“But Lawrence said you couldn’t afford to buy him out. That’s why my father had gone elsewhere for a buyer.”
“Don’t you see?” His eyes glittered like blue embers in the candlelight. “That’s just the point. He knows I don’t have the money for the buyout, but he refuses to wait. I trusted him, but he allowed Crawford to get to him.”
“What does Lawrence have to do with this, other than being my father’s attorney?”
“He arranged the whole thing,” Reid said bitterly. “He found a buyer, set up a nice little commission for himself and approached Christopher with an offer that was damned near irresistible with everything that’s been going on—” He broke off as he lifted the wineglass to his lips.
“Like what?” I persisted.
Reid shrugged as he returned the glass to the table. “Look, under the circumstances, I think it would be best if you stay away from Crawford. He’s a desperate man in a lot of ways, Christine. He’ll use anyone for a fast buck.”
“My father must trust him.”
“I wonder,” Reid said obscurely. Then he said, “Your father’s judgment can be…questionable at times.”
“He made you his partner,” I pointed out with a kind of perverse satisfaction.
“In a hotel that by rights should have been mine.”
“Still, that didn’t stop you from taking my father’s money to buy it back, did it?”
“I gave back a lot more than I got,” Reid said with sudden anger. “Christopher was a charming, impulsive man, but he had no head for business. I make all the decisions, I—” He broke off as I continued to stare at him. “What’s wrong?”
“‘Was,”’ I repeated numbly. “You said my father ‘was’ a charming man.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
The Third Night
The candlelight flickered across his face, casting deep shadows on one side, illuminating the other. It was hard to read his expression, but his silence seemed to speak volumes. Finally he said, “I’m sorry. It was a figure of speech, nothing more.”
Figure of speech or Freudian slip? What was he hiding behind that cool, indifferent facade? Greed? Ambition? Passion?
He turned his head and the shadows disappeared. He smiled, almost wistfully. “I didn’t mean to upset you tonight. I just thought you should be aware of what’s been going on around here. And I think that you should definitely stay away from Lawrence Crawford. He’s bad news, Christine.”
“He was very kind to me. And very enlightening.”
“He can be,” Reid agreed, “when he wants something.”
“When a man pursues a plain girl like you, Christine, he always has an ulterior motive.”
Reid’s innuendo couldn’t have been clearer. Why would Lawrence Crawford, or any man, be kind to me unless he wanted something?
So that brought me to a new and very interesting, not to mention disturbing, question. Why was Reid being so kind to me tonight? What did he want?
“I feel somewhat responsible for you in Christopher’s absence,” he said softly, running his finger up and down the stem of his wineglass. “I wouldn’t want to see you taken in by a man as unscrupulous as Lawrence Crawford.” His voice lowered. “He has a…questionable reputation where women are concerned.”
I gave him a cool glare. “I know exactly what you mean. And from what I gather, you have a reputation, as well. In fact, Lawrence warned me about you.”
“Did he really?” He wore an amused expression, but I could see hints of anger glittering in his eyes. “What else did he say?”
“Does it matter? You obviously don’t like him, and I found him very nice and helpful. So perhaps it’s better if we avoid the subject.” I rose and grabbed my purse. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to find the ladies’ room. Then, if you don’t mind, I’d like to go home. It’s been a long day.”
I turned, but before I could move away, I heard him say, “Damn,” in an exasperated undertone.
Needless to say, the ride home was long and tense. Something had happened back there in the restaurant, something I wasn’t sure I understood. It was as though, when he’d told me his concerns about Lawrence Crawford, he’d expected me to obey his wishes.
But Lawrence Crawford seemed to be the one person on the island, other than Mrs. DuPrae and myself, who was worried about my father. If he could help me, I certainly wasn’t going to stay away from him just because Reid didn’t like him.
As if he’d read my mind, Reid said quietly, “I think you misunderstood me, Christine. I wasn’t trying to pry into your private affairs. Who you see is none of my business. I told you about Crawford for your own good. A woman like you could easily be taken in—”
“What do you mean ‘a woman like me’?” I challenged.
He seemed at a loss for a moment, then said, “Someone inexperienced in dealing with men like Crawford.”
I studied his rigid profile for a moment as anger bubbled inside me. He seemed so sure of himself, so sure of me. “You don’t know anything about me.”
“I know you’ve been on your own for a long time,” he said, his eyes still on the darkness before us. “I know you’ve had a difficult time of it. Believe me, I’m only looking out for your best interests.”
“Thanks for your brotherly concern,” I said, mocking the word he’d used last night.
“I am not your brother,” he said, his jaw clenched in sudden fury.
His tone, laced with something I couldn’t figure out, had completely taken me aback. It took me a moment to find my voice. I swallowed hard and said very quickly, “That’s right. We aren’t related at all. We’ve no connection whatsoever, except I hope we both want to find my father. What I do and who I see should be none of your concern. Unless…”
He spared me a brief, angry glance. “Unless what?”
I paused, my stomach quivering in dread. “Unless you have something to hide.”
He threw on the brakes so quickly, the tires screamed against the pavement. He jerked the car to the shoulder of the road and killed the engine. The silence that followed was deafening.
He snapped off his seat belt and turned to face me. When I didn’t look at him, he grabbed my arm and I flinched. Immediately, he let me go.
“What did you mean by that, Christine?”
His voice was low, deep, utterly menacing. I glanced around. We were surrounded by woods and—when he reached to shut off the headlights—darkness. Completely alone. I felt a shimmer of apprehension race up my spine.
When I didn’t answer, he said softly, “You don’t trust me, do you?”
His voice compelled me to look at him. He seemed so big, so formidable and so…masculine. I could barely see his face in the darkness, but his presence filled the close quarters of the car, made my head spin with awareness.
Trust him? No more than I trusted myself.
“You can, you know.”
“No, I can’t…. I don’t dare….” He touched my arm and chills exploded all over me. I closed my eyes, trying to resist the irresistible.
“Why?”
He shifted in his seat, and I felt him lean toward me. My heart started to pound like a runner who’d just crossed the finish line. I could smell the seductive scent of his cologne, which seemed so much a part of the essence of him. His warm breath feathered against my cheek. He was so close….
“Because of this?”
His fingers trapped my chin and turned my face toward him. I opened my eyes and had just the briefest glimpse of those blue, blue eyes before he touched his lips to mine.
It was only a whisper of a kiss, but I felt it all the way to my soul. My eyes drifted closed as the thrill pulsed through me. He pulled back, and I touched his face with my fingertips, felt the stubbled roughness of his cheek. Then he said, “Christine,” in such a way that I instantly melted.
He unfastened my seat belt and drew me to him, holding me for a second before his mouth claimed mine again. This time the kiss was more than a whisper. Hi
s lips tasted of wine and the sea and the night wind—a seductive mixture that had my senses spinning out of control.
I wanted to feel his body against mine, wanted to feel his heart beating against my breast. Where our bodies met and melded, I could feel the heat of his skin through our clothes. We might as well have been naked, so erotic was the sensation.
His hands slipped down my back, along my arms, against my breasts. And everywhere he touched, he set me on fire. I’d never wanted anyone as I wanted him.
The blast of lights coming around a curve in the road hit us like a spotlight. We broke apart, both of us turning to stare at the truck lumbering toward us. Brakes squealed and gears ground as the driver stopped beside us, and Reid rolled down his window.
“Having trouble?” the man in the truck called. He thrust a flashlight out the window and pointed it in our direction. I squinted, and threw up a hand to shield my eyes.
“No, everything’s under control,” Reid said in a voice that sounded strained, unfamiliar. It was a relief to know the kiss had affected him, too. “Thanks for stopping.”
The beam of the light moved over me. The driver called kindly, “You okay, miss?”
“I’m fine.” Liar. I was anything but fine.
The driver didn’t seem too convinced, either. He said, “You sure I can’t call someone for you?”
“She’s fine,” Reid said in a tone that reminded me too well of his anger earlier in the day. “My name is Reid St. Pierre,” he ground out, as though that explained everything.
And apparently it did.
The truck driver said quickly, “Monsieur St. Pierre. I’m sorry. I didn’t recognize you. I’ll just be on my way, then….” he trailed off as he noisily shifted the gears and released the clutch. The truck rumbled forward, and once again we were left alone.
Reid let out a breath as he raked his fingers through his hair. “I suppose we’d better get going,” he muttered as he leaned forward and started the engine.
I snapped my seat belt into place and stared out the window as we finished the journey in silence.
* * *
“When a man pursues a plain girl like you, Christine, he always has an ulterior motive.”
Like a mantra, my grandmother’s words swirled in my head as I stood before the dressing-table mirror in my bedroom. My chaotic thoughts, like the shadows outside my window, were ever shifting, ever twisting and turning and forming new patterns as images raced through my mind.
I touched my fingers to my lips, recalling with vivid detail Reid’s kiss. I didn’t understand myself anymore. One moment, I distrusted him and questioned his motives regarding my father’s disappearance, and the next moment…the next moment, all I could think about was how soon I would see him. And would he kiss me again…?
But even as these new and exciting feelings swamped me, a little piece of my former self remained true.
Be careful, it warned. Be very, very careful.
It was a little too hard to believe that Reid could be as attracted to me as I was to him. A little too hard to believe, and just a little too good to be true.
And yet as I examined my reflection in the mirror, the argument seemed hardly valid anymore. Because the woman who stared back at me was attractive—almost…striking, with long, golden brown hair and eyes that sparkled like emeralds.
That woman looked as though she might very well attract a man, make him want to kiss her.
It was almost as though something inside me was emerging, responding to the primitive beat that pulsated throughout this strange, mystical island where voodoo and black magic were a way of life, where good and evil traversed the same narrow path.
Something was stirring inside me.
Incredible feelings that were frightening and yet exciting. I had never felt such energy, such awareness anywhere else, but I knew that the metamorphosis—stimulated perhaps by Columbé and to a greater extent by Reid—had, nevertheless, come from within myself.
Quickly I undressed for bed and headed for the bathroom to wash my face and brush my teeth.
That was when it happened.
“Ouch!” Right on the threshold of the bathroom door, something sharp pricked my foot. Balancing myself on the other one, I examined the wound.
A bead of blood covered the puncture mark, and tiny little specks of white powder clung to the skin. Someone must have broken something and failed to clean up all the pieces. I’d probably be finding bits of glass for days.
The cut was little more than a scratch, but it stung like fire. Hobbling to the medicine cabinet, I found antiseptic to take care of it, and when the pain began to subside, I finished my nightly rituals in the bathroom. But by the time I turned off the light and headed for bed, I was starting to feel dizzy.
“You wimp,” I muttered in disgust. “It’s just a scratch.”
When I lay down, the room spun around me like some horrible carnival ride. I’d never liked those rides or the sensations they produced, and now I remembered why. It was a helpless, out-of-control feeling.
I squeezed my eyes shut as colors exploded behind my lids. Then, mercifully, everything calmed. The colors faded away. The room stopped spinning. I lay there for a moment and listened to the unearthly quiet.
Outside, the wind sighed my name.
Christine. Christine.
Was it the wind or a voice? I wondered, but not in fear. In the distance, almost like an echo, the drums began to pound. Beneath the hypnotic beat, more urgently, came the whispered messages from the woods, rippling through the trees, calling out to me.
Christine! Help me!
Rising from bed, almost floating, it seemed, I crossed the room to the window. Darkness enveloped the garden below. The moon cleared a cloud and, for just a second, bathed the garden in an ethereal glow.
Something moved in the shadows.
A flash of white.
Was someone watching me? Or was it merely a trick conjured by the moon?
Then at the edge of the woods, I saw it. The white robe billowed in the wind as the figure hovered in the shadows. One arm lifted to summon me.
Help me.
The plaintive moan seemed to echo from somewhere deep inside me. I could feel the urgency, the utter despair, and I knew what I had to do.
Guided by some unknown force, I left the guest house and drifted toward the woods, unerringly moving through the trees until I found myself in a deserted clearing. A fire blazed in the center, and the sound of the drums grew louder, more urgent.
Damballah. Damballah. Damballah.
The chanting came from behind me, and I spun around. The dancers were forming a circle around the fire—around me as they continued to chant and sing.
The firelight flickered over their faces, and I recognized them one by one: first Rachel, then Angelique, Mrs. DuPrae, Captain Baptiste and Jean Marc—all smiling at me, their eyes gleaming with dark promise, their gold rings flashing in the firelight.
“He’s been waiting for you, Christine.”
The voice seemed to come from all of them. I couldn’t tell which one was speaking.
“Who? Who’s been waiting for me? Tell me, please. Where is he?”
“I’m here, Christine. Turn around,” Reid commanded. His deep voice spoke from behind me, and I whirled again. He was standing close to me, so tall and so magnificently powerful. The light danced across his face as he smiled down at me. His blue eyes captured me, held me in thrall. I couldn’t seem to move.
“What do you want?”
He smiled again as his eyes darkened. “Don’t you know? Haven’t you guessed?”
And then, almost as if on cue, the drums began to pound with long, slow, measured beats. My heart kept time as the dancers began to move around the circle, chanting, imploring the loa to mount them.
I looked at Reid again and firelight glittered in his eyes.
“Why me?” I whispered.
“Because you are of the same blood,” he said. He stepped back then, and I c
ould see the white-robed figure, as insubstantial as mist, wavering at the edge of the forest. Hands moved to lower the hood, and I stood staring at the face in horrified fascination.
Then I recognized him. He had changed. He looked…drained. He looked like the man who had been in the flaming picture I’d held in my hand.
As I continued to watch him, the figure turned to fully face me. My father’s soulless eyes stared back at me.
CHAPTER NINE
The Fourth Day
Rarely had I ever slept late in my life, but it must have been close to midmorning when I awakened. Sunlight pooled on my face, a warm, comforting sensation that gently nudged me awake. I sighed, stretched leisurely, then bolted upright in bed as last night’s dream came rushing back to me.
Pain throbbed in my temples, but I knew this time it wasn’t from a hangover. I’d had nothing stronger than tea to drink last night. So why did everything seem so hazy, as though there were things I knew I’d experienced but couldn’t remember?
It was a horrible feeling. I hated not being in control. I hated not understanding what was happening to me, and as I tentatively got out of bed, I renewed my determination to find the mambo who called herself Mama Vinnia. For some reason, I felt certain only she could help me.
With that thought in mind, I scanned the dresser for the gris-gris she had given me so that I could return it to her, providing myself with a convenient excuse for going to see her. But I couldn’t find it anywhere. Someone must have disposed of it while cleaning.
Well, perhaps that provided me with an even better excuse. I could go and ask her for another one.
With renewed determination, I quickly showered and dressed, donning a jade sundress with a flowing skirt, and sandals so bare I almost felt naked. When I’d bought the outfit in Chicago, the extravagance had seemed such a waste. I didn’t think I’d ever wear the dress or the shoes, but today…today, for some reason, they seemed to fit me perfectly.
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