What the hell had happened?
And where the hell had Adam O’Connor been when Hank had disappeared? Not to mention when her father had disappeared?
Was that part of what hurt so badly now? He’d gone, yes, and left her. But when she’d been desperate, she’d sent for him. She’d thought that enough feeling, enough history, had remained between them that he would come to help.
But he hadn’t. Her pleas had gone unanswered.
She bit her lower lip and turned swiftly, anxious to put some distance between herself and Adam as quickly as possible. Damn him. This wasn’t fair. It was the surprise of seeing him that was throwing her so badly now. Definitely not fair. But then again, when had he ever played fair? He surely had the advantage today. Coming here, he’d known that he would see her.
Sweet Jesus, she could have used some warning. It would have been nice if Irma Jensen had given her a call.
Why? she taunted herself. What did it matter? Come on, come on, she was an adult, a big girl, and he was history, ancient history.
She started walking quickly, heading toward her private beach house off the south side of the main lodge.
First her father…
Then Hank.
And all over a cache of pirate gold.
Or had it been? Had they disappeared…had they died for another reason?
Adam O’Connor chased live men. Present-day pirates. And Adam was on the island.
Why the hell was he here?
Sam suddenly stopped in her tracks, staring at the smooth concrete path that began where the wooden decking ended. She had come about halfway up from the docks and stood between the docks and the main lodge. And she was looking down at a trail of drops on the smooth concrete.
A trail of crimson drops, bloodred drops….
Oh, God.
Adam was back in her life, on her island.
And there were drops on the walkway.
Red drops.
Blood?
2
S am quickly bent down to study the crimson drops. She reached out a finger, touching one.
“Sammy!”
She jumped, coming to her feet. Ahead of her, in the doorway of the lodge, stood Jerry North, Liam Hinnerman’s exquisite little doll. Her blond hair was a riot of soft waving curls around her gamine face. She was dressed in slinky white, a chiffon halter-dress creation that bared her shoulders and formidable cleavage and a fair length of her slim tanned legs. Her feet were encased in stiletto heels despite the sometimes tricky terrain of the island.
“Sammy, how was the dive?”
“Nice, you should try coming one day!” Sam called. She bent down, reached out, touched a red drop.
Studied it.
Was it blood?
“You should try one of my drinks! I make a mean Bloody Mary!” Jerry called to her cheerfully, lifting her right hand. She was holding a glass. A big, tall glass. A celery stick was rising above the rim of a glass that was practically overflowing—with something red.
A Bloody Mary.
Sam almost groaned aloud, wiping her finger on the grass by the path. She stood, smiling at Jerry, feeling like a fool.
Tomato juice had become drops of blood in her own slowly decaying mind.
It was because that damned man was back.
“Oh, did I spill? I’m so sorry!” Jerry called contritely.
“Just a drop, no problem. It’s nothing.”
“Still, I’m sorry. Everything is so immaculate here.”
“Nearly perfect,” Sam muttered.
“What was that?”
“Nothing, nothing. It will rain soon, a few little drops of tomato juice are no problem,” Sam said.
“Thanks. Still…I can get something and clean them up.”
“Jerry! We’re outside! Trust me—the birds never apologize for what they do to the walks.”
Jerry smiled and laughed softly. “You really grew into a beautiful young woman.”
“What?”
“You’re just a sweetheart,” Jerry said. “The island is great, and you do a wonderful job here.”
“Thanks.”
“Must have been a good dive. The others are right behind you. They look tired.”
“It was,” Sam agreed. She wanted to escape. She needed time alone, and Jerry, as usual, wanted to draw her into conversation. Most of the time she liked Jerry. Just not now.
“Those little cuties are all scattering to their own cottages. A few of them will be coming our way soon, I imagine. Come join me before they get their hands on you. I’ll make you a Bloody Mary.”
“Thanks, but I really want to bathe and change first. You go on in. I’ll join you soon.”
Still feeling like a fool, Sam waved Jerry inside and started walking quickly away once again.
In a pleasant room inside the lodge, a phone rang.
He quickly picked up the receiver. “Yes?”
“You’ve got company.”
“O’Connor?”
“Yes.”
“I know. He’s already arrived.”
“You’ve seen him?”
“He came in on the afternoon mail boat right when the dive party was returning.”
“Hmm. Did he say why he was on the island?”
“A dive vacation.”
“Right. What else?” There was a moment’s silence. “What was Miss Carlyle’s reaction to his appearance?”
“No reaction.”
“She was polite?”
“She pretended not to know him.”
“O’Connor is never anywhere unless something is going on. The stakes have just doubled. You’ll have to keep your eyes wide open. What did he bring with him?”
“Not much. A duffel bag.”
“No electronic equipment?”
“Not so far as I could see.”
“Check it out.”
“Sure. I like grabbing a tiger by the tail.”
“Don’t tell me you’re afraid?”
“Let’s say I have a healthy respect for the man.”
“Healthy respect or—”
“Don’t worry. I’m on it.”
“He’s one man. He can’t be everywhere at once.” Again there was a brief silence. “Remember that. He’s just one man. Human. Things happen. And when they don’t, people make them happen. Do you know what I mean?”
“You’re suggesting something could happen to O’Connor?” There was a note of derision in the question. “He’s one of the best divers in the world.”
“Justin Carlyle was one of the finest divers in the world, too. The sea ate him up. It can happen to anyone. Bear that in mind.”
“Justin Carlyle was a marine biologist who loved the sea. O’Connor has been both a Navy and a police diver. He’s here with his guard up, you mark my word.”
“You mark my word. No man is invulnerable. Especially when you go through a woman to reach his Achilles’ heel. You stay awake there, you hear?”
“Yeah. Who is O’Connor working for?”
“It’s the damnedest thing—I don’t know. Not yet, anyway.”
“Great.”
“Give me time. I’ll find out.”
The receiver went dead.
He replaced it slowly, then stood and walked into the bathroom, dropping his clothing as he went. He paused before the mirror, pleased with what he saw. Naked, he shoved aside the toiletries in his overnight bag until he revealed a dark velvet bag that might have carried men’s cologne or talc. But it didn’t. He ran his hand carefully over the outline of his specialty custom-made thirty-two-caliber pistol, a small weapon, easily concealed, but one that packed a deadly punch nevertheless.
Assured, he locked the door to the bath, his overnight bag on the commode, within arm’s reach of the shower. He started the water and swore vociferously as it shot out at him, steaming. He adjusted the temperature, still swearing.