Love Inspired Suspense December 2013 Bundle: Christmas Cover-Up\Force of Nature\Yuletide Jeopardy\Wilderness Peril (25 page)

“What about the main building?”

Reuben shot a look at Isla, silhouetted against the sky like a grand lady, unaware of the disaster gathering around her. Built in the late 1800s, the beautiful three-story house had been damaged in past hurricanes, and repaired to the best of their ability at the time, but codes and materials had improved since then. There were always other items on the purchase list. He found it ironic that tourists came to Isla to experience a historic setting, yet they required all the expensive modern conveniences from Wi-Fi to flat-screen TVs. Isla was in desperate need of retrofitting, and now it seemed they were out of time. His stomach tightened as he pulled his thoughts back to the bungalow.

“In the small closet there's access to a shelter underneath the bungalow if it looks like it's not going to outlast the hurricane. It will keep you safe from the wind, at least until it floods. Hopefully that won't be for a while. There's water and some food. You'll be okay.”

A fresh burst of wind rattled against the shutters. He handed her a second flashlight. “Lock the door and don't open it unless it's me or Silvio.”

The fear flickered in her eyes. “You really think someone is coming?”

He didn't want to add to her fear, but he'd always told her the truth and he wasn't going to start lying now. “Yes, I do. Garza wants the island, and he thinks he's going to force me to give it up.” He hesitated. “I don't want you involved in this, but I'm worried that you already are.”

She sucked in a breath. “The man on the beach and the one on the Jet Ski. You think they were Garza's men?”

“I don't know.”

“Why would they think scaring me would influence you? Everyone knows we're not together anymore.”

Reuben felt the flood of feelings well up from deep in his soul.
Not together, but you'll always be a part of me.
“Enemies will use anything, even the past. Maybe they thought they could still get to me through you.”

Her eyes locked on his. “Can they?”

He wished desperately at that moment that Antonia was still on the side of friend. Of all the things they had been to each other, he missed that friendship the most, the comfort of having someone on his side who knew him completely and loved him anyway. With the rest of the world he'd always had to wonder if friendly folks were cordial as a way to keep on good terms with the Sandoval family or out of fear of his brother.

Past history.
Hector was out of that life, though he'd never convince Antonia of that
.

“Keep the door locked,” he repeated before thrusting a bag into her arms. “Paula made up this food for you.”

Antonia blinked. “I thought she hated me.”

He shrugged. “She can't stand the thought of anyone hungry.”

Antonia sighed. “So I'm supposed to stay shut in here while you fend off this man who just blew up your boats and tried to scare me on the beach?”

“When the police make it here it will all be over. They'll get you back to the mainland.”

She took a step toward him, and he saw the beads of water imprisoned, trembling in the strands of her hair like tiny crystals. “What will happen to Silvio, Paula and Gavin while I'm tucked safely away in this bungalow?”

“Nothing.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because I'm going to find the guy who blew up my boats before he finds them.”
And you.

Antonia jerked and he thought her face went a little paler, but it might have been a trick of the shadows from the waving palms outside. “Wait for the police. Please, Reuben.”

“Won't get anybody here until after the storm.”

She toyed with the zipper on her windbreaker. “He'll kill you. You're an orange grower, not a commando.”

He saw his own grim smile reflected in the dark pools of her eyes. “One thing about the Sandovals is they know how to survive.”

He waited in the rain until he heard the sound of the lock sliding home.

FIVE

A
ntonia tried to rest but succeeded only in rolling around on the tiny bed until she couldn't stand it anymore. She reached for her phone and was reminded that she had left it on the dock, tucked safely amidst her art supplies before she came up with the idiotic idea to swim away from the man on the beach.

She tried to find a crack in the hurricane shutters through which she could peer out, but there was none, so she settled for pacing the wooden floorboards.
They thought they could still get to me through you.

The idea both horrified and intrigued her. She'd been swept into Reuben's world in spite of her deepest desire never to see him again. Then why did it stir in her soul, the thought that he might still care about her? It shouldn't matter. It didn't matter. The past would stay in the past, and if Garza thought she and Reuben still meant something to each other he was mistaken.

She flipped on the small TV and watched dire news predictions about Hurricane Tony. Winds would top 110 miles per hour. Extensive flooding expected. Power outages were certain. At least Mia was safe, somewhere. She wished she could talk to her sister, face-to-face, to see her wide smile and the dimple that showed so often in happier times. Mia refused to tell her where she was, so she would not be further involved. Ironic, since Antonia was now sharing the same island as the man Mia would sacrifice everything to save her daughter from.

The hurricane will pass. I'll get work and save up some money so Mia can find a new life.
Someplace. Anyplace. And they would see each other again. She would reunite Gracie with her grandma, too, and it would lift their mother's depression.

A long-staunched flow of guilt surfaced again. Antonia had chosen to follow her passion, to go to art school instead of finding a good, solid mainstream job like the bookkeeping position that was offered to her by a family friend. It was all very well to follow one's passion, until it left you with no steady income and without the means to support a family.

With a sigh, she turned off the TV and peeked into the bag of food, extracting a fragrant rice dish that made her mouth water. She'd forgotten her hunger, but it returned now with a vengeance and she ate every morsel. Stomach full, she lay down again on the bed, staring at a wall, imagining the fresco she could paint there. It would be a panorama of what lay beyond the plaster, the wide Atlantic in the background, the foreground speckled with pockets of lagoon so breathtakingly blue it would dazzle the eye. And there would be a couple there, silhouetted by the tropical sun, hand in hand, delighted with each other and the God-made treasures surrounding them. The girl would have long dark hair and the man, eyes the color of chocolate. An ache settled into Antonia's heart, and she turned her face away and slept.

* * *

The walls shook; shutters rattled. Antonia sat up, blinking herself back to reality. Her watch read nearly four o'clock. She pushed the TV power button and found only zigzagging static. The lights still worked, and she turned them on, all of them. She wanted to unfasten those horrible shutters, or even wrench open the front door, but she dared not. Years ago her father had made the same mistake during a much less severe storm, and the damage caused by the wind barreling in was extensive. And then there was the possibility of Garza's man on the loose. She chewed her lip, trying to keep her mind off Reuben and what he might be up to at that very moment.

More out of boredom than fear she decided to explore the shelter that would supposedly save her life if the bungalow was in danger of being swept away. She found the trapdoor in the bottom of the closet and heaved it open. A wave of stuffy, warm air swirled up and tickled her nostrils. A narrow ladder descended into the space, and she held the flashlight down to illuminate the narrow confines. It was small, only about six feet square, she estimated. No exit.

A sharp ringing made her jump. It was the wall phone, an archaic-looking device, which didn't seem to fit in the modernized bungalow.

She picked up the receiver. “Hello?”

There was no answer.

“Who is this?”

Finally, she heard a soft noise. A breath? A whisper? The phone disconnected.

Her stomach contracted and a chill rippled through her. She stood, staring at the phone. The caller knew two very important things: the phone number of the bungalow, which meant it had to be someone on the island, and the fact that Antonia was there, alone, locked in.

Her heart slammed into her ribs.

Slowly she replaced the receiver.

Who knew she was here?

Silvio and Paula. Gavin.

The man who had blown up the boats.

Hector?

She knew he would never give up trying to find Gracie. The only answer was for Mia to stay in hiding until Hector got in so deep he got himself arrested.

I will spend every penny and every remaining minute of my life until I find Mia, and then she will return to jail for stealing my daughter from me.

Hector knew full well Antonia was imprisoned here in the bungalow.

Cold rippled up her spine.

Perhaps he thought he could scare her into telling him where Gracie was. Or hurt her until she confessed.

Antonia tried to think, ignoring the panic seizing her stomach. Hector couldn't hurt her right here, with Reuben present.

But Reuben might well be off in pursuit of the skimmer captain. Still, she did not think Reuben's brother was the type to get his hands dirty, to do the torturing himself, but he was more than willing to pay people to do it, to rig an explosion that would terrify her and keep her prisoner on the island. Yet the accident might have ended Reuben's life, too. Would Hector murder his own brother to get to her?

But he hadn't known she was on the island; that was unforeseen even to herself. She found that she had wound a strand of her hair tightly around her finger. She exhaled slowly and let it go.

Paranoia. That might be the answer. She'd gone from experiencing the worst earthquake in California's history to finding herself at the center of a howling hurricane. Only a few months before, she'd been there for the catastrophic shaker in San Francisco that trapped her in an abandoned opera house with a killer. Now Hurricane Tony. Disasters could wear on a person.

She wished desperately that she could text her sister, the only way she could get a message to her. Instead she dialed her sister's phone number and left a message, giving her sister both the hotel's main number and the direct line to the bungalow. The storm seemed to be intensifying, from the sound of the wind howling and the pounding of rain on the roof.

Reuben. Was he out in it? Scouring the island for his enemy? The phone was back in her hand before she could talk herself out of it. She wondered as she dialed if he still had the same cell number, the number that she'd been desperate to call so many times since the trial. One ring, two. Was it relief she felt or disappointment? Her finger hovered over the switch hook to disconnect when he answered.

“Antonia?”

“Yes.”

“What's wrong?”

Could he still read the tiniest inflection in her voice? The shades of emotion that used to be as clear to him as a Florida sky? She forced a brave tone. “Someone called here. They didn't say anything, just hung up.” She felt ridiculous saying it, like a child reporting about monsters under the bed.

He was silent for a moment. “Maybe it was Silvio or Paula trying to call you. Phones are acting up. I'll see if I can check with them.”

She thought she heard the sound of palm branches crackling in the wind, but it might have been her imagination. “Where are you?”

“Climbing the Anchor. To get a view of the island.”

The Anchor was the remnants of a lighthouse, weathered nearly to ruins, where she knew Reuben and his brother had played for hours as kids. She remembered the sweeping view from the top, Reuben's arm around her and the light in his eyes as he showed her the panorama and told of his childhood exploits like some adult Peter Pan showing off the island to his Wendy.

It's our ocean, Nee. Yours and mine, nobody else's.

Her laughter was snatched up by the wind and then silenced by his kiss, his hands cupping her wind-pinked cheeks, strong and gentle at the same time.

She cleared her throat. “I can't stand being locked up in here.”

“It's the safest place.”

“But the call...”

“Antonia, you've got to stay put. After—”

The phone went dead and she stared at the receiver in horror.

* * *

Reuben talked on for a moment before he realized that their call had been disconnected. He immediately redialed with no success then called Silvio's cell, which got him Paula for a few seconds before that connection was lost, too. The storm, no doubt, explained why he'd lost Paula, but the bungalow phone should still be up and running...unless the phone line had been cut?

He stood looking up at the relic of a lighthouse, considering. From that vantage point he would be able to see most of the island, what wasn't screened by palms or slash pines. He started up the crumbling stone steps and made it to the sixth before he stopped, turning around.

You're being a fool, Reuben. She's fine.

He was nearly certain it was a phone malfunction and he'd find a calm and collected Antonia pacing the floor.

Still...

As he descended the rocky slope, now slick with rain, he peered toward the main house and saw no comforting glow of light in the windows. Power down. Not unexpected. Silvio would have the generator working soon, if the old thing would cooperate. He chided himself for not purchasing a newer model.

He raced down nearer the beach toward the bungalow. The trail gave him a vantage on the black mangrove islands below, which framed pockets of water ranging in depth from a half mile to five miles. Though it was only a little after five, the sky was nearly dark. The trees, usually teeming with birds, were eerily empty, the water quiet without the smack of feeding trout and redfish or the gentle splashes of the manatees that frequented the lagoon. The creatures all seemed to know that this was no ordinary storm careening toward them. They'd had the good sense to take shelter.

It caught his eye, the shine of metal where it shouldn't be, the odd corner protruding from behind the ruffle of leaves. There for a moment, the concealing foliage was swept aside by the wind and then pushed back into place. He stopped, flopped on his belly and took out his binoculars. There was just enough light left for him to make out the skimmer, revealed for a moment before it was lost again behind the vegetation.

His breath caught. Proof positive. Garza's guy
was
here, on Isla, instead of making a getaway after torching the boats. His pulse beat a tense rhythm in his throat. Now what?

He dialed Hector's number.

“Where are you?” Hector said.

“Near the lagoon. Skimmer's docked here. Are you still at the house?”

“Yes. Silvio is working to get the generator up. The thing is ancient.” He paused. “You won't find Garza's man if he doesn't want to be found. He's too well trained for that. Come here, I have a weapon. I can protect you.” There was a definite strain in his voice.

Hector could protect him? It felt strange, stacked against all the years Reuben had struggled to shield his brother from his wrong choices. Strange, and comforting that Hector would risk his own life for his older brother, in spite of their past. “I'm the target. Better off not drawing him there.”

“He won't know that you're playing the hero. He'd think you'd have the good sense to hunker down inside. Think it through. He's coming here anyway, sooner or later.”

Yes, he would be. On the island there were very few places to search. The main building, the boathouse on the far side of the island, a half-ruined lighthouse. His stomach constricted.
And the bungalows.

He'd made an error sending Antonia out there on her own. He prayed it wasn't a fatal one.

“I'm going to get Antonia. I'll bring her there.”

Hector sighed. “Don't do it. She is your enemy, brother.”

He didn't reply. After stowing his cell phone, he sprinted up the path that curved away from the lagoon, slipping on the wet gravel. He'd seen tourists jogging on this path and considered it ridiculous. His own job tending the oranges was exhausting physically and mentally. The last thing he'd want to do on vacation was exercise, but it was not the laborers like himself who came to Isla. They were wealthy people who liked to experience roughing it without sacrificing too many luxuries, people like Frank Garza, who ran an empire using a cell phone and probably never left his comfortable chair.

He gritted his teeth. Garza would steal Isla over his dead body.

Just what Garza intended.

His mind followed their reasoning. Break Reuben, and the island would be passed to Hector, who was in no position to argue because he knew what they would do next.

Find Mia. Or Gracie.

Thinking about his niece with her wide grin and big belly chuckle warmed a spot deep inside. “Uncle Booben,” she called him and it reduced him to jelly every time. If that little girl asked for a slice of the moon, he'd build a rocket ship to try and get it for her. Maybe someday Antonia could see how much both he and his brother loved Gracie, how much her absence was hurting them.

He sprinted up over the path and down into the hollow that served as some protection for the bungalow. There was no sign of life from the little place, but then, he assured himself, there shouldn't be. The hurricane shutters would make it hard to see any....

Shock reverberated through his body.

The clouds played strange shadows over the tiny front porch. His eyes playing tricks?

No. The door of the bungalow was open, banging in the wind, rain blowing in through the opening.