Beyond Fearless

by Rebecca York

  When she’d dressed modestly in white capris and a loose-fitting white shirt, she left the house and headed for the marketplace.

  She had reached the corner when she saw a dark-skinned, bald-headed man with a neatly trimmed beard walking toward her. Going stock-still, she wondered what she was going to do or say.

  She knew who he was.

  Joseph Hondino, the most influential Vadiana priest on the island. Raoul had pointed him out and talked about Hondino from time to time. He’d sneered at the old man because he had a completely different view of the religion.

  But there were aspects of the worship practices that gave Nadine the creeps. No matter who was sacrificing chickens and goats for whatever reasons, she didn’t go for that kind of stuff. In her mind, it was worse to kill them than to have sex on the altar—the way Raoul liked to worship with her.

  Probably Hondino had the opposite opinion. Still, from what she gathered, the older man had a sense of morality that Raoul completely lacked. And in Raoul’s mind, that made the priest a chump. He should be out for what he could get. He should be consolidating his power and getting ready to rule the island.

  But maybe he couldn’t. Maybe Pagor and Ibena and the other saints were on Raoul’s side.

  All that flashed through her mind before the man said, “How are you?”

  “I’m fine.”

  “Maybe I can help you.”

  “How?”

  “Are you frightened?”

  “No!”

  He gave her a considering look, and she felt like he could see into her head.

  “I think you’re lying to me—or to yourself.”

  As the priest studied her, she struggled not to squirm.

  “I see you’re not ready to ask for my help. But you will be. I think you’ll know when the time is right. You know where to find me?”

  “I…”

  “My house is the yellow one with the purple bougainvillea in the front yard. And the old stone altar—made from ships’ ballast. You know the one?”

  She answered with a tight nod.

  “Don’t be afraid to come to me when you feel the world closing in on you.”

  She swallowed and looked furtively around to make sure nobody was watching them. If Raoul found out she’d said anything at all to this guy, he’d be furious. Without another word, she walked quickly toward the market, praying that nobody was going to report this meeting on the street to Raoul.

  ANNA had vowed to sleep late, but once she woke from the dream about Zachary Robinson, it was impossible to go back to sleep. She lay in bed, thinking about him, adding details about his life—and then pondering the strange fantasy she’d experienced just before she’d gone on stage last night. When the two of them had been together.

  Yes, the two of them. Because when she dared to be honest with herself, she knew that he had been the man holding her in his arms. But he hadn’t been the only one there. Another man had been hovering in the background, watching them, his anger simmering. And he had yanked them back to reality.

  She grabbed two wads of sheets to keep her hands from shaking.

  What did it mean?

  The fantasy—and the dream?

  She’d felt like she’d been dragged into the first encounter against her will. But in the dream, she’d been in charge.

  Or was she kidding herself?

  She wanted to scream in frustration. Instead, she got up and pulled on cotton shorts and a T-shirt so she could go down and get a cup of coffee and some fruit, which was about all she could handle that morning, even though the hotel provided wonderful baked goods, eggs, and bacon.

  The breakfast was served in a charming courtyard where orange and magenta bougainvillea climbed the walls and pink and white geraniums bloomed in island-manufactured clay pots.

  While she was still sitting at the Spanish tile and wrought iron breakfast table, an island boy arrived with a note. Etienne Bertrand needed to see her at the club.

  She’d rather take care of whatever it was over the phone, but there was no phone in her room. She’d have to talk to him in the hotel parlor, and he probably wanted to have a private conversation.

  So she told the boy who’d brought the message that she’d go to the club in an hour, then gave him a tip for delivering the message, although she was pretty sure Bertrand had already paid him. But she’d seen the poverty on the island. And if she could feed stray cats, she could give kids money, too.

  She took her time showering and washing her hair. Last night Bertrand had told her to sleep late. This morning he was sending for her. So had something changed?

  She put on loose-fitting white cotton pants and an aqua shirt with a sea plant pattern, along with comfortable sandals. Maybe on the way back she could stop at a couple of the market stalls and buy some more of the comfortable cotton clothing that was a specialty of the island.

  As she took the route along the waterfront, a dozen children and teenagers materialized in front of her, blocking her way.

  When she tried to skirt around them, they held out their hands, pulling at her clothing, and one of them tried to grab her shoulder bag.

  “Lady. Lady,” some of them shouted.

  “Please. Don’t crowd me,” she begged. But the young people just pressed in closer.

  She had never seen anything like this on the island. It felt like someone was directing an attack on her.

  WILD Bill Cody tugged at his straw hat, pulling it lower over his eyes. He was dressed like an island kid, with a torn T-shirt and faded shorts.

  But even without the disguise, he didn’t look like a killer. He came across more like a teenager. In this case, a kid hanging around the docks. Even so, he’d already had several years of heavy-duty surveillance and dirty tricks under his belt before hiring on to work for Jim Stone.

  His appearance was an advantage—the Ted Bundy, nice-guy look. Which made it easy to get close to his mark.

  A couple of times he’d stood a few feet away from Anna Ridgeway—in a crowd of children—and she hadn’t known who he was.

  He had been on duty when she went to bed. And he knew she wasn’t going to leave the island. So he’d broken off his surveillance during the night, then checked his e-mail in the morning.

  He had new orders. He was supposed to get rid of her. And he was thinking about the best way to do it.

  He hardly ever killed in broad daylight. But the night was going to be a problem here—with the big bruiser of a club owner walking her home after every gig.

  Bill was always flexible. Minimizing his height, he darted forward, moving rapidly. He could kill her now. Right here across from the dock. And it would look like one of the kids had done it.

  He had almost reached his goal, when a man pushed through the crowd, heading for Anna.

  The assassin hesitated, then took a step back. The equation had shifted, and he didn’t like the balance now.

  AS she tried to fight her way clear, Anna’s heart threatened to block her windpipe. Then, from the edge of the throng, a man materialized. A man with a very pleasing combination of African and Caucasian features.

  “Aright,” he shouted. “Leave the sista be.” As he spoke, he pulled some coins from his pocket and threw them onto the cracked sidewalk. Immediately the kids charged after the money, pushing and shoving as they scrambled to pick up the booty.

  The man took her arm protectively, moving her into the shade of an awning at the front of a candy shop.

  “Thank you,” she said, taking in more details. He was wearing a white linen shirt and neatly pressed tan slacks.

  He gave her a broad smile, revealing even white teeth. “I could see you were in trouble.” He had spoken to the kids in the patois of the island. He spoke to her with a cultured American accent.

  “I haven’t had any problems like this before,” she murmured.

  “Sometimes the kids get aggressive. It’s a sad fact of life here.”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m Raoul
San Donato,” he said. “I own an art gallery down the street. I was just going to open up when I saw you.”

  She nodded. Was he waiting for her to tell him her name? She wasn’t sure she should.

  “I have an appointment…” she tried.

  “Let me escort you. So you don’t run into any other trouble.”

  She would have liked to refuse, but she didn’t want to be impolite. He had rescued her, and maybe it was safer to walk with him.

  “You’re Anna Ridgeway,” he said, shocking her.

  “How…how do you know?”

  “I told you, my gallery is only a block away. I pass the Sugar Cane Club on my way to work. I saw you on the poster.”

  She stopped short, a shiver traveling up her spine. “But the poster doesn’t have my last name on it.”

  He shrugged. “I’m a friend of Etienne. We sometimes talk about the acts he’s planning to hire. I told him you would be a good choice.”

  “I was on my way to meet him,” she said, feeling awkward. Etienne had discussed her with this man? Before he’d even hired her?

  “I know a lot about Palmiro. What works here and what doesn’t,” he said, as though he had read her mind and answered the unspoken question.

  She picked up her pace, hurrying toward the club. There were more people on the streets now, taking advantage of the cooler morning air.

  San Donato was speaking again, and she struggled to focus on his words, and not his wolfish expression.

  “I’m sure if I stopped in the club with you, Etienne would let you leave soon. I could show you the scenery up in the hills. The view is spectacular from up there.”

  “No, thank you,” she answered quickly. She didn’t want to go anywhere with him—certainly not where the two of them would be alone.

  As she declined his invitation, she saw a shadow pass across his face. Maybe he wasn’t used to people turning him down.

  But when he spoke, his voice was mild. “Another time,” he said, as though he knew that the two of them were going to meet again. She heard something in his tone. Something. But she couldn’t bring it into focus.

  “Thank you,” she repeated.

  They had reached the club. Quickly she stepped inside, then found Etienne in his office. He was supposed to be waiting for her, yet when she walked in the door, he seemed surprised to see her.

  “You wanted to talk to me?” she said.

  He put down the piece of paper he was holding. “Yes. Thanks for coming.” Leaning back in his seat, he gave her a closer inspection. “You look a little pale.”

  “On the way over here, some kids crowded me on the street.”

  “Sometimes they get pushy.”

  She nodded.

  “Everything okay?”

  “Yes.”

  He was silent, and he looked like he was waiting for her to say more. When she didn’t, he said, “Sit down.”

  She lowered herself to one of the comfortable chairs across from the desk.

  “Thanks for coming. I’d like to talk to you about adding an extra show Saturday night.”

  She blinked. “Last night you told me I was working too hard.”

  “Yeah, well, I see an opportunity—for both of us. And I’m willing to pay you a nice bonus.”

  “How nice?” she shot back.

  “A day’s pay just for the one extra show.”

  She kept her voice cool. “A day and a half.”

  The request was outrageous, and she expected him to come back with a lower figure. But he waited a beat, then nodded. “Okay.”

  Surprised, she raised her eyes to his.

  “You’re worth it,” he said. “We’ve been doing fantastic business since you arrived.”

  “Thank you.” She started to stand. She had to…

  There was nothing she had to do. She’d been anxious to get inside the club. Now the feeling of needing to get back outside was strong.

  “Thank you. It will be good for the club. And good for you,” Etienne was saying.

  She didn’t think it would do much for her personally, since she wasn’t planning to stay on Grand Fernandino after her contract was up, but she was willing to give Etienne the extra time—to keep their relationship smooth.

  When he went back to the papers on his desk, she exited the club through the front door.

  She’d had a frightening experience on her way there, and maybe she should go directly back to her hotel.

  And what? Hide out?

  It was tempting, but she wasn’t going to run her life that way. And what could happen in broad daylight?

  Another gang of street kids assaulting her. Probably not now, with so many tourists prowling the streets.

  When a picture of the docks flashed into her mind, she let the image guide her footsteps, even if she did look over her shoulder a couple of times to make sure nobody was right behind her.

  Ahead of her, the sea was an unbelievable shade of blue. When she came to the edge of the sidewalk, she stepped onto the worn boards of the dock and kept going, feeling the wind blowing through her hair.

  In the harbor, a motor launch was speeding toward shore, and as she watched it come closer, she felt anticipation tightening her throat.

  The launch reached the dock, and a man threw a rope over one of the pilings. When she saw his face, her breath caught.

  It was Zachary Robinson. If that was really his name.

  As though he knew she was watching him, he looked up. And when he walked toward her along the wooden dock, she wasn’t able to turn away.

  A sound from under the shadow of a rowboat made her startle. Then she looked down and saw a gray cat staring hopefully up at her.

  Fumbling in her purse, she found the bag of dry cat food and stooped down to spread some on the warm boards of the dock. The cat immediately began to eat, and she stayed where she was, wanting to stroke the matted gray fur but afraid that she’d scare him away and keep him from his meal. He needed to eat more than he needed to be petted. So she tucked the bag of cat food back into her purse.

  When she stood again, the man was only a few yards from her, watching.

  Tension coiled in her stomach as she waited for him to speak.

  “What are you doing?”

  “I…feed the cats.”

  “Why?”

  She spread her hands. “They’re hungry.”

  “Yeah.”

  “There are a lot of them on the island. And no SPCA.”

  “So you’ve taken over the job.”

  Her gaze flicked to his hand, then away. She wanted to touch him. No she didn’t.

  When she saw him swallow, she knew he was as nervous as she was.

  That helped. Because she wasn’t the only one fighting to act like this was a normal encounter.

  Then he spoke again, and it took several seconds for the meaning to penetrate her fogged brain. “I told you my name last night.”

  She might have denied it. Instead, she answered with a tight nod.

  “Tell me what I said.”

  CHAPTER

  TEN

  ANNA DRAGGED IN a breath and let it out before answering. “Your name is Zachary Robinson.”

  He shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “I guess you got the message.”

  Before she could dredge up anything to say, he added, “So how did it happen that I got that through to you, without saying anything in front of your bodyguard?”

  “He’s not…”

  “Sorry. I don’t want to start off being antagonistic.”

  “What do you want?”

  “The same thing you do,” he shot back, lifting his arm and letting his hand fall back to his side.

  Was that true? She wasn’t sure. He wanted to touch her. She felt it all the way from her skin to the marrow of her bones.

  She looked at that hand and at the tension in his body, and it was her turn to swallow.

  When she didn’t speak, he said, “You came here. Just as I docked.”

/>   “Coincidence,” she answered, then looked around. They were standing out in the open, where anyone could hear. And the conversation felt much too strange…and too personal for public consumption.

  “Let’s go inside.”

  Had he picked up that idea from her mind? The question should have felt weird. But with him it was entirely natural. Hadn’t most of their communication so far been unspoken?

  “Where?”

  “My boat.”

  She looked at the open motor launch. “That’s no more private than the dock.”

  “I don’t mean the launch. My boat is down there.” He pointed to a much larger craft. She’d seen it in her dream, she suddenly realized.

  “And I’ll be trapped there with you,” she heard herself say, then wished she hadn’t voiced the thought.

  “I’m not planning to hold you captive. You can leave anytime you want.”

  Was that the truth? And did she really have a choice?

  He was speaking again, and she tried to focus on his words above the roaring in her mind.

  “You touch objects and capture a memory from the person. What do you think will happen when you touch me?”

  That made her think again about the dream of the night before. But she wasn’t going to share that with him. Instead she said, “I don’t get…memories from the people themselves.”

  “You will from me.”

  The way he said it raised goose bumps on her arms. She would have taken a step back, but some invisible force kept her standing there.

  “You and I…are going to mean something to each other,” he said softly. “Maybe we already do.”

  “You have an act where you read the future?”

  “No.”

  “Then what?”

  “I just know there’s something between us. Starting with that…fantasy yesterday.”

  She heard the uncertainty and the tension in his voice. Felt the intensity rolling off of him. “The fantasy,” she whispered, acknowledging it out loud. She wanted him to elaborate, but he only repeated his invitation.

  “Come to my boat.”

  She should run in the other direction. Like she had from the gallery owner. Two strange encounters in one morning were too much. But this felt different.