the blow of not marrying into Senator Tolberg’s family, I can really hit him. I’ll apologize for forgetting my promise to deliver his nephew’s birthday present to Barbados in person, but make it clear I’d be glad to mail the gift to the child.” “Not an offer he’s likely to accept if he thinks the microchip is still on it.” There was a twist of a smile on Jim’s lips. “Then, as an afterthought, I could mention casually that, when I was packing to leave the ship, I noticed that the bear didn’t seem to be cross-eyed any more.” “Cross-eyed?” Jim looked at Mike for clarification. “Yes,” Mike said, solemnly. “You know, like Gladly the Crosseyed Bear?” Sara hooted with laughter, then jumped up and hugged him. Mike’s arms tightened around her as if he would never let her go. Jim looked at both of them as if he questioned their sanity. She leaned back and looked at Jim with a self-satisfied smile. “What do you think? Would that bring Stephen to St. Lucia?”

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CHAPTER 15

Finally, at ten o’clock Sunday night, Sara sat on the bench by the little teak telephone table that stood against the glass wall between the living room and the patio. She was totally unaware of the tiny, gem-like garden as she placed the call to Rochester and settled to wait. She didn’t have to see Mike’s face to feel his tension. Although she was glad she had his solid presence a few feet behind her, it was time to use her own resources. She almost welcomed the tight band of stress pressing on her temples. She was ready to fire a salvo or two of her own. Please be home, Stephen! She was looking forward to maneuvering Stephen to St. Lucia. She would play with him the way a cat plays with a mouse. And Stephen had turned out to be an extremely nasty little rodent. She wanted to disturb his self-satisfied composure, then entice him into a trap. The operator was ringing his number. Sara waited. 198

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The day hadn’t been an easy one. She and Mike had been circling each other warily since her impulsive hug when he’d mentioned Gladly. After the way she’d blown up at his apology last night, she didn’t blame him. The telephone in Rochester rang and rang. She had almost decided there was no one home when a sultry, if slightly breathless, voice finally responded and consented to accept a collect call from Sara Tolberg. She hadn’t anticipated having to fence with Rosalie tonight. “Hello, Rosalie,” she said, as if she were calling Stephen’s office where she expected Rosalie to answer his telephone. Sara waited. She wasn’t sure what else to say to the woman. “Sara, what a surprise. We didn’t expect to hear from you tonight. Is anything wrong?” Rosalie’s low voice had a raw edge to it. Sara’s surprise call seemed to upset her. “Not a thing, Rosalie,” she said briskly. “I’d like to speak to Stephen, please.” “I’m afraid he can’t…” Rosalie began. Then, apparently, she changed her mind about what she had been going to say. “We…uh…Stephen just stepped into the shower.” She made a strange sound as if she were choking back a nervous giggle. “Hold on.” She did not bother to hide how pleased she was to disclose the intimacy her statement implied. “It’ll take a minute or two to get him to come to the phone.” Bret’s report on Stephen and Rosalie’s relationship was obviously true. Sara was amazed at how little she cared. Even the strong suggestion she had interrupted Rosalie in the process of joining her lover in the shower didn’t produce even a twinge of jealousy. The man she had respected and even thought about building a life with had never existed. In his body, however, existed a dangerous and unscrupulous 199

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stranger whose activities still threatened her. Stephen was taking his time about getting to the phone. Had Rosalie even told him she was waiting on the line? “Sara, my dear, are you all right?” His composure was totally unruffled by Sara’s discovery of Rosalie’s presence at his home so late. Stephen, it seemed, felt no more guilt about being unfaithful to Sara than he did about deliberately placing her in danger. She’d love to tell him she knew what a sleazy human being he was behind his benevolent facade. But that would have to wait. “I’m fine, Stephen,” she said. “I called to save you a trip to the airport on Saturday. I won’t be returning on that flight.” “I was looking forward to seeing you Saturday, darling,” he said slowly. “But you must be enjoying the cruise to stay on another week.” “Oh, I’m not staying on the cruise,” she said. “In fact, I’ve left the ship already.” “You’ve left the ship?” Ah, first blood. He hadn’t known. “I hope you’re not ill,” Stephen recovered enough to say. “Oh, no, Stephen,” she responded, hesitating a little for effect. “Nothing like that.” “Tell me nothing unpleasant has happened to spoil your vacation?” He was good. He actually sounded concerned. “As a matter of fact, Stephen,” Sara’s voice was bright, “the week on shipboard was fantastic. It changed my life. I guess I called because I’m feeling a little guilty. I’ve just done something totally out of character and impulsive. Considering how close our friendship has been, I felt you had a right to know.” “All right, darling, tell me.” Underlying the unrelenting, practiced warmth was a definite warning note. “What is this impulsive thing you’ve done?” 200

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“Oh, Stephen, I don’t know how else to say this. I told you before I left that I was uncertain about my feelings for you and about our future together, but, honestly, I wasn’t leading you on. I am very fond of you. I didn’t ever intend to hurt you.” She took a deep breath. “But the fact is I’ve met someone else.” Long seconds of silence ticked by as Stephen waited for her to continue. “He’s an American businessman and,” she rushed on. Her words tumbled over each other in her apparent nervousness. “He swept me off my feet. I’ve never met anyone like him. When he suggested we leave the cruise and stay at a villa in St. Lucia so we could get to know each other better, I couldn’t refuse. I’ve known him only a week, but I think I’ve actually fallen in love.” It was ironic Mike should overhear her say these words to Stephen…words she would never say directly to him. She finished lamely, “And, so, here we are.” She waited for the explosion. It never came. “You’re right about one thing, darling.” Stephen’s words were measured and deadly calm. “This is not at all like you. You couldn’t have told me anything more astonishing. You say you’re sharing a villa with a man you didn’t know a week ago? The Sara I know plans every step of her life and never has any difficulty keeping her passion under total control.” A sharply indrawn breath hissed over the wire. It was immensely satisfying to know Stephen was seeing his dreams turn to ashes. “We have to talk about this bizarre decision you’ve made,” he said. “This is too important to deal with over the telephone. I need to see you. I’m sure we can work things out when I talk to you face to face.” “This is not a whim—” “You’ve been under a lot of stress for the last couple of years with your father’s convalescence and your practice expanding so rapidly. 201

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You really needed this holiday. If you’d been yourself, you would never have let yourself get involved in a shipboard romance with a man you know nothing about.” The truth of Stephen’s accusation stung her into responding with some real indignation. “Don’t patronize me, Stephen. I’m not a child. I’ve gone into this relationship with my eyes open. Mike has been very honest with me. After only a week, I think I know more about him than I ever knew about you.” The words were out before she realized what she had said. The last thing she wanted was to have Stephen suspect she knew about his double life. She tried to repair the damage by sounding petulant and hurt. “For instance, you never mentioned that your executive assistant’s duties included assisting in your shower. What else don’t I know, Stephen? Was I going to arrive home to find out you prefer Rosalie’s company to mine? It’s lucky I found myself another man and saved you the unpleasant chore of breaking the news to me.” She wondered if she was overdoing it, but Stephen seemed to accept her reaction as only natural. “Don’t be foolish, darling,” he assured her. “Rosalie and I were children together. She’s like family to me. We worked here this evening and she was just typing up some notes while I showered. You’re the only woman in my life.” “I’m finding it difficult to believe you, Stephen. In any case, your love life is no longer of interest to me. The only reason I called was that I thought it was only fair to let you know about Mike. “Would you do one thing for me? Call my father and tell him that I’m prolonging my holiday? I’ll let him know when I’m returning home.” She dropped her voice on the final word as if she were about to hang up, then added, “Oh, and I am sorry, Stephen, but, in all the rush of deciding to go to St. Lucia and leaving the ship, I forgot I was 202

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supposed to deliver that teddy bear to your nephew on Wednesday. I know I promised, but it went completely out of my mind. I found it when I was packing up to leave. As things stand, I won’t be going to Barbados, but I’ll be glad to mail it to him if you give me the address.” She smiled broadly at Stephen’s muttered oath. “Oh, yes. About the bear,” she continued as if it were an afterthought. “Do you remember us laughing about it being cross-eyed? Well, its eyes have straightened themselves out. Do you think it could’ve been the air pressure in the baggage compartment? I don’t understand how it happened, but I imagine your nephew will like it better this way.” There was another long moment of silence on the line. “Sara, don’t worry about the toy. I’ll get it from you and deliver it myself when I see him in a couple of days. I must see you. You owe me at least that much consideration. I’m tied up here tomorrow, but I’ll leave for St. Lucia as soon as I can get a flight on Tuesday.” “Coming here won’t serve any useful purpose, Stephen. This isn’t something you can talk me out of. I’m in love with Mike. If you’re sure we must talk face to face, it’ll have to wait until I get home.” It would not do for him to realize how much she wanted him to come to St. Lucia. Stephen went on as if she had not spoken. “I doubt if I’ll be able to get there until late Tuesday night. I sincerely hope you’ve regained your sanity by then. Do this much. Think about the big plans we’ve made. You can’t throw all that away. You’re going to be my wife, Sara.” Stephen stated the last words with such absolute conviction it sent a cold chill up her spine. “I’m not letting you slip away because some shipboard Romeo has hypnotized you into thinking you’re in love with him,” he continued. “I know you’ll come to your senses when I have a chance to talk to you. I’ll call you Wednesday morning to arrange a 203

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time. Where exactly are you staying?” She gave him the telephone number, then broke off the connection. She felt emotionally bruised by the force of his suppressed anger. But she had done it! She leaned for a moment against the telephone table, then turned to face the two anxious men hovering at her elbow. “If he can make the connections, he’ll be here Tuesday night,” she said, with a broad smile on her face. Mike covered the few feet between them in seconds. When he reached for her, she couldn’t even remember why she had been so determined to keep him at a distance. She burrowed close into the warm, familiar safety of his arms. There was no point in pretending she did not need him. *

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Rochester Beast images flashed through Rosalie’s mind. Stephen had the thick hide of a rhinoceros, the nerve of a canal horse, the tenaciousness of a bulldog, the vision of a bat, and the sensitivity of a slug. And she wished she could forget as easily as he apparently could that, a few long minutes ago in the shower, he’d been displaying the stamina of a stallion. She’d been trying to lull him into believing she was willing to accept the humiliating role he’d assigned her. For almost twenty years, she’d gone along with his stubborn refusal to marry her and give her children. But he was dead wrong if he thought she’d swallow her pride and tolerate him marrying someone else. Her desire for him was not as strong as her need for revenge. At least, that’s what she told her treacherous body. At this moment, the faithless animal in question was calling another woman “Darling” and insisting that they were going to be married, 204

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completely oblivious to the fact Rosalie was even in the room. The rigidity of his posture told her how furious he was. Stephen hated to be crossed. “Darling” was apparently telling him about her shipboard romance. “Nonsense. Rosalie is like family to me.” Stephen casually dismissed everything that they had been to each other for twenty years. “You’re the only woman in my life.” God! How she wanted to hurt him the way he was hurting her! She had fully expected Bea and her verbose husband to have tossed Stephen’s “Darling” overboard by now, but starting with the abortive robbery attempt made by the imbecile Wilf had hired, they had made one disastrous error after the other. For the better part of a week, Bea hadn’t even been able to time a phone call right. She’d made her last call from San Juan during the one short visit Stephen had made to Rosalie’s office on Friday morning. Then she’d sent a radiogram saying Sara and Mike had left the ship in San Juan. Wilf, it seemed, hadn’t discovered until after they sailed that Sara’s luggage had been removed from the ship the previous night. Rosalie had snapped off a curt message to disembark in St. Thomas on Saturday morning and go back to San Juan. She’d ordered them to find Sara or pay the consequences. If only it had been that simple. By yesterday afternoon, Rosalie had been frantic. Bea’s call at five o’clock hadn’t done anything to calm her down. The fools had killed an American undercover agent! Bea thought he belonged to an off-shoot of the CIA, but she wasn’t even positive of that. All Bea knew was that the purser had told Wilf that Sara’s blond friend, Bret Thornton, had been asking about them. Wilf and Joseph had surprised him in his stateroom. Wilf had shot him full of pentathol and Joseph had worked on him with his knife until he told them where Sara was. The only other thing they got out of Thornton was that he’d seen a copy of the radiogram Rosalie had sent instructing Bea to 205

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disembark. But nothing they did, before Joseph killed him, made him change his story that he didn’t know the whereabouts of the plans. If that was so, what was Sara up to? Maybe both Rosalie and Stephen had underestimated her. Could Sara know about the anti-radar device and decided to deal on her own? Bret Thornton hadn’t said so, but Bea figured Mike, too, was a government agent. Or perhaps working with Sara. Bea and Wilf were on their way to St. Lucia, determined to fulfill their side of the deal. But Sara was still alive. And on the phone with Stephen. He was saying something about the stuffed bear. Of course, he had no idea the microdot had vanished. Bea had assured her they would capture Sara and make her tell them what she’d done with the plans. All Rosalie’s plans had fallen apart. She had an insane impulse to confess what she had done and let Stephen straighten things out. “You’re going to be my wife, Sara,” Stephen was saying in his most autocratic voice. He laid the telephone receiver very precisely in its cradle, then turned to her. His gray eyes had all the warmth of tempered steel. The only reminder of those heated moments they’d shared in the shower was the lingering scent of spicy shower gel. “The woman’s lost her mind,” he said. “She thinks I’m going to change my plans because her sluggish hormones have chosen this moment to kick in. She’ll find she’s made an error in judgment.” This was her opening. “Who’s the brave man trying to thaw the iceberg?” “That doesn’t matter. Her little fling is over.” “The timing couldn’t be worse though, could it, darling?” She couldn’t resist the “darling.” “You don’t think Sara’s new friend could have any idea what she’s taking to Pete, do you?” He froze. His steely gaze delved into her eyes for a full second. 206

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Then he shook his head. “No, I don’t.” He was so sure he could not be mistaken. “Sara is a beautiful woman. That’s enough appeal for most men.” She bit her tongue. “I have a bad feeling about this,” she said. “You might consider backing out of the deal with Ortiz.” He merely snorted his disdain for her premonitions. “Get Pete on the phone, Rosa. He’ll have to change the time and venue of the meeting with Ortiz. Tell him to provision L’Esprit. And call the hangar. Make arrangements to have the plane ready first thing in the morning. I want to be in Barbados by early afternoon and sail tomorrow evening for St. Lucia. “I’m going to complete this sale. After I explain a few realities to Ms. Tolberg about the legal implications of her contribution to the deal, she and I are going to elope. I don’t have time for her whims.” No, she wasn’t going to tell him what she knew about his precious Sara’s lover. Rosalie picked up the receiver, still warm from Stephen’s hand. Let his colossal ego protect him. But what about her brother? If anything happened to Pete, it would be her fault. No, it would be Stephen’s fault. Wherever the blame would lie, Rosalie had no choice. Bea was obviously not capable of handling the task she had been given. Tomorrow, Rosalie, too, would have to go to St. Lucia.

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CHAPTER 16

“You were great, love,” Mike murmured against her hair. He could feel her trembling. The phone call had been difficult for her. He was thankful for the natural way she had turned to him for comfort. Somehow it would all work out between them. But even as he soothed her, the thought of the danger she was inviting chilled him to the bone. “No sweat.” Jim Greco dragged their attention back to him. “If Cafik isn’t arriving until Tuesday night, we’ll be ready for him. I gather from your end of the conversation that you spoke with Rosalie DiLorenzo as well. What did they have to say?” Mike gave Sara a final reassuring squeeze and released her. With a shuddering sigh, she began, “I did most of the talking.” Then, almost word for word, she repeated her conversations with Rosalie and Stephen. “He won’t get to the island until late Tuesday night and he’ll call 208

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me early Wednesday morning,” she concluded. “How do you want me to deal with that?” “Arrange to see him around noon. Here, if possible. I have two men next door. By tomorrow, there’ll be two more. Cafik will be followed from his meeting with you until he meets the buyer. Then we’ll get him in the act of handing over the designs. He won’t slither out of this one.” “She’s not going anywhere without me, Greco,” Mike growled. Jim laughed and screened his face with his spread fingers, as if to fend off the silent accusation. Occasionally, Mike saw flashes of the clowning kid he had been. “I won’t let anything happen to her, Mike,” he promised. “She’ll be in touch with us every minute. I had the latest in transistorized microphones installed in an earring for her and we’ll have men within reach if Cafik tries anything.” Jim paused. “She’s no threat to Cafik. In fact, he thinks he needs her to get the political backing he wants. I can’t see why he’d want to hurt her. All he wants is his microchip returned and a chance to convince Sara to get back in line. “We’ve replaced the microchip in the substitute bear’s eye,” he informed them. “There’s enough correct information on it to fool them for a good while. Once you’ve delivered it to Cafik, Sara, your part in all this is over.” Anyone listening to Jim’s calm voice would assume he was discussing an everyday business deal. The only sign of tension he showed was the restless movement of his fingers through his thinning hair, leaving it standing on end. “I wonder where the Jacksons and their buddy are. They’re the wild cards in this game,” he muttered as he stood up. “I want you to know I appreciate what you’re doing, Sara. Making that call wasn’t easy. I’m going to make arrangements to bring the rest of my team here now. If you need me, there will always be someone next door who can get in 209

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touch with me.” “Have you heard anything about Bret’s condition?” “Bart will be here tomorrow. He’ll have the latest word.” Mike could hear the guilt in her voice as she said, “If Stephen hadn’t decided to marry me, Rosalie would never have involved the Jacksons and Bret wouldn’t be lying in a Miami hospital.” Even with wisps of hair sticking out at odd angles, the steel in Jim Greco’s pale eyes made his nondescript face impressive. Sara was suddenly sure he’d make the people who were responsible pay for what they’d done to Bret. “You’re not the one to blame for that,” he said. He inclined his head in an almost courtly gesture before he made his exit into the night. Before the resulting silence could become awkward, Mike guided her toward the kitchen. “Neither of us did justice to Therèse’s red snapper feast tonight. I think we could both use a piece of her rum cake and some herbal tea before we turn in,” he said. “Just the fumes from that cake should ensure a good night’s sleep.” He chuckled. Sara slipped her arm around his waist and, with a hesitant smile, reached up to kiss him lightly on the cheek. “That’s exactly what we need,” she murmured. At the fleeting touch of her lips, Mike’s body sent him a strong message that what he needed was nothing remotely like rum cake. However, if any lovemaking took place this night, it would be initiated by Sara. Her quicksilver retreat when he’d blurted out his fears had showed how insecure she was about their relationship. He wanted to make love to her until her tensions dissolved in his arms. Even more urgently, he needed to see laughter dancing again in her blue-green eyes. It dawned on him it was too late to worry about allowing himself to fall in love with Sara. It was a done deed. All he had to do was to convince her that his lovemaking was an 210

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honest expression of the deeper feelings he had for her. *

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The potent rum cake and the fragrant chamomile tea provided a pleasant distraction for both of them. Sara was surprised to find she was indeed hungry. She didn’t remember tasting anything of the meal Therèse had prepared for them. With the impending phone call to Stephen hanging over them, even the irrepressible Therèse had not been able to lift the pall from the dinner table. She had left vowing to tempt their palates with a special meal tomorrow night. Sara’s brief moment of euphoria at the success of the phone call had passed. She was doing the right thing, but that didn’t make it less offensive. The schoolyard lesson that you never betray a friend was too deeply ingrained. As they ate in silence, Sara grudgingly admitted to herself that her reaction to Mike’s honest statement had been unreasonable. Now that the call to Stephen was safely over, she had to tell him so. Mike washed their few dishes at the tiny sink and Sara dried them. When he reached for her towel to dry his hands, she took his hand. Raising it to her lips, she pressed a kiss on his wet palm. He looked at her with a question in his eyes. “I overreacted,” she said frankly. “The way you make me feel frightens me, too.” “Sara.” His thumbs rested on her cheeks as he slid his damp fingers under her hair at the nape of her neck and bent toward her. The split second before their mouths touched seemed like an eternity. Then Mike’s hungry lips devoured hers. Sara’s tongue met his eagerly as she stood on tiptoe and wrapped her arms around his neck. Her tingling breasts flattened against his chest. When Mike’s thigh thrust between her legs and pushed up her skirt, the rough hairiness of his leg rubbing against the sensitive skin of her inner thighs was devastatingly erotic. He trailed moist kisses along her 211

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jaw, then lingered at the sensitive throbbing pulse at the base of her throat. Sara trembled and clung to him as he ran his large, wet hands slowly up the backs of her thighs. “If you don’t want me to make love to you on a hard tile floor, love, we’d better get to bed now.” *

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The next morning, Sara awoke with her head on Mike’s shoulder, her arm draped across his chest, and her leg across his thighs. She smiled to herself. She had him pinned down. He couldn’t leave without waking her. She knew his eyes would be open when she grinned up at him. “Looks like I won this wrestling match, champ. I’ve got your shoulder blades on the mat.” With the tips of her fingers, she stroked the black stubble on his chin, loving its silky roughness. “Care to try two falls out of three?” Mike’s voice was still husky with sleep. “I feel lucky enough to pin the Scandinavian Sizzler at least once.” “Scandinavian Sizzler?” she chortled. “Do you know what they called me in college? My sister’s fiancé told me the guys called me ‘Tolberg the Iceberg.’” He gave her a long smoldering kiss. “Mmm. You certainly are an expert ice melter, sir.” “That’s true, but those college boys had the name all wrong.” Even the Tolberg part is wrong, he was startled to find himself thinking. Does Garson sound right to you? How would Sara react if he said that? Suddenly, he knew he couldn’t imagine a future without her. When this mess was over, he would convince her what he felt for her would last forever. Today, however, what Sara needed was a little exuberant play. Without any warning, he scooped her up in his arms. Taking two steps to the glass doors, he slid them open. 212

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“I’ve wanted to do this since the first moment I saw this setup,” he said, as he stepped over the door sill and carried her with him to the bottom of the plunge pool. They surfaced sputtering and laughing like children. Sara tried to duck his head under the water, but he was too agile and spun away from her. She glided to the steps to the patio and rose smoothly from the water. Her beauty took his breath away. Unselfconscious of her nakedness, with the water dripping from her full breasts and down her long, tanned legs, she stood looking at him with a catlike smile on her lips. “You’ll pay for this, my love,” she purred. “Sometime when you least expect it. I want you to worry about the form my torture will take. I guarantee it will be exquisite. But right now, I’m going to have my shower.” It was the first time she had used any term of endearment. “My love,” she’d said. Mike grinned. “I can take anything you can dish out,” he called after her. Later, as they were finishing their usual breakfast of cheese, fruit and croissants on the patio, Mike broached the topic foremost in their minds. “We’ve been given a respite of forty-eight hours before we hear from Stephen, Sara. I want to make the most of that time.” “Let’s not even think about Wednesday,” Sara agreed. “First though,” Mike said, “I want to make something clear. I am not letting you meet that snake alone.” Sara could feel the blood rushing to her face. Mike had some justification for thinking she was a weak-kneed clinging vine, but he was wrong! She had been running her own life for almost a decade. She forced herself to speak slowly and unemotionally. “And I’d like to make something clear, too. I appreciate your concern, but I can deal with Stephen Cafik. He’s going to find out he 213

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made a big mistake when he casually dragged me into his rotten business.” Before Mike could argue, she placed her fingers over his lips. “Hear me out. You’re right. He is a snake, but I’ve always been able to handle him. Knowing what an unscrupulous specimen he really is should make no difference. Please, I don’t want to discuss this.” “We’ll put it on hold for now,” Mike agreed. “But what if involving you wasn’t casual? What if his motive was to use it to blackmail you into marrying him? I don’t want you alone with that kind of scum.” He was like a dog with a bone. She looked at him. “All right. I promise,” he acquiesced. “That’s the end of it. Today and tomorrow are ours. How shall we amuse ourselves?” he asked with a long, slow smile. She stretched. “I miss my morning jog. I want to swim lengths. Our little pool is great to play in, but I want to move.” She grinned. “No. I do not want to substitute another kind of workout.” “Whatever you say, love. There won’t be anyone in the pool at this end of the beach at this time of day. I’ll tell Jim where we’ll be. Get your suit.” Sara wore the gold bikini and cover-up she’d bought in San Juan. Judging by the look in Mike’s eyes, the outfit was worth every penny she’d spent on it. He teased her about the uselessness of gold mesh as a protection against the sun. The meaningless banter got them to the pool without further mention of the forbidden topic. They kept busy enough Monday passed quickly. When Therèse arrived to cook their dinner, she was full of apologies that her fisherman friend had again not had big enough langoustes for her discriminating eye, but that he swore he would have them for her for tomorrow night. “Tonight, I serve you a delicious St. Lucia chicken dish,” she said 214

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with her deep laugh. “You will not miss the langouste, I promise you.” Mike shook his head and turned a frowning face to Sara. “This is the toughest decision we’ve faced today, Sara. But if she promises the chicken will be as good as last night’s red snapper, I’m willing to deal. Shall we give Therèse a chance to cook us lobster tomorrow night?” Sara laughingly agreed they should allow themselves to be bribed by the promise of lobster to hire her for another evening. The aroma of Creole-style spices filled the air. As Therèse prepared their dinner, she delivered an entertaining sales pitch for one island tour or shop after the other. By the time dinner was ready, Sara and Mike had the impression that the business community of St. Lucia was made up exclusively of members of Therèse’s family. The delicious chicken dish was preceded by a cold, spicy, tomatobased soup, and followed by a variety of tropical fruit pastries for their dessert. As she cleared away their dishes, Therèse told them, “I am grateful that you allow me to take your picture in the sexy clothes I make. Today, I show many people how beautiful you look and I sell more dresses and shirts than any day this winter.” When she went to the kitchen to get the coffee, Mike chuckled. “I never thought of myself as a male model.” Then he frowned. “You know, it didn’t cross my mind before, but Jim probably wouldn’t be pleased about our going into advertising right now.” “Oh, Mike,” Sara said, “I can’t see the harm in it. She sells only to the guests in this hotel.” “True enough. It probably isn’t a large enough audience to worry about.” He grinned. “Or to base a new career on.” *

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The next morning, Sara insisted that, after a quick dip in the plunge pool, they jog down the beach and have breakfast on the hotel patio. She was determined not to allow them even a moment to think about, 215

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much less discuss, Stephen’s arrival on Wednesday. They spent the rest of the morning at the less frequented pool at their end of the beach, under the eye of one of Jim’s men who lounged discreetly with a magazine in the dappled light of the adjoining grove of shade trees. The time passed quickly. They swam lengths until they emerged panting and ready to laze on the beach. Therèse’s cousin strolled over to see if they wanted to buy some shirts for souvenirs. She didn’t stay long because the beach was crowded with passengers off a cruise ship that had a special arrangement with the hotel. “Have you seen Therèse? I had to finish some shirts this morning and I came to the beach late.” Her thin face looked worried. “Therèse is always here on cruise ship day.” They had not seen her. Sara did a couple of charcoal sketches of the boats moored in the bay and one of Mike reclining in the shade. They lunched at the open barbecue restaurant, and talked about anything and everything, except Sara’s Wednesday morning appointment. Their tastes were amazingly alike. They both liked the French Impressionist school of painting, and the more flamboyant Canadian Group of Seven artists. Mike owned an original Tom Thomson sketch, which he took from job to job with him. Sara had two good Renoir prints hanging in her dining room and an A. Y. Jackson oil over the sofa in her living room. In music, they both listened to almost anything except heavy metal, but owned mostly jazz and classical music. “I’d say,” Mike summed up, emptying his glass of iced tea, “we’re amazingly compatible. Wouldn’t you agree, love?” “Compatibility was never in question,” she murmured as she began to succumb to the spell he was weaving over her with the slow circling of his thumb on the inside of her wrist. “Not for an instant.” His smoldering dark eyes spoke of the ways 216

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that their bodies were compatible. “Would you join me for a siesta away from the heat of the day?” They rose together and, holding hands, were hardly conscious of the strenuous, hot climb to the villa on the cliff. *

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“My idea of heaven,” Sara said a few hours later, stretching languorously against Mike’s long, hard body, “is waking up in your arms twice in one day.” Mike nodded his agreement. “I never want to wake up alone again.” She sighed and sat up. “They tell me all good things come to an end. Unless we shower and get dressed pretty soon, Therèse will catch us in our Garden of Eden state.” Mike liked the Garden of Eden image. This island could indeed be a lovers’ paradise under other circumstances. He lay back with his hands clasped behind his head, enjoying the graceful movement of Sara’s hips as she headed for the shower. At least, the impending meeting with Stephen should be over this time tomorrow. Jim had confirmed in his call this morning that Cafik and Pete DiLorenzo had left Barbados before dawn on Cafik’s yacht, L’Esprit. Presumably, they would arrive this evening. Also, Rosalie had left the office at noon the previous day and hadn’t been seen in Rochester since. On the surface, by the time Therèse and her baskets arrived, the mood was quite serene. Sara had put on the white linen sundress and the turquoise earrings Mike had bought for her in San Juan. He wore white slacks and another of Therèse’s “sexy man’s shirts.” This one was a wild geometric print in almost every color of the rainbow. They looked tanned and relaxed, like vacationers who had no concerns about secret designs or government agents. They were sipping chilled white wine on the patio while Therèse made dinner. She was oddly quiet as she went about the preparations 217

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for their dinner. There was no flow of humorous anecdotes from the kitchen. The endless fountain of relatives to talk about and friends’ businesses to advertise seemed to have run dry. Something was definitely wrong. When Mike went to the bar near the tiny kitchen to refill their wineglasses, he commented, “We didn’t see you on the beach today. Are you not feeling well, Therèse?” Her dark fingers stopped cleaning shrimp, but she did not turn to look at him. “I’m well, thank you, Mr. Mike,” she replied in a low voice. Sara accepted the glass and said quietly, “Whatever her problem is, she doesn’t want to tell us about it, Mike. After all, we haven’t confided our troubles to her.” The big rugged man beside her was such a softie. Sara could tell it really bothered him that the island cook was unhappy. “You’re a good man, Michelangelo Garson.” She laid her hand on his. He raised it to his lips and kissed the soft palm. “Then will you please let me be your bodyguard? I’m becoming fonder of your body every minute.” Sara pulled her hand away. He said quickly, “I forgot. We weren’t going to talk about it until tomorrow.” “Oh, Mike,” she sighed, “I’m being selfish, but I’m trying so hard to keep my mind off tomorrow morning.” “You’re right, love. We need to concentrate on something else. Here’s something. How complicated would it be for you to get licensed to practice law in another state or even another country?” Sara’s eyes widened. “Where did that come from?” “I’m curious.” 218

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“Treat it as a hypothetical question,” he said.

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CHAPTER 17

Sara stared at him. His question had come out of nowhere. “I…I’m not sure,” she stammered. “Probably have to pass exams for the state bar association. Another country would be more complicated, I guess.” He seemed pleased at the way he’d managed to fluster her. She wished she could read his mind. “I’ve never considered working out of the country. I like my practice where it is and, of course, I have my father to consider.” Mike’s black eyes were giving nothing away. “It’s always worth thinking about possibilities.” He seemed to be letting his thoughts ramble, but she could see he was watching her carefully. “I love the ocean as much as you do. And I could base my company in one of the Atlantic states if I wanted to. Anywhere I please, I guess. Or I could go back to my original plan to make my North American base of operations in the Buffalo area.” 220

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Why didn’t he say what that had to do with her? She wanted to shake him for teasing her about something this important. He paused. “Rochester is only a short drive from Buffalo, isn’t it?” he said as if it had just occurred to him. “I could substitute Lake Ontario for the ocean and still be in New York state.” *

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Mike was pleased with himself. Sara’s mind was no longer on tomorrow’s meeting with Stephen. She looked ready to question Mike’s sanity. Perhaps she had every right to. “Would you like your shrimp cocktail now?” Therèse didn’t wait for a reply, but quickly placed their appetizers in front of them. The meal was excellent and provided something neutral to talk about. From time to time, however, Mike caught Sara looking at him quizzically. In rapid succession, the appetizer was followed by the marinated salad, then the Caribbean lobster entrée. “Tell me, sweet one,” Mike teased Therèse as she was in the act of whisking his plate away even as he put the last bite of shellfish into his mouth, “are you rushing away to a hot date tonight?” Sara took the woman’s hand. “Come sit down. Take a minute to have dessert and coffee with us. I promise we won’t try to pry into your business, but you need to slow down for a bit.” When Therèse’s eyes began to fill with tears, Sara added, “You serve the pudding and I’ll get the coffee.” “No!” Therèse emitted only the one word before she sank into the empty chair. Hoarse sobs racked her body. When she could, she raised her head and looked at them with eyes full of despair. “I cannot,” Therèse moaned. “So I have killed my children.” “Your children!” Mike said. “What…” Sara motioned to Mike to back off. She put her arm around the woman’s shuddering shoulders. “What happened today, Therèse?” “He say if I do not put the powder in your pudding, the other man 221

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will kill my babies. He stands beside me and puts it in the pineapple pudding. I think I can do it to keep my sons safe, but I am too weak. He say the powder will not harm you. It will only make you sleep, but I do not trust him. Maybe it is poison.” Her eyes were round and frightened. “Who is this man?” Sara asked, trying to keep her voice calm. She didn’t want to start another tempest of weeping. “I don’t know. I think he is a hotel guest. He is walking on the beach this morning. He say to me the other man get my boys on the way to school and I must hurry to them because the other man is a killer. I go to my home and the tall, thin man is there. He say I have to do everything they say or he will cut my babies’ throats.” This disclosure brought on a fresh flood of tears. “I’ll call Jim,” Mike said picking up the telephone. “Can you tell me what he looked like?” Sara urged the distraught Therèse. “This is very important.” “Not too tall. Not young. A little heavy. He is sunburned like a tourist,” she managed to say, as her sobs faded into gasps. “Could be Wilf,” Mike said. He had no sooner hung up the phone than Jim burst in the door. “Now,” Jim said, sitting down to face Therèse and effectively taking over the questioning, “what’s the story?” Sara quickly recapped the information they had. “How did the man know you were cooking here?” Jim spoke slowly and his unemotional tone of voice seemed to have a calming influence on Therèse. “I didn’t think there was harm in telling the woman.” Jim’s pale eyes flashed to Mike’s. “You didn’t mention a woman with him on the beach,” Sara interrupted. “Not with him,” Therèse said shaking her head. “It was yesterday. I 222

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talk to her. Yesterday, on the beach. Today, she and another woman were in the kitchen with my mother.” “Tell me about the woman you talked to, Therèse,” Jim said. “In the morning, I go to the market for your chicken, then I go to the beach. I am hanging my shirts and dresses on the tree.” She looked at Mike. “You know the tree.” He nodded his encouragement. “A small, blonde woman come from the hotel,” she went on. “I don’t know how old she is. Older than Miss Sara, but not old. She has a big smile for me. She look at my blouses and dresses. I show her the picture of Miss Sara and Mr. Mike happy in the beautiful clothes I make for them. She ask if I take the picture a long time ago. I tell her, ‘No, I take it last night when I cook for them.’” The slow island cadence of Therèse’s speech made Sara want to scream at her to hurry her story. “She was surprised that I sew and cook, too. She was so friendly I told her about all the people I have cooked for in the villas and about the house I am building for my children.” She began to cry again. “I talk too much. I have killed my children with my talking.” “We won’t let them kill your boys, Therèse. Will we, Jim?” Mike’s last words were more of an order than a question. “We’ll do our best to stop them,” Jim replied. “Can you describe the others who were at your house?” “The tall man with the thin face and the blonde woman. A darkhaired woman was sitting in the kitchen, watching. She did not speak.” “What can you tell me about her?” “She is taller than the blonde woman. And thinner. Her hair is very long and tied in a big knot at the back of her head. Oh, yes, and she has a small black spot on her cheek, by her mouth.” “Rosalie!” Sara breathed. Jim’s eyes glittered with suppressed excitement. “What happened 223

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when you got home, Therèse? Tell me everything.” “The man has my boys in the front room, while the blonde woman points a gun at my mother in the kitchen. The tourist who bring me from the beach say the thin man does not mind killing children so I better do what they say. “My mother is upset because she speaks only patois and does not know what they want her to do. They let me take her to her bedroom and she stay there until I come here.” “All right then, Therèse, what exactly are you supposed to do after you drug Mike and Sara?” “I must open the door for them at half-past ten. They will come here in almost one hour.” She buried her face in her hands. Jim was starting for the door. “We’ll have to plan a reception for them. I’ll be right back.” “Come with me, Therèse,” Sara said, putting an arm around her slumped shoulders. “If we’re going to fool Wilf and Bea, you can’t look as if you’ve been crying. Try not to worry. Mike and Jim won’t let any harm come to your sons.” She silently prayed she was telling the truth as she led Therèse to the bathroom to bathe her face. When they emerged, Therèse looked more presentable. Jim had already returned with a grim-faced Bart. Sara gave him a quick hug and asked him about Bret’s condition. He patted her shoulder absentmindedly and muttered, “He’s not any worse. The doctor says that’s a good sign.” Jim interrupted, “There’s not much time. We’d better get set up. They have to think you ate the drugged food and were knocked out by it. “As soon as they say anything we can use to prove they aren’t just making a social call, we take them. The timing will be up to you, Mike. Both of you take positions that are comfortable so you can remain 224

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completely still as long as you need to. While you’re doing your unconscious act, Bart will be on the stairway and I’ll be in the bedroom. We’ll move in on your signal.” Mike and Sara set the stage quickly. They piled the drugged pineapple pudding on dessert plates, stirred it with their forks, scraped most of it into the trash container under the sink, then placed the smeared plates with small, uneaten portions on the coffee table beside their coffee cups. They finally found poses they thought they could hold convincingly for an indeterminate period of time. Sara lay on her back against the cushions of the sofa. Mike sprawled face down on the floor half under the coffee table beside the sofa, as if he’d tried to stand and collapsed. His right hand, the one holding the Beretta, was hidden under skirt of the sofa. “All right. I’ll be in the bedroom. Bart will be around the bend in the stairway to the upper floor, just out of sight from the kitchen,” Jim instructed them. “You’re in the best position to run this show, Mike. As soon as you think they’re off guard, choose your moment to pull your gun. We’ll follow your lead.” That was as much time as they had to make plans because the discreet knock came at the door. Jim disappeared into the bedroom, Bart up the stairs. Mike squeezed Sara’s hand and they took their positions. Sara lay there with her eyes closed and concentrated on making every muscle in her body completely limp. She could hear Therèse’s hesitant steps heading toward the door, then indistinct words in a man’s low voice. She forced herself to unclench her jaw and to relax the tense muscles in her hands. She was the bait. Like a tethered goat in the jungle, she waited, without any way to defend herself, forced to trust that the hunters would capture the man-eating tiger creeping up on her. Mike was lying prone, hemmed in by the sofa and the coffee table. 225

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It was not the easiest position to get out of quickly, but it was the only way he could conceal the Beretta. At any second, he would have to spring into action. Timing was vital. One or other of the Jacksons would probably have a weapon drawn, but Mike had the element of surprise on his side. *

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He could hear Wilf speaking. He was probably checking that Therèse had done as she was told. Mike’s stomach clenched in a tension that stopped just this side of nausea. The only other time he’d been tested, he’d been alone. This time, he had Sara to think about. Suddenly, his nervousness became cold, steely purpose. He could do this. No one was going to hurt Sara while he was around. Half on his side under the coffee table, Mike’s left cheek rested on the floor. No one standing would be able to see that his left eye was slightly open. Wilf emerged from the hallway, his face flushed and glistening with perspiration. Bea had become blonde since Mike had seen her last. She was surprisingly attractive in a trim linen sheath. Wilf was wearing Bermuda shorts and a flowered shirt. They looked more like a middle-aged husband and his young wife arriving to play a game of cards with holiday acquaintances than a pair of dangerous criminals. However, their faces were grim. He caught a glimpse of a third person entering behind Bea. “I did what you said,” he heard Therèse venture with a pathetic show of bravado. “Now can I go to my children?” He saw Bea bar her way and push her back into the kitchen area behind the small counter. “Not now,” she snapped. “Stay here until we’re finished.” “Wait with her. I’ll deal with Sara,” the second woman ordered. The dark-haired woman, whom Mike had never seen before, was striking in a sharp-featured, exotic way. So this was Rosalie. She would not be as easy to deal with as the Jacksons. The terrible 226

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resolve in her carefully made up face was enough to strike fear in anyone. And the object of her jealousy and hatred was Sara. He hoped Jim and Bart had anticipated that there might be more than two visitors. He wished they’d had more time to discuss their plan of action. Mike had a good view of Wilf’s jogging shoes as he led the way down into the sunken living room. Rosalie’s white, high-heeled sandals followed close behind. Their footsteps slowed almost to a halt when they drew close to the coffee table and the two seemingly unconscious forms. Because of Mike’s low angle, the coffee table gradually cut off his view of their faces as they moved closer, but he saw clearly that the steady hand Wilf pulled out of his pants’ pocket had a gun in it. Rosalie held a large, brightly patterned straw bag. “Tie him up, Wilf.” She was obviously in charge. “I’ll make sure your little gold mine will stay unconscious for the trip.” Rosalie moved to the end of the sofa where she raised Sara’s limp left hand and let it fall with a thump onto the coffee table. The muscles in Mike’s face flinched at the sound. He silently congratulated Sara on being able to keep her muscles so lax, but prayed Rosalie would not try any more tests. “She’ll do for now,” Rosalie said. “Well, Sara, you’ll find there’s a stiff price for stealing Stephen. He’s belonged to me for too long to give him up freely. I’m looking forward to seeing a little anguish on that cool face of yours. Wilf’s friend, Joseph, has a talent for making people tell him what he wants to know. We’ll know what you did with the plans before he kills you. “I wish I could just shoot you now. The boyfriend would be handy to pin it on.” Mike tensed, ready to spring. He wished he knew what Wilf was doing behind him. 227

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“But I made a deal. We’ll have to take her with us, Wilf,” Rosalie said, flipping open the flap of her straw bag and slipping her hand inside. “She shouldn’t need much more.” Wilf tried to push the solid wooden coffee table out of the way with his leg so he could get at Mike. “Damn! This is a heavy bastard,” he muttered. To free both hands, Wilf tucked his revolver into his belt and leaned down to lift the table aside. Mike chose that moment to spring to life. The barrel of his revolver aimed at a spot precisely between Rosalie’s eyes. “Don’t move,” he ordered. Almost simultaneously, the agents emerged from the bedroom and the stairway to the kitchen, guns drawn. “Drop it,” Jim snapped at Wilf. “Sara, search her purse.” At the sight of Bart, the image of his brother, healthy and aiming a revolver at her as he erupted from the stairway, Bea went pale. Wilf cursed and froze, his hand inches from the gun at his belt. Rosalie, when she saw Sara open her eyes and sit up, screamed an inarticulate protest. Her face distorted with rage, she yanked a small handgun out of her purse and aimed it at Sara. A sharp report split the air. A small, red dot bloomed in the center of Rosalie’s forehead. Mike looked down in dismay at the Beretta he had just fired. “My God!” he whispered as his trembling fingers deposited it on the coffee table. Sara hurled herself the length of the sofa and wrapped her arms around him. He crushed her against his chest so tightly it was a wonder she could breathe. “You’re all right,” he whispered. “It’s all over now.” Bart ushered Bea in from the kitchen and took Wilf’s weapon from his belt. The Jacksons watched impassively while Jim bent over Rosalie 228

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for a moment, feeling for a pulse that had stopped forever. He shook his head. He wrapped a handkerchief around his hand and pulled a syringe and a little bottle of colorless liquid from Rosalie’s bag. He held up the bottle toward Bea. “This may be what we need to tie you in to the attempted murder on board the MS Theseus, Mrs. Jackson.” “Attempted…?” Wilf blurted, whirling to look at his wife. “Say nothing,” she hissed at him. “We have no statement to make,” she said coolly to Jim. “My man is not dead…yet.” Jim let the words sink in. “I expect you’ll change your mind before we return from freeing the children your friend is holding hostage.” “Joseph is the one you want,” Wilf blurted. “We didn’t have anything to do with it. He acted alone.” “Wilf,” his wife snarled, her lip curled with disgust, “I told you to shut up.” Jim put the syringe and the bottle back into Rosalie’s bag and picked up the telephone. After speaking quietly for a few moments, he turned to Mike. “Why don’t you pour drinks for Sara and yourself, and go out on the patio. I have a couple of men coming over in a minute or two to tidy things away.” He looked at Sara apologetically. “I’d suggest you spend the night in a room at the main building of the hotel, but you’re expecting an important phone call here in the morning.” Finally, he turned to Therèse, who was leaning limply against the archway to the kitchen. “There are two men already watching your house,” Jim told her. “We’ll be going to join them. We’ll see that Mr. Jackson cooperates in the rescue of your sons.” “Bart”—Jim pointed at Bea—”take this charming lady next door. I 229

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expect you’ll be able to jog her memory about the attack on your brother. And about who else was involved. I’m afraid I can’t spare a man to monitor your methods. I’ll have to trust you to do it by the book.” The tight grin that accompanied the words was completely humorless. Mike took Jim’s advice and poured a splash of cognac into two snifters and took Sara out onto the patio while Jim’s men did their coldly efficient job of “tidying” away all evidence of the Jacksons’ invasion and Rosalie’s violent death. Before Jim ushered the rest of the group out the front door into the warm, black night, he caught Mike’s eye. His infinitesimal nod of approval and understanding of what the last hour had cost Mike spoke volumes. Damn the man. Mike hated to admit how much his old buddy’s respect meant to him. He raised his hand waist-high in a perfunctory, slightly self-conscious good-bye wave. *

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Sara stared at the closed door. Although the physical threat from Rosalie and the Jacksons was over, she didn’t feel the expected sense of relief. So much was still hanging. Therèse’s sons were still being held by the man with the knife. She remembered clearly the feel of that sharp blade against the flesh of her neck. Bret had felt that same knife and was hanging between life and death in a Miami hospital. Mike put his arm around her shoulders. “It’s almost over, love. Jim’s people have this under control. After tomorrow, we’ll be able to concentrate on getting on with our own lives.” That’s what she was afraid of. She couldn’t blame Mike for wanting his life back. He’d given up his much-needed vacation to keep her safe. He’d even overcome his scruples about firearms and had saved her life by shooting Rosalie. Well, Sara had served her purpose, too. Their intense physical relationship had kept Mike’s mind off his broken 230

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engagement. A wave of pain and bitterness swept over her. Mike, Stephen, Jim Greco…who else? Men were standing in line to use her. She should be glad to leave behind this seamy world of greed and treachery into which she had been tricked. She’d go home, practice law and care for her father. In all honesty, she had to admit Mike didn’t belong to that world either. Tonight had cost him dearly. She could feel his shock and revulsion at what he had done. And she could not accuse him of lying to her. They had shared a few daydreams about a future together, but he had told her at the beginning that marriage was not for him. It was her own fault that she had fallen in love with him and would never again be the cheerfully self-sufficient person she had been when she left Rochester. “Come to bed, Sara. You’re too tired to think any more. I’ll massage the knots out of your shoulders,” he tempted, with a tender smile. “And then I’d like to hold you tonight. Please, Sara, humor me. I want you safe in my arms all night.” She slipped her arm around his waist and leaned her forehead against his chest. “That sounds heavenly, but I don’t think even one of your magic rubdowns would put me to sleep tonight.” She was wrong. Mike’s gentle massaging of her neck and shoulders soothed her into an exhausted and dreamless sleep. *

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She woke with Mike’s body curved around her. His arm lay across her waist, his knee between hers. Sara cautiously rolled onto her back so she could gaze at his still-sleeping face, memorizing the strong lines of his cheekbones and jaw, his generous and passionate mouth. She wondered if she would awaken tomorrow morning in his arms. After this day was over, would she ever know his lovemaking again? She pressed a kiss to his chest, loving the slightly salty taste of his warm skin. Mike stirred and, waking slightly, pulled her close. She was 231

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sliding her arm around his waist to complete the embrace when the dreaded sound of the telephone shattered the moment.

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CHAPTER 18

Reluctantly, Sara moved out of the warmth of Mike’s arms. She swung her legs over the side of the bed and reached for the receiver. “Hello,” she ventured. Stephen’s voice was smooth and confident as usual. “Sara, darling, you sound husky and delightfully rumpled. I hope I didn’t wake you.” She looked at Mike’s hard brown body from which she had just disentangled herself. He was wide awake now and captured her eyes for a moment in silent encouragement. “Good morning, Stephen. No, we’ve been awake for quite a while.” She hoped her reminder of Mike’s presence would discourage the sensuous overtone of his first words. “I’m calling from the boat. Pete and I spent yesterday sailing the L’Esprit from Barbados to St. Lucia. We moored here in Marigot Bay late last night.” His voice lowered suggestively. “It’s much too romantic to waste on Pete, darling. I decided to make a real holiday of 233

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it. “I think you’ll like the plans I’ve made. We’ll spend a day or two anchored here in the lagoon, and then take off in L’Esprit for a few days’ cruising through the Grenadines.” “That sounds wonderful for you, Stephen. You’ve been working hard for a long time.” “I’m sorry I didn’t realize that sooner. I should’ve come along on the cruise with you. I didn’t realize how upset you were that I didn’t offer to join you.” “You’re mistaken, Stephen. I explained before I left that I needed to put some distance between us to examine my feelings about our future.” Sara was grimly determined to remain logical and reasonable. “All we need is some time together, darling. I’m willing to forget all about your little shipboard episode. How would you like to make another impulsive decision and join us on L’Esprit?” Stephen suggested with a synthetically tolerant chuckle. “Pete and I are going to pick up Vera in Barbados so there’d be the four of us. It would be a good way for you to get to know my sister before we’re married. She’s the only family I have so it’s important to me that you become friends.” “Stephen, have you forgotten I’m in love with someone else? I did not enter this new relationship lightly. There’s no reason for me to get to know your family. Please don’t make this any harder on both of us.” Exasperated, Sara grimaced at Mike and ran agitated fingers through her sleep-tangled hair. “I understand, darling,” Stephen said, without missing a beat. “You might find meeting my sister a little awkward under the circumstances. You can meet her another time. Right now, all I care about is seeing you. I’ve missed you more than you can imagine. I have every confidence you’ll remember how right we are when we’re together again—” 234

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“Yes, I said I’d meet you,” Sara interrupted. “Why don’t you come to the villa for lunch? We can have a private meeting here. Then I’d like you to meet Mike so you’ll see he’s not just a figment of my imagination.” “No!” The violence of Stephen’s response was the first indication that he had paid any attention to a word she’d said. “I’d like to meet you here in Marigot Bay.” He recovered quickly. “Please, darling, don’t humiliate me by insisting that I come to a villa you are sharing with another man. I’m trying to be reasonable, but I’m not quite that civilized. Say you’ll come. Shall I send a limousine for you?” Her safety would be much easier to ensure at the villa. But Sara had enough bargaining experience to recognize when a point was not negotiable. “All right, Stephen. If that’s what you prefer. But I’ll arrange my own transportation from here so I’ll have it for the return trip.” “Excellent!” She could hear the triumph in his voice. “The quickest way for you to get here is to take a water bus from the docks in Castries directly to the Marigot jetty. That takes only about twenty minutes. I’ll meet you on the jetty with the runabout and whisk you off to the yacht for lunch. You won’t be sorry, Sara. You’ll love L’Esprit.” “Wait, Stephen. I agreed to meet you for lunch, but I did not agree to visit your yacht. There must be a restaurant at the resort. I’ll meet you there.” Mike was sitting on edge of the bed beside her, his discontent with the direction the conversation was taking evident in his scowl. She patted his hand as if to tell him she had everything under control. “If you insist.” Stephen did not sound too happy with her either. He never liked to change arrangements once he had decided on them. “As 235

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a matter of fact, there’s a good restaurant on the waterfront here. You can take a water taxi from the jetty right to Doolittle’s. It has its own dock. I have a few things to do this morning. I’ll meet you on Doolittle’s terrace at two o’clock for a late lunch, if that suits you.” “That’s fine,” she said. “Do not bring the boyfriend, Sara. There are things that need to be said between us that I don’t want an audience for.” She did not bother responding to his last request. “Two o’clock then,” she said. “Oh, and, darling, if you still have little Paul’s teddy bear, you might bring it along with you.” Sara agreed and hung up. *

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“What have you agreed to, Sara?” Mike’s question was more abrupt than he had intended. His fear for her sat like a cold stone in the pit of his stomach. She had barely finished giving Mike the details of Stephen’s part of the conversation when Jim Greco’s characteristic knock sounded at the door. Mike yanked on his cutoffs and headed off to open the door. Over his shoulder, he pronounced, “I don’t like the sound of any of it, Sara. I’m going with you.” Annoyed by his authoritative tone, she called after him, “I told you. I can handle Stephen.” When he did not deign to reply, she slipped on her terry cloth robe and rushed after him into the living room. “I was on the line,” Jim Greco announced, without any preamble. “Cafik hasn’t chosen an easy place for us to cover. The land approach is pretty straightforward. There’s only one road into it. But Marigot Bay is a busy piece of water. There’s a sailing school and a fleet of charter yachts constantly in and out of that lagoon. “If Cafik is staying on the yacht, the sale will most probably take 236

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place at sea.” He appeared to be thinking aloud. “We have access to an ocean-going yacht that’s now in Castries harbor. We’ll move it over to Marigot Bay and run the surveillance from there. The mouth of the bay is narrow and easy enough to cover. I’ll have some men in a smaller speed boat just outside the entrance.” He looked at Sara, a frown creasing his imperturbable face. “Don’t, under any circumstances, let yourself get talked into going aboard that yacht.” Then he added, “I’d better fill you in on what happened last night.” “Therèse’s children!” Sara gasped. “They’re all right,” Jim said. “Everything went smoothly. Wilf Jackson played along. He went into the house ahead of us and we surprised his buddy, Joseph, before he could harm the boys or the grandmother. We haven’t been able to get any information out of him, but Bart managed to persuade Bea to make a deal.” “In his frame of mind, he’s pretty convincing,” Mike said. “I didn’t ask him how he did it,” Jim stated, coldly. “Bea confirmed Joseph is the man who attacked Sara on the ship and is the one who almost killed Bret. She says, of course, she only heard about the attacks after the fact. “Oh, yes, and good news out of Miami this morning. Bret survived the emergency surgery to repair his internal injuries. He is far from out of danger, but he seems to be holding his own.” He acknowledged Sara’s fleeting smile and continued, “Apparently, we had it figured right. According to Bea, her cousin was out of her mind with jealousy. She forced Bea and her husband to agree to hijack the plans. They were to keep the proceeds from selling them in return for making sure Sara had a fatal accident. Bea doesn’t admit it, but Rosalie was obviously blackmailing her for the Jacksons to do something so far out of their usual line. Bea is swearing now that they were going to renege on their agreement to kill you.” 237

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“Where did the other man come from?” Sara asked. “They found a potential Middle Eastern buyer who would deal only if Joseph accompanied them. Bea and Wilf were unhappy about Joseph’s readiness to kill anyone who threatened their mission. I think that’s one reason she is ready to turn on him now. “They were nervous about Bret’s interest from the time he interfered with Joseph’s attack on you. When they learned Bret had bribed the radio officer for a copy of Bea’s radiogram to Rosalie saying they were leaving the ship, they waylaid Bret in his cabin. Joseph went to work on him with his knife. Finally, Wilf gave him a shot of sodium pentathol.” Jim paced restlessly as he continued to fill them in. “Bret told them you and Mike were here. Then, Joseph stabbed him. They thought they’d finished him off. “They assumed Mike worked for us, too, and was your only protection. Our problem right now is that they called Rosalie and told her you were in St. Lucia with an American agent.” “Would Rosalie have warned Stephen? After all, she’d been trying to foul up his deal,” Mike asked. “Who knows? According to Bea, she wanted to see him suffer. They were surprised when she turned up here, ready to run the show, but thought she might want to see it in person. Even if she wanted her revenge on Cafik, there’s a chance she cared enough about family to risk telling her brother, Pete.” “That changes everything,” Mike stated. “You can’t let Sara go to Marigot Bay.” “Let’s think this through,” Jim replied. “It’s hard to figure what Rosalie would do. On the one hand, she’d have to confess everything to Stephen. On the other, she might not have been willing to see Stephen and her brother go to prison. As a partner in the business, she probably wouldn’t go free either. But who knows? She was strung out enough to try to shoot Sara when she knew Mike had her in his sights. She 238

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could’ve been ready to sacrifice them all.” “We’ll have to take that chance,” Sara said. “If she did warn them,” Jim cautioned, “you could be in real danger.” “The plan is off.” Mike couldn’t keep quiet any longer. “Look. I’ll go instead. I’ll play the macho lover and tell Cafik I wouldn’t let Sara meet him. Then I’ll throw his goddamned teddy bear in his face and tell him to stay away from my woman.” Mike recognized Jim’s tolerant look, and he could see that Sara was losing the struggle to hold on to her temper. “No,” she said. “Stephen knows me too well to believe I’d let a domineering male run my life. I don’t think Rosalie warned them. You heard Stephen, Jim. He still thinks I’m a gullible fool whose unexpected romantic fling has complicated our lives. Mike’s turning up in my place would give everything away. We’ll follow the original plan.” “Jim, talk some sense into her. At least convince her that I should drive her to the docks and be with her on the water bus, in case he tries to change the meeting place without advance notice.” “Yes.” The steel in Jim’s soft voice indicated he’d made up his mind. “Mike will drive you to the Castries docks. He’ll join you in the tour boat. After we’ve tested our equipment with the microphone you’ll be wearing, Sara, Bart and I will transfer it to the yacht and follow your water tour. As we speak, Bart is arranging anchorage in Marigot Bay so we can monitor your conversation.” Jim sounded positive. “This will work out fine. We’ll be ready to follow Cafik when he leaves the bay for his rendezvous.” He took a small box out of the pocket of his shirt. It contained large white enamel earrings shaped like stylized shells. “There’s a tiny, ultra-sensitive microphone in this one,” he pointed out. “You’ll have to wear your hair back so the sound of it brushing the 239

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earring doesn’t mask the transmission. The microphone will pick up anything said within ten feet of you. Unfortunately, the shell design we need to hold the transistor makes it quite directional. You’ll have to be sure to face him as much as possible. The equipment has an optimum range of a quarter of a mile so we’ll be able to pick you up quite easily.” “If I’m not going to be on the yacht, how is hearing our conversation going to help you to follow Stephen to his meeting with the buyers?” “It isn’t. It’s a bit of insurance for you. We’ll move in on him if he sounds at all threatening,” Jim replied, obviously impatient at the interruption. “As soon as Cafik hung up, I set things in motion. In a few minutes, two men and a woman will be getting into a rubber dinghy in Marigot Bay. They’re going to sun and snorkel for a couple of hours around the lagoon where L’Esprit is anchored so that they can lull any observers into accepting them as carefree vacationers. “At some time in the course of the morning, one of them is going to attach a limpet sending device to the hull of Esprit. The limpet will send out a signal we can follow to the meeting place with the buyer. Sometime tonight, I figure. Cafik has never been one to keep evidence in his possession long.” Mike leaned forward to voice one last objection. “What do I do if Stephen recognizes me? He did see me when I took off after the guy who tried to steal Sara’s briefcase, you know.” “Good point,” Jim said. “I’ll have a small boat waiting for you at Marigot jetty so you can join Bart and me on the Lady Jean. You won’t go near the restaurant.” Jim looked pleased with himself. “Yeah, that’s good. That way we’ll have a backup boat alongside to get to Sara in a hurry if she needs us.” *

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“All right,” Sara said, “let’s say I’ve had my little chat with Stephen 240

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and I’ve given him the bear. How do you expect me to get away? Call a cab?” Against her will, a trace of panic was creeping into her voice. “Of course not. As soon as you’ve done that, leave. Say you’re taking the next ferry back to Castries and get down to the dock to wait for it. We’ll be listening for the end of your conversation and I’ll pick you up within minutes and take you to the Marigot jetty, where Mike will meet you with a car. You and Mike won’t be involved in any of tonight’s activities. You’ll be able to get on with your lives.” Jim’s innocent use of the phrase Mike had used that morning threw her. She looked at Mike’s concerned face. He’d proved beyond a doubt that he’d protect her. For the rest of the day, he was hers. This evening would be soon enough to begin the devastating business of getting on with their separate lives. “I’ll leave you now,” Jim said, getting to his feet. “But Bart and I will be back with the van in a couple of hours. Then,” he said with some satisfaction, “we’ll get the show on the road.” *

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Two hours later, he was back. Sara was in the bedroom in front of the full-length mirror putting on a final touch of coral lipstick. From the living room she could hear the reassuring rumble of Mike’s and Jim’s voices. She had chosen her clothes so she’d look more confident and self-possessed than she felt, without giving the impression she had dressed to please Stephen. He frequently said he liked to see her in dresses and high heels; therefore, this morning, she’d chosen loosefitting gold culottes, a mannish pale yellow cotton shirt and the lowheeled, gold-mesh sandals that she and Mike had bought in San Juan. The color would pick up the gold rim on the plain enamel earrings that contained Jim’s microphone. She had applied her makeup with a light hand and wore no jewelry except the earrings. Since the phone call, Mike’s face had been solemn and his black eyes had followed her everywhere. However, when she appeared at the 241

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door of the living room, the lines of his face softened. “You look perfect, love,” he said. “Perfect,” Jim echoed. “I’ll go out to the van to see how the microphone is working. Talk. Move around. I want you to know exactly how much freedom of movement you have, Sara.” Left alone, Mike smiled wryly at her. “So much for privacy,” he said. “Which earring has the bug in it?” She pointed to her left. Mike moved to her right side and placed his mouth on the smooth skin below her ear. She tilted her head to give him better access, while the familiar little waves of electricity spread over the surface of her skin as his lips moved. “I wish there was some way I could go in your place,” he murmured. “Promise me you won’t take any chances. Promise?” His eyes held the same solemn intensity they had displayed all morning. “Yes,” she whispered, “I promise.” Then, he grinned a little sheepishly. “That wasn’t for Jim’s benefit. Let’s conduct his test starting now.” Mike strode around the room, delivering an impassioned monologue on how he disliked every detail of this plan. He listed the various kinds of punishment he would inflict on Jim’s favorite body parts if a hair of Sara’s head was hurt carrying it out. He tried everything to test the microphone’s range. He moved behind her; stood facing her at arm’s length; bent over as if to pick something up from the floor; walked quickly to the far end of the room, then out onto the patio with his back to her, as he talked. After he told Jim to come back in because he had run out of threats, Mike stood close to her and squeezed her cold fingers. He didn’t kiss her, but simply stood there, his solid bulk shielding her from the world, while he still could. Jim came in and played back the tape of their conversation. The reception was fairly clear when Mike was within fifteen feet directly in 242

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front of her. It was pretty good within four feet from her left side, but only two feet from her right. When he’d been right behind her, the sound was blurred but still understandable. The farther back he moved, the worse the distortion became. “Try to face Cafik at all times, Sara. I want to hear every word he says to you. At the first hint Rosalie warned him about Mike or that he suspects you’re working with us, we’ll get you out of there. Don’t try to be clever. Just give him the toy and leave. We’ll take it from there.” Sara could see Jim was uneasy about the location. He would be working blind in that boat and, no matter what he said, she knew it would take time to get to her. Well, she’d have to keep her wits about her so she wouldn’t need rescuing. All she had to do was persuade Stephen that she knew nothing of his illegal activities and that it was safe for him to continue with his scheduled sale. She’d told Mike several times that she could handle Stephen. And she could. It was almost a relief when they finally began the drive to the harbor. The scenery distracted her for a while. Having made the drive to the resort in the dark of night, they hadn’t seen the vibrant colors of the lush rain forest that clothed St. Lucia’s precipitous slopes. In one way, she hated the Judas role she’d chosen, but Stephen was betraying his country and hadn’t hesitated to use her to do it. If he wasn’t stopped, he’d soon weasel himself into government, where he could do more damage. She had to go through with it. *

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There were some important things Mike wanted to say to Sara, but the microphone she wore inhibited even casual conversation. There was no telling if they were in range of Jim’s receiver and Mike’s thoughts were too private to broadcast. He glanced over at Sara’s tense form sitting too quietly beside him. Her blonde hair was pulled back into a braided coil at the nape of her 243

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neck so it wouldn’t interfere with the transmission of her conversation with Stephen. He could almost feel the tension in her slender throat. Her dark, worried eyes were focused on the road ahead, her lower lip caught in her teeth. Her attempt to play down her female curves by wearing the mannish shirt was an abysmal failure. Even in his worried state Mike could feel his body stirring at the outline of her rounded breasts filling the stiffly ironed cotton. Lord! How he loved her! He admired her keen mind and independent spirit. Her sense of humor and generous lovemaking captivated him completely. And, right now, her stubbornness and her courage frustrated and infuriated him. He took a deep, shuddering breath. Although every fiber of his mind and body wanted to protect her, here he was, driving her closer and closer to danger. If Stephen so much as laid a hand on her, he would kill him. A particularly sharp curve demanded his attention. The white Renault had been a good choice. It handled well and was the same model as almost every other car on the road. When this meeting was over, he and Sara would blend nicely into the traffic. Damn that microphone! He wanted to tell Sara that today she was risking everything that mattered to him. But that would have to wait. Finally, the seemingly endless, silent drive was over. Mike pulled into a parking space, turned off the engine and reached for her. Sara came willingly into his arms. He put his soul into his kiss, then got quickly out of the car. *

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Sara watched Mike stride toward the pier. Her gaze followed the well-muscled body that was as familiar to her as her own. The sunbleached tips of his dark hair caught the light as the steady breeze off the water lifted them. Her mind flashed back to the moment, not two weeks ago, when 244

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he’d been an intriguing stranger boarding the cruise ship. There was something inevitable about their coming together and now about their imminent parting. A wave of sadness swamped her. This was an unproductive line of thought. Sara shivered. No matter how well she played her part, she suspected this meeting wouldn’t go as smoothly as Jim predicted. Mike was already seated about half way down the twenty-fourpassenger water bus when she reached the pier. Without looking directly at him, she chose a seat at the front beside a six- or seven-yearold boy who was sitting across the aisle from his parents. Mike would be pleased with her choice. The seat was within his range of vision and the child was unlikely to have any connection with Stephen. The boy provided a perfect diversion. He and Sara marveled together at the windsurfers with their brilliantly colored sails swooping fearlessly alongside the boat. When a school of flying fish took off from the crest of one wave and dived into the back of another a dozen yards away, he was sure they were birds and afraid they’d drown. It took his parents’ assurances as well as Sara’s to convince him they were happily swimming in the sea. Before she knew it, the boat was gliding up to the Marigot jetty. *

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Mike watched her exit from the boat and walk across the dock to a water taxi that would take her across the little bay to the restaurant. Her conversation with the water taxi driver was brief. The man flashed a satisfied smile, handed her into a vinyl-cushioned seat, and pushed away from the dock. Mike caught her eye as they passed. The cool determination he saw in that fleeting glance made him feel more optimistic. “Your name is Garson, man?” The deep voice came from a large black man who must have been standing behind him the whole time he was watching Sara’s departure. 245

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Mike bit back a curse. A lot of use he was going to be if he wasn’t more alert than this. “Yes,” he said, tensing muscles, ready to defend himself if he had to. The big, smooth face relaxed into an I-have-the-right-tourist smile. “Then, Mr. Garson, I am to give you the key to the red boat,” he announced, pointing to a shiny sixteen-foot runabout tied to the jetty just a few feet away. “Thanks a lot,” Mike muttered. He slipped a folded bill into the extended hand in exchange for the key to the ignition. He wasted no time casting off and starting the motor. He’d seen Jim and Bart on the Lady Jean just before the entrance to the bay as they’d passed. With the speed the yacht was traveling, they should be anchored not far from the restaurant by now. It took a frustrating few minutes to weave his way through the moored boats and dodge the meandering watercraft of the busy anchorage. When he drew alongside, he threw the painter to Bart who tied the runabout to the larger craft. “She’s all right,” Bart announced. “But,” he added with a grimace, “I don’t like that Cafik character’s oily voice.” Mike hurried to the main cabin, where he could hear the voices coming over the tinny speaker for himself. “You can’t mean that, Sara,” a man’s voice was saying. “You’re trying to pay me back because you imagine Rosalie and I are lovers. I’m flattered that you’re jealous, but you really are the only woman in my life.” Under any other circumstances, Mike might have felt a twinge of sympathy for the bastard. Cafik’s Rosalie was dead. But Mike’s visceral reaction to the sound of Stephen’s smooth voice was too strong. His hatred for the man who had involved Sara in this mess rose in his throat and almost choked him. However, right now, all Mike 246

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could do was wait and listen. His ordeal had begun.

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CHAPTER 19

At the waterside restaurant, Stephen leaned closer. Exasperated at his refusal to believe her, Sara jerked away from him. “Stephen, I told you on the phone. I’m no longer one of the women in your life,” she said. His placating tone disappeared. “What do you know about this Mike?” He put a world of venom in his pronunciation of Mike’s name. Until now, Sara had been relieved by Stephen’s manner. He had greeted her pleasantly as she got out of the water taxi and chatted casually as he led her to a table by the water. “You’re looking very sporty today, my dear,” he’d said. The glint of cynical amusement in his eyes told her he knew exactly why she had dressed the way she had. “But, of course, it’s impossible for you to look anything but feminine and appealing,” he’d added, as he pulled out her chair. “What do you think of Marigot Bay? What a tropical paradise! No wonder 248

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they chose this spot to film Dr. Doolittle.” She’d hoped Stephen would continue to monologue like that for the entire lunch. “Look over there.” He’d pointed toward the mouth of the bay in the direction of the open sea. His free arm was around her shoulders, his forehead lightly against hers as if to help her follow the way he was pointing. He sounded like a man trying to woo back a woman he cared for, but his fingers gripping the flesh of her upper arm delivered another message. It was ironic that she’d once found Stephen’s aura of calm authority appealing. She hadn’t recognized his need to control her. There had been enough clues: his insistence on planning all their free time, his suggestions about her wardrobe, his annoying habit of ordering for her in restaurants. His tolerance of her reluctance to go to bed with him had been intended to give her the illusion she had some choice in the matter. Possessing her body had been a long way down his list of reasons for marrying her. She wondered how he’d react to the news of Rosalie’s death. A picture of Rosalie’s face with its slack-jawed look of surprise and blood seeping from the neat hole in her forehead flashed through Sara’s mind. “See the sleek mahogany sailboat between the two white ones over there? That’s L’Esprit,” he announced with pride. “You’ll grow to love her as much as I do. This little cruise through the Grenadines is just the beginning. Maybe we’ll take a year off and honeymoon on the boat. Go anywhere you want.” “Stephen…” Sara shrugged out of his unwelcome embrace. “This is ridiculous. I’m not cruising with you through the islands. Not now or ever. I’m in love with someone else.” She’d sensed his veneer beginning to crack when he’d spat out the curt question about Mike’s background. She’d glimpsed the ruthless man who’d risen from the violent street scene of New York. Brutality 249

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lurked in Stephen’s cold gray eyes. “Do you know anything at all about him?” “His family is from Buffalo. He and his partner have a construction company,” she heard herself stammering. “He has built bridges and power plants all over the world.” She had a moment’s regret for the friend she had thought he was. “Oh, Stephen,” she said, as she laid one hand on his, “I never intended to hurt you. What happened between Mike and me was totally unexpected. Please try to understand.” Stephen deliberately removed her hand and reached for the champagne chilling in an ice bucket beside the table. His broad smile was almost grotesque in its insincerity. “Prepare yourself for more unexpected experiences, Sara. Have some champagne. I ordered it to celebrate our reconciliation.” For the first time, Sara felt real fear. He was irrational. He actually believed he could force her do what he wanted. She had no idea what he thought was going to happen next. She took the stuffed bear from her bag and placed it firmly on the table. “Good-bye, Stephen. I don’t believe I’ll have lunch after all.” She was beginning to rise when he caught her wrist in a painful grip and jerked her unceremoniously back into her seat. “Stay where you are,” he hissed, his grip tightening painfully. “If you look over my left shoulder at the semicircular dock, you’ll see a mahogany runabout. There’s a big, balding man wearing mirror sunglasses sitting in it reading a newspaper. That’s my brother-in-law, Pete. Under the paper on his lap is a gun with a silencer. He has it aimed at your delightful left breast. Make any attempt to leave or get help and he’ll shoot.” A few feet away in a mahogany runabout, a large, slightly paunchy man with thinning dark hair did sit staring impassively in their direction. The hand under a folded newspaper could certainly be 250

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holding a gun aimed in her direction. “You’re hurting me.” Sara fervently hoped Mike and Jim had heard the last part of their quiet interchange. Pete’s drawn weapon changed everything. The option of simply walking away was gone. And she didn’t see how anyone could get her out of this. “I’m sorry, darling, but there are a couple of things we must discuss,” Stephen said, releasing her. He reached for the teddy bear and turned it over. “What was that foolishness you were telling me about its eyes? They look exactly the same to me.” “You’re right,” Sara muttered. “I must’ve imagined that they had straightened out.” “Why don’t you drink your wine before it gets warm.” He was actually going to play out this charade after warning her there was a gun trained on her. “Ah, here comes our seafood salad.” As the waiter placed the food in front of them, Stephen turned to smile and nod at the man with the newspaper, who raised the section he was reading in a friendly salute. The section that concealed the gun remained on his lap. “I hope you don’t mind that Pete isn’t joining us,” he continued. “He seems to understand I want you all to myself. Try the shrimp. They’re delicious.” Nothing in Stephen’s demeanor indicated he was entertaining Sara at gunpoint. “Tell me,” he went on pleasantly, “how did this Mike of yours react to your coming to meet me today?” Sara thought frantically as she moistened her dry mouth with a sip of wine. “He was angry. He didn’t feel it was necessary.” “I imagine you’ve told him something about us. Does he not feel guilty? Or at all threatened? After all, he must know I won’t allow him 251

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to ruin my life.” Stephen’s hard eyes bored through her. Was he referring to Mike’s stealing his intended fiancée? Or was this a not-too-subtle suggestion that Mike posed a more serious threat. Somehow, she had to convince Stephen she had no idea why he was really in St. Lucia. “Stephen, this farce has gone on long enough,” she sputtered indignantly. “You’ve made your point. I know I’ve hurt you, but that doesn’t change my decision. Stop this nonsense about a man aiming a gun at me and allow me to leave quietly.” “You’re too intelligent to assume any of this is nonsense. I’m going to be forced to keep you with me for a while. I need some information. Where is Mike Garson right now?” She hadn’t mentioned Mike’s last name! “I don’t know.” She caught her breath. “You don’t intend to hurt him, do you?” “Sara, where is he?” She lowered her eyes so he wouldn’t see how hard she was thinking. “I told you, I don’t know. He was annoyed that I insisted on meeting you. He said he was going to rent a fishing boat at the resort and spend the day on the water. Why do you care? Whatever you and I had together is over. It doesn’t matter whether Mike is in the picture or not.” Stephen drained his glass and sighed heavily. “I guess the celebration was a little premature. Well, darling, we’d better move this party to L’Esprit.” It was all too easy to allow her voice to tremble a little. “I don’t have anything to discuss with you,” she protested. “Wrong, Sara. You have a great deal to explain. You resisted me for months, even after I offered marriage. Now, you tell me that you rushed into a love affair with a total stranger, then left the cruise with him. So you ‘could get to know each other.’” His voice dripped with sarcasm. 252

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“I know you, Sara, and you’ll excuse me if I have trouble believing that. What is your real reason for being in St. Lucia?” “What’s the point in telling you? You say you love me, but you refuse to believe anything I say.” She hoped he would interpret the tremor in her voice for petulance. He raised one eyebrow and looked at her through narrowed eyes. “You are usually anything but capricious,” he said. “After I left Rochester, Rosalie phoned Pete to say she’s suspicious of your sudden infatuation with Mike Garson. She thinks he could be an American government agent pretending to be your lover. “And you certainly are very nervous of me. At first, I didn’t want to believe Rosalie, but I’m becoming extremely curious about why you agreed to meet me here.” Sara shook her head and smiled in apparent incredulity. “Stephen, why on earth would an American government agent want to pretend a relationship with me?” “Let’s go, Sara.” He rose abruptly from his chair. “Put the bear back in the bag. I want you to carry it and walk ahead of me to the runabout.” *

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*

In the lounge of the Lady Jean, Mike strained to hear Sara’s reply, but all he could hear was the faint squeaky cry of seagulls and the hollow sound of rapid footsteps on a dock. Then came the sudden roar of the outboard taking Sara out to Stephen’s boat. They had lost contact with her. “You bastard, Jim!” Mike rasped. “You knew what she was walking into. I’m going after her.” He was halfway to the stern, where the runabout was tied, when Jim tackled him, brought him to his knees, and straddled him from behind. Furious and frustrated, Mike couldn’t break his friend’s expert hold. Jim had learned a lot since their adolescent wrestling matches when 253

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Mike’s superior size had been a winning factor. Jim leaned forward and pressed one forearm firmly across Mike’s throat as he shoved his arm higher behind his back. “I swear I’ll break your arm if you don’t shut up and listen to reason.” The pain that shot through Mike’s arm when Jim applied a bit more pressure convinced him it was no idle threat. Sanity began to replace his wild need to get to Sara. “Pete DiLorenzo has a gun on her,” Jim continued, as if he were explaining the situation to a not-very-bright child. “If you go tearing out to the rescue, he could well shoot her.” Under his breath, Mike muttered a long, creative string of oaths. But Jim was right. They still had to wait for the right moment. They had to lie low and keep Cafik unaware they were about to spring a trap on him. “You’re right,” he admitted wearily. Jim released him. “I’ll stop behaving like a brainless jackass. We can’t move until we get a clue what Cafik intends to do.” Mike rubbed his throat. What on earth had possessed him to allow Sara to put herself in this situation? Allow her? Only brute force would have prevented her from doing what she saw as her duty. Mike squeezed his eyes shut against the pictures crowding his brain. Please, God, let her not be hurt. And keep Stephen from forcing his “reunion” on her. Mike did not pray often and he had certainly never prayed with such desperation. Over the speaker, the ear-shattering roar of the outboard motor ceased abruptly. Both men held their breaths. After a few moments of light background static, they heard, “Watch your step as you go below. This morning’s rain has made the steps a little slippery.” The blurred quality of Cafik’s silky voice indicated he was behind 254

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Sara. *

*

*

On L’Esprit, Sara moved down the steps as she was directed. She didn’t seem to have much choice. A few minutes ago, when they had passed by the Lady Jean, she’d been severely tempted to dive overboard and gamble Pete’s aim would be unreliable from a moving boat. Fortunately, that moment of panic had passed without her acting on it. She didn’t know how she could get out of this, but if she could find out when Stephen was meeting the buyers, Jim’s people would have a better chance to catch them in the act. Would Stephen put off the deal, now he suspected at least one government agent was onto him? But Jim hadn’t thought Stephen would keep the microdot in his possession very long, so everything for the sale would already be arranged. He would likely move the meeting forward. Perhaps he already had. She must find out. Stephen’s words kept repeating in her mind, “A government agent pretending to be your lover…” He wanted to believe that. If he thought she was still considering the marriage so important to his ambitions, maybe he’d tell her more. It was a feeble hope, but it was the only one she had. Stephen’s grip was tight on her elbow as he propelled her into the starkly furnished aft cabin and locked the door behind them. He pushed her down onto the neatly made bunk and sat on a straight chair, close enough his knees almost touched hers. “Now, Sara,” he bit out. “Where is Mike Garson now?” Sara put her hand on his knee and tried to smile at him, penitently, like a woman who had been found out in a harmless fib. “If you want the truth, Stephen, I sent him on a wild goose chase.” Sara hoped her gleeful smirk was convincing. “I wanted to see you alone, so I told him I was taking the tour boat from Castries to Reduit 255

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Beach…the opposite direction from Marigot. He was in such a sulk because I’d agreed to see you that he didn’t seem to care what I did. “Anyway, to be sure he wouldn’t follow me, I slipped away while he was in the shower. So, truly, I don’t know if he did rent a fishing boat for the day or if he’s at Reduit Beach.” Stephen’s eyes narrowed as he nodded slowly. “Why did you leave the Theseus with him?” She thought quickly. Pete had been warned by Rosalie. That meant he might know something about the Jacksons’ activities. “I guess I have to tell you the whole truth.” She met his eyes in the level gaze that had convinced many a poker player in the college dorm that she actually held the cards she had bet on. “All right. Mike and I became friends. He’s funny and a good dancer. At first, I didn’t notice how interested he was in my law practice and my friends at home. In particular, he seemed to be fascinated by you. Eventually I got tired of repeating I knew very little about your business and told him that I was going to marry you.” “Odd you didn’t tell me about that decision,” Stephen said, with a sarcastic drawl. “Actually, I was going to tell you when I called from Cozumel. I’ll bet your sweet Rosalie didn’t even tell you I’d phoned.” He shook his head. “She didn’t mention it,” he said, but she could see he was wondering if she could be telling the truth. “When she said you were out of town, I asked her to give you my love. Of course, she wouldn’t do that. Would she?” Stephen watched her with unblinking eyes and appeared to be weighing her words. “It was after that,” she went on, “that strange things began happening to me. Pages were taken out of my sketchbook. My journal was stolen, then returned. Then Mike frightened away a man who 256

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threatened to take a knife to my face if I didn’t give him some papers I’d never heard of.” She didn’t mention Bret. “Mike offered to take me off the ship to get away from those crazy people. But I’m wondering if they were so crazy. I think you know something about those papers. What’s going on, Stephen?” “You’ll find out soon enough,” he snapped. “What about your socalled affair?” “When I called your home to tell you where I was and to ask you to come to join me, I discovered you showering with Rosalie.” Sara ladled more angry bitterness into her voice. “That’s when I decided to make you suffer a little for fooling around with Rosalie and told you I was in love with Mike.” Stephen appeared to be tempted to believe her. He leaned closer, his gray eyes boring into hers. “Now you say you are not lovers?” he snapped. Sara raised hesitant fingers to the side of his face. “Stephen,” she chided gently, “you intrigued me when I saw you only as a handsome, successful businessman. I didn’t even suspect that, underneath, you were the exciting kind of lover who would kidnap his woman at gunpoint. I wonder how many more fascinating facets you have.” His rigid face was actually beginning to twist into a satisfied smirk. “You really don’t prefer Rosalie, do you?” She pouted and wondered if she was overplaying her role. Would even Stephen’s conceit accept this turnabout? The hot, stuffy air of the stateroom was heavy with uneasy silence. Then Stephen spat out an epithet. He jerked her into his arms and kissed her. There was no pretence of love in this assault on her mouth. His hard mouth ground her lips painfully against her teeth, then his tongue forced its way inside. His hands grasped her buttocks and yanked her against him. Suddenly, he pushed her away. 257

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“You challenge my self-control, Sara. I’ve wanted your luscious body for so long, I don’t know how much longer I can resist taking it. But, much as I’d like to believe your story, I don’t dare trust you.” The rough edge of passion in his voice gradually chilled. Sara hoped her revulsion at his kiss wasn’t evident. She felt unclean and as much of a traitor as he had accused her of being. Someone hit a resounding blow on the cabin door. “Stephen!” The loud, impatient voice must belong to Stephen’s partner, Pete. “You’re supposed to be securing the woman, not screwing her. Tie her up. We’re running out of time.” He hit the door again. “I’m just about finished here,” Stephen called back. He reached into a drawer in the gleaming teak storage wall and took out a length of braided nylon rope. “I’m sorry this is necessary, darling. I have to make sure you stay put. I’ll be back soon. We’ll take up where we left off after my business is done.” Sara quelled the instinct to struggle. She had to convince Stephen that she was on his side. “I hope this isn’t your idea of foreplay, darling.” Stephen did not smile at her weak attempt at humor. “You don’t have to tie me up,” she went on, allowing some of her very real panic to show in her voice. “I won’t try to leave you.” “Perhaps not. No, my only alternative is to drug you, and I want you fully conscious when we continue this conversation.” As he spoke, he tied her wrists behind her back and sat her up against the back corner of the bunk. Then he quickly bound her feet in front of her on the bed. “If you don’t struggle, you won’t hurt yourself,” he said, as he leaned into the tiny bathroom and dampened a facecloth. “I am sorry for the indignity, my dear.” Stephen actually looked a little ashamed as he crammed the 258

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facecloth into her mouth and fastened his handkerchief around her head to gag her firmly. “We’ll explore the passions my darker side arouses in you when my business meeting is over.” He stopped in the doorway long enough to let his eyes travel slowly down her body. He smiled again and closed the door behind him. She heard the key turn in the lock. Sara lay still for a few moments, listening. The bulky facecloth in her mouth was making her gag. Somehow she had to get rid of it before it choked her. Trying to slip her hands out of the rope at her wrists only made the knots tighter. He’d tied her too well. She thrust down the debilitating beginnings of panic. She needed every bit of brainpower she possessed in working order. She could hear men’s angry voices in the saloon at the far end of the narrow passageway off the cabin she occupied. She strained to hear the words. “You’ve lost your grip on reality.” Obviously exasperated, Pete was shouting. “You’re obsessed with this woman. You’re risking us all by bringing her on board. What do you expect to find out from her? Her boyfriend wouldn’t have let her come here, unless he thought she could learn more from you than you could from her.” She thought Stephen muttered something. Pete cut him off. “My God, man,” he bellowed, “I don’t understand you any more. You couldn’t have picked a worse time for your womanizing. We’ve a deal going down in a few minutes that Rosalie thinks we should’ve backed out of. I told you she has a bad feeling about it. You know how often her hunches are right. But, all of a sudden, you don’t pay attention. And Rosa thinks this Garson is with the Feds.” “That’s enough, Pete,” Stephen barked, reasserting his authority. “Rosalie is reacting to my political plans like a jealous adolescent. I need Sara and I need the payoff from this deal to finance my 259

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campaign.” “You just don’t want to believe a Fed was able to make the Tolberg woman fall for him,” Pete retorted, sullenly. “Whoever Garson is, he couldn’t get anything out of Sara. She doesn’t know anything. I will deal with her,” Stephen stated, unaffected by his brother-in-law’s anger. “Let me do the thinking. You’re worrying about nothing.” “Nothing?” Pete was clearly at the end of his rope. “Why the hell is she on this boat? It wasn’t enough you had to tell Rosalie you were going to marry the woman. She’s forgiven your flings in the past, but this decision to get married has made her so mad she could’ve set the Feds on you herself. Or got a cousin to break your kneecaps.” “Calm down, Pete.” Stephen’s voice was cool and controlled. “I have the microchip now.” “Calm down? I don’t like what’s happening and I’m worried about Rosa. When she called, she told me not to tell you but she had to see me. So, yesterday when I went for supplies, I waited for almost two hours at the restaurant she chose. But she never turned up. And now you’ve brought the Tolberg woman on board.” “Wait a minute,” Stephen roared. “What do you mean Rosalie was going to meet you? What’s she doing in St. Lucia?” “She said she was meeting Beatricia for a few days. Oh, I don’t know what she’s up to, but I’m getting nervous.” “I don’t like the sound of this.” Stephen sounded uncertain for the first time. “But, Manuel Ortiz said he’d be here at dusk. That’s only a couple of hours. All right. We’ll complete the sale and you’ll get your share of the money. Then leave Rosalie to me. As for Sara—I have my own plans for her.” Pete’s expletive was loud and explicit. “You may be an engineering genius, but you missed out when common sense was handed out. This isn’t your controlled lab. This is the real world. What’re you going to 260

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do with this woman when you’ve finished with her? And the boyfriend isn’t just going to go away. You’re not rational. This is it. I quit. After the meet with Ortiz tonight, you’re on your own.” “I’m glad to hear it. I’m giving up this little sideline anyway as soon as I’m married to my beautiful pillar of the community.” This statement was met with a particularly graphic obscenity. Now Sara knew Ortiz would be boarding L’Esprit right there in Marigot Bay at dusk, it was essential she get free. Even with the way Stephen and Pete had been shouting at each other, their conversation had probably been too far away for the earring microphone to pick up. She had to inform Mike and Jim of the change in Stephen’s plans. The limpet sending device on the hull that they were counting on would be of no use if the sale was happening right here at the anchorage. But how was she going to get the gag out of her mouth so she could speak? She lay on her side and explored the rope on her ankles with her fingers. She wished she had been a Girl Scout and learned about knots. However, the gymnastics that had taken all her free time in the years when she could have been a Scout had made her body flexible enough to reach the ropes. She’d have to use trial and error to untie them. The nylon rope was hard and inflexible. She struggled with the knots until her fingers were sore and bleeding. Eventually, she loosened one loop, then another. At last, her ankles were free. Every muscle in her torso ached and her nasal passages and throat were so rough and dry that breathing was painful. She lay still until her heart stopped pounding from the exertion, then squirmed to the edge of the bed and stood up. Bent almost double, with her head and shoulders leaning on the bunk, she stepped backward through her hands. Now that her hands were in front of her, she could work on the loathsome gag. Dragging the handkerchief tied over the face cloth across her open mouth around into position to reach the knot was 261

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painful. The corners of her mouth were bleeding by the time she finally removed it. She yanked out the wadded facecloth and gulped a welcome mouthful of air. She hoped her thrashing around untying the ropes on her ankles and her struggle with the handkerchief hadn’t damaged the microphone. She had to believe it was working. She spoke in a low, hoarse voice. “Mike!” Her mouth was so dry she could barely croak. She wished she had a glass of water, but she didn’t dare risk the noise that turning on a tap would make. “I’m all right,” she said. “I got loose.” That much was obvious. She must get on with it. “The South Americans, somebody called Ortiz, will be here by dusk. The transaction is taking place right here on the boat. I hope I can get out of this stateroom. It’s the first one on the right as you enter. I’m going to try to pick the lock.” Had they heard her message? If they hadn’t, the only way to get the information to them was to tell them in person. Now to untie her hands and tackle the mysteries of the door lock. Undoing the knots with her teeth was a lot more difficult than she’d thought it would be. Every tug on the rope hurt her raw wrists. Finally, she loosened an important loop and the length of rope dropped to the floor. Now for the lock. Frantically, she looked about her for some kind of implement to use on it. The tidy stateroom revealed nothing useful. She had read anyone could open a door lock with a plastic credit card. A lot of good that did her. Her hair pins, the oversized ones that held her braid in place, were the only possible tools. Armed with the relatively rigid piece of wire, she attacked the lock. The first sound of metal scratching on metal was appallingly loud in the silence of the little room. She waited. There was no sound from the 262

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men. They must have gone up on deck after their argument. That was going to complicate her escape. But first things first. She had to unlock that door before she could go anywhere. Luckily, the lock seemed to have been designed to discourage guests from invading each other’s privacy and not to provide any security. Without knowing exactly which maneuver with the hairpin accomplished it, Sara heard the mechanism release. Just in time. She heard voices in the passageway outside her door. “The sun is almost down. We’d better get out the ice and glasses and the Chivas Regal. Ortiz will expect a little civility before we get down to business.” “I’ll be glad to get this over with. This deal has had too many things go wrong,” Pete said with a heartfelt sigh as they moved on into the saloon. That meant there was no one on deck. At least, she had heard no one else on board. She could get away. Before she left, she removed the earrings and spoke directly into the one that contained the microphone. “The door’s unlocked and I’m leaving before the South Americans get here. Stephen and Pete have gone forward into the saloon to prepare for them. As far as I know, they’re alone on the yacht.” She tucked the earrings into the deep pocket of her culottes and tied her shirttails tightly around her waist so the material wouldn’t hamper her swimming. Then she cautiously opened the door. The passageway was empty. In bare feet, she moved silently to the bottom of the steps leading to the open cockpit. It took every bit of courage she could muster to raise her head above the top of the stairs. There was no one topside. The sun was sinking into the dark, golddappled waves as she ran to the edge of the cockpit. Gripping the low brass railing, she swung herself over the side of the boat so her feet dangled just a few feet from the waterline. Then, taking a deep breath, 263

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she let go and slid silently under the surface of the water. Adrenaline pumping, and desperation giving her strength, she didn’t resurface until she was on the other side of the neighboring yacht. She hung motionless in the water, listening. The salt water stung her cut mouth and the abrasions on her wrists. Her heartbeat pounded in her ears. Then, she heard the low rumbling of a slow-moving outboard motor approaching L’Esprit. The timing of her escape had been incredibly lucky. The unmistakable sounds of a small boat tying up to the yacht followed, then subdued male voices. The buyers had arrived! She was hidden by the intervening sailboat. Because any sound she made would be being masked by the boarding activity on L’Esprit, Sara made her move. She switched to a fast crawl stroke for the final hundred and fifty yards to the dimly-lit Lady Jean. The red runabout that she’d seen tied to the stern on the way to L’Esprit was no longer there. She made for the chrome swimming ladder fastened to the starboard gunwale. The yacht was ominously silent. Even when she clambered onto the deck, dripping and eager to be welcomed into Mike’s arms, no one moved to greet her. A wave of disappointment washed over her, followed quickly by relief. They must have heard her first message. They were aware the exchange was happening momentarily on L’Esprit and all three had gone to free her and catch Stephen in the act. They must have left before she called to tell them of her escape. What was Mike doing now? She couldn’t see the other boat. But even if there hadn’t been other craft in the way, the night was too dark to see much. The moon wouldn’t rise for another couple of hours. No matter how hard she strained, she could hear only the waves lapping on the hollow hulls of the boats and the whisper of them breaking on the beaches that lined the bay. No sound of movement on the water near L’Esprit. What could have gone wrong? Where were Mike and Jim and the others? 264

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Although the tropical air caressing her face was warm, her clothes, clammy from the sea water, chilled her. Her tense muscles were trembling and her mouth and throat were dry and sore from the gag. The rawness at the edges of her mouth was stiff and painful. She could do nothing now but wait and worry. That was not true. She could try to make herself more comfortable. There should be bottled water in the galley and something to eat. Perhaps one of the men had left dry clothing in a stateroom. The boat, as it rocked gently at anchor, was so quiet as she went below that she could hear ripples on the hull echoing through the empty lounge and cabins. In the galley, she rinsed her mouth and drank a little water. Then, she decided getting dry was more important than eating and went in search of something to wear. In the first cabin, she found, neatly folded on the bed, the shirt and pants Mike had been wearing when she had last seen him that morning. He must have stripped down in order to swim some part of the distance to Stephen’s boat. She was beginning to realize how Mike must have felt as he had waited and wondered all afternoon. He had no doubt heard Stephen’s threats. After Stephen had left her bound and gagged in the stateroom, Mike must have been beside himself with worry. Well, she was free now and it was her turn. She hoped Jim had been able to arrange a rendezvous with the crew of the other boat that had been covering the mouth of the bay so Mike, Jim and Bart wouldn’t be out-numbered when they surprised the occupants of L’Esprit. She had to stop shaking. She stripped off her sodden clothes and pulled the dry shirt over her head. She closed her eyes and absorbed the comfort of Mike’s pleasant, musky scent still clinging to the soft cotton. She threaded her own wet belt through the loops of his jeans and cinched in the excess material around her waist. 265

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Suddenly, across the calm water, the air reverberated with loud shouts and scattered gunshots. She couldn’t make out the hoarsely shouted words, but she recognized one angry voice as Mike’s. Another two shots sounded, followed by a loud cry. Then there echoed a confusion of loud voices, pounding of feet on a deck, and one outboard motor shattering the quiet air as it leapt to life. She peered out the porthole, but could see nothing in the darkness. Seconds later, she heard at least two more powerful outboards roar to life. Several boats roared off at full speed, apparently heading toward the open sea. Her hands frozen on the belt buckle, Sara waited to hear anything, any sound that would make sense out of the frantic activity in the darkness a couple of hundred yards away. She could distinguish only the throbbing of outboards fading to a distant whine and the hollow sound of the wakes of the departing boats slapping against the hulls of the moored yachts. The heavy darkness seemed to muffle the few unintelligible words being uttered by unfamiliar male voices. She held her breath and strained to understand what they were saying. Then everything was silent except for the sound of one lone motor, probably a fisherman, trolling slowly home across the bay. She knew with a sickening certainty that one of those bullets had hit Mike. She did not question how she knew. She did. She also knew with equal certainty that if he had been killed, she had no reason to live.

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CHAPTER 20

During the endless hours of Sara’s ordeal, Mike had listened and waited, powerless to act. Hearing Stephen’s threats, Sara’s struggles, then imagining horrors that could easily happen had almost torn him apart. Now he was waiting again. This time, in the unrelieved dark of the tropical night in an open boat only a few yards from L’Esprit. The anxious minutes dragged by, second by agonizing second. He loved Sara. His heart and his pride said he should be the one to lead the assault on Cafik’s yacht, but his head had to accept Jim’s plan. The three experienced agents had the training to board the yacht and surprise Ortiz’s guards without alerting the others in the saloon. He prayed Cafik had been too busy concluding his business to go near Sara in the interval since they’d heard from her. Mike’s grip on the fiberglass gunwales was so tight his knuckles were white and he was losing the sensation in his fingers. He could feel 267

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the cold metal of the Beretta against his skin. Tonight he welcomed its deadly weight at the small of his back. Teeth clenched, he watched Bart and the two taciturn men from the government speedboat slip into the dark water. When the guards had been subdued, Bart would give the signal for Mike and Jim to paddle the runabout over to L’Esprit. Once on board, Jim and the other three would surprise Cafik and DiLorenzo and Ortiz, while, finally, Mike headed for the aft stateroom where Sara was being held. Three tiny flashes of light from Bart’s penlight showed in the black night. It was time to go. The varnished paddle was slippery in his hands, but he wielded it quietly. In a few powerful strokes, they brought the boat alongside the larger craft. Mike secured the painter to the stern. As he climbed aboard, Mike could dimly make out Bart’s figure against the glow from the companionway leading down to the yacht’s interior. The other two agents waited just beyond the doorway. At the back of the cockpit lay the dark shapes of two unconscious men, trussed like Thanksgiving turkeys. Without speaking, Jim drew his revolver and led the group silently down the steps. Mike followed only as far as the first stateroom on his right. He was aware of Jim’s voice issuing sharp commands and surprised male voices in the room beyond him. But his attention was focused on the aft stateroom door. He tested the door handle. It turned. Surprised, he jerked the door open. The only sign Sara had ever been in the empty room was a length of rope on the floor and the pair of gold-mesh sandals on the rumpled bedspread. Something inside him snapped. He tore from the cabin to the saloon. Jim and Bart were holding three men at gunpoint, but the only face 268

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Mike could see belonged to Stephen Cafik. “Where is she?” he bellowed. Stephen’s hand snapped to his belt. Mike caught a glimpse of gleaming black metal as he lunged at him. He was still in midair when Mike heard an explosion and felt a searing jolt of pain in the right side of his head. At almost the same moment, he saw a blotch of blood appear on Stephen’s shirt. “Where is she?” he croaked as he tried to maintain his balance. His vision was blurred, but his fingers found Cafik’s throat. “In the cabin,” Stephen rasped. “She’s not,” Mike grunted. “Must be,” Stephen insisted. Sara must have freed herself and tried to swim to the Lady Jean, Mike thought. After what she had been through, did she have the strength to swim that far? He wheeled and lurched from the room. Before anyone realized his intention, he reached the deck and stumbled into the runabout. He cast off and, by some fluke, started the motor on the first pull. He rammed it into forward gear and steered it slowly and somewhat erratically through the maze of moored boats. He turned the spotlight onto the water. “Sara,” he shouted as he searched vainly for any glimpse of a swimmer. “Sara.” He fought to remain alert as he wiped the blood from his eyes. There was no sign of life anywhere. Even the other moored craft were dark and deserted. Had she been injured before she went into the water? She was a strong swimmer, he assured himself. She couldn’t have drowned. Not when he loved her. Not when he needed her. He called again. There. Was it his imagination or did he hear a voice answering him? He turned off the motor and listened. Nothing. “Where are you, Sara?” he shouted. 269

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“Mike!” He was sure that was her voice. “Mike, I’m here.” He aimed the spotlight toward the sound and saw her on the deck of the Lady Jean. She was alive. His arms, as he lifted them to start the motor again and steer the last fifty yards, felt as if they were moving through thick molasses. His body did not want to respond to his commands. He cut off the motor a second too late and rammed solidly into the Lady Jean’s gleaming white hull as he brought his smaller boat alongside. He got to his feet and stood unsteadily for a moment, but when he leaned over in an attempt to fasten the painter to the swimming ladder, he collapsed onto the slippery floorboards. *

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Sara hastily grabbed the rope from him, fastened it to the ladder and scrambled into the runabout. She knelt beside him, lifting him so his head and shoulders lay across her knees. What had they done to him? She felt for a pulse on the side of his neck. He was alive. His hair was matted with blood. She could see by the lights of the yacht that the wound on the side of his head was still bleeding freely. But he was alive! She covered his bloody face with kisses and hugged him to her. “Don’t you dare die on me, Mike Garson,” she said fiercely through her tears. “Don’t you dare. I love you too much to let you get away from me now.” Mike stirred and his eyes fluttered open briefly. “Sara,” he muttered, “I couldn’t find you. Thought you’d drowned.” His eyes opened wide in panic. “My God! There’s blood on your face. What did he do to you?” “I’m not hurt. You’re the one who’s bleeding. I was trying to kiss you back to life, Sleeping Beauty.” 270

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“Love you, Sara.” Mike drifted off again, but he clung to her hand. She heard the high-pitched throb of a small boat moving rapidly in their direction. Had Stephen found her? That wasn’t likely. He was either being held by Jim’s people or in one of those boats she’d heard heading out to sea. Maybe help was coming. Mike needed first aid and a doctor right away. The small boat that was approaching cut its motor and swerved sharply to glide to a stop beside them. Bart leapt into their boat. “How is he?” “He’s alive,” Sara replied with a catch in her voice. “What happened to him?” Bart was checking Mike’s pulse as he spoke. “When he couldn’t find you in the stateroom, he went crazy. He attacked Cafik and tried to make him tell him where you were. Cafik pulled a gun and shot Mike in the head. I put a bullet in Cafik’s shoulder. When no one seemed to know where you’d gone, Mike staggered to his feet and got into this boat. Then he drove off like a madman. We could hear him calling you, but we had our hands full at the time. I came after him the moment we had the situation under control.” He lifted Mike’s eyelids and checked his eyes by the light of his flashlight. He shook his head. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to look for,” he said. “I’m going to need your help to get him on board, Sara. Jim was getting on the radio to Castries when I left. He’ll have a doctor waiting to meet us at the dock.” They carried Mike to the stateroom, laid him on the bed and tucked a thick blanket around him. “Here’s the first aid kit, Sara,” Bart said. “I’d better cast off and get this boat under way. Hang in there, honey. We should be in Castries in less than half an hour.” Sara managed to find scissors and a roll of gauze in the first aid kit. 271

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There was so much blood! And Mike’s face was an ominous gray color under his tan. Her hands were trembling as she pressed a thick pad of it to Mike’s bleeding wound. She wished she knew what she was doing. Why hadn’t she gone into nursing instead of law? Eventually, when the pressure slowed the flow of blood, the panic that had her heart pounding eased a little. Mike was pale, but he was breathing fairly normally, she reassured herself. Although he appeared to be unconscious, Mike had found her hand again and his grip was firm. Again and again, she told him that she loved him and would never leave him. “Please don’t die, Mike,” she whispered, as she kissed his unresponsive lips. As if she could transfer her strength to him through their lips, she put her total being into the kiss. “It would kill me.” He did not open his eyes and his speech was only a little slurred when he said, “…not going anywhere…love you.” She did not know if he was conscious he had said the words again, but she responded with all her heart, “I’ll never leave you.” His eyes opened and this time his lips responded to her kiss. “When I get rid of this headache, we’ll do this right.” He tried to smile at her, but she could see that the haze of pain was closing off his vision again. Sara was dozing with her head and shoulders on Mike’s bed, her hand still in his when the doctor boarded at Castries. Jim drew Sara aside while the doctor went about his business. “I’m sorry you had to go through what you did today, Sara,” Jim said quietly. “But it wasn’t for nothing. We got Cafik and DiLorenzo cold.” At that moment, Sara didn’t care. “You let Mike get shot,” she accused. “Mike had been crazy with worry about you all day. I had to threaten to handcuff him to the chair to keep him from rushing to 272

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rescue you when they took you aboard L’Esprit. When we got to Cafik’s yacht tonight, everything was going smoothly, until he discovered you weren’t in the stateroom. “We had surprised Cafik and DiLorenzo and Ortiz in the saloon and had them covered. We were just about to frisk them when Mike came roaring in. Mike was going for Cafik’s throat when he pulled a gun and shot Mike in the head. “Bart’s bullet just nicked Cafik’s gun hand and blasted a hole in his shoulder. Before anyone could stop Mike to see how bad his head wound was, he was speeding off in the runabout. The best I could do then was send Bart after him.” The St. Lucian doctor’s examination had been swift and efficient. He turned to them as he dried his hands. “Well, Mr. Greco,” he began, “he’s a very lucky man. The bleeding has almost stopped.” “Thank God,” Sara breathed. “You are Mrs. Garson?” “Sara Tolberg. I am Mr. Garson’s fiancée,” she stated with a warning look at Jim. A fiancée would have the right to stay by his side. “Is he going to be all right?” “He has lost a lot of blood and seems to be slightly concussed,” the doctor replied. “However, from what I can observe without x-rays, the bullet did not penetrate his skull. An ambulance is on the pier to take him to Victoria hospital. He needs tests and I want to keep him under observation for a day or two.” “If that is absolutely necessary,” she said. It was her turn to take charge and look after Mike. “I would prefer,” she said to Jim, “to take him back to the villa as soon as possible. If we had private nurses around the clock, we could keep him under observation there, couldn’t we?” “I’ll make sure the villa is yours as long as you want it,” Jim 273

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assured her. “It’s the least we can do.” *

*

*

It was only after Mike was admitted, his wound cleaned and dressed, and comfortably asleep, with her cot beside his bed, that Sara was able to gather her thoughts. She’d refused to leave his side. The doctor insisted they keep Mike for twenty-four hours to do the testing he wanted, but she’d hired nurses for the villa for the following two days. She stood by Mike’s bedside, breathing the unnatural non-smell all hospitals share, and looked at his sleeping form. She counted her blessings. His dark face still had an odd pallor, but he seemed to be sleeping normally. The x-rays had shown that, miraculously, the bullet had only creased his skull. What they had yet to do was to gauge the severity of his concussion. And they had the villa for as long as Mike’s recuperation took. It was hard to believe they would have a chance to enjoy their own Garden of Eden without the dark menace that had been hanging over them. She smiled and glanced at the dark window. The sun would rise this morning on a much more hopeful day than yesterday had been. Sara had been vaguely aware that the doctors and nurses had been looking at her strangely, but she thought it was because she was behaving like the worst kind of bossy North American woman. It was only when she caught a glimpse of herself reflected in the windowpane that she realized why. Her hair was wild and hanging in stringy wisps from the remains of her braid. She had not touched it since she had clambered aboard the Lady Jean after her ordeal on L’Esprit. There were dark shadows under her eyes and her cheeks were streaked with tearstains and traces of Mike’s dried blood. Her mouth was swollen from the gag. She had forgotten she was braless under Mike’s large sports shirt. And with only some of its buttons fastened, the neck gaped revealingly. 274

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The shirt was wrinkled and stiff with dried seawater that had dripped from her hair and with blood from Mike’s wounds. Her bare feet poked out under the rolled bottoms of his jeans lashed in bulky folds about her waist. She sank onto her cot trying to stifle the urge to laugh hysterically. She had never looked this dreadful in her entire life. She had been feeling quite proud of the way she had stood up to the horrors of the day. If she had taken time to think of it, she would have pictured herself as a strong woman who had survived the ordeal looking slightly mussed but still reasonably attractive. What a difference between that picture and the sad truth. *

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Mike stirred. “Sara,” he called urgently. He had surfaced briefly a few times in the night to hear her voice telling him things he needed to hear. Had she gone, in spite of what she had said? Where was she? “Sara, love?” He opened his eyes as she bent over him. “I’m not dreaming. You are here.” He raised his hand to touch her cheek. “You’re so beautiful.” Her burst of laughter startled him. “Thank you, sweetheart,” she gasped as she collapsed giggling on his chest. “Beauty is certainly in the eye of the beholder.” Her laughter was contagious, but his answering chuckle sent a jolt of pain through his head. “True enough,” he said, holding her tightly, “but I remember how nice you clean up. Marry me, Sara. I love you. So many times today, I wanted to tell you. I was so afraid I’d lose you.” “You can’t lose me, Mike. There’s an international law that deals very specifically with this situation. If a man who has been shot in the head because he loves a woman proposes to that woman, she has to 275

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accept and have his babies and love him forever.” With her blue-green eyes shining in her blood-streaked face, she had never been more beautiful to him. A broad grin split his face as he sought to prolong the intense joy of the moment. “I should know better than to bandy laws with a lawyer. A simple ‘yes’ would do. Let’s do this right. Will you marry me and be the mother of my children and love me forever, Sara?” “Yes.” The laughter faded in the solemnity of the moment. Their lips met to seal the promise.

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DEE LLOYD

Award-winning author Dee Lloyd credits her upbringing in Timmins, a Northern Ontario gold mining town, for her love of dramatic scenery and her conviction that nothing is impossible to a person who is willing to work for it. When she was thirteen years old, she told a reporter for the Timmins Daily Press that she was going to be a writer. Many careers—ranging from sales clerk in a record store to teacher of literature and creative writing—and years later, she is doing just that. She is fascinated by electronic publishing and the fresh new settings and story lines, which this new medium encourages. Married to Terry Sheils, EPPIE award-winning author of horror, humorous mystery, and historical novels, Dee states, “Writing is as essential as breathing in our house.” A former Senior Editor with LTD Books, Dee is a popular speaker at Romance and Mystery conferences. She enjoys coordinating her Library In Your Hand workshops in which authors introduce readers to the pleasures of reading novels on handheld readers, PDAs and Pocket PCs. Dee’s Ties That Bind won an EPPIE Award for Best Contemporary Romance. When asked where she lives, Dee says, “We live in Toronto and enjoy the kind of shopping, theater, art, museums and the great zoo that this great city offers. However, Terry and I suspect that we really live on an

island in the beautiful lake country of Central Ontario. That’s where we get to spend time with our daughters and their families. I’m sure the grandchildren think of us being there. It’s our natural habitat.”

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