Eyes of Fire (13 page)

“Don't bring that too close to me. I'll dump it over your damned head.”

“Still hostile in the morning, I see. I couldn't imagine that you'd changed that much. Take the coffee. You're usually much nicer after a cup.”

“What are you doing in here?”

“Jem suggested I wake you.”

The coffee smelled delicious. And it would be just the way she liked it, black and steaming. She'd learned to like it that way from him.

No, she wasn't going to give in to temptation.

“If you were supposed to wake me, why were you sitting there staring at me?”

“Take the damned coffee.”

She accepted the mug. It was just coffee. She wouldn't be making any kind of commitment. She sipped it and it was as good as she'd imagined. She had a feeling he'd made it. Jem couldn't even boil water properly.

“Why didn't you wake me?”

“Because you were smiling in your sleep. I didn't feel like ruining your dream.”

“No, you decided to be a damned voyeur.”

A wicked half-smile curved his lips. “I was waiting to see if you'd whisper my name.”

“After this much time? You, Adam O'Connor, are the dreamer.”

“Well, whoever caused that smile also caused you to oversleep. It's almost eight.”

“Eight?” Sam glanced at her watch, saw that he was telling the truth and thrust the coffee mug at him. She leaped out of bed—careful to bound up on the side opposite where he had drawn up his chair. She raced to the bathroom—carefully locking the door with an audible click.

She brushed her teeth with a fury, washed her face, then stared at herself in the mirror. God, she was a sorry sight.

Her hair was everywhere, even standing straight up. She looked like Alfalfa from the original “Little Rascals.”

It also might have been nice, she told herself, if he'd caught her in something more appealing. She did own a few silk and satin nightgowns, but she had a tendency to sleep in oversize T-shirts. This was a sad one. Huge and red, with a picture of Audrey from
Little Shop of Horrors
on it.

She pulled off the shirt and hopped in the shower—nice cold water to wake her up. When she came out she wrapped herself in a large bath towel, realizing that she'd made a mistake coming in here without any clothes. Now she was going to have to go out there in a towel to find her bathing suit and cover-up.

The hell with it. She didn't give a damn about Adam. He was ancient history. It would just be nice for him to find her so appealing that he would feel like dying for having thrown her over. It was exactly the way most women would feel about an ex-lover, wasn't it? Especially when that ex-lover had lost none of his own appeal.

She rewrapped the towel, wanting to be appealing but certain she would die if she lost the damned thing in front of him. Just when she was about to open the door, she realized that he was waiting for her just on the other side of it when she heard him speaking, his voice deep, husky and provocative.

“Sam?”

“Are you still there?” she demanded. “Will you please get out of my room?”

“Testy, testy.”

“Damn you, go.”

“And just as I was about to give you more information.”

“About what?”

“You do know who your heartthrob is, don't you?”

“What?” she demanded, throwing the door open.

Silver eyes swept her up and down. “Santino.”

“What?” she repeated, completely confused.

He sighed. “Jim Santino. The guy with the cover-boy hair.”

She crossed her arms over her chest. It would help keep the towel in place. “Damn you, Adam.”

“Never mind, then. Still want me to leave?”

“Adam, if you walk out of here…”

He smiled slowly. “If I walk out of here, what?”

“You'll be sorry,” she promised.

His smile deepened as he turned and started walking down the hallway.

“Adam! Will you come back here! Adam, I'm threatening you, damn it!”

He kept walking.

“I'll throw you off my island with my own damned hands!” she called after him.

He didn't reply.

Keep this on an adult level, she warned herself. It was no good.

She started running, then slid on her bare feet and crashed into his back, slamming her fists against it. “I mean it. Damn you, Adam!”

She broke off when she realized she was losing her towel. She quit thundering against him just in time to catch it, managing to hold it to her chest. Her rump was exposed, but at least she managed to cover up the valley
between
her breasts.

Jem was in the kitchen, a coffee cup halfway to his lips. He arched a brow. Adam turned to her at last. “Well, if you really want to talk…”

“You two can both go straight to hell!” she snapped.

She swished the towel around her. Furious, planning every devious revenge known to man, she swirled on one heel and strode toward her bedroom. It was a tremendously dignified exit, or so she told herself.

Except that she could hear them laughing in her wake.

The hell with them both. She spun around and strode to the kitchen.

They both started. Jem spilled his coffee.

“All right, Adam. Who the hell is Jim Santino?”

A
dam looked at Jem. “I guess she wants to talk.”

“Yeah. Looks like that to me.”

“She keeps trying to throw me out, though.”

“Women,” Jem agreed.

“I'm going to throw you both into the sea in about two minutes,” Sam warned. “Adam O'Connor, we had hours alone together yesterday. You could have spent all that time talking to me, answering questions.”

“You didn't ask me any questions yesterday.”

She swore beneath her breath. “You knew whatever you're going to tell me now yesterday. You didn't tell me then.”

“I'm telling you now.”

“But you should have—”

“Yes, and you should have had the decency to let Jem or me know that you were leaving the main house and coming here so I didn't have to nearly suffer heart failure racing after you!”

“Oh, really?”

“I'm right, and you know it.”

“Fine. You're right. Now talk to me.”

He met her determined stare and smiled grudgingly. “Your young friend Jim is the son of Robert Santino.”

Sam shook her head, not recognizing the name. “So?”

Adam continued. “Organized crime boss, reputedly responsible for a good hundred murders—though he customarily keeps his killing in the business. He's known for murder, theft, racketeering, drugs and prostitution.”

“I don't mean to belittle the man's terrible deeds,” Sam said evenly, “but what the hell do any of them have to do with me or this island?”

Adam watched her. “He's also reputed to have one of the most comprehensive collections of sixteenth-century Spanish jewels and relics.”

“The
Beldona
was an English ship.”

“Carrying Spanish prisoners. And Spanish treasure. You know that.”

“So is everyone on the island suspected of something in one way or another?”

“Just about,” Adam said.

“Including you?” Sam suggested. “You did say that you were working for a private concern.”

He was silent for a few minutes. “Yeah, I'm a suspect in a way, too.”

“Any more surprises?” she demanded.

He shrugged. “Nothing I know for certain.”

“Anything else you care to share with me?”

Clouds obscured the sharp silver of his eyes. “Not quite yet.”

“Well, then, Adam, you can go right to hell.”

She turned away from him, but he caught her arm, drawing her back. She stared at his hand on her arm, then looked into his eyes. He had to let her go. She didn't like being so close to him. She didn't know how it was possible that so much time could pass, and yet she could still feel such a strange, familiar warmth when he touched her.

“As soon as I feel I can say anything else, I will. I swear it.”

Wrench free, she told herself. Instead she stood very still and returned his stare, trying to read his unfathomable eyes, but he was giving nothing away.

“Well, tell me this, at least. You seemed to be on the same wavelength as Avery Smith when you were talking to him the other night. Does he know that you're aware he isn't Avery Smith?”

“He must.”

“You're certain?”

He nodded. “We've met before. He remembers me—I could tell when we met the other night.”

“Has he attempted to explain his alias to you?”

“Not yet.”

“Isn't he afraid of you?”

“Why would he be afraid of me? I was a cop when we met. A good guy.”

“Yes, but if he's here under an alias…”

“It doesn't necessarily mean that he's up to something evil.”

“You're the one who made a point of the fact that the man is not who he says he is.”

“Yes, because it could be important.”

“Because although he may not necessarily be up to something devious, there's a chance that he might be.”

“Right.”

“But if he
is
up to something illegal, shouldn't he be afraid of you, since you know he isn't who he says he is?”

Adam shrugged. He still had his hand on her, and she stood very still, not wanting to feel the electric waves of energy that emanated from him and swirled distractedly around her.

“James Jay Astin is a very wealthy man, always being pursued in the world of business. Naturally such a man might want to escape to a private getaway. And Seafire Isle is advertised as a very private getaway.”

She thought that, if nothing else, he was offering her sound logic. Either that, or the feel of his hand on her was making her want to believe anything he said. Anything.

It was time to escape with dignity.

She tugged free from his hold and headed to her bedroom, where she dressed quickly in a sky blue tank-style swim suit, terry shorts and a matching shirt, and her deck shoes. She came to the kitchen to find both men waiting for her.

“Breakfast?” Jem suggested with a hopeful smile.

She stared at him tight-lipped, refusing to reply. She started out of the cottage, and the two men followed behind her. She walked quickly, as if hoping she could shake them.

Silly thought. They were on an island. There really was no escape.

The others were all gathered in the dining room of the main lodge. Except for Mr. James Jay Astin Avery Smith—who was reading a magazine while he sipped his coffee, dressed in Dockers and a denim shirt—everyone appeared to be ready to go diving. Even Jerry North was wearing terry cover-ups over her bathing suit, or so it appeared.

“You're diving?” Sam asked her, surprised.

“I'm going to bubble watch,” Jerry said, smiling wanly.

She looked tired, Sam thought. “Jem will like the company on the boat.”

Jerry nodded. “I hope so.”

Sam moved to the buffet table, helping herself to coffee and a corn muffin. She heard a commotion, then saw that Brian had apparently escaped Yancy's care in the kitchen and was crawling out to the breakfast area as fast as his little hands and knees would take him. He paused right by her leg, looking at her with his broad, toothless smile. She stooped down and scooped him up, laughing, giving him a hug.

“You want my muffin, huh, kid?” She laughed, nuzzling his little neck. She loved the clean, baby-powder-sweet smell of him, loved the way his huge blue eyes stared so trustingly into hers. He reached out a hand toward the buffet table. Sam broke off a piece of her muffin, offering it to him just as Yancy made it over to her.

“I set the little rascal down beside his high chair for a whole two seconds before he was gone!” Yancy said.

“He just wants to go diving with us, Yancy!” Brad said.

“Well, he'll have to wait a few years for that, I'm afraid,” Yancy said. She seemed uneasy, determined to get the baby back speedily. “Here, Sammy, I'll take him. You eat so you can get your party started.” Yancy lowered her voice. “I need to talk to you.”

Sam arched a brow to her.

“In the pantry, for just a minute, when you get the chance.”

As Sam gave up the baby, she turned slightly. Adam was standing about five feet away from her. Dead still. Had he heard what Yancy had said to her? Did he intend to be in the kitchen, listening to whatever Yancy had to say, as well?

Then she realized that Adam wasn't looking at her. He was staring at the baby. Hard. As if he was witnessing some kind of unexplained phenomenon. He was very pale. No, he was actually more a soft shade of green.

“Adam?”

He seemed to give himself a shake. Then he turned away from her, pouring himself a cup of coffee. His hands were shaking slightly.

She walked up behind him. “I know, the baby isn't really a baby. He's a multimillionaire collector of ancient documents, and he's here—”

He swung on her. She was startled by the violence in him and started to back away. His fingers settled around her elbow like steel grips. “I'm wondering where the hell you'd be right now if that visitor of yours the other night had managed to snap that cloth over your face a few minutes earlier.”

“Would you let go of me? You're making a scene!”

“How old is that baby?”

“He's six months. Jesus, let me go! You're about to break my arm.”

His mouth worked as if he was about to say something. Then he released her arm as if it had suddenly caught fire and turned away from her, walking across the room to enter into conversation with Jim Santino and Sukee.

Sam hurried into the pantry, where Yancy was waiting for her.

“Someone was in the house last night,” Yancy said.

“What?”

“I heard someone in your father's office.”

“Adam?”

Yancy shook her head. “I don't think so.”

“Oh, God, Yancy, I should have called the police when this first started.”

“No, no, Sam. I was never in danger. No one came near me or the baby. I wouldn't even have known except that Brian woke up, crying for a bottle. While I was feeding him, I heard someone downstairs. Then I looked out and saw someone leaving the house. Sam, if you'd called the police, it wouldn't have done anything. Adam is right. Unless you want to just close the island and give up the business, we've got to figure out what's going on ourselves.”

“But if anything happened to the baby…”

“The baby is with me! No one is threatening him in any way. I wasn't threatened. I don't know anything at all about the damned
Beldona.
I'm a barely competent diver. No one is going to give a damn about me. You're the one in trouble here, Sam, and I'm scared for
you.
You've got to be careful. Really careful.”

“I will be. But I don't want you and the baby to be alone—”

“Jacques was in the house. If I had really been afraid, I would have called him.”

“He was probably snoring through the whole thing,” Sam said. Jacques was a wonderful chef, but he was also a cheerful man with tunnel vision. He would have been dreaming of the next day's soufflé while the house caved down around him.

“I'm certain I'll be okay,” Yancy said.

“We can't be certain of anything. I don't want you to be so alone.”

“Matthew will be over for the weekend tomorrow night. He can take the room next to mine.”

“That will be better. For tonight—”

“We can figure out tonight when you get back. This is what's scaring me—don't you even think about diving alone anywhere,” she said passionately. “Don't you be alone under the water—not for a minute, not for a second!”

“She won't be,” a deep, angry voice suddenly assured them both.

Sam swung around. Adam. He'd followed her. Come up behind her, and heard every word. And he still seemed angry.

She gritted her teeth, folding her arms over her chest. “Imagine! He's been back a day and already he's taking charge. I don't think he can do that, do you, Yancy?”

Yancy glanced over Sam's shoulder to Adam. “Yes, Sammy, I do. I think you have to listen to him.”

“Really? Well, you know, Yancy, he's working for some private concern. Why should I trust him more than anyone else?”

“Sam, he was a cop—”

“Not anymore.”

“Sam—”

“Thanks for the warning, Yancy. I have a dive party to take out,” Sam said. She turned and started walking past Adam, but she should have known it wasn't going to happen. He took a step, which brought him in front of her. His hands bit into her shoulders. “You can be as much of a bitch as you want, but I owe it to your father not to let anything happen to you, and I'm not going to.”

“Really? If you owe my father, it took you one hell of a long time to decide to pay the debt!”

“I explained to you what happened!”

“Well, it wasn't good enough!” she whispered, furious at realizing that she was close to tears. “It just wasn't good enough!”

She pushed her way past him, determined to regain control as she returned to the living room. She poured herself another cup of coffee and spoke loudly to everyone in the room.

“I'm heading down to the
Sloop Bee.
We'll try to cast off in twenty minutes, for those of you who are coming along.”

She started down the path from the house to the docks, then realized that Adam was following right behind her. She stopped, letting him catch up. “This isn't going to work.”

“What?”

“You being there every time I try to breathe.”

“Well, just what are you going to do, then?” he demanded.