Beyond Fearless (8 page)

As she took the route along the waterfront, a dozen children and teenagers materialized in front of her, blocking her way.

When she tried to skirt around them, they held out their hands, pulling at her clothing, and one of them tried to grab her shoulder bag.

“Lady. Lady,” some of them shouted.

“Please. Don't crowd me,” she begged. But the young people just pressed in closer.

She had never seen anything like this on the island. It felt like someone was directing an attack on her.

 

WILD
Bill Cody tugged at his straw hat, pulling it lower over his eyes. He was dressed like an island kid, with a torn T-shirt and faded shorts.

But even without the disguise, he didn't look like a killer. He came across more like a teenager. In this case, a kid hanging around the docks. Even so, he'd already had several years of heavy-duty surveillance and dirty tricks under his belt before hiring on to work for Jim Stone.

His appearance was an advantage—the Ted Bundy, nice-guy look. Which made it easy to get close to his mark.

A couple of times he'd stood a few feet away from Anna Ridgeway—in a crowd of children—and she hadn't known who he was.

He had been on duty when she went to bed. And he knew she wasn't going to leave the island. So he'd broken off his surveillance during the night, then checked his e-mail in the morning.

He had new orders. He was supposed to get rid of her. And he was thinking about the best way to do it.

He hardly ever killed in broad daylight. But the night was going to be a problem here—with the big bruiser of a club owner walking her home after every gig.

Bill was always flexible. Minimizing his height, he darted forward, moving rapidly. He could kill her now. Right here across from the dock. And it would look like one of the kids had done it.

He had almost reached his goal, when a man pushed through the crowd, heading for Anna.

The assassin hesitated, then took a step back. The equation had shifted, and he didn't like the balance now.

 

AS
she tried to fight her way clear, Anna's heart threatened to block her windpipe. Then, from the edge of the throng, a man materialized. A man with a very pleasing combination of African and Caucasian features.

“Aright,” he shouted. “Leave the sista be.” As he spoke, he pulled some coins from his pocket and threw them onto the cracked sidewalk. Immediately the kids charged after the money, pushing and shoving as they scrambled to pick up the booty.

The man took her arm protectively, moving her into the shade of an awning at the front of a candy shop.

“Thank you,” she said, taking in more details. He was wearing a white linen shirt and neatly pressed tan slacks.

He gave her a broad smile, revealing even white teeth. “I could see you were in trouble.” He had spoken to the kids in the patois of the island. He spoke to her with a cultured American accent.

“I haven't had any problems like this before,” she murmured.

“Sometimes the kids get aggressive. It's a sad fact of life here.”

“Yes.”

“I'm Raoul San Donato,” he said. “I own an art gallery down the street. I was just going to open up when I saw you.”

She nodded. Was he waiting for her to tell him her name? She wasn't sure she should.

“I have an appointment…” she tried.

“Let me escort you. So you don't run into any other trouble.”

She would have liked to refuse, but she didn't want to be impolite. He had rescued her, and maybe it was safer to walk with him.

“You're Anna Ridgeway,” he said, shocking her.

“How…how do you know?”

“I told you, my gallery is only a block away. I pass the Sugar Cane Club on my way to work. I saw you on the poster.”

She stopped short, a shiver traveling up her spine. “But the poster doesn't have my last name on it.”

He shrugged. “I'm a friend of Etienne. We sometimes talk about the acts he's planning to hire. I told him you would be a good choice.”

“I was on my way to meet him,” she said, feeling awkward. Etienne had discussed her with this man? Before he'd even hired her?

“I know a lot about Palmiro. What works here and what doesn't,” he said, as though he had read her mind and answered the unspoken question.

She picked up her pace, hurrying toward the club. There were more people on the streets now, taking advantage of the cooler morning air.

San Donato was speaking again, and she struggled to focus on his words, and not his wolfish expression.

“I'm sure if I stopped in the club with you, Etienne would let you leave soon. I could show you the scenery up in the hills. The view is spectacular from up there.”

“No, thank you,” she answered quickly. She didn't want to go anywhere with him—certainly not where the two of them would be alone.

As she declined his invitation, she saw a shadow pass across his face. Maybe he wasn't used to people turning him down.

But when he spoke, his voice was mild. “Another time,” he said, as though he knew that the two of them were going to meet again. She heard something in his tone. Something. But she couldn't bring it into focus.

“Thank you,” she repeated.

They had reached the club. Quickly she stepped inside, then found Etienne in his office. He was supposed to be waiting for her, yet when she walked in the door, he seemed surprised to see her.

“You wanted to talk to me?” she said.

He put down the piece of paper he was holding. “Yes. Thanks for coming.” Leaning back in his seat, he gave her a closer inspection. “You look a little pale.”

“On the way over here, some kids crowded me on the street.”

“Sometimes they get pushy.”

She nodded.

“Everything okay?”

“Yes.”

He was silent, and he looked like he was waiting for her to say more. When she didn't, he said, “Sit down.”

She lowered herself to one of the comfortable chairs across from the desk.

“Thanks for coming. I'd like to talk to you about adding an extra show Saturday night.”

She blinked. “Last night you told me I was working too hard.”

“Yeah, well, I see an opportunity—for both of us. And I'm willing to pay you a nice bonus.”

“How nice?” she shot back.

“A day's pay just for the one extra show.”

She kept her voice cool. “A day and a half.”

The request was outrageous, and she expected him to come back with a lower figure. But he waited a beat, then nodded. “Okay.”

Surprised, she raised her eyes to his.

“You're worth it,” he said. “We've been doing fantastic business since you arrived.”

“Thank you.” She started to stand. She had to…

There was nothing she had to do. She'd been anxious to get inside the club. Now the feeling of needing to get back outside was strong.

“Thank you. It will be good for the club. And good for you,” Etienne was saying.

She didn't think it would do much for her personally, since she wasn't planning to stay on Grand Fernandino after her contract was up, but she was willing to give Etienne the extra time—to keep their relationship smooth.

When he went back to the papers on his desk, she exited the club through the front door.

She'd had a frightening experience on her way there, and maybe she should go directly back to her hotel.

And what? Hide out?

It was tempting, but she wasn't going to run her life that way. And what could happen in broad daylight?

Another gang of street kids assaulting her. Probably not now, with so many tourists prowling the streets.

When a picture of the docks flashed into her mind, she let the image guide her footsteps, even if she did look over her shoulder a couple of times to make sure nobody was right behind her.

Ahead of her, the sea was an unbelievable shade of blue. When she came to the edge of the sidewalk, she stepped onto the worn boards of the dock and kept going, feeling the wind blowing through her hair.

In the harbor, a motor launch was speeding toward shore, and as she watched it come closer, she felt anticipation tightening her throat.

The launch reached the dock, and a man threw a rope over one of the pilings. When she saw his face, her breath caught.

It was Zachary Robinson. If that was really his name.

As though he knew she was watching him, he looked up. And when he walked toward her along the wooden dock, she wasn't able to turn away.

A sound from under the shadow of a rowboat made her startle. Then she looked down and saw a gray cat staring hopefully up at her.

Fumbling in her purse, she found the bag of dry cat food and stooped down to spread some on the warm boards of the dock. The cat immediately began to eat, and she stayed where she was, wanting to stroke the matted gray fur but afraid that she'd scare him away and keep him from his meal. He needed to eat more than he needed to be petted. So she tucked the bag of cat food back into her purse.

When she stood again, the man was only a few yards from her, watching.

Tension coiled in her stomach as she waited for him to speak.

“What are you doing?”

“I…feed the cats.”

“Why?”

She spread her hands. “They're hungry.”

“Yeah.”

“There are a lot of them on the island. And no SPCA.”

“So you've taken over the job.”

Her gaze flicked to his hand, then away. She wanted to touch him. No she didn't.

When she saw him swallow, she knew he was as nervous as she was.

That helped. Because she wasn't the only one fighting to act like this was a normal encounter.

Then he spoke again, and it took several seconds for the meaning to penetrate her fogged brain. “I told you my name last night.”

She might have denied it. Instead, she answered with a tight nod.

“Tell me what I said.”

ANNA DRAGGED IN
a breath and let it out before answering. “Your name is Zachary Robinson.”

He shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “I guess you got the message.”

Before she could dredge up anything to say, he added, “So how did it happen that I got that through to you, without saying anything in front of your bodyguard?”

“He's not…”

“Sorry. I don't want to start off being antagonistic.”

“What do you want?”

“The same thing you do,” he shot back, lifting his arm and letting his hand fall back to his side.

Was that true? She wasn't sure. He wanted to touch her. She felt it all the way from her skin to the marrow of her bones.

She looked at that hand and at the tension in his body, and it was her turn to swallow.

When she didn't speak, he said, “You came here. Just as I docked.”

“Coincidence,” she answered, then looked around. They were standing out in the open, where anyone could hear. And the conversation felt much too strange…and too personal for public consumption.

“Let's go inside.”

Had he picked up that idea from her mind? The question should have felt weird. But with him it was entirely natural. Hadn't most of their communication so far been unspoken?

“Where?”

“My boat.”

She looked at the open motor launch. “That's no more private than the dock.”

“I don't mean the launch. My boat is down there.” He pointed to a much larger craft. She'd seen it in her dream, she suddenly realized.

“And I'll be trapped there with you,” she heard herself say, then wished she hadn't voiced the thought.

“I'm not planning to hold you captive. You can leave anytime you want.”

Was that the truth? And did she really have a choice?

He was speaking again, and she tried to focus on his words above the roaring in her mind.

“You touch objects and capture a memory from the person. What do you think will happen when you touch me?”

That made her think again about the dream of the night before. But she wasn't going to share that with him. Instead she said, “I don't get…memories from the people themselves.”

“You will from me.”

The way he said it raised goose bumps on her arms. She would have taken a step back, but some invisible force kept her standing there.

“You and I…are going to mean something to each other,” he said softly. “Maybe we already do.”

“You have an act where you read the future?”

“No.”

“Then what?”

“I just know there's something between us. Starting with that…fantasy yesterday.”

She heard the uncertainty and the tension in his voice. Felt the intensity rolling off of him. “The fantasy,” she whispered, acknowledging it out loud. She wanted him to elaborate, but he only repeated his invitation.

“Come to my boat.”

She should run in the other direction. Like she had from the gallery owner. Two strange encounters in one morning were too much. But this felt different.

Still, she sensed a kind of danger she didn't understand, danger that prompted her to say, “Promise not to touch me—unless I tell you it's all right.”

He slid his hands against his thighs, drawing her gaze to the motion, and pulling the fabric of his jeans tighter across his crotch. When she found herself staring at his fly, she quickly looked away.

“All right,” he finally said. “I won't reach for you.”

“Are you a man of your word?”

“Yes.”

Could she trust him? Or perhaps the better question was, could she trust herself?

When he turned and started walking down the boardwalk, she followed. He reached a pier that branched off into the water and continued down the narrower walkway until he came to a sturdy motorized craft called the
Odysseus
.

“It's beautiful.”

He laughed. “Some people would call it clunky. It was a work boat—designed to take men back and forth to oil rigs.”

“But you use it for diving.”

His eyes met hers. “How did you know?”

She shrugged. “Maybe you told me.”

“Maybe.”

He pulled on the mooring rope, securing the craft against the pier. She grabbed the boat's rail, then caught her breath. She was used to touching something small and picking up a memory—like in the dream. Now she was standing on Zach's boat, holding the railing. And a strong image came to her. Zach and another man fighting an underwater battle. The other man trying to drown Zach by pulling at his air hose.

When she swayed on her feet, he reached to catch her.

“No!”

He pulled his hand back and they stood staring at each other, the moment so intense that she could have squished the air around them into a ball and tossed it out over the harbor.

“He tried to kill you,” she whispered.

“Who?”

She steadied herself against the railing. “The man who grabbed your air hose. When you were down there in the water.”

He tipped his head to one side, studying her. “You're picking that up…by touching the boat?”

“Yes,” she answered, hearing the strained sound of her own voice.

“The man in the water—his name is José. We were diving two days ago and found a wreck I'd been hired to locate. Only José got spooked by something inside the boat. And tried to come up too fast. He would have gotten the bends. Decompression sickness. I grabbed him and forced him to come up slowly.”

“Pagor,” she murmured. “The god of war.”

He kept his gaze on her. “Yeah. He said he saw Pagor down there. I didn't get close enough to the ship to see anything. I got him back here, to the hospital. And he's repaid me by getting everyone in town spooked. Nobody will crew the
Odysseus
.” He laughed. “Maybe you'll take a chance on me. Do you scuba dive?”

“Sorry. No.”

“Well, that's not why you're here.”

 

WILD
Bill stood in the shadow of a building across from the dock, watching Anna talking to some guy.

He'd waited for her outside the Sugar Cane Club, and he'd followed her down the street and across to the docks. Not that he could do anything in broad daylight without the cover of the little beggars, but it would be a mistake not to keep her in sight. And now his vigilance was rewarded.

She was getting on a boat in the harbor. The boat nobody wanted to crew. Bill had heard about that. So was she a sailor? Could she help take the
Odysseus
out?

He had to hope they were staying in the harbor. Or if they went out, that they'd come back.

Wait—she had to come back. All her stuff was here. She hadn't moved it from the hotel.

Even as he reassured himself, a wave of panic gripped him. If he lost her, he was in trouble.

Could he get closer? Maybe when they went inside he could creep to the side of the craft and hear what they were saying.

 

“WHY
am I here?” Anna shot back, struggling to keep her voice steady.

“Maybe we'll find out, if you come inside.”

He crossed the deck and opened a door at the back of the ship.

She followed him into a comfortable lounge, with built-in sofas and tables.

“Luxurious for a diving boat,” she said.

“I spend a lot of time on board. I want to be comfortable when I'm out at sea.”

“Yes.”

She hesitated a moment, then gingerly lowered herself to one of the built-in sofas.

 

ZACH
sat next to Anna, and she moved a few inches farther away, increasing the distance between them. He wanted to reach for her, but he'd promised to look and not touch. The only way he could do it was to keep his palms flat on the sofa cushions. He felt like his brain was on fire. And his body, too. If he had to sit here like this, torturing himself, he wanted to close his eyes and just breathe in her wonderful scent. But he knew that would look damn strange, so he kept his eyes open—and focused on the bulkhead behind her.

He should ask her more questions, but speech was beyond him at the moment.

Unable to help himself, he slid his hand along the cushion, willing her to press her fingers to his.

She licked her lips the way she had last night, the flick of her tongue another small torture. He didn't understand what was so important about touching her. Just touching. But he knew it was.

When he started speaking, his voice was low and strained. “After spending the day trying to scrape together a crew, I was really frustrated. I wanted a drink. But when I saw your picture on the poster…” His voice trailed off, and he started again. “I saw you…and I knew that I had to go in. Only I denied it. So I went down the street to one of the bars. Then I came back. But before I could walk into the Sugar Cane Club, something happened.”

She was hanging on his words, which made the next part easier to say.

“The only way I can describe it is to tell you that I wasn't standing on the sidewalk anymore. I wasn't in Palmiro. I was somewhere else. Somewhere that wasn't real. A fantasy scene. And you were there. We kissed, and it was more intense than reality. Do you understand what I mean?”

“Yes,” she whispered.

“But then you went out in front of the audience—like nothing had happened.”

She swallowed. “I had to block it out, so I could do my job.”

He breathed out a sigh. “Thank God. Then I'm not the only one who's crazy.”

“You think that's what it was—crazy?”

“I don't have any other frame of reference.”

She shrugged, and he was sure she could have said more.

All his focus had been on getting her into the boat, on making sure she didn't run away the way she had last night. But now that she was here, another question burned in his throat—a question he didn't want to ask. But he knew it was important. So he pressed her.

“In that other reality, did you think we were alone?”

He saw a shiver go through her. “No,” she whispered.

“Another man was there. At least, he was watching us. And he didn't like me taking over his…property.”

She frowned. “Don't say that.”

“I'm sorry.” He had said it, and it gave him no pleasure. “We have to be…truthful.”

She answered with a small nod.

“Who was it?” he demanded.

“I don't know! I didn't want to think about it.” She dragged in a breath and let it out. “The man who's been following me?”

“Following you? Who?”

“I don't know!” she said again. “That's why I came to the island. To get away from him. But I think he followed me here.” She gave him a pleading look. “There was nobody I could talk about it with—until now.”

“We'll deal with it.”

“Okay,” she answered.

When she looked relieved, he felt a guilty.
Could
they deal with it? He didn't know. But he desperately wanted to make her safe.

“Has anything like that happened to you before? I mean like the fantasy.”

She shook her head. “No!”

“Did you see the other guy?”

“No.” She looked away, then brought her gaze back to his. “Is this getting us anywhere?”

When she moved to stand, panic surged inside him.

“Don't go.”

“Why not?”

“We're getting off on the wrong track. We should be focusing on…us.”

She nodded, her expression turning from fear to hope. “Okay, let's try this. The ocean's…big. Out in the water—when you're looking for shipwrecks—do you…
know
where to look?”

“Sometimes.”

“And you can't explain why?”

“Yeah.”

“Maybe you have…psychic talents. Maybe that's what drew us to each other. Somehow we sparked a reaction off each other.”

“Why?”

“Maybe we can figure it out.”

He swallowed hard, unable to speak. He felt like he was standing on a high-diving platform, and he was going to fly off into space if something didn't anchor him to the ground.

“Someone dragged us into the fantasy. But the dream…came from us,” she whispered.