He'd have left behind a massacre that he must have hoped wouldn't be discovered for hours, at least. And meantime he'd have been well away from the scene. All he'd need to do was ditch the gun and the ring and there'd be nothing to link him to the crime.
"What did you think you were going to do, unarmed against a gun?" she asked.
"I'd have taken him," Brodie said. "Somehow. I'd have made damn sure he didn't hurt you again."
Sienna said, "And got yourself shot in the process."
Brodie shrugged. "I've been in tight spots before, learned a few dirty tricks—with blokes like him you don't stick to Queensbury Rules."
Camille smiled at him. "I gather the police got him before you did?"
"Sienna got him."
"Sienna?" Camille stared at her. "What did you do?"
Sienna told her, wincing at the memory, reminding herself that what she'd done was self-defense—and defense of Brodie. She didn't dwell on the details, instead giving a brief rundown of all that had happened between her arrival at the hotel and the advent of the police. She hated to think what she'd done to the hotel carpet and curtains.
"I suppose Aidan will be charged with something," she said. He was still at the police station, "assisting" the officers with their inquiries. "But he's cooperating fully now he knows his wife and daughter are safe."
Brodie snorted. "He could have gone to the cops in the first place."
"Oh, yes," Sienna said. "And do what they told him to, just the way you did today?"
"I can look after myself. Your Aidan is a wet fish. He had no right to put you at risk."
The phone rang and Camille jumped up. "That must be Rogan!"
Her subdued voice floated to them from the hallway. Brodie turned to Sienna and lightly touched the dressing on her forehead. "Does it hurt much?"
"A bit. I was lucky it wasn't worse."
"Yeah." His face darkened. "Do me a favor and don't do anything like that ever again. It's not good for my heart."
"I don't think I'm likely to be confronting a cold-blooded murderer again."
He fingered a curl that had fallen over her forehead, teased it back to tuck it in with the others. "Sienna…"
"Yes?" She reminded herself that hair didn't have nerves. But she could feel his touch all the way to her toes.
"I … oh, hell!" He leaned forward and kissed her quite fiercely, setting her pulse thrumming. Her lips parted under the pressure of his, and she kissed him back, glad to be alive, glad that he was. Glad that he wanted to kiss her, make love to her.
The phone clattered back into its cradle, and Brodie drew away.
Camille entered. "They're back. The police came on board and took Joe away for questioning, and Rogan and Tilisi are on their way here now." She paused, an inquiring smile on her lips. "Am I interrupting something?"
Brodie dropped his hand from where his finger was still tangled in Sienna's hair, and she said, "No. Do you think Joe will tell them what he told us?"
Brodie said with satisfaction, "Now they've got Conran in custody I don't think they'll have much trouble persuading Joe to talk. And they've got our evidence that Conran tried to kill us, and Aidan's story. This guy surely won't be given bail!"
Rogan and Tilisi arrived at the house shortly afterward, and Brodie poured celebratory drinks all round. Camille looked as if a light had been turned on somewhere inside her, and Rogan scarcely let go of her hand when he didn't have an arm about her: Every now and then they exchanged a glance of hidden understanding.
Maybe Brodie had been right on the day of the wedding. Sienna couldn't imagine these two ever parting.
Tilisi didn't stay long, intending to catch a bus to Whangarei where he'd arranged to visit some diving friends. Brodie saw him out of the house and came back to where Rogan and Camille sat together on one of the two-seater sofas while Sienna occupied the other.
Brodie got Camille another drink, then turned and gave Sienna one of his slow, devastatingly sexy smiles, making her heart ache with longing. She wished passionately he was a different kind of man—or she a different kind of woman, the kind who could tame an adventure-loving diver with a roving eye and a way of making women fall at his feet.
She couldn't help smiling back helplessly, as besotted as any other woman she'd seen drawn into the magnetic field of his male attraction.
"Another drink?" he said, crossing to her, and she blinked, realizing her glass was empty.
She handed it to him, nodding. "Thanks." He poured her some more of the fruit juice she'd been drinking in deference to medical advice, and brought the glass over for her. Then he hunkered down onto the floor, his back against Sienna's chair. She resisted a desire to touch his hair, fascinated by the light glinting on the blond streaks, tantalizingly close to her hand. Tightening her fingers about her glass to quell temptation, she sat quietly while Camille and Brodie filled in Rogan on all that had happened since they'd parted from him at the island.
Rogan whistled. "And I thought I'd got the risky job," he said. "I guess after Drummond jumped bail he persuaded Conran to get him out of New Zealand on the promise of a share in the gold. He probably planned to take his own share and disappear to some foreign country and start a new life."
"Instead," Brodie said, "he ended up at the bottom of the ocean. And his partner's on his way to jail."
There was a silence then, and Rogan stirred. "Time I got back to the Sea-Rogue."
Camille, nestled against his shoulder, straightened reluctantly. "I'll move back on board tomorrow. Tonight I want to keep an eye on Sienna."
Rogan looked rueful but didn't argue, giving his wife a kiss that turned lingering.
Brodie said, "I'll watch Sienna. You go with Rogue."
"It's okay," Rogan said regretfully, still looking at Camille. They smiled at each other as though there were no one else in the room.
The ache around Sienna's heart increased. "I'm all right," she insisted. "Really."
After a bit more argument Camille gave in. "If you're sure you don't need me," she said. And to Brodie, "Call me if you're at all worried about her."
"If I'm worried," he said, "I'll call an ambulance. I won't let anything happen to her."
Closing the door after Camille and Rogan had left, Brodie turned to Sienna. "Alone at last." His grin teased. Then it faded, and he reached out to touch the dressing over her bruise again. "You'd better go to bed," he said. "It's been a long, tough day."
For him too. "Mmm," she said, not moving, reluctant to leave him although she knew she had to.
He touched the backs of his fingers to her cheek. "Are you okay?"
Impulse took over. Without thinking, she turned her head and kissed his fingers, tasting his skin against her lips.
"Sienna?"
She lifted her head and stood staring at him, drinking in the sight of him—so big, so vital, so tough, and yet capable of amazing tenderness. A man that a woman could lean on forever.
He'd dropped his hand from her, a frown creasing his forehead. Waking from her trance, she stepped back, then quickly made for her bedroom, ignoring the slight dizziness that attacked her.
He caught up with her in the doorway. "Sienna!" His hand closed on her arm. Turning her to face him, he stared down at her, his eyes incredulous, then softening to something else. "You're dead on your feet," he said. "You don't know what you're doing." He bent his head and kissed her, long and tender and appallingly sexy. She swayed into his arms and he held her close until at last he lifted his mouth from hers and said, "Good night, Sienna."
Then his arms fell from her and she was standing alone, watching him stride back to the lighted living area.
She slept late and didn't remember being woken during the night, although Brodie told her next morning that he had done so, following the doctor's instructions.
But she had dreamed about his voice, his kisses. Dreamed
that they were swimming together under the sea, hand in hand among the coral and the fishes, skimming t
he white sand at the bottom, and then rising through crystal water into the dazzling sun and a blue sky the color of his eyes.
She didn't tell him that as she nibbled her way through hot buttered toast under his disapproving eyes, after turning down his offer of bacon and egg.
"We're invited to lunch on the Sea-Rogue," he told her. "Camille phoned earlier but didn't want to wake you. First I'll take you back to the hospital. They said they wanted to check you over this morning."
He drove her there and they waited in the outpatients clinic for some time before a doctor pronounced himself satisfied and told her to come back if she experienced any problems, though he didn't expect any long-term effects.
They went to the wharf and Brodie jumped to the deck and lifted her down, keeping his hands on her waist while she steadied herself.
Camille looked radiant and Rogan's eyes rested on her with lazy appreciation and a glint of something more elemental. She refused to let Sienna help with the meal, telling her to relax in the wintry sunshine on deck.
Suppressing a pang of envy for her friend, Sienna obeyed, leaving the cramped galley space to Camille.
The men joined her in the cockpit, cracking open cans of beer while they engaged in a discussion about the next steps in getting their treasure hoard onto the market and satisfying their investors. Sienna declined the offer of a drink, and with her feet up on the seat leaned back against the bulkhead, slipping into a doze.
When she woke, Rogan wasn't there anymore and Brodie, sitting opposite with his feet resting against the bulkhead, was watching her intently. The sun glinted on his hair, but someone had rigged the awning to shade Sienna's face.
"Hi, Sleeping Beauty," he greeted her as she blinked at him. "I was wondering whether I should wake you … in the time-honored fashion."
Sienna straightened and swung her feet to the deck. "Did I miss lunch?"
"No, we waited for you. Rogue went to pour the wine."
Rogan appeared. "Ready to eat, Sienna? Stay there, we'll have it on deck."
Camille and Rogan brought food and wine up to the cockpit and took their accustomed seat while Brodie shifted over to Sienna's side.
She recalled all the times they'd sat together like this on the voyage to the Maiden's Prayer, and the time they'd watched the sun rise over the ocean together.
Now that the treasure hoard had been recovered, none of the other three would need to worry about money. Brodie would be free to roam the world if he liked, visit exotic dive sites without having to take professional work to pay for it or play shopkeeper in between times.
Lunch was leisurely, and afterward they finished a second bottle of wine and talked in desultory fashion. All of them felt lazy and replete and content.
It was late afternoon when Brodie finally said, "I guess we should be getting back." He stood up, stretching, and turned to take Sienna's hand, pulling her to her feet.
"We ought to show Rogan what Sienna's done with the artifacts we brought to Mokohina," Camille said. "I didn't think of it last night."
Last night they'd been unwinding from a particularly stressful day.
"Come with us now," Brodie suggested. "We can all have dinner at my place."
They piled into his vehicle and he drove to the house, where Sienna and Camille spread out the cleaned articles on the big table and Rogan inspected them. "You've done a great job," he told Sienna, picking up a pewter platter that glowed softly after being cleaned and polished.
"Camille helped."
"I just did what you told me to," Camille said.
"There are still some things that need to soak in acid baths a bit longer to get rid of the coral." Sienna indicated the row of tubs against one wall.
They returned to the living room for dinner, and after a last cup of coffee Rogan and Camille left, walking down the darkened street hand in hand.
Brodie closed the door and Sienna said, "I should put away those things in the workroom."
"Can't it wait until tomorrow? We'll arm the burglar alarm just in case, but we don't need to worry about Conran and his gang now."
"I might as well do it before I go to bed."
She turned to go to the workroom and he followed.
"Don't shut the door on me again, Sienna," he said softly.
"What?" She turned to face him, surprised. She'd never closed the door while she was working.
"Last night," he said, "you kissed me as though you meant it."
Of course she'd meant it. "I don't go in for meaningless kisses," she said. "Or meaningless sex."
He frowned. "You think I do?"
"I think you're open to offers."
"From you," he said promptly, "sure. And it wouldn't have been meaningless for me. If you thought Parakaeo was, you're dead wrong. It meant a lot to me, still does. But last night wasn't the right time."
"The thing is," she said steadily, "there isn't a right time for us, Brodie. For me." She hesitated. "I'm not your kind of woman."
Brodie realized he needed to tread carefully. This conversation was important. "And what kind of woman would that be?" he asked. "I know you're not the one-night-stand sort, Sienna. That isn't what I'm looking for." He wanted her for much longer than that—wanted to make love to her, sure, but also to laugh with her, look after her, and chase away the shadows he saw in her eyes. For a long, long time—maybe for the rest of their lives.
The thought welled up from his subconscious and hit him like a hammer-blow, right between the eyes. It snatched the breath right out of his body.
But this wasn't about him, it was about her. "What you really mean is, I'm not your kind of man," he said. "Is it because I'm just a dumb diver? You want someone with a string of letters after his name? Sorry, I should have thought of that."
"No!" She looked horrified. "I'd never have thought you'd suffer from an inferiority complex!"
"I don't," he said. "But if that isn't what's bothering you, what is?"
"A relationship between us—wouldn't be healthy."
"Not healthy?" Bewildered for a moment, he said, "You don't mean that literally, do you? You don't have some incurable disease? I certainly don't."
"I mean, emotionally healthy." She lifted a hand in a helpless gesture, and he caught it in his own, stilling her fluttering fingers in a firm grip.
"Make me understand," he said fiercely. "Talk to me!"
"It's not you," she said, avoiding his eyes. "It's me. I can't trust myself."
Already prepared to assure her that she could trust him, Brodie was thrown. "What do you mean by that?"
"You'd regret it," she said. "Believe me."
"Why?" he demanded, unable to imagine it.
He could see the effort it took for her to meet his eyes again. "Because," she said, "I'd cling."
Sheer astonishment kept him silent while he digested that. Then he laughed in disbelief. "Cling? You? You're the most bloody-mindedly independent female I've ever met! Honey, if I could get you to cling to me I'd be in seventh heaven!"
Sienna closed her eyes momentarily, then opened them again. "Don't, Brodie," she said. "Can't you recognize a defense mechanism when you see one?"
He stared at her. In the distance a siren wailed but he barely heard it. "A defense mechanism," he repeated slowly. It was a bloody good one. "Why do you need it?"
She bit her lip and shook her head slightly.
The telephone rang, and Sienna jumped.
He muttered a swearword under his breath but didn't take his eyes from hers, ignoring the shrill summons.
She said, "The phone—"
"Never mind the damn phone." But he knew the moment had passed.
"It might be important," she said.
"This is important!" But the phone didn't stop, and at last he turned and strode to the hallway, picked up the receiver and barked, "What?"
Sienna stood in the workroom where Brodie had left her, drawing a deep breath.
A reprieve. She'd been about to tell him of the humiliation, des
pair and misery that still made her cringe with remembered shame and heartbreak, vowing never to let herself get into that morass of futile emotion again. Never to leave herself open to it.
And then Brodie had come along and threatened to smash through all the barriers she'd built against men like him. All her hard-fought-for protective self-knowledge.
She heard him say, "I'll be there." Then the phone was banged down and he turned to her. "I have to go. There's a fire at the shop."
She started forward at that, and was in the doorway of the workroom when he flung open the outer door, looking back for an instant to say, "Don't go anywhere!" before he plunged into the night, slamming the door.
Typical, Sienna thought, half laughing and half crying, to shout a command at her on his way out.
She heard the four-wheel-drive start with a roar and then depart fast, the noise fading as it raced down the hill. His shop was on fire. There wouldn't be staff members there at this time of night, would there? He wouldn't be tempted to rush in and rescue anyone, surely? Or stupid enough to try to save his stock? Was he insured?
He had a share in the Maiden's Prayer treasure. Soon he'd be a rich man. She wondered if he was emotionally attached to his business.
She wanted to follow him, be at his side. But she'd only be one of a crowd of onlookers getting in the way of the firefighters, not doing anything useful.
Going to the front door, she walked as far as the gate and peered down the street. The dive shop was hidden around curves and behind the black shapes of houses and trees, but a faint orange glow lit a thick column of smoke studded with sparks. Another siren sounded.
She stood worrying a thumbnail with her teeth, praying that Brodie was all right, that the damage wasn't going to be as great as that ominous cloud suggested, fighting the urge to run down the hill, all the way to the blaze, and be with him. A gust of cold wind made her shiver, and reluctantly she turned to go back inside. Light streamed onto the path. The door was still wide open.
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