by Sara Craven
He didn’t want to answer, she could tell. After a long moment of silence, he replied. “I can’t do it anymore.”
“C’mon,” she teased, certain now that he had been feeding her a line of bull about it from the beginning. “Not at all?”
“No. I could before and now I can’t, except when…” His voice trailed off as if he’d said more than he meant to say.
“Okay, except when?” she prompted, sure it was a game.
“When we made love. I could see right into your soul,” he told her. He looked so deadly serious, he had to be joking.
Dawn laughed. “Wow. Good one. Was it a pretty sight or did you have to wrangle with my dark side?”
He grasped her chin and kissed her thoroughly, erasing every thought she had except how much she wanted him. And he didn’t stop. Her body hummed, shot through with a current of longing so intense it scared her.
Before she knew it, he had twisted her around so that they embraced fully. If not for the fact that they were outside, balanced on a steep stone stairway with terrorists looking up at them, Dawn knew they would have made love then and there.
When he finally relented, she had trouble catching her breath and recalling what had prompted him to kiss her in the first place. “Wow,” she said on a protracted exhale.
“Yeah,” he agreed. “Wow.”
“You’re angry?” she asked, smoothing her palm down the front of his shirt.
He caught her hand in his and squeezed. “Not with you. Let’s get down from here and cut this out before I lose what’s left of my control.”
On the way down, he preceded her so that she was about level with his ear as she whispered, “Could you read my mind when you kissed me?” Teasing him seemed to be the only way she might coax him into a better mood.
“Silence,” he snapped, his voice gruff and definitely Jarad Al-Dayal’s.
Dawn made a face at the back of his head, drawing a hoot of laughter from Carlotta, who was watching them.
He turned quickly, his dark eyebrows drawn together in a warning frown. Dawn gave him a bland look of pure innocence and Carlotta laughed again.
“Perhaps we should say good-night now,” Quince announced as she and Eric reached the terrace. “We have a big day tomorrow.”
Carlotta stood. “Wait a minute. How long is this going to continue, Quince? You asked us here to bid on the damned plans. I can’t speak for the rest, but I have other commitments. Could we finish this tonight?”
“No,” he said simply. “If you no longer wish to participate, I will arrange for you to leave.”
That shut her up. Her lips firmed, probably to hold in an epithet.
“Well?” he asked, one dark eyebrow raised in question.
“I will stay,” she declared with a huff of frustration. “You know how important this is to me.”
He nodded, and left them without another word.
Sean went to the bar and poured himself another drink, then relaxed back against it and held up his glass. “Well then. Here’s to us and those like us. Damn few, and they are all dead.” With a snap of his head, he downed the whiskey and plunked down his empty glass.
“A stupid toast,” Carlotta remarked. “What does it mean?”
Sean grinned. “You have to be Irish to understand it.”
“Thank God I’m in the dark, then,” she replied.
“Speaking of a beckoning darkness, would you care to take a stroll in the gardens before bed?”
She hesitated only a moment, then pasted on a patently fake smile. “I would like nothing better.”
They left without saying good-night.
“Interesting evening,” Dawn commented when they were alone. Not really alone, she remembered. Almost certainly there were ears listening and probably hidden cameras watching.
She wanted to ask Eric whether he thought it would be Carlotta or Sean who would return from that walk, but she didn’t dare. After listening to them banter and watching them perform, they had become individuals to her, real people, not simply faceless terrorists. She had to make herself remember who they really were and what they did for a living. One of them had killed Minos on the boat today while everyone else’s attention was on Eric landing that fish. She was sure of it.
Eric frowned at the couple disappearing down the path. “You should go to bed now.”
Yeah, right. As if she would sleep a wink wondering what was going on in that garden. Would one of them have disappeared by breakfast? Or would Carlotta and Sean join forces to try to get rid of Eric?
“You will come with me?” she asked. More of a demand, really.
“Not yet. I plan to take a walk myself.”
Dawn grasped his arm and shot him a warning look. “I don’t like to be alone, Jarad. I’ll come, too.”
“No.” He smiled down at her and pulled away from her grip as he stood. “Don’t worry. I will return before you know it.” He glanced at the open door to the hallway. “Go up to our rooms. I’ll watch from the hall until you are safely inside. Remember to lock the door.”
With one further plea in her eyes, Dawn realized she had no way to keep him from going out there and that he wouldn’t let her come with him, no matter what she said.
When she reached their quarters, she set the lock and leaned back against the heavy portal, praying he would stay safe. He would try to prevent whatever Sean or Carlotta were planning to do, whether to each other or to him. Hopefully, his friend was out there somewhere keeping watch. If Clay had made it safely ashore. Eric had not seemed too concerned about that, so maybe he knew something she didn’t.
She pushed away from the door and started across the sitting room to her bedroom.
“You shouldn’t worry about him, you know,” a deep voice said, scaring her out of ten years’ growth. She whirled around to find Quince standing in the room with her. Where the devil had he come from?
He gestured to the panel behind him that appeared to be part of the wall when closed, answering her unspoken question. “Forgive me for intruding, but I thought we needed to talk.”
She pressed a palm firmly against her midsection. “Jarad will kill me if he finds you here,” she whispered.
He chuckled and sauntered over to the formal sofa that sat in the middle of the room. He took a seat and patted the cushion beside him. “No doubt he would. This husband of yours is a violent man, Aurora. And so suspicious! You must know it’s only a matter of time before he gets rid of you. All it will take is his meeting another who intrigues him more than you do. Any trumped-up charge against you would vindicate him in the eyes of his law. He’ll either divorce you or find a more permanent solution. Why not arrange a preemptive strike? I’ll help.”
She widened her eyes and touched trembling fingers to her lips. “You want me to…do something to him first?”
Quince clicked his tongue. “Makes sense, wouldn’t you say? Here is the perfect place to do it. There are no authorities to call his disappearance into question.”
She pretended to digest the thought and come to terms with it. “How?” she asked, her voice still a whisper.
He got up then and headed back to the panel which opened as if by magic. Or perhaps a remote he carried in the pocket where his hand had disappeared. “I will work that out for you if the others are not successful.”
“The others? You mean Carlotta and Sean?”
“Of course. If he returns, try to act normal so you won’t give yourself away. Remember,” he said seriously, dropping the attitude of amusement, “if he suspects you plan to betray him, he might kill you before you have a chance to act. If that happens, there is no one here who would even think about bringing him to justice. Even I wouldn’t, so be warned.”
“But why do you want this? His death, I mean? I thought you wished Jarad or one of the others to buy something from you, to pay you a fortune for whatever they came here after.”
“I will be compensated,” he assured her.
“What of me, Quince? W
hen you are finished with your games?”
He shrugged. “You are an innocent, caught up in a web not of your making. If I can, I mean to save you.” Then he smiled at her, not a baring of teeth, not taunting, either. A real smile that looked sincere.
Dawn watched him leave. The panel slid soundlessly back into place and the wall looked as solid and impenetrable as the rest. She sank down onto the sofa and sighed loud and long, not caring who heard or observed.
What had he meant, he would be compensated? Was someone paying Quince to get rid of the bidders? If so, why not just kill them all and be done with it? Or at least kill them all but the one lucky winner who got to buy the plans from him?
But maybe he wasn’t selling the plans after all. It sounded more and more to her as if he had set a trap with the offer just to get them to the island.
She needed to discuss this with Eric and get his thoughts on it, but there was no way they could speak openly. It wasn’t safe to talk. She wished he really did have that handy mind link thing going on.
So here they were, acting up a storm, while everybody tried to murder everybody else. Except for Quince. It seemed he intended to keep his hands clean and let the others—and her, of course—do his dirty work for him.
Eric stood in the shadows near the pool, observing Quince, who strolled the terrace while smoking a cigar. Try as he might, Eric could not tell what the man was thinking. What an enigma.
He was just about to reveal himself and see whether he could get anything from Quince with a one-on-one conversation, when Conroy appeared.
“Have the new bidders arrived on the mainland?” Quince asked quietly.
“Yes, just this afternoon. They should be arriving here the day after tomorrow if that is still your wish, sir.”
“Fine. This group should be out of the way by then. If not, we will combine them and see what happens. Carry on, my friend.”
Conroy nodded and went back into the house.
There were others coming? What was going on here?
Eric had followed Carlotta and Sean, knowing that Carlotta was planning to seduce the Irishman into helping her get rid of the competition, namely himself.
But Sean had other ideas. Eric listened as they had a heated argument. Sean said he hated all she represented. The organized manufacturing and marketing of drugs worldwide was anathema to him. Her blatant sex appeal and the way she used it went hand in hand with the seductive powers of her product, as far as Sean was concerned. McCoy was an idealist at heart.
When the two had separated, Eric had returned to the terrace. Somewhere out there in the darkness, one of them would probably die. Eric hoped Clay would be able to prevent it. If he could secure one or both, they could be taken into custody for questioning later when the Sextant team arrived.
However, now there would be others arriving soon. It made no sense, unless Quince was systematically getting rid of terrorist representatives, or at least arranging it so they could conveniently knock off one another.
Where was the profit for him in that? What was his game? Maybe Quince saw himself as one of the good guys. Eric walked out of the trees onto the terrace.
“Come join me, Jarad,” Quince said, a smile in his voice. He puffed on his cigar and blew a stream of smoke upward, watching it dissipate into the humid night air. “Smoke?”
“No,” Eric answered, sauntering over to take one of the cushioned lounges. He sat down on the edge of it, leaned forward and clasped his hands. “What are you planning, Quince?”
“Why, nothing,” he replied. “There is very little more to offer here on the island in the way of entertainment that we haven’t already done. Brilliant fishing today, by the way.”
“One of them killed Minos and you know it,” Eric stated.
Quince nodded. “It is a cruel world, Jarad. In your line of work, you come to expect death to rear its ugly head fairly often, as do I. In my opinion, Minos is no great loss.”
“His people might disagree, and they knew he was coming to you for this deal.”
Quince smiled. “I expect and hope for a response to his death when they learn of it. The same with the woman and the Irishman.” He grinned and pointed at Eric with his cigar. “And you, too, of course, if you are a victim.”
Eric laughed, a bitter sound. “You plan to kill me, too?”
Quince affected a wounded expression. “But I have killed no one, Jarad. Each of your organizations will be informed of how their delegate met his or her end. The repercussions will fall on other heads, you see.”
“Ingenious, but not too lucrative,” Eric remarked, pushing back on the lounge, linking his hands behind his head. “Why the advance warning? You have put me on guard against the one who returns tonight.”
“And you will prevail, I’m certain,” Quince agreed. “Maybe you will survive to make me a fabulous offer and then go home with what you came here for.”
Eric knew that was not in his plans. Quince thought he had a deal with Dawn, as the unhappy Aurora, to get rid of the offending husband. The bidders would all be dead if he had his way.
The new group coming in would probably repeat the scenario. How long did Quince plan to keep this up? And had he been at it a while already, changing the bait as necessary?
Eric got up and leisurely headed for the French doors. “Good night, Quince.”
“Good night, Jarad. Sleep well.” A chuckle accompanied the suggestion.
Had Quince already provided Dawn the means to take him out? She must be jumping up and down to share what had happened in Eric’s absence, but there was no way they could talk about it.
The microphones in the suite would be of the best quality, able to detect the slightest whisper. Quince had a fortune at his disposal for such things. He would employ them, too, to stay aware of any side deals made by his guests.
Whatever was going on with Sean and Carlotta would probably be caught on audio if not on tape. How else would Quince convince their respective organizations that he wasn’t the one who had gotten rid of their valuable representatives? No, he was pitting not only the buyers he had invited to the island against one another, he was extending the battle to their respective fraternities.
The chaos created by that could only benefit mankind in the long run, Eric thought to himself. But it was still vigilante justice anyway you looked at it. If, indeed, providing a little justice was Quince’s intent. God, he wished he knew the man’s mind.
Chapter 12
“Aurora?”
Eric was back at last, thank God. She hurried out to the sitting room and walked into his waiting arms just like a good little wife should. Dawn had to admit she didn’t mind this part of the charade at all. Eric didn’t seem to, either.
“I was afraid for you, Jarad,” she said, laying her head on his shoulder.
He caressed her hair, smoothing it, soothing her. “No problems. After you left us I saw no one out there but our host. You should be in bed.” He smiled down at her, his eyes gleaming as he eyed the pale yellow satin nightgown she’d donned and plucked away the clip she had used to pin up her hair. “You smell of jasmine.”
“I am just out of the bath,” she explained.
“I should have returned a bit sooner. I could have joined you.” He bent to nuzzle her neck. His lips sent delicious shivers down her spine.
She pulled away. “Have your bath now. I’ll assist you.” She took him by the hand and led him to the bathroom, allowing herself to frown after she turned away from him, in case Quince was watching them.
Once they were in the bathroom, she turned and mouthed the words, “There are no cameras here. Two mikes,” she said, pointing to the locations.
He smiled and nodded his approval. “I hope the water is hot. My legs ache from the long walk. Perhaps you could help relieve that.”
She turned on the water in the tub, then faced him again. He was scanning the room, probably wondering how thorough her search for cameras had been.
“I’m very good
at it,” she assured him, following the path of his scan with one of her own.
“I know,” he replied, and began shucking his clothes, apparently trusting that she was talking about the physical security of the room, not her leg-rubbing skills.
But how could they communicate unless she deactivated the mikes? She really needed to talk to him.
Suddenly she had an idea. Hadn’t he mentioned being a Scout? She knew they had the finger-spelling alphabet in the Boy Scout manual. Her cousin, who was deaf, had proudly pointed it out to her once. But then, Jim was older than Eric. Maybe it wasn’t in the handbooks Eric had used. Still, it was worth a try.
It was a long shot, she knew, but Eric was supposed to be very proficient in a number of other languages. Dawn had learned to sign as a child in order to communicate with Jim. Maybe Eric had been as fascinated with the language as she had been. “Do you understand the alphabet for the deaf?” she spelled out slowly.
Eric looked surprised, then smiled and gave her the sign for yes. He finger-spelled the word genius and pointed to her. Then he proceeded to tell her, in ASL, the American Sign Language, that they should have thought of this sooner.
Dawn, stared, openmouthed, while he then removed the rest of his clothes and got into the tub.
She caught herself ogling and turned away slightly, but continued to steal glances at him. It was impossible to ignore his nudity, and he obviously thought it funny that she would try.
They had been intimate the night before, but somehow this seemed even more so. His muscles rippled as he began to soap himself, watching her all the while as if daring her to join him. She forced her gaze to remain on his face.
Dawn was sorely tempted, but knew exactly how that would end. They would make love in that enormous tub. Enticing as that was—as he was—at the moment, she knew they needed to talk. Besides, she didn’t exactly relish having a listener or listeners at tubside while they frolicked in the suds.
Signing comfortably, she told him of Quince’s visit to her room through the concealed doorway and explained what he wanted her to do.
Eric revealed what Quince had admitted to him, and the possibilities that brought up. Quince would have to silence her, too, eventually. They agreed on that.