Beyond Fearless (21 page)

She nodded.
You think…Lindsay and Jordan can find us?
she asked suddenly.

I wish.

They did it in the dream.

But it might be harder in reality.

She answered with a tight nod.

He reached out and squeezed her hand, then broke the physical contact.

We're doing good!

She grinned at him.
Yes.

I think our best bet is making a mental distress call. And at the same time, building a signal fire on the beach. That will make it look like we're ordinary stranded shipwreck survivors.

The idea had leaped into his head. And for a moment he wondered where it had come from. But he decided it was a logical approach.

Which leads to the point that we need a cover story.

Like what?

He thought for a minute.
Something that can't easily be checked on Grand Fernandino.

Like maybe we came in from Jamaica and ran into a storm. Our boat sank, and we managed to swim here. We could say we've been stranded for almost a week.

What's the name of the boat?

Hm. Maybe
—
the
Penelope?

A nice touch.

And we'd both act like we don't know much about boats
—
or navigation.

She laughed.
It wouldn't be much of an act for me.

She moved then, stroking her fingers against his arm, and he felt an instant spark of arousal.

Do we have to be turned on to put out a distress call?

Good question. If so, that's a little inconvenient.

Maybe it's a bonus?

He turned his head and rubbed his lips against hers, and they were instantly both caught up in the power of the sexual pull that hadn't let go of them since their first meeting.

Hmm. While we're in this state, maybe we should try out another skill.

Like what?

I've been thinking about the talents that people with psychic abilities possess. Do you think we can affect the weather?

She looked at him doubtfully.
I never tried.

Well, let's try now.
He stood up and scanned the sky, seeing some dark clouds in the distance.
Let's pull them over and see if we can make it rain.

I thought you wanted to build a fire on the beach. We'll get the wood wet.

Umm…right.
He shook his head, wondering what he'd been thinking.
We can call a storm, but no rain.

They spent the next half hour bringing dry wood from the jungle and piling it on the beach.

Then they stood close together.

You be in charge,
Anna murmured inside his head as she reached to knit her fingers with his.

Okay.

He looked at the clouds, imagined them turning dark and drifting closer.

He could feel Anna adding her power to his, but it seemed like nothing was happening.

Start smaller,
she suggested. As she spoke inside his head, he could feel her shifting her focus. After a few moments, the wind began to blow. She built on that success, making the trees around them sway. And as the wind picked up, she used it to drag clouds closer to the island.

How are you doing that?
he asked.

I don't know.

Even if she didn't understand the process, it was clear that she could use it. Soon the sky was dark. Trees thrashed in the jungle.

They kept their focus on the storm for several minutes.

I'm getting tired,
Anna finally said.

Yeah.

Almost as soon as they stopped focusing on the weather, the clouds drifted away and the sun came out again.

“I'd give us a C plus,” Anna murmured.

“Well, that's not bad for a first try.”

“We could see if we can strengthen our abilities in that area.” She slid him a seductive look. “Or you could decide to reward me for the effort.”

The suggestion was tempting, but he felt like they were running out of time. And he wasn't even sure what that meant.

Hold the thoughts. We'll have a hot and heavy celebration when we get off the island.

You're going to make me wait?
As she spoke, she turned her head and nibbled on his earlobe, then sucked it into her mouth and ran her tongue along the edge.

He let himself enjoy the sensation for a moment, then said,
Business first. Pleasure later.

When he'd gotten a fire going, he said,
We should call a boat to us.

They stood with their shoulders together, staring out to sea as they sent their thoughts outward.

He gave her a quick look. He knew they were following his suggestion, but now that he was trying to do it, he felt pretty strange.

Help us. Our boat sank, and we're stranded on this island. Help us. Somebody help us.

It was like sending a broadcast into outer space, trying to bring an alien spaceship to earth. As they stood there on the beach, it felt like nobody could hear them. And if they did, they wouldn't respond.

I think we've bitten off more than we can chew.

Don't give up so fast,
Anna murmured in his brain as her hand tightened on his.

Maybe it was a dumb idea.

You want to try and make a raft out of the dining room table?

Not unless we get a whole lot more desperate.

Well, I don't have a better suggestion. So let's stick with it. For a while, at least.

 

ANNA
glanced at the fire. It had been burning for a while, and if they wanted to keep it going, they would need more fuel soon. She looked toward the dock.

“It may be leaning to the side, but it's probably hard to pry the boards loose,” Zach muttered.

“I'm going for more wood.”

She was about to walk into the jungle when something tingled at the edge of her mind, and she stopped short, then shaded her eyes and looked out to sea.

All she saw was a line of five pelicans heading from east to west.

“Wait,” Zach advised.

She waited, staring as far into the distance as she could manage. After a few minutes, she saw a lighter speck in the blue water.

“A boat?”

“I think so,” Zach answered.

They hadn't spoken about it, but both of them had apparently decided to keep the conversation aloud now that someone was coming.

She waited, her breath shallow as the boat grew bigger. “What is it?”

He stared at the boat as it plowed toward them. “A cabin cruiser. Maybe for fishing charters. Or just for motoring around.”

“Okay.”

She wanted to send her mind toward the boat, but she didn't want the crew to think she was probing them.

Did that make any sense? She didn't know. But when the impulse to run leaped into her mind, she gave Zach a quick glance.

“Who are they?” she whispered,

“I wish to hell I knew,” he answered, clasping her hand more tightly.

The boat was close enough that she could see a couple of men on board. Two dark-skinned guys who were probably islanders crewing the craft. The other occupant looked like a tourist who'd interrupted a fishing trip when he'd heard their distress call.

They were all wearing shorts and knit shirts. And as far as Anna could see, they had no weapons.

She relaxed a fraction, but she still wasn't totally comfortable with the situation.

The tourist guy cupped his hands around his mouth. “I saw the smoke from your fire and came to investigate. Are you in trouble over there?” he called out.

“Glad you saw the signal,” Zach shouted. “We're stranded, and we'd appreciate a ride back to civilization.”

“I'll come get you.”

After he used a winch to lower a small motorboat into the water, he and one of the crewmen climbed in and headed for the shore.

“Lucky I was fishing in the area.”

When the bow touched the sand, he stopped, with the stern still in the water. He and the other man waded through the shallow water to the beach.

The tourist looked toward the house. “This is the De-Beck place.”

“How do you know?”

“I was a guest here, before the storm damage. I guess if you have to be stranded somewhere, this is a better place than most.”

Anna nodded.

“Come over here. Let me show you something you might have missed.” He was speaking to Zach, who hesitated, then followed him a few feet away.

She watched the crewman follow them, then come up quickly behind Zach.

In that moment, she knew something was wrong.

Zach,
she cried out in her mind, desperately trying to send him a warning.

He must have heard her, because he dodged to the side just as the crewman brought his hand down in a chopping motion.

It missed Zach's neck but connected with his shoulder in a loud thump.

Zach staggered, then regained his footing, going into a fighting crouch. But it was already too late for him to come out on top in the fight.

The man playing the tourist was already behind Zach, ready to coldcock him.

He brought something down on the back of Zach's head, and Zach made a sharp exclamation and crumpled to the ground, where he lay in the sand without moving.

“Zach,” she screamed as she tried to rush forward. But the tourist stepped in her way and caught her by the shoulders.

FOR A MOMENT,
Anna was incapable of organized thought. On a scream of rage, she flailed at him—then tried to lash out with her mind. When the man ignored the mental jab, she tried something else.

Don't kill Zach. Don't kill him. Don't kill him. Don't kill Zach,
she repeated over and over.

The islander slapped her across the face, and she gasped.

The man who looked like a tourist came up behind her and grabbed her arm. His partner pulled a plastic bag out of his pocket, ripped the top open, and clamped a damp cloth over her face. It smelled strong and unpleasant.

She tried to scream again, but the sound ended in a gurgle as her head began to spin. She would have dropped to the ground if the man behind her hadn't held her up.

She tried to turn her head away from the cloth pressed over her nose and mouth, tried to struggle against the pungent smell that was turning her mind to oatmeal. And then she lost the fight and sank into oblivion.

 

MAYBE
it was a long time later. Or maybe it was only a few minutes. By slow degrees, woozy consciousness returned, and Anna found that she was lying facedown on a flat surface. Something soft and comfortable. Her eyes blinked open, and she saw a bright pattern near her face. A bedspread or maybe a comforter.

Confusion simmered in her mind. She hadn't seen anything like that in the white house on the island. So then where was she?

The bed swayed gently.

Was she on a boat?

Had Zach taken her away on the
Odysseus
? Yes. That was what she wanted. So much. Yet she wasn't sure it was true.

Someone stroked his fingers through her hair.

“Wake up,” he said softly.

She tried to move, but found that her arms and legs wouldn't obey her commands.

“Zach? What's wrong with me?”

“Forget about him. He's dead.”

“No!” she gasped, trying to jerk to a sitting position. It was then that she realized that her wrists and ankles were strapped to the sides of the bed.

As she struggled against the bonds, she heard a swishing sound. Then something came down sharply on her bottom. Her bare bottom.

She screamed in surprise and pain. And fear as she realized she was naked and lying spread-eagle, facedown on a bed.

In desperation, her mind tried to reach for Zach—and came up with
nothing.

When the man pressed his hand over her shoulder, panic threatened to swallow her whole.

“The sooner you forget about your dead lover, the easier it will be for you.”

He stepped back, and his advice was punctuated by the swishing sound. This time, when the stinging pain seared her bottom, she knew that she had been struck with a whip.

Since she'd awakened, her mind had been foggy. It was instantly sharp and clear.

She took her lip between her teeth, struggling not to scream again. She knew it would get her nowhere. And she didn't want to give him the satisfaction of knowing he had caused her pain.

He struck her twice, and she braced for another bite of the lash. Instead, the man lowered himself so that he was sitting on the floor beside the bed, his face even with her eye level.

She gasped when she saw it was Raoul San Donato—the gallery owner who had saved her from the street children. The man who had invaded her mind when she and Zach had been together. The man who had struggled to take her away from Zach.

And now he had her.

She closed her eyes, willing herself to stay calm. If she went stark raving mad, it would do her no good.

“I'm sorry to hurt you,” he whispered. “I can feel your pain. It's almost as bad as if I were whipping my own flesh.”

His voice was low and calm and chilling, and she felt his words like the lie that they were.

Struggling for her own calm, she whispered, “I'm not very comfortable like this. Let me up.”

Again he stroked her hair, then lightly caressed her face with his finger. When she cringed away from him, his features took on a look of sadness.

“You're afraid of me now.” '

“You kidnapped me. And you…”

“Punished you?”

“Yes.”

“It was necessary to adjust your thinking. You belong to me. Not that other man.”

“You're wrong,” she answered immediately, without considering the consequences.

He stood, and the lash came down on her bottom again, this time with enough force to make her cry out.

“The sooner you forget about him, the better.”

She swallowed and said nothing. Then she jumped when she felt his fingers lightly caressing the skin he had just abused.

His touch hurt, and she struggled not to wince. He took his hand away, and when he touched her again, his fingers were sticky with a lotion that eased the pain of the lash stings. Gently he caressed her as he spoke.

“You think you bonded with him. But that's nothing to the bond you will forge with me. His powers were puny. Mine are formidable.”

Somehow she managed to press her lips together and say nothing.

“We will not speak his name again,” he said, as though the matter were settled. “I'll just call him your old friend. I know that you and your old friend swam to the island. But I also know you couldn't have done it by yourself. So I'll keep you on my boat until we're ready for the ceremony that will bind us together for the rest of our lives.”

“We don't belong together,” she said in a soft voice, then knew instantly that she should have kept the observation to herself.

The lash cut the air, then came down hard—this time striking across her back.

“Soon, you'll realize how foolish you have been. You and I have a bright future together. We both have great power granted to us by the Blessed Ones. And with that power joined, and with the help of the saints, we will rule Grand Fernandino. You and I together. It will be a great thing.”

She could feel him standing above her, looking down at her. When he sat down on the bed and stroked his hand along the length of her spine, she struggled not to cringe away from his touch.

“I have freed you from the slavery of falsehood. I could do the ceremony now.”

Fear leaped inside her.

“But you have been with him in the small hours of the morning.” He made an angry sound. “And I don't take sloppy seconds.”

Slowly, she let the breath trickle out of her lungs. He wasn't going to…do anything to her right away. Thank God.

Could he read her thoughts? She guessed not, since he didn't hit her again. But she kept her gaze downward so as not to reveal anything.

“Tomorrow, in front of my most important disciples, I will cement my bond with you.”

He stood staring down at her, and she felt his mind probing at hers. The sensation was like hot pokers digging into her brain. No, not pokers—heated probes that gave her a little taste of his sick and sorry mind. She struggled not to react, either with any facial expression or mentally.

He came down on the floor again and lifted her chin, staring into her eyes.

“You felt me,” he whispered.

She didn't deny it, because that might bring the lash again, so she only lay there, willing him to go away and stop tormenting her.

Did her silent entreaty have any effect on him? She didn't know. But he left her strapped to the bed and walked out of the cabin.

As soon as he left the room, she pulled against the bonds, trying to free herself, but she only hurt her wrists and ankles.

Defeated, she lay still and closed her eyes, fighting panic.

He had said Zach was dead. Could that really be true?

Again, she cast her mind outward, searching for him. But, again, she found nothing.

She wanted to cry. And scream. She wanted to call out to someone who would release her from her bonds. But the only other people she had seen on the ship were the men who had hurt Zach.

And San Donato must have been hiding below deck, waiting for the men to bring her to him.

Despite her best efforts, tears leaked out of her eyes and slid onto the bedspread. She wept for herself. And for Zach.

But one thing she knew—San Donato would never have her. Not the way he wanted her. Because submitting to him would be a living hell.

She wanted to disappear inside her own head, which was the only safe place to hide. But that gave him too much of an advantage. She had to stay aware. And she had to think of a way to get herself out of this.

Fighting the sickness in her throat, she thought back over the conversation.

He had said he would join with her in front of his most faithful followers. Could he really mean that? She knew he didn't just mean a mental joining. He meant it to be physical as well.

She shuddered. Did he intend to rape her in front of a bunch of other people?

Because that was what it would be. Rape.

She would rather be dead than join her body and her psyche with a man who had the mind of a reptile.

Rather die.

She'd said it automatically, but if that was her only way to escape, she would take it. But not unless it was her only option.

 

“WAKE
up.”

The command was soft, a woman's voice. For a moment, Zach thought he'd been caught in another dream—where a boat had come to the island and he'd ended up in a heap on the sand.

“Anna?”

“Wake up.”

His eyes snapped open, and he saw a woman sitting beside him and a man standing behind her.

Zach wasn't on the beach. He was on a bunk in a cabin on a boat.

Am I dreaming?

“You're awake.”

His head throbbed. Around the pain, he remembered a boat. Men had come on a boat. The woman must have been inside, hiding. Along with this man.

He would fight them. But he was weak, and he must get some strength back. So he stalled—with a question.

“What have you done with Anna?”

“Nothing,” the woman answered.

You're lying!

No!

Somewhere in his bruised mind it registered that he'd asked the question silently and she'd answered in the same way. The special way he and Anna could transmit meaning mind to mind.

But he wasn't capable of making sense of that at this moment. He only knew that these people had appeared. And Anna was gone.

Unable to contain his emotions, he lunged toward the woman, grabbing her, his arm across her throat, pulling her back against his chest where he could hold her securely.

He saw the man's face go white. “Let her go.”

“I'll kill her if you don't tell me what you've done with Anna.”

He tightened his hold, and the woman gasped.

The man's gaze shot to her face, then to Zach and back again. It all happened in less than a heartbeat. Something struck him. Something he couldn't even see. But it hit him with the force of a lightning bolt. And in the next second, he felt as though his head were splitting open and his brains were oozing out and running down his neck in slick rivulets.

 

ANNA'S
body jerked as pain shot through her head. She gasped and flopped against the comforter, too weak to move. Yet even as the agony overwhelmed her, she felt joy swell in her heart. She felt Zach's pain.

And that told her something important. Something precious. She knew he was alive.

In the next moment, she understood the selfishness of that thought. He was hurting, and she could only think of herself.

Yet she understood her reaction. She had felt hopeless. She had vowed to kill herself if that's what it took to get away from San Donato. Now she knew that Zach was alive.

Was he here, on this boat? She didn't think so, because that would have been close enough to reach him with the ability they now had. So was he still on the island?

Zach. Zach.
She called out to him, all the time expecting San Donato to come bursting in on her and punish her effort with more lashes of the whip.

Zach. Zach. I'm on a boat. I don't know where. Please, please find me.

She tried to send her mind out to him, to tell him where she was. But the distance was too far.

She'd only gotten that one moment of awareness—joined with a burst of pain. Now she was alone again.

And afraid.

 

ZACH
heard a scream and knew it came from his own throat. As his breath choked off, his arm dropped away from the woman's throat.