Eyes of Fire

by Heather Graham

  “Damn you, Sam, it should be obvious to you that you’re not safe.”

  “All right! I’m sorry.”

  “You damned well should be. You—”

  The door was shaken by a hard knock. Sam jumped. Adam instantly flung it open. She started to cry out in protest, then saw that it was Jem on the other side.

  “Great, I’m in danger, and you just fling the door open,” she said.

  “I knew he was right behind me.”

  “I, uh, don’t mean to be interrupting anything here,” Jem began.

  “You’re not!” they both swore in vehement unison.

  Adam lowered his head slightly, lifting his hands. “You’re here, Jem, so I’m out of here. See you both in the morning.” He stared at Sam. “Bright and early. We’re diving the Steps.”

  “Good night to you both!” Sam snapped, heading for her bedroom. It seemed important for some reason to make her exit before Adam made his.

  But once she was gone, he didn’t rush to go. Jem looked at him. “Sofa is yours tonight,” he said.

  “You don’t need to—”

  “Fair is fair,” Jem said.

  Adam shrugged. “Okay. I’ve got to get a few things. I’ll be back in about thirty minutes. I’ll knock twice.”

  “Gotcha.”

  The baby started crying in the middle of the night. Yancy bolted up, hurried to the crib and looked at the infant. She had to smile as she reached for him. What a temper! His little fists were balled and waving, his mouth opened wide to give his angry screams full volume.

  “You know, young man, you’re supposed to start sleeping through the night one of these days,” she said, picking him up and patting his back as she held him comfortingly against her shoulder. His screams turned to sniffles. “That’s what the baby books say, anyway. But you’re hungry, and if you’re hungry…”

  She walked to the dressing table and cracked the cap on a sealed, disposable bottle of formula, balancing the baby on her shoulder as she screwed on a sterilized disposable nipple. All the prepared stuff was expensive, but worth it in the middle of the night. She adored the baby. There was absolutely nothing about him, nothing he could do, that would be too much trouble for her, but still, she was certain that even the very best parent in the entire world had to stumble around a bit in the middle of the night.

  “Don’t be a little piglet. You’ll wind up with a stomachache,” she warned him, settling in the rocker to feed the baby.

  Oh, God, yes, she adored him. He looked so much like his father. Thank God for Sam’s belief that human life was precious, no matter what! Thank God the baby existed. He was hers now, no matter what the situation that had brought him into the world. He was precious. Those blue eyes, that soft, soft, light brown hair.

  Those eyes on her. So trustingly.

  He suddenly smiled around the nipple in his mouth. Reached out little fingers toward her.

  That smile, so much like his father’s…

  She rocked, thinking, reminiscing. Wondering.

  She realized that the baby had closed his eyes. She took the bottle from his mouth, set him over her shoulder and burped him. Then she rose and began to walk idly around the room.

  She paused, certain that she had heard a sound from downstairs.

  She stood dead still.

  Yes…

  Someone was downstairs. Someone moving around in what had been Justin Carlyle’s office.

  She hesitated, feeling the thunder of her heart. It was just Jacques, she told herself.

  Never, he had no interest in the office.

  Should she go down?

  No, definitely not! Sam would send her right off the island with the baby if she thought that Yancy had risked him in any way.

  It was just Adam, she told herself. Adam had spent the entire day in the office, going through books, charts and papers. They’d all been with him. No secrecy there.

  She’d heard Adam leave in a hurry earlier. She’d heard Jem follow him out. But he might have come back.

  But if it wasn’t Adam…

  What should she do?

  Her agony of indecision was short-lived, at least. She heard a click and realized that someone had exited by the bar door onto the porch.

  She pulled out the little lamb night-light that had softly illuminated her room, casting it into total darkness, then flattened herself against the wall, staring over the lawn area that led down to the docks.

  She saw…nothing.

  No, a figure.

  But just as she caught sight of the figure on the lawn, a cloud covered the moon completely.

  The figure stood just between the pools of illumination cast by the island’s night-lights. In darkness.

  She could see very little. The figure was tall…. Dark…. Nothing more.

  Shaking, she set the sleeping baby into his crib. Then she checked her door. Locked. Securely locked.

  She set a chair in front of it anyway.

  Whoever she’d seen, they weren’t coming back tonight, she assured herself as she lay down. But she didn’t sleep.

  She was suddenly certain that neither Justin Carlyle nor Hank Jennings had died by any trick of nature or by accident. Both men had been murdered.

  And now the murderer had come to the island to strike again.

  There was a very strange place between sleeping and waking, a place where memories came to haunt her sweetly in a pleasant mist.

  The day was perfect. The sun was high, strong, the air touched by the perfect breeze, keeping the summer’s heat palatable. They’d spent the day on the Sloop Bee, her father on deck, reading another of his “sources.” She’d been diving, buddied up with Adam, since it had been just the three of them out for the afternoon. They’d come across the huge manta ray that afternoon. Adam had pointed out the creature to her. She’d been determined to befriend it, to take a ride on its mighty wings. The manta had been obliging, allowing her to close her fingers over its wings, to feel its power as it whipped through the water. Soon after, Adam had joined her, laughing behind his mask. It had been the perfect dive. They’d been near the Steps, and the sea had come alive for them. Barracuda had skulked about, offering up their wicked-looking grins but keeping their distance. Brilliant yellow tangs had darted about the reefs to the southwest of the Steps, along with clowns and angelfish. The colors had been so vibrant and magnificent, the sea so excitingly alive….

  She had seen everything by his side. Shared the visions, loved the underwater world with someone who loved it equally well. Back aboard the Sloop Bee, she’d described it all for her father, who had laughed, bright-eyed himself, because he understood their feelings so well. Justin had tried to tell her then what he had been working on, but she hadn’t really been listening that day.

  She’d just watched him with Adam. Seen Adam’s interest. His enthusiasm. Seen Adam smile. Seen his dimple. Seen him move. Her heart had thudded with exquisite pleasure to see the two men in her life find such a satisfying friendship. One of them, however, hadn’t realized that he was one of the men in her life….

  Until later.

  Running down the beach on Drop Island. The white sand beneath her feet, the setting sun crashing down around them in shades of bloodred crimson. She’d doused him in cold water when he hadn’t listened quickly enough to what she’d been saying. Running had seemed the most prudent action.

  Until he caught her. Until they tripped in the sand. Until she looked into his eyes while feeling the sun-fevered smoothness of his flesh, the power of his muscles pressed against her.

  Tasted his lips, the salt, the sea…

  Every young girl dreamed about her first time making love. Planned it, perhaps. Yet nothing in Sam’s imagination had been so sweet, so smooth, so perfect. Words had failed her, but actions hadn’t. He was so experienced; she was simply so in love. The crimson-streaked sky was the perfect canopy, the sun-baked sand the perfect bed. God! Even now, she could almost feel his lips against her flesh, tantalizing her, the
way he could move his mouth against her, circling, barely touching, making her want to scream to feel his caress just where it wasn’t, scream again when it came against her flesh just where she had yearned for it to be. He seduced, awakened, evoked. By the time he actually entered her, she was half-crazed with wanting him. If there was pain, it was fleeting. It was the wonder that remained with her, the warmth, the feeling of intimacy, the awe….

  The silver touch of his eyes….

  She shifted, smiling slightly, remembering. He was older, mature, responsible. Magnetic. Experienced, aware, fascinating.

  She was…distracted.

  The morning light was coming into her bedroom. She blinked against it, groggy as she awoke. Blinked again.

  Those eyes. Silver eyes, watching her still.

  Sam bolted up in bed, dragging her covers with her as she stared at the man seated in the Victorian rocker at her bedside, a big mug of coffee in his hands as he stared at her. She clenched her teeth, hoping to hell that she had been sleeping soundly and that nothing had escaped her lips while she drifted in her semiwaking state.

  “Damn it, what the hell are you doing in my bedroom?”

  He shrugged, leaning forward, offering her the coffee. She ignored the mug and continued to stare at him, outraged.

  “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?”

  8

  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.”