Anne Stuart's Out-of-Print Gems

by Anne Stuart

  There was one good thing to be said for being kidnapped and drugged, Libby thought some uncounted hours later. If the drugs were strong enough, she didn’t have to suffer through that god-awful plane ride in a conscious state. By the time things started coming back into focus she was already back on Ghost Island, traveling along in the back seat of the same luxurious limo that had brought her there a lifetime ago.

  She let out a small, involuntary moan. “Awake, are you?” Alf said with demonic cheer. “We timed that just about right, didn’t we? Softhearted Mick here was afraid it might have been too big a dose, given that it was calibrated for your ape-man friend, but I figured even though you were small you had a lot of fight in you. And here you are, wide awake, right on cue.”

  She glared at him, leaning back against the elegant leather seats, this time having no illusions about the luxury. It might as well be an executioner’s cart.

  How long had it been since she arrived here? A lifetime ago, when she’d been an entirely different woman. If she’d known what was going to happen, would she have changed her mind? If she had the chance, would she go back to being the edgy, nervous creature that she had been?

  If she got out of this alive she was going to have that chance. She’d go back to her old life, her old city, and maybe she’d turn back into the old Libby. She devoutly hoped not.

  But it was more than likely she wasn’t going anywhere at all. Alf didn’t have a speck of conscience, and Mick, though regretful, did his bidding. As for Hunnicutt, he gave the orders and then washed his hands of the matter.

  The one thing she wasn’t going to do was tell them a damned thing about John. About who he was, or where to find him. It wouldn’t make any difference in what they did to her, and the least she could do was try to protect him.

  Not that he deserved protecting after letting her walk out like that this morning, but it seemed a waste of time to hold a grudge when she was staring death in the face. Might as well die being noble.

  Alf pulled up in front of the long, low building, and Libby reached for the door, planning one last attempt at escaping. It didn’t open.

  “Now, you didn’t think it was going to be that easy, did you?” Alf chided her. “Even the most luxurious cars come with child safety locks. You just stay right there and Mick will come around and escort you into the house. There are dangerous creatures in the jungle out there. We wouldn’t want you to run into any wild animals, now, would we?”

  If she’d thought Mick was having second thoughts, his grip on her arm disabused her of the notion. There would be no escaping his grip, even if she could manage to distract him for a moment. She let them lead her up the front steps, feeling tired, grubby and still slightly looped. She had to admit that as far as knockout drugs went, this was far more enjoyable than the tranquilizer dart.

  Once inside the cool, dark hallway the door closed behind them, and subtle lighting illuminated their way. She started toward the living room, where she’d first met Hunnicutt, when Alf caught her arm in his meaty grip. “Not that way, girlie. He’s waiting for us in the library.”

  He propelled her down to the other end of the hallway, into a wide, spacious, brightly lit room. The walls were covered with bookshelves, and the books were color-coordinated, arranged by size, and had obviously never been read. In the middle was a huge wooden desk, with Edward J. Hunnicutt sitting there waiting for her.

  “Hi, Ed,” she said with cheerful defiance. “Long time no see.”

  Hunnicutt raised his eyebrows in surprise, throwing a questioning look at Alf. “You sound surprisingly cheerful, Dr. Holden, given the circumstances.”

  “Oh, I’m a firm believer in the saying that if life gives you lemons, make lemonade. Mind if I sit down?”

  “Please.” He gestured toward one of the leather chairs. “I must say you look very different from when I first saw you five days ago. I’m very disappointed in your behavior. Most unprofessional.”

  “Five days ago?” Libby echoed, fastening on what interested her. She realized with some amusement that she was, for want of a better word, slightly stoned from the drug they’d fed her. Just cheerfully feeling no pain, even as she stared death in the face. “My, my, how time flies when you’re having fun.”

  “Do you have any explanation for your behavior, Dr. Holden?” Hunnicutt said severely. He reminded her of her high school principal, the one who’d fought long and hard against a fourteen-year-old graduating. She’d won, and he’d hated it.

  This time she wasn’t winning, but Old Ed wasn’t happy about it, either. “Explanation?” she said vaguely. “Well, let’s see. Compassion? Decency? Honor? Justice? This is a big library—I’m sure you could look those words up since you obviously don’t know the meaning of them.”

  He was an ugly little man, despite his perfect hair and skin, his spotless suit, his bland features. Ugly in his soul, and it showed in his furious, colorless eyes.

  “Where is the wild man, Dr. Holden?”

  “Wild man? I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said, leaning back and crossing her long, bare legs.

  “What other kind of drugs do you have downstairs in that laboratory, Mr. Droggan?” Hunnicutt asked, his calm voice belying his fury. “Dr. McDonough liked to play with pharmaceuticals—did he happen to leave some sodium pentathol or something of that ilk?”

  “I don’t think so, Mr. Hunnicutt. Just the tranquilizers, and most of those are broken. We’ve got a few syringes left for emergencies.”

  “We’re not going to need them unless you can manage to find our subject and recapture him,” Hunnicutt said. “And we’ll have an easier time doing that if Dr. Holden would just be reasonable and tell us where he is.”

  Libby shrugged. “I haven’t the faintest idea.”

  “Oh, we know that’s not true. And I imagine Alf won’t have too difficult a time getting information from you. Drugs are much more civilized, but if I know Mr. Droggan he probably prefers the old-fashioned way.”

  “You promised you weren’t going to hurt her,” Mick piped up.

  “If she’d cooperate there’d be no need to hurt her, Mr. Brown,” said Hunnicutt, the soul of reason. “Maybe you should explain the situation to her.”

  “Maybe you should all go to hell,” Libby said.

  Hunnicutt shrugged. “You see? She leaves us no choice. I’m sure Alf will be moderately restrained, but you can never…” A sudden sharp beeping noise filled the room, and his colorless face turned even paler.

  “I’ll go see who it is,” Alf said.

  “How could someone have gotten on the island without anyone knowing?” Hunnicutt demanded in a peevish voice. “The security system here is unimpeachable.”

  “Probably the same way they got off the island,” Alf said. “Don’t worry, I’ll get rid of whoever it is.”

  “Don’t arouse their suspicions. You’re not the most politic of people, Mr. Droggan. Be polite.”

  “What about her?” Alf jerked his head in Libby’s direction.

  “Give her another shot and hide her someplace. We can deal with her later.”

  “No!” Libby shrieked, but it was already too late. Mick had plunged another syringe into her arm with bloodthirsty enthusiasm, and she closed her eyes, waiting for the curtain of numbness to wash over her, trying to fight it, knowing it was a lost cause, knowing…

  It wasn’t working. This time they’d used one of the dud syringes, and all she had in her system was water. She let herself go limp, falling back against the chair in a sprawled-out, ungainly position.

  “Is it supposed to work that fast?” Hunnicutt said doubtfully.

  “Must have hit a vein. Besides, she was already loaded with the stuff. It wouldn’t take much to put her under. What do you want me to do with her?”

  “Answer the door. Mick can find some place to stash her.”

  “Well, don’t take her too far, Mick, me lad. I’ve got some unfinished business with her.”

  It was hard en
ough trying to stay utterly limp when no one was touching her. Once Mick put his hands under her arms it took all her self-control not to start giggling. She’d always been hellaciously ticklish. He dragged her out of the chair, bumping her along the floor, and she concentrated on every boneless, soggy vision she could think of, from bread dough to wet washcloths to orange Jell-O. If he’d tried to drag her from the room she would have had to struggle, but as it was he just hauled her behind the sofa and dumped her.

  “You’re certain that’s good enough?” Hunnicutt asked sharply.

  “’Course it is,” Mick replied. “They won’t be looking behind your furniture, not without a search warrant, and she’s got enough stuff in her to keep her out for a week.”

  “I don’t want her out for a week. I want answers.”

  “Well, Alf’ll see to that,” Mick said cheerily. “Want I should go see what’s keeping him?”

  “Please,” said Hunnicutt in a long-suffering voice.

  The silence in the room was almost deafening. Libby lay perfectly still, even though her wrist was trapped under her body and her legs were at an uncomfortable angle. She could hardly shift without Hunnicutt noticing. Instead she’d simply bide her time. Sooner or later they’d leave her alone, and she could run for it. Unless, of course, whoever had broached his private kingdom had come to save her.

  But who would even know she was there? For that matter, who would care? Not that stupid man on his stupid island who’d let her walk away without a word…

  “Police,” Alf said as the door slid open. “I couldn’t stop ’em.”

  There was enough noise in the room now that Libby could roll over without being heard. She scooted forward so that she could get a glimpse of what was going on. It looked like a whole army of police, legs and boots and someone in a dark suit and expensive shoes. She slid down further, trying to get a better look.”

  “What can I do for you, gentlemen?” Edward J. Hunnicutt’s mellow tones would have fooled most anyone, and Libby held her breath.

  “I’m Detective Major Larrabbee of the Johnson Harbour Police, Mr. Hunnicutt. First off, we have a warrant for the arrest of Alfred Droggan, also known as Orville Johnson and for Michael Brown, also known as Mick the Ferret, for the murder of Dr. William McDonough and the abduction of Dr. Elizabeth Holden. There’s also a question of charges against you, sir, for unlawful restraint, environmental crimes, trafficking in controlled substances—”

  “Don’t be absurd!” Hunnicutt protested, shocked. “My environmental record is spotless! As for drugs, I have no interest or need to be involved in illegal drugs….”

  “Experimental tranquilizers for both humans and animals, Mr. Hunnicutt. They’re only illegal if you don’t hold a doctor’s degree, and as far as I know, the three of you don’t.”

  “I think this conversation is at an end,” Hunnicutt said pleasantly. “You can talk to my legal department.”

  “Where is she?” It was a new voice, one she didn’t recognize for a moment. Australian, slightly raspy. And then she knew.

  “I have no idea who you’re talking about,” Hunnicutt said stiffly. There was a pause. “Have we met? You look vaguely familiar.”

  “No,” said John calmly. “We’ve never met.”

  “You’re not going to let them take us, are you, boss?” Alf demanded hoarsely. “You promised us you’d look out for us.”

  “Don’t worry, Mr. Droggan, my lawyers will have this all cleared up in no time and the two of you will be released. I have no idea what they’re talking about. Dr. McDonough died in a car accident, and Dr. Holden left my employ voluntarily several days ago. I’m afraid I have no idea where she is.”

  That was a cue if ever she heard one. Libby put her hands on the back of the sofa and hauled herself up. She was still feeling weak and shaky from the drugs, but her mood had improved enormously.

  “Oops,” she said. “I must have slipped your mind.”

  “Damn it!” Alf screeched. “What the hell did you do, Mick? I told you to give her the full syringe. She should be out like a light!”

  “I did what you told me, Alf, I swear,” Mick said tearfully. “I don’t know what’s wrong with her….”

  But Libby wasn’t particularly interested in Mick’s pleas. Instead she was looking at the one man who stood off to one side, in a dark suit, definitely Italian, probably Armani, though why the hell he should have an Armani suit was beyond her. He looked elegant, civilized, like a stranger.

  But it didn’t matter. He’d come for her.

  “I don’t know who this woman is or what she’s doing here, but…”

  “If I were you, Hunnicutt, I’d wait for your lawyers,” John said calmly. He reached behind the sofa and hauled her over it, effortlessly, into his arms.

  Alf and Mick were already in handcuffs, arguing. “He’ll get away with it,” Alf was fuming. “That’s what always happens. The workers get it in the arse and the bosses go free.”

  “Don’t you worry about it, Alfie,” Mick said soothingly. “We haven’t been in the slammer for years—it’ll seem like old times. And when we get out, let’s go into business for ourselves this time. It’s no fun being a minion. We need to be independent contractors. Look on it like a vacation, old boy. Three squares a day, nice climate, no women around to make demands. The days will go by in a flash, you mark my words.”

  “More likely the years,” said the man who appeared to be the senior officer. “Come along then. And Mr. Hunnicutt, I would suggest you not leave here until we’ve had a chance to sit down with you and your lawyers. There are some very serious charges being made, and we intend to get to the bottom of them.”

  Alf paused at the door, turning to stare at John. “Don’t I know you?” he demanded suspiciously.

  “I don’t think so,” he replied, keeping a protective arm around Libby. “How’s your arm?”

  A look of dawning realization swept over Alf’s beefy face, followed by complete horror. Before he could do more than sputter, he was gone, with Mick still chattering cheerfully about the lovely time they’d have in jail.

  Libby was leaning against John in a cheerfully bemused state. The detective came over to them. “You’d best take your lady out of here, Mr. Hunter,” he said kindly. “She looks done in. We can take it from here.”

  “Thanks, Reg,” he said. “Come along, Libby. We’ll find you a nice place to sleep it off.”

  “I already slept it off,” she said, dignified in her shorts and sandals and complete lack of underwear. “And I’m not sure I want to go anywhere with you. You don’t love me.”

  He looked absolutely appalled. Hunnicutt cleared his throat, and even the police detective looked as if his collar was too tight.

  But John rallied, braver than she’d expected. “What makes you say that?” he asked in a calm, conversational voice, taking her arm in his and leading her out into the hall, away from their curious witnesses.

  “You let me go. You didn’t try to stop me.”

  “You didn’t want to stay.”

  “You didn’t ask me.”

  “Okay,” he said. “I’m asking you.”

  She blinked. “Asking me what?”

  “Asking you to stay.”

  She’d lost the gist of the conversation completely. “Stay where?”

  He patted her arm soothingly. “With me, Libby. Back on the island. Come along.”

  “But you don’t love me,” she said plaintively, harking back to her original argument with bull-doglike tenacity.

  “Of course I do. Let’s go home.”

  She narrowed her gaze suspiciously. “Do I have to fly?”

  “Darling, you’re already flying,” he said sweetly.

  “Because if you make me get in another one of those tiny airplanes I’m not sure that you’re worth it.”

  “I’m worth it,” he said confidently. “And I promise to distract you on the plane.”

  She looked doubtful. “How?”

  “Leave
it to me. I’m very inventive.”

  She was tired of arguing, so she simply leaned her head on his shoulder and let him lead her out of that spotless, soulless bunker. The evening air was warm and humid, and Libby didn’t wake up until they’d landed safely in Johnson Harbour.

  It was almost midnight, and Captain Roger was waiting for them. “You see what kind of trouble you could have saved yourself if you’d just shown a little sense in the first place?” Roger said. “You take that poor little thing down below and get her something to eat. She looks worn-out.”

  She gave Roger a wan smile. “I’m not hungry.”

  “Then you let her rest. If I were twenty years younger she wouldn’t have to settle for a sorry specimen like you,” he grumbled. “But I’m warning you now, you treat her right or you’ll have me to answer to.”

  “Yes, sir,” John said with surprising seriousness. “I will.”

  And Captain Roger turned to the tiller and began to sing a cheerfully bawdy song at the top of his lungs.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Captain Roger had lit an oil lamp in the tiny cabin, illuminating its cozy reaches. The bed where she’d lain and wept that morning was over in the corner, still unmade, and she went and climbed on it, sitting cross-legged as she turned to look at John. It was the first time they’d been alone since he’d brought her out of Hunnicutt’s fortress, and she suddenly felt shy.

  “What are we going to do now?” she asked.

  He appeared to consider the question far more seriously than it deserved. “I’ve had a lot of time to think about it, and I’ve come up with some alternative. Number one, I could come back to Chicago with you.”

  “But I—”

  “Let me finish. I hate cities, I hate the cold, but if I had to, I’d do it. I just don’t want to. The second alternative is that you come back to the island with me. The problem is, you like cities, you like civilization, and you like people.”

  “I’m not sure if that’s true after this week,” she said caustically.

  “All right, let’s say you like people more than I do,” he qualified. “You also like it here more than I like it in the States. However, it still wouldn’t be fair to ask you to give up everything and stay here.”