Ava gripped it like a talisman, a rosary, a lucky charm. Utopia. Utopia. Over the mountains, back to the airport, soaring above the cobalt and teal waters, the compass told her they were headed south, to the last island in the Lesser Antilles. On the smooth silver back of the compass, a jeweler had engraved a monogram and a simple message. MDS. Find your way.
MDS. Marco Dominic Santori.
Dane called the hospital from the plane. They lost contact three times with the abysmal connection and finally gave up.
“Let’s just get there,” he said over and over. “Let’s just get there.”
As they landed at Port-of-Spain in Trinidad, Dane explained that this would be the city most likely to have sophisticated medical facilities. The maddeningly long wait through customs and the taxi line confirmed that they were truly back in civilization.
She clung to the compass as an astute East Indian taxi driver sensed their urgency and took them for a wild ride into the city. Through a complicated series of one-way streets, past a massive park lined with colonial mansions and gingerbread Victorian homes, Ava rubbed the compass with one hand and grasped Dane’s hand with the other. They barely spoke, knowing they had him. They had him. Only one question remained: was he alive? It hung, unasked, between them.
Ava ran her fingers over the engraved letters.
“I gave that to Marco,” Dane whispered, and she looked up, surprised that he hadn’t told her sooner. “When he graduated from his last maritime training program in England. It happened to be his twenty-fourth birthday. The day we launched Valhalla.”
“It’s beautiful,” she said softly.
“He wanted to captain Valhalla. That was his dream. The big one—the five-masted monster.” Dane smiled wistfully. “He would have, too, in another five years.”
“He still might.”
He squeezed her hand as the taxi screeched in front of the multistory, contemporary building.
They started at the information desk, where they were politely sent to Intensive Care. There, they talked to three different nurses and an intern who suggested the Trauma Unit. A doctor listened patiently and a nurse carefully checked records, but no patient from Grenada matched the description. Based on the type of injury, they were directed to the Neurology Center.
There they were told to wait for the doctor on duty, who appeared within a few minutes.
He introduced himself as Dr. Valentino Sanchez and spoke rapid English with a lyrical lilt. He took them to a waiting area, sat down, and offered them his undivided attention.
Dane repeated his story. Ava waited for the doubtful frown, the shake of the head, the slow start of a disappointing speech.
But Dr. Sanchez lit up like a Christmas tree and jumped to his feet.
“Adonis!”
“What?” Dane stood and Ava followed. “What did you say?”
“The nurses call him Adonis. The Greek god.”
Ava felt her jaw drop and clamped her hand over her mouth to keep from screaming. “You…you know him? You have him?”
He nodded enthusiastically. “As you describe him, yes. A bullet grazed the left temporal lobe, and he’s been unconscious since he arrived from Grenada. A few weeks after the storm. We have waited for…for his family.”
“That’s us!” Ava burst out. “We’re his family!”
“Come with me.”
They couldn’t walk fast enough to suit her. Dane tried to hold Ava back, his arm wrapped around her, calming her with a “shush.” But she couldn’t be contained.
“He is stable. Not conscious,” the doctor told them as they hustled through double doors into a hallway. “The bullet fractured the skull but didn’t penetrate. The impact caused rather severe subdural bleeding and swelling.”
“Did it affect the brain stem?” Dane asked, remembering the ominous words of the doctor in Grenada.
“No. We did an MRI, shortly after he came here. There’s been some damage to the eighth nerve and the inner ear, which could affect hearing and his equilibrium.”
The halls smelled of medicine and antiseptic. Ava’s feet hardly hit the shiny linoleum floor.
“When do you expect him to regain consciousness, Doctor?” Dane asked.
“There’s no guarantee he will, quite honestly. Although there’s no visible deficit shown on the MRI and no reason for him not to. We are treating him with steroids, massive doses at first and now a maintenance level. When the swelling is completely eliminated—if it is eliminated—then he should awaken. I’d like to do another MRI very soon. If swelling isn’t reduced, then I’d recommend a burr hole. Drilling, if you will, to drain blood from around the brain.”
Ava cringed at the thought.
“We’ve been waiting and hoping for family, frankly. At some point, he’ll have to be moved. And if he doesn’t regain consciousness, then, of course, you have a difficult decision to make.”
She felt Dane’s arm tighten around her shoulder.
A nurse came down the hall toward them, and the doctor held up his hands toward Dane and Ava. “Adonis’s family,” he told her.
She stopped midstep, widened her eyes in surprise. “We’ve been waiting for you.”
Dane and Ava looked at each other. She ached at the thought of Marco, alone all these weeks with no one to love him, no one to speak to him and urge him to wake up.
Was it too good to hope? Would the door open and someone else’s brother turn out to be the mysterious Adonis? She squeezed the compass in her pocket.
At the end of the hall, they stopped and the doctor opened the door. Tightly closed blinds darkened the room. In the shadows, a man lay still on an elevated hospital bed, dozens of tubes connected to various IV and feeding units. From the door, she could only see the bandage on the left side of his face and what looked like an exceedingly thin body under the blue and white hospital gown. Too thin to be Marco. But dark hair and soft curls beckoned her. She took a step farther. She could see a straight Roman nose, prominent and masculine.
She took one final step toward the bed and saw the face, the cheeks hollow and pale, his lips cracked. Her lungs locked up and cut off her air. Blood rushed in her ears, her hands started to shake, and she thought she felt her legs buckling under her. She looked up at Dane to speak, but the words caught in her throat. His eyes were closed, his cheeks wet, and she watched his powerful shoulders shudder with a sob.
I found you, Marco Polo.
The woman of action could take none. Ava sat at her brother’s bedside, held his hand, stroked his cheek, and murmured words of comfort and love. She would not leave his side.
She heard Dane softly talking on the phone, using expressions like “acute injury” and “involuntary responses” and “herniation,” calling doctors around the world, making arrangements. Quietly handling every imaginable detail.
When he hung up, he stood behind her and placed his hands on her shoulders. She dropped her head back against him and smiled up at him.
“Thank you, darling,” she whispered.
He squeezed her shoulders. “I’m flying in a good friend from New York, Sebastian Young. He’s a brain injury specialist, one of the best in the world, who cruises every year on Utopia. He’ll be here tomorrow. He thinks we might be able to move him to St. Barts, but he wants to look at him first and do another MRI. They’re sending the first test results to him now. I’ve arranged for a special plane to transport Marco home—if we can take him. We’ll need round-the-clock nurses. There’s not much of a hospital in—”
She tugged his arms, pulling his upper body close to her head. “That’s not what I meant.” She reached up and kissed him, upside down and backward from her seat. “I meant thank you for not letting me quit.”
He crouched next to her and continued a long, sweet kiss. “You’re welcome.”
“I’m so happy, Dane.”
“Me too, baby.”
Then she gasped. “Oh my God! Cassie! I have to call Cassie! Did you call her yet?”
He shook his head, standing up with her and wrapping both arms around her waist. “No. I figured you’d want to.”
As an operator connected her to the Utopia offices, Ava’s heart thumped with the excitement of delivering the news.
“My God, luv,” Cassie exclaimed breathlessly when she got on the line. “Where are you? I must see you! You scared us to death, getting on that ship with those madmen. Where on earth did you two go?”
“Cassie, honey, sit down.”
“Why?”
“Sit down and put your hand on the baby. I don’t want to shock you.”
“Good lord, luv. You didn’t run off and get married, did you?”
Ava nearly reeled at the notion and the mixed thrill of telling Cassie about Marco. “I’m looking at Marco, Cassie. He’s alive.” She heard a tiny gasp in response. “We’re in a hospital in Trinidad. He survived, Cass, he’s alive. Asleep, but alive.”
The gasp had turned into a moan, a cry, and then a scream as Ava tried to explain what happened. Then they both cried so much that Dane had to take the phone and promise Cassie the Utopia plane would be back in St. Barts, ready to bring her to Trinidad tomorrow morning.
By the time he finished the conversation, Ava had returned to her spot on Marco’s right side to hold his hand. She took the compass from her pocket and set it in his palm, then closed his fingers around it. Not realizing Dane was next to her, she was surprised when his hand came down on top of hers and Marco’s.
“Find your way, my man,” he whispered to the serene, sleeping face as their three hands connected. “Find your way.”
They stayed that way for a long time. “I have to call home, Dane,” Ava finally said softly. “I have to tell Mama and Dominic.”
“Do you want me to leave?” he asked. “Do you want privacy?”
She smiled at his thoughtfulness. “No, that’s all right. You know it all now.”
The hospital operator made the connection to Boston. Ava recognized her cousin Mia’s voice immediately.
“Ava! Where are you? How are you?”
“I’m fine, hon. I need Dominic. Or Mama. Are they there?”
“We’re in the middle of a lunch rush, Ava,” Mia shouted over the noise. Ava hadn’t even looked at her watch or calculated the time difference. And she had no earthly idea what day it was.
“Trust me, Mia. They want this call.” For a moment, she remembered the urgent call she’d taken from the Coast Guard so many weeks ago. Presumed dead. She smiled at Dane, whose gaze traveled from Marco to Ava. She wanted to laugh out loud, to dance and sing and scream for joy while she waited for her father.
“Ava? What’s the matter?” Dominic’s typical greeting didn’t surprise her.
“I’m in a hospital in Trinidad—”
“What’s wrong?” His gruff demand couldn’t hide the father’s concern in his voice.
“Nothing.” She looked at Marco’s sleeping face and tears burned again as her voice cracked. “I’m with Marco. He’s alive. He’s in a coma, but he’s alive.”
The line was silent.
“Dominic?”
Still silent.
“Are you there?”
“I’m here,” he said, his thick voice choked with emotion. He sniffed hard and Ava closed her eyes to imagine his face. His black eyes rimmed red with tears.
“He survived the wreck, which turned out to be an explosion, and he lived through a hurricane and two hospitals and he made it and I—we—found him today.”
She heard him try to speak, and finally, he choked out a sound. “Thank you, sweetheart. Thank you.”
She wiped her tears as they fell freely, laughing and sobbing at the same time. “Come on, now, get Mama on the phone. We can all have a good cry together.”
18
D ane’s whole world had shifted. Lukewarm water fell with maddeningly little pressure from the second-rate hotel showerhead as he considered the phenomenon. When had it happened, he wondered, soaping his body to remove the antiseptic odors of the hospital. When he lost the ship? When Ava Santori turned him upside down? When he saw Marco and decided to believe in miracles?
His equilibrium had been listing way off kilter for a while, but during the past forty-eight hours in Trinidad, he’d nearly capsized. And yet, he made no attempt to right himself. Toweling off and slipping on a pair of workout shorts over his naked body, he ran a hand over his freshly shaved chin.
Perfect example, he thought ruefully, staring at his clean-shaven reflection in the mirror. Since when did he use a razor at midnight after a twenty-hour day in the waiting room of a hospital? Since that woman, that sexy, funny, complicated, hand-waving, delectable woman had waltzed into his bedroom and set him on fire. And now she waited for him on the other side of the bathroom door. He grinned at his reflection. Shaving was a good choice.
She’d left a dim light on the dresser and appeared to be asleep in the king-size bed, a sheet pulled up to her neck. He sat next to her and ran his fingers through her still-damp curls.
She opened her eyes and their gazes locked. For a moment, he couldn’t decide if he should kiss her or just look at her. Both gave him so much pleasure.
“I’m exhausted,” she said softly.
“Then go to sleep, princess.”
She smiled, her dimple beckoning him. “Not that exhausted.”
He slid beside her, gently tugging at the white cotton sheet. “What do you have on under here?”
“Not much,” she said coyly.
“That’s my girl.” He slipped in under the sheet, anticipation already tightening his stomach, desire making him throb before he even started his slow examination of her body. She wore some tiny cotton sleeveless thing that might have been a pajama top. He reached under it and sucked in air at the sensation of touching her bare skin. He walked his fingers down her tummy, over her hip bones, inside the tiny triangle of underpants she wore.
He forced himself to slow down, to feel and taste every curve. He lifted the little slip of silk between her legs and watched her stretch like a cat at the gentle pressure of his fingers. She closed her eyes and reached up to nip his chin with her teeth.
“Mmmm. You shaved,” she whispered. “How nice.”
“I didn’t want to scratch this delicate skin.” He rubbed the soft skin of her thighs, then the warm and damp flesh higher to make his point.
She opened her eyes and flashed a look somewhere between terror and wanton desire.
He brought his hand up to rest on her tight stomach and dropped his head on his other arm, his face just inches from hers. Needy and hard, he forced himself to stop and look at her for a moment.
She ran a finger down his cheek, as though to examine how thorough a job his razor had done. “Dane, tell me the truth.”
He took a little breath in. If he wasn’t careful, he might just do that. “What, baby? What do you want to know?”
“Do you think he’s going to wake up?”
He closed his eyes. A safe question. “I don’t know. He seems so deep, you know? Like he’s way, way down there.”
“They say some coma patients can hear. Do you think he knows we’re there? Do you think he can hear us?”
Dane turned on his back, finding her hand and holding it under the covers. “I can’t tell, Ava. Sebastian is very optimistic. The MRI looks good, and he thinks tomorrow’s surgery has a very good chance for success. Young’s done this burr hole operation a thousand times, but there’s no guarantee. You’re right, though, he’s a good surgeon. That’s what we need.” He turned back on his side and slid his leg over her hips. “And this. We need this.”
He found her mouth and kissed her hungrily, parting her lips with his tongue, anxious to start his journey south. But something was wrong. She wasn’t kissing back.
He opened his eyes and saw her troubled look. “What’s the matter?”
She bit the lower corner of her mouth, her first sign of nervousness.
“What is it, Ava?” he urged softly.
Then he understood. “Oh, honey, I won’t do anything you’re not comfortable with.”
“That’s not it,” she said softly.
“Then what’s wrong?”
She stared into his eyes, her lips pursed and a frown deepening a tiny crease between her eyebrows. She attempted a smile. “Just thanks for shaving.”
She was holding back, and he refused to let her. If he had to hang on, out of balance and close to the edge, then she was coming right there with him. “Nope. I want the truth.”
“Really.” She tried to kiss him. “Please.”
He took her face in both of his hands. “I’m willing to bet that in your whole life, you’ve never stopped yourself from saying what you’re thinking. Don’t start now.”
She took a deep breath and fell back on her pillow. His heart started to beat faster, instinct telling him he might not like what was coming. “Come on. What’s on your mind, princess?”
“The statute of limitations.”
“What?” His gut twisted. “On that lawsuit?”
“On your attention. When does it end? When do I…become a statistic?”
Now it was his turn to feel a little terror. “Oh.”
She turned on the pillow to face him. “I’m only wondering, Dane. I want to be prepared.”
A tiny vein pounded at the base of her neck. Not with desire, like he’d made it do the other night. Not with joy, like when she saw Marco. But with fear and trepidation.
He stayed propped on his elbow, considering what to say. How to be honest but not paint some romantic forever picture for her, only to have it thrown back in his face someday.
“I can tell you this. I’m crazy about you. I am hanging by a thread of sanity for how badly I want you.” He traced her mouth with his finger, dallying in the bow that dipped her upper lip. “I have no idea how long something like this lasts, because I’ve never felt like this before.”
He felt her lips curl under the pressure of his fingers. “Neither have I.”
“Good.” He inched lower in the bed. “And you never felt anything like this before either.” With a sudden whoosh, he threw the sheet over her head and heard her gasp as his mouth made contact with her stomach. Then she moaned as he began to kiss down her body, moving toward his destination with hot, driving licks that promised to thrill her and satisfy her and hang her out on the same precipice that he clung to.
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