A moment later Raphael, dressed all in black, complete with his trench coat and thick turtleneck, stepped into the room. She took a step backward, but his voice boomed, "There you are."
Where else would she be? She steeled her spine. "I've made you dinner, sir."
"Sir?" He stood taller, like she'd insulted him and he might scold her. "You're not my servant."
She tilted her head. Meg called him master, but that would never come out of her mouth.
"You hired me as a cook." Kimberly lifted her chin. "Until I find a way out of here, I have accepted, which makes me the hired help."
His dark green eyes smoldered in the candlelight and he leaned against the door, his biceps flexing. Her mouth fell open slightly, her heart hammering.
"We're in the twenty-first century. Let's not make this difficult. Let's just eat. Besides, I'd like your company tonight."
Why? She held her tongue on the question. She was pretty sure he hadn't wanted to be around her. Did he have news? She had to be safe from Roger. "Where were you today?"
He crossed his arms and new muscles became clear. Her body temperature heated. "Because of the storm, I had some natural camouflage. I took the opportunity to scout."
She took a deep breath, then stared back into his "melt me to my core" sexy stare. She blinked and tried to stay calm. "What did you see?"
His face became solemn and he held his jaw tight. "I saw a camp."
"What about the pilot?" Was it wrong to want someone dead? She swallowed. With all the yoga, meditation, and be-a-better-person classes she'd taken, it seemed wrong. She lowered her eyelashes.
He took a step into the dining room and she stared at his black boots. She sighed. Today the heat in her now came from feet? She shook her head. He held his arms to his sides. "I never saw him. I'll go back tomorrow, when the storm clears."
For a moment he glanced at something small in his hand that caused his eyes to darken. Then he tucked it in his pocket. She blinked, unsure if she should wonder. Then he took off his black trench coat and offered her a small smile. “The storm and winter have made repairing the wires impossible around here. You should carry matches for the candles. I set up candelabra everywhere.”
“Of course, not a problem.” She picked up her spoon and tried to find something else to talk about. She gulped then decided to go slowly. Meg had mentioned warrior blood, and she ought to find out more about Raphael other than his muscular frame. She’d take her first guess. "What branch of the government did you work for?"
"That's classified." Seriously? He must have worked for them with that answer. He joined her at the table and sat next to her. Talk about closed off. What was his problem? He answered then served the stew. "What do you do for a living?"
"I'm a blogger." She lowered her eyelashes and couldn’t meet him in the eyes. She did what she did to make a little money. She felt his judgment against her forehead even if she didn’t see into his eyes. "Some political stuff, but mostly celebrity trash talk. Guess I'm out of a job."
His eyes widened, but then his cheeks gained a little redness. "You spill secrets from the South Pacific?"
She did miss her computer, and hoped it had somehow survived the crash. "With the internet, I can live anywhere, and most of the stuff I write about celebrities is total fiction." She shrugged, but his grim expression meant he was on edge. Her body relaxed a bit, but then she pushed. "Pass the bread. Why did you choose to stay in your castle when the boat came for everyone else?"
"Okay. I know you don't like the answer and keep asking, Kimberly." He picked up the bowl and set it closer to her. She glanced into his eyes and saw pools of blackness in his pupils. She stiffened and braced herself for his words. "I prefer to be off the grid. Roger is a big problem. Your plane crash came at the worst time imaginable for me."
She nodded. She’d honor his privacy, though she itched to ask him what he was hiding. "Are you building the Frankenstein monster in the attic or something?"
She clamped her mouth shut. A winter outside would not be good for her. She had never lived in temperatures lower than fifty degrees on a rare day.
He smirked. "No."
She held her tongue and hoped for more. Her ears burned a bit, and she glanced down at the table. The wind in the halls echoed almost as a scream through the room, and the candles flickered.
"I'm sorry." She gazed up and stared into his dark eyes. Her body melted. "I sometimes push when I shouldn't."
He shrugged. "We all have issues."
"And yours are?" She blinked. She shouldn’t have asked that. She wiped her wayward hair behind her ear. "As I said, I'm pushy."
He kept his mouth closed. She struggled to stay quiet. Then he finally said, "I'm not trustworthy."
He must be modest and not want her thanks. She shook her head. "Don't be so hard on yourself. You saved me."
His breaths were labored and he twisted the water glass. "I hurt others."
She buttered her bread. "Raphael, whatever happened doesn't matter."
He gulped his water and swallowed. His Adam’s apple bopped. Then he clenched his empty glass. "Some sins should never be forgotten."
"Did you kill someone?" The question flew out of her mouth, but she rolled her shoulders back.
"Not that I know of." He gazed at her. "I was a marine, ma'am."
The Marines weren't a secret to keep. She poured him more water and then placed the cup next to his seat. "Is it something you did during the war, on duty?"
"No. It was before." He clenched his jaw.
He didn’t say anything as the seconds ticked past in the clock. Kimberly coughed. "What do you want to talk about, Raphael?"
“I went to the crash site.”
Her mind flashed back. The pilot saluted them as they waked on the plane. She rubbed her head. She hadn't gazed at the pilot at all. She polished her plate a bit, but Raphael squeezed her arms. "Milady, did you hear me?"
What? The images faded. Her brow wrinkled and she shook her head. "I'm hardly qualified as a lady. They have too many rules guarding them, and I've never been a fan of rules."
"Rebel, then." He winked at her, then he froze. She tilted her head and her heart raced. What happened to him? She listened to the thump in her chest. He dropped her arm, lowered his attention to the biscuits, and told her, "As I said earlier, I went to the crash site and checked the island. I found no trace of the man who almost killed you."
"You said you found a camp." She stared at the wine and decided to pour them each a glass. The redness of the liquid swam before her eyes like blood. She rubbed her forehead and found her voice. "What happened that you didn't say?"
His eyes became almost black, though they kept the green hue, and his skin paled. "Two bodies, burned.”
Her stomach clenched. She was going to be sick. She clutched her waist and hoped she didn’t.
“I’m sorry, Kimberly. I brought them closer to the castle and dug a grave. The ground will get too hard soon. Tomorrow, I'm going to survey the plane in the water before the Atlantic swallows it." He grimaced. "I videotaped everything I saw first, and took a few pictures to turn into the police come spring."
She tried to catch her breath, but it was stuck in her throat. Eileen and Ali were dead. She needed to see the grave, to pray for her friends. She blinked. "If you're calling the police, that means you're not a criminal."
"In this you can trust me. I’ll keep you safe as long as you stay in the castle." Raphael’s green eyes stirred awareness inside her. "I'll find him, and he won't get in here. You'll be safe."
She dropped her arms to her lap and tilted to stare at his full lips. A spark coursed through her, urging her to kiss him. He'd taste like forbidden fruit. A smile formed on her lips.
“Your bruise is fading and your eyes seem bright. Take advantage of the library while you’re here.” He leaned back in his chair and the moment was gone. "What do you want to talk about now, Kimberly?"
Her body trembled at how her name sounded
in his baritone voice. Then the words rolled around in her head and a flash of the memory surfaced. This time she stared at the feet; bodies and faces of all three people on the tarmac as the pilot passed them to get into the small plane. She puckered her lips, remembering an older man.
The scene changed to the second Eileen was shot in the head. Kimberly had screamed, but then arms threw her back off her chair. The plane plummeted and then the pilot spoke in harsh sounds that weren't English, before he shot Ali in the head. The images spun around, giving her vertigo. Strong arms threw her out of the plane. Saving her? She blinked.
Raphael leaned closer again. "Are you getting sick?"
Her stomach was queasy. She nodded. "I just remembered something else."
He put down his fork. "What?"
She held his gaze. "There was an older gentleman. He had a nice smile. I think he was their servant."
His voice and body steeled like she would hit him. "Who and what do you mean?"
She stiffened, then swallowed. Her mind flashed again to an old man's face. The howl of the wind wooshed in the halls outside. Her face heated, but then she closed her eyes. "On the plane, when Eileen was shot, the older man next to me threw me down and then later pushed me off the plane, which saved my life."
His fists hit the table, and she winced. "Why didn't you mention him?"
"Everything happened so fast." She opened her eyes, but her vision was blurry from tears. She rubbed the back of her head. "The pieces are just starting to come together in my head. Nothing makes sense. But you said you only found two burned bodies?"
“Yes.” Raphael's foot tapped on the floor.
She gazed up and he shook his head. He seemed angry and she didn’t know why. She wiped her tears back. "I'm sorry."
Raphael stared at the door and said nothing. He knew she'd hit my head and didn’t remember everything. He must be worried for her.
"I didn't mean to come here, and would leave if I could." She coughed and heard the wobble in her voice. She tried to breathe. She never cried, but she needed his help. She tugged on his arm. "I saw Roger kill people. Someone else helped save my life on the plane. It’s a nightmare, remembering each moment of yesterday’s horror. I'm not trying to cause problems. Can you please help me?"
"I will take care of the pilot and find the servant." Raphael reached out and brushed her arm. An electric current rushed through her and her entire body warmed. His muscles were large enough to keep her safe in his arms. Then he finished, "No one will get to you. I promise to get you back to shore in April."
Her body softened as if steam came out of her. She stared into his sexy eyes, and her cheeks burned. "Thank you. I've never been protected."
Raphael’s cheeks turned crimson. "I have never been anyone's white knight before. I'm usually in the shadows, but I do promise you that you'll get off my island alive."
"Would you kill the pilot for me?" For all those years on the island trying to be a better person, she couldn’t just wish him caught. He might get out and then come to kill her too.
He nodded, but stared at the door.
The images of a brutal fight flashed in her head between the pilot and Raphael, but she shook them off. She wiped her mouth with her napkin. "Tomorrow, I want to say a few prayers at the grave with you."
He took a bite of his stew then told her, "This is great."
"Are you talking about the food?" She tilted her head. "I asked for a favor."
"I'll bring you tomorrow."
She stared at him and his face turned grim. "Kimberly, let me handle the pilot and the servant tomorrow. We'll go to the grave when we can."
She rubbed her neck. Why would he avoid the easy request?
Suddenly he stood up. "I'll be right back."
He walked out of the dining room fast. Her jaw dropped and she had no words to call him back. Where was he going?
She looked at the trench coat hanging on the wall. Earlier he had slipped something in his pocket. What? She swallowed and held firm to her seat. She'd respect his privacy.
Thunder cracked outside and wind rattled the trees. Then a crash boomed her ears, and the silverware clanged against the dishes. She shivered.
There was no such thing as ghosts. There wasn't.
CHAPTER 5
"I want to visit the graves," Kimberly said the moment Raphael joined her with dirty dishes in his hand. She pressed her lips together and reminded herself to be polite and not pushy. They both carried their plates down a flight of stairs. At least he was back now from wherever he'd disappeared to.
Raphael nodded. "It's night now. I'll show you tomorrow afternoon."
"Why not first thing in the morning?" She walked next to him with a stack of dishes in her hand.
"I want to search for the servant who got you off the plane." He stared down the stairs with his tense shoulders. "If he's still alive, I will offer him safety."
"Safe." How he talked with that clenched jaw she had no idea. She hoped to help him stay calm. They reached the last step. "I like when you say it. I feel it."
Raphael held the door open for her.
She stepped inside. "You know you are paying me to be the help around here."
"Kimberly." His voice was deep, and she leaned against the counter to help steady her. "I don't think you'd ever… I have to go."
He placed his dish in the sink. "I’ll do those.” His hand brushed against hers, but then he flinched. It reminded her of a puppy that had been kicked too many times. She didn’t move and lowered her voice. “Are you okay?"
"I shouldn't be here,” he said. “I'll see you tomorrow." He stormed out the door again, like he needed to hug the shadows for safety. She tilted her head and stared at his muscular backside. Her cheeks heated and she smiled. Raphael's body was built for a battlefield, and in bed, he'd take up so much more room than her last boyfriend.
Then she glared at the mess in the sink and the electricity in her body waned. She squared her shoulders, picked up the first plate, and started rinsing. Her last boyfriend was skinny, and Raphael was all muscle. She used the cold spray to cool her thoughts.
Kimberly quickly loaded the dishwasher. The top of the wall had slits for her to glance out, and that would help light the room—if there was light outside. Outside the rain continued its constant patter.
A few minutes later, she placed the pans she had washed earlier away and finished packing the machine with the dishes. Her work was done and the machine made that buzz sound. The sink was empty, and she dried her hands on a soft dishtowel.
Something in her life had worked as directed.
Then she stared out the tiny slit of a window and hugged her waist. Dusk was already upon them, and darkness of night magnified the sound of the storm. The snow and rain mixed and almost blocked her view from here. She sighed, unsure what to do. She’d bet money that every day till April, it stormed. She'd turn into a zombie if she never saw sunlight.
She closed her eyes, made a circle with her thumb and her index finger and counted her breaths.
Worse would be if she let that thought rule her. All rainstorms ended eventually. She opened her eyes and rolled her shoulders until she stared at the emptiness of the kitchen. If the pilot had survival skills then she was in serious trouble. She forced herself to take a few steps. Raphael had been surprised, so with luck the servant who'd saved her was outside and possessed survival skills.
She wiped her forehead with the back of her hand. Why had Roger killed her friends? They were good people as far as she knew, but then, who ever truly knows. She didn’t know Raphael or anything about him. And how had she mixed herself up in this?
Another thought slapped her in the face. Raphael was hardly a real angel, as they didn’t exist any more than ghosts or anything supernatural. His almost-smile at dinner replayed in her mind. The wind howled. Despite that, she placed her fingers in that circle to stop her heart from racing. He had a body that set every cell in her body off course. She laughed under her breat
h. She wasn't a woman who mixed herself up with sexy, hot men. To her, most hot men weren't smart, and besides, she'd been hot and cold in his presence. Attraction meant heat, not a mix of both, and Raphael's name alone created goose bumps on her body.
He must be a recluse, and if she lived here, it was best to make him smile.
She crossed her arms again, and stepped away from the window. First things first, though. Raphael had walked out without speaking to her, twice. He flat-out told her not to trust him, and normally, she’d listen to that warning. Raphael offered her protection and a place to stay, but what if he lied? If a pilot could shoot his passengers, for no reason, then anything was possible. Who lived without the internet and off the grid? Was he a former spy, a criminal, a man with a sinister secret? Why would he have no phone? Was it in this house? Her stomach hardened. Something about him struck her as a big, fat lie. The goose bumps on her arms returned again, but this time she was cold.
Why did he choose to live alone? The portrait of the modern blonde woman in the library flashed in her memory. Kimberly's mind stayed on the picture, and she assumed the woman was related to Raphael's life in some way. Next time she saw him, she'd ask.
She clenched her hands, turned, and walked out the kitchen, her socks whispering along the polished wood floors.
Unlike the women in the stories she read or the women in his family portraits, she had no skills with guns, knives, bows, or karate.
Despite this, she’d messed with his life and asked for too much. It was her job to take care of herself and find answers to her questions. She hadn't told him that she'd go with him, but he swore to go out and search. It was time for her to straighten out her mess.
It was spiritually one more step in apologizing to her mom and sister. She’d been a brat.
With a spring in her step, she picked up her candelabrum that would need new candles in the morning. The wax was almost melted. The last thing she needed was to get stuck in the dark halls without light. She went to the stairs, and a cold, howling wind hit her spine. She turned around then shook her head. She cleared her mind and then turned back to the stairs and took a step forward. Suddenly she stopped and shuffled backward. Next to the kitchen was a small door. A closet? Another room?
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