Night, Sea, And Stars

by Heather Graham

  “For what?”

  Skye frowned and bit her lip. She had never discussed the gold discovered on the island, not with Lucy, not even with Ted or Virginia. With her thoughts constantly occupied with memories— and admittedly bitterness—she had almost forgotten the gold. She had known Kyle had returned to Australia, but he had never said anything about the gold. Of course, she had never given him a chance.

  “I’m not really sure,” she murmured in reply to Lucy. “Hey, Luce, get Harry Dunbart for me right away, will you?”

  A half hour later Skye was thoroughly furious, frustrated, incredulous—and ready to cry with sheer disbelieving self-pity.

  “I’m an American citizen!” she spat, throwing the offending envelope with disgust on her desk, “I crashed in a damn airplane, I was marooned on a stinking island not knowing if I would live or die, and now this! Because some baggage clerk is claiming that case went on board with my luggage! I should have sued Executive Charters and Jagger for every penny they were worth—”

  “Skye, calm down,” Harry Dunbart soothed, rubbing the bald spot on his temple with agitated fingers. “Executive Charters has nothing to do with this. And you’re not actually being accused of anything. They want you for further questioning.”

  “I don’t want to answer any more questions! I was a victim in this entire thing! I—”

  “Skye,” Harry interrupted, “I understand, and you’re right. But victims often suffer. And I’m afraid if you don’t appear for this hearing, you might wind up being extradited, and your refusal to cooperate could look very bad. Skye, you were planning on going to Sydney anyway in a month. I'll make arrangements to be with you as soon as possible.”

  “In other words, Harry, you’re saying I have to go.”

  Harry rubbed his bald spot with such a worried vengeance that Skye began to fear he would shortly bare bone. “I’m a corporate attorney, Skye, I’m a little over my head with this thing. But yes, I think you have to go. I’m going to find the best possible person to represent you. We have a few weeks—”

  “No, Harry, I’m going today. From Virginia’s I'll be in a better position myself to try to understand what’s going on. We’ll meet in Australia.”

  “Skye, that’s insane, you don’t have to leave today.”

  “Well, I am. I’m too disgusted to do anything else!”

  Harry left unhappily, promising to be thoroughly prepared when he reached Australia. Skye called Lucy in and told her to make arrangements so that she might leave immediately.

  “Immediately? Skye, the airlines—”

  “Call Executive Charters,” Skye said bitterly. “Their motto is ‘Anywhere at any time!’ ”

  The New York offices of Executive Charters were almost as large as the home group in San Francisco. Skye was able to arrange a flight out within two hours. She boarded a Lear uncannily familiar to that which had landed her in the South Pacific not so very long ago.

  But the pilot was a cordial, middle-aged man with pleasant powder-blue eyes and a crinkling smile, not the vitally intense male with the searing green gaze who had once barely swept his eyes over her before taking his seat for a flight that would prove to be the most catastrophic detour in her entire life.

  Away from her office, away from a view of all others. Skye closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the plush rest. It wasn’t fair. Oh, God, it wasn’t fair. Her existence had been torn asunder. She was pregnant by a married man. But she had learned to cope, she had known where she was going.

  But now this. It just wasn’t fair, it wasn’t fair. Tears slipped beneath her closed lids. She wondered if Kyle would have to appear in Australia. And she wondered if he would prove to be a witness for the defense—or for the prosecution.

  Lucy Grant’s day hadn’t been going well at all. She was worried sick about Skye, exhausted from the whirlwind of her employer’s hasty departure, and nervous silly over the responsibility she had been handed. Mrs. Rathstadt would be in shortly to okay the design Skye had barely finished. Thank God it was nearly time to go.

  Lucy began to clear her desk and to put things in order for the next working day. She began to collect meticulously a sheaf of invoices, then gasped and tossed them all high into the air as the outer door slammed inward and a man barged in like a tornado.

  “I’m here to see Ms. Delaney,” he announced in a harsh bark, ignoring the mass confusion his abrupt entrance had obviously created.

  Lucy was tongue-tied as she stared at him. She had never come across a person exuding such an energy. He was a strikingly handsome man, but that fact could almost be overlooked. She could feel a power from him, something that compelled, something that radiated a vital heat from a muscular form with the lithe agility of a lynx.

  She stared into his eyes, green eyes, searching for words in the confusion of his overwhelming appearance. He was just a man, she thought, tall, excessively attractive—but that aura.

  He was Jagger, of course; Lucy finally stumbled to her senses and realized. She had seen his picture when Skye had been found; she should have known the voice instantly from having refused so many of his calls.

  Lucy finally managed to close her mouth. “She isn’t here,” she stuttered.

  “That’s exactly what I expected to hear,” he said with impatience, brushing by her to the door marked, Skye Delaney.

  He entered the inner office, searched it in a hurry, returned to Lucy. “Where is she? She isn’t going to hide out any longer. I'll find her, and if I don’t, you and I will sit right here until she returns.”

  Lucy’s eyes widened. Of course, he thought this was another ploy for Skye to avoid him… “Oh, Mr. Jagger, she really isn’t here!” Lucy exclaimed. And then she went on to tell him that Skye had been subpoenaed and had stormed out to catch a flight to Sydney.

  “Dammit!” he murmured, obviously shocked by the news. “I have a dozen people on this thing and I didn’t hear a thing about Skye being recalled…” His voice had changed; he appeared frustrated and worried, but he offered her a rueful smile. It was a devastating smile, Lucy thought. Skye was a fool, even if he did have a wife.

  “Listen, miss,” he began.

  “Lucy,” she interrupted. “Lucy Grant.”

  “Lucy,” he corrected, another devastating smile lighting his rugged features, “I’ll help you collect these papers”—he began to gather the scattered invoices together—“and you get on the phone to my New York office. Tell them Kyle Jagger wants a fueled Lear ready in thirty minutes. And that I want to be cleared to Sydney. Wait—on second thought, tell them I want a pilot. Mathews, if he’s available. I don’t want to arrive exhausted.”

  “Yes, sir!” Lucy replied, responding to his natural authority with even more than her usual efficiency. “Please, sir, don’t bother with the papers. I’ll be able to handle them just fine…”

  He was gone with the swift, determined step that had brought him. Lucy put through the calls, then sank into her desk chair, ignoring the invoices, forgetting all about Mrs. Rathstadt.

  She had just been touched by an earthshaking force of nature, felt the fringes of a tornado—the stuff of daydreams.

  She wondered vaguely if Skye was aware that she was loved by this particular green-eyed tornado. And then she began to hope fervently that problems and chaos could turn to the stuff of dreams.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  September 28, Sydney, Australia

  “I’m very sorry, Mr. Jagger,” the young officer apologized with sincerity. “We did try to contact you, but you were already in motion yourself. Our telegram about Miss Delaney simply didn’t reach you. And the hearing is still two weeks away. We haven’t charged her with anything yet.”

  “But you do believe you will be charging her, after the hearing, don’t you?” Kyle demanded. He had decided to discover exactly what was going on with the prosecutor’s office before contacting Skye, and now he was finding out with a sinking heart that a case was being made against her. Damn, he felt f
urious and helpless! He had spent weeks here working on leads that turned up nothing. He had checked the banks, the customs authorities, the airport—nothing. And now an obscure baggage clerk had come up with the sworn statement that the black case had gone through with Miss Delaney’s luggage.

  The young officer nodded unhappily. “I believe she will be charged, sir. International smuggling is a very serious offense—”

  “She didn’t do it!” Kyle snapped, then regretted his abrasive haste. The desk officer had little to do with the case. “She certainly wouldn't sabotage her own flight,” he amended more quietly.

  “No, sir, we believe an accomplice was involved. I mean”—the officer swallowed quickly—“Miss Delaney is certainly innocent until proven guilty…”

  “She’s innocent and will be proved innocent,” Kyle said grimly. “Thanks,” he told the officer. “Tell your lieutenant I’ll be back to see him in the morning.”

  “Oh, yes, sir, Mr. Jagger, I’m sure he would have been here if he had known you were coming.”

  Kyle nodded briefly, turning to leave the crisp, clean office.

  Whereas fall had been approaching in New York, spring was coming to Australia. Even in the busy downtown section, flowers were in abundance. Unfortunately, Kyle had little time to ponder upon the beauty of the day. He was intent upon bringing his rented Volvo across the Harbour Bridge to the secluded suburb where the directory had listed the residence of Virginia Delaney.

  A chill gripped him as he drove. The authorities were following the same logic he once had. Skye had been the only passenger on the plane.

  She wasn’t guilty. He knew she wasn’t guilty. But if there was something, anything that she knew… Had she been used in any way? Should he actually be confronting her now?

  Whether he should or shouldn’t didn’t matter. He hadn’t seen her for over two months, and she had plagued his mind every hour, every day of all that time. He suddenly realized he was nervous. Two months had put the breach of time between them, and besides that they had problems that appeared insurmountable. It was more than possible that Lisa would call his bluff; he could never hurt Chris. Somehow he would have to try to hold Skye through bitter months, perhaps years, as he battled Lisa.

  None of which would be consequential if they didn’t solve the problem of the gold.

  Dressed in a white flannel robe, Skye lay dispiritedly before the fire in Virginia's living room, watching the flames as she idly rubbed her fingers over the soft fur of her sister-in-law’s Persian cat, Muff. She couldn’t remember ever being so depressed or tired in her life, unless it had been that day on the beach.

  She didn’t want to remember that day on the beach. It would remind her of Kyle. And then she would ache with missing him. Then she would remember that he had thought her a smuggler, too, that she was in Australia with everyone thinking her a common criminal, and that he had probably known what was going on all along and hadn’t come to her defense.

  Gold. She closed her eyes against the warmth of the flames that burned in that color. How she hated gold. She had crashed because of gold, she had feared for her life because of gold, she had fallen in love with Kyle and become pregnant because of that same gold, and she was here now, sick and miserable, wondering if she would face incarceration for what remained of her youth—all because of gold.

  Maybe if she didn’t feel so terrible she could care more. As it was, she felt as if she had been drained of the will to fight.

  The doorbell began to ring and she listened to it listlessly. Then she remembered that Virginia had gone out shopping. Skye still listened, not caring. Whoever it was would go away. But the noise continued, and finally, when the persistent buzzing threatened to give her a headache on top of all else, she struggled to her feet and passed through the cozy living room to the entrance foyer and flung open the door.

  Simple instinct upon seeing the thunder in Kyle's face caused her to back away and to attempt to slam the door. He caught it with a single hand and pushed it back inward. “No way, Ms. Delaney. You can’t hide behind an answering machine now.”

  Skye froze as she watched him close the door behind himself. Her fingers were clutched around her robe, pulling it more securely. Even in dreams she hadn’t remembered him so formidable, quite so tall, quite so broad, so sleekly, powerfully rugged… nor had she remembered an expression quite so threatening… so determined… so relentless. And yet he appeared almost casual. He seemed relaxed, arms crossed as he leaned against the door, watching her with that cool, assessing gaze. Why not? He was in the door. If she moved he could catch her in a single step. And what was more, he had the advantage of being immaculately and handsomely dressed in a lightweight fawn suit. She was a wreck, her dress the soft robe, her hair carelessly disheveled… He had planned on finding her; his appearance was a shock to her.

  She bit her lip and mentally straightened her spine. “Kyle,” she murmured with a biting trace of sarcasm. “Come in.”

  “I’m in,” he replied grimly. And then he breached the step between them, taking her by the elbow and leading her back to the living room as if it were his home. “Where is your sister-in-law?”

  “Shopping. She’ll be right back.”

  He raised a brow and practically pushed her into the sofa, choosing to pull a straight-back chair from the nearby card table for himself. He planted it in front of her, straddled it backward, and set his elbows over the high back. “I doubt if she’ll be right back, and that’s just as well. We have a lot of talking to do.”

  Skye stared at him, wishing her feet weren’t bare, wishing she were respectably, attractively dressed, wishing she had makeup on, wishing she had anything as a bit of self-assurance. Was this really the man she had shared intimacy after intimacy with for days on end? Damn, he was such a stranger—so hard, so cool. And still she wanted to reach out and touch the fabric of his jacket; his scent was so familiar. She wanted to crawl into his arms… but his face was not one that invited her touch. They had been lovers once, now they were familiar strangers.

  “I want to know every single little thing you know about that gold,” he told her, his gaze intense. “Every movement you made the day of our flight. Anyone you dealt with. Anything that might give me any lead to any information about the gold.”

  Skye didn't like the tone of his voice. She did stiffen. “Why don’t you just ask me when I stole it?”

  “Did you?”

  “Go to hell.”

  She saw a tightening in his jaw, but no other reaction to her dull statement. “I need to know everything, Skye. I’ll get you out of this, but I need to know everything.”

  Rising, she eluded the hand he stretched out to stop her. “Don’t worry, Mr. Jagger, I’m not intending to fly the coop. I’m hardly dressed for an escape.” She walked over to the fire and leaned tiredly against the marble mantel, talking into the flames. “I don’t know a damn thing about the gold. I went to the airport straight from here. I never saw the black case until you threw it at me in the hut. And by the way, hello, and yes I’m fine.”

  “You’re not fine,” he said shortly, ignoring her dig, “You look like hell.”

  “Suspected smugglers do look like hell, didn’t you know?”

  She hadn’t heard him move, and yet she knew he was behind her. Still she was startled, completely taken off guard, when his arms slipped around her and his hands splayed over her midriff, moving quickly upward to cup her breasts, then descending to stretch over her belly.

  “Kyle, let me—”

  “When were you intending to let me know?”

  “Know what?” she gasped, struggling against his clasp. But his hold was rigid; his voice, whispered in her ear, was level but harsh.

  “Oh, come on, Skye! I lived with you night and day for six weeks! I suspected the moment I saw you, I knew for sure when I touched you.”

  “Kyle,” Skye said quietly, “will you let go of me, please?”

  He released her, taking her place by the mantel wh
ile she returned to the couch. “You weren’t intending to tell me at all, were you?” he demanded with curtly suppressed anger.

  “I really don’t see where it would have made any difference.” He didn’t rush to her side, he moved there slowly with purpose, tilting her chin with a firm finger so that she couldn’t escape his eyes. The cold wrath she found in their depths was chilling.

  “Why? Were you planning an abortion?”

  Skye didn’t blink or waver. “No, I wasn’t. But what makes you so sure this is your child?”

  He smiled, but it wasn’t a sight to ease her chills. “You refused to marry Trainor—you haven’t seen him since you returned to New York. And you haven’t seen any other men either.”

  “How the hell do you know?”

  “I had you watched and I spoke to Trainor.”

  “You bastard! How dare you have me spied upon!”

  Kyle shrugged, leaned back, lit a cigarette. “I had to know what you were doing.”

  “If you wanted to know what I was doing so badly, you should have come to New York. You seem to pop around the world on whim—cross-country should have been nothing.”

  He raised a mocking, curious brow. “I see. You’re bothered that I didn’t drop everything to follow you in the middle of the night?”

  “Don't be ridiculous.” Skye lied with applaudable indignation.

  “No, I suppose not,” Kyle said with a dry trace of bitterness. “But do you know, Ms. Delaney, I would have followed you. My brother brought to my attention the fact that I had a few problems of my own to solve before accosting you.”

  “Oh? Have you solved them now? Or are you here because of the gold?”

  “Skye, I didn’t know a damn thing about your being involved in this until I reached New York and found you gone. I spent a month here—a wasted month—hoping something would turn up. I spent another month catching up on a sadly neglected business—and struggling with my personal life. A month, I might add, in which you refused to speak with me.”