by B. J Daniels
She pulled out the photo of Cyrus and felt tears burn her eyes. There were only a few more islands and they were all long shots at best. Maybe she should spend the night here and fly back tomorrow.
A man in uniform was walking past. “Excuse me,” she said. “Have you seen this man?”
The policeman shook his head and kept going. She was about to put the photo away when one of the taxi drivers came over to her.
“May I see?”
She handed him the photo. He looked at it for a long moment before handing it back.
“A friend of yours?” he asked.
She nodded too tired to speak.
“I heard you say you were looking for a place to stay. I might be able to help you, if you don’t mind leaving the city.”
AJ knew she should be suspect. “What is your name?”
“Hermon. My aunt has a place. Very pretty. Not really open for the season, but there is one cottage you could stay in.”
She wanted to believe him. What’s the worst that could happen? He would take her into the jungle, rob her, rape her, kill her. She was so tired, so discouraged, so heartsick that she knew she wasn’t thinking straight. “Thank you. I appreciate your help.”
On the drive over the mountains, she realized that even if her taxi driver didn’t end up killing her, she could no longer do this. She was physically, emotionally and mentally exhausted. Worse, she was out of islands where it was reasonable that Cyrus might have drifted—if he’d been alive, if he’d found a way to keep afloat, if he had been rescued. From what she’d read, she knew that exhaustion was what finally got to those who had been at sea for hours. The person finally gave up and drowned.
That’s if he hadn’t been dead after hitting the ship’s railing and drowned within minutes of going overboard. She finally admitted that he could have been dead all this time. Which meant she’d only imagined the connection she’d felt between them.
She’d never given up on anything. But as the taxi turned down a narrow road that dropped down to the sea, AJ felt herself giving in to her own exhaustion. She was drowning in grief. Cyrus was gone. She had no choice but to accept it.
She’d looked everywhere she could think. Every island she asked around, walked the beach and stared out at the vast ocean, wishing and hoping and praying. With each island she’d felt that tenuous thread to Cyrus slipping away.
Now she had to question if it had even existed. She had run out of places to look for him. She didn’t know what else she could do. It had been more than two weeks since he’d gone overboard. The news back in Montana was even darker. Juliette’s attorney was pushing for a settlement. Lillie and Darby were talking about selling the Stagecoach Saloon to come up with at least some of the money to save the ranch. AJ couldn’t bear the thought. But Juliette was in Montana demanding her share of the ranch and AJ couldn’t stop that any more than she could bring Cyrus back from the dead. She felt defeated, something new for her. She’d never felt so helpless.
Despondent, she stared out at the sea through the palms, hating it even as it turned silver in the moonlight. Her only hope had been to find Cyrus.
That hope was gone, she thought, as the taxi driver dropped down the mountain on a narrow dirt road that ended in a small secluded cove. Through the taxi’s headlights she could see a row of cottages facing the beach that had been rebuilt after the hurricane.
She’d been so lost in her thoughts that she hadn’t realized how far from town the driver had brought her. “Where are we?”
“Don’t worry,” he said seeing her concern. “Crystal Cove. I told you. It belongs to my aunt. You will be comfortable here, I promise. When you are ready to leave, you call me and I’ll take you back to the airport.” He pressed his card into her hand and then got out to open her door.
She could hear waves crashing on the beach beyond the cottages and the sound of music coming from somewhere close by. Her driver tooted his horn once and an older woman appeared. She waved for AJ to come up to where she was waiting on the larger building’s portico.
Taking her suitcase, she paid her driver and started up the hill, when a man came from around the corner of the newly rebuilt cottage nearest the beach. In the taxi’s headlights she could see that he was tanned, his dark hair looking lighter as if bleached by the sun. He had a beard and a scar on his right cheek, but AJ could never have forgotten that handsome face.
“Let me take that,” he said and, stepping closer, reached for her suitcase.
AJ couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t speak.
“Joe... Take her luggage to cottage one,” the older woman called down.
AJ released her grip on the suitcase as he took it from her. Their gazes met for an instant. In those familiar gray eyes she saw no recognition at all.
CHAPTER TEN
AJ BLINKED, HER mind racing. Cyrus. But the woman had called him Joe. Were her eyes playing tricks on her? He’d stopped a few yards away from the first cottage and was staring back at her.
The taxi driver who called himself Hermon stepped up behind her and touched her shoulder, making her jump. “Be very careful what you do next,” he whispered. “This is not the man you’re looking for. That man drowned before he washed up on our beach. My aunt is very partial to Joe so I wouldn’t tell her you think you know him. Maybe in time...”
“Come up here!” the older woman called from the portico again, drawing her attention.
When she looked again, Cyrus was gone. She swallowed the lump in her throat. Hermon had recognized Cyrus in the photo she’d shown him. He’d known when he’d brought her here. She thought about his warning. What was he trying to tell her? That there was a reason he went by Joe instead of Cyrus?
None of that mattered, she told herself. Her heart felt as if it was going to burst from her chest. It was him! It was Cyrus. He looked different, but there was no doubt, was there?
There was a scar on his right cheek that hadn’t been there. Nor had the one on his forearm. His hair was long, curling at his neck. His skin was bronzed and he had a beard. He wore a faded short-sleeved shirt and a pair of baggy shorts that sagged from his tall, slim body.
It was Cyrus. There was no doubt about it, but he’d looked right at her as if he hadn’t known her. Worse, there’d been a wariness about him...
She shook herself and headed up the hillside to where the woman was waiting for her. Stepping inside, AJ followed her to a registration desk. The woman introduced herself as Marissa and began telling her that they only had a few cottages open because of the hurricane damage.
All AJ could think of was that Cyrus had been so close she could have reached out and touched him.
“That man, the one you have working for you? Joe, is that what you called him?”
The woman looked up. “Yes?” Suspicion tinged her voice. She heard the protectiveness. “He’s been working on restoring the cottages.”
“Is he from around here?” she asked.
“American.” The older woman’s eyes settled on her with too much interest.
AJ could see that Marissa didn’t like her asking about Joe. Hermon had warned her. But she had to know what was going on. She shrugged as if it didn’t matter. “He reminds me of someone from back home.”
“He’s been here for a while, a good worker. Keeps to himself and likes it that way.” The woman was giving her notice to leave him alone. “How long will you be staying?”
“At least a few days. I need a vacation. Don’t worry, I won’t bother your worker,” she said with a laugh. “Just broke up with my boyfriend.”
That seemed to relax the woman. “Meals here,” Marissa said, pointing toward a small dining room. “There’s the beach, hiking trails, a hot spring not far from here. If you need a map or need to go back into town, let me know. My nephew Hermon will take you anywhere you need to go.”
“G
reat,” AJ said, still shaken. She felt as if the blood was finally rushing back to her head. All the color must have drained from her face when she saw Cyrus. She’d wanted to throw her arms around him, but something in his eyes—
As she signed the registration form, her fingers shook as she realized what it had been that she’d seen in his gaze. Fear. Of her. “I’m so tired,” she said, seeing that the woman had noticed her trembling. “I’m not a good traveler, that’s why I’m looking forward to a rest.”
“It is very restful here,” the woman said after running her credit card. “Your room will be open. Joe will have left your key and luggage.”
Joe. As she followed the moonlit trail to cottage number one, she looked for Cyrus, but she didn’t see him. Her key was on the table inside the cottage, her suitcase in the bedroom where he’d left it. She closed the door and leaned against it, suddenly weak with emotion. Cyrus. He was alive!
Tears burned her eyes. Her heart had assured that it was true. Cyrus was alive, but something was terribly wrong. Even the older woman who ran the place was protective of him. He’d looked right at her and hadn’t known her. Amnesia? She thought of the scar on his cheek and forearm. There was no doubt that he’d experienced some kind of trauma, physical as well as mental, possibly. Was that why he had no memory of her? What if he had no memory at all? Otherwise, why was he going by Joe?
She had so many questions and no answers. She’d dreamed about finding Cyrus—but never had she imagined it would be like this. And yet she didn’t care. Cyrus was alive. That’s all that mattered. She pulled out her phone but only stared at it. She couldn’t call just yet. Flint would want to fly down. The whole family might want to. Whatever was wrong with Cyrus... She thought of the wary way he had looked at her. The fear she’d glimpsed in his eyes when he’d reached for her suitcase. Her instincts told her that if she moved too fast he might vanish again.
And yet it seemed impossible to be this close to him and not go to him. Taking a breath, she let it out slowly, reminding herself that she’d found him. Whatever was wrong with him... Both Hermon and Marissa knew, whatever it was. Given time she would be able to reach him. She thought again of his reaction to her. Why would he be afraid of her?
* * *
HE WOKE, HEART pounding and sweating from the nightmare. It was always the same. Confusion, terror, alone in the dark heaving water. Alone fighting for his life as waves washed over him, dragging him under.
He sat up gasping for breath as he fought his way out of the nightmare—just as he’d fought his way to the surface as the sea pulled him down again and again.
He’d had no idea where he was or what had happened. But he quickly became aware that his clothing was pulling him under. He kicked off his shoes, slipping under the water as he wriggled out of his dinner jacket. Something hit him on his right. He spun on it, ready to fight, knowing it wasn’t the first time tonight that he’d fought for his life.
An untethered buoy had bobbed beside him. He grabbed hold of it, wrapping his arms around it as he tried to still his panic. He was stranded in a huge body of water. He could see nothing but darkness and the immense sea all around him. He hugged the buoy and told himself that however he’d gotten here, whatever had happened, he was going to make it. He felt a surge of determination. Someone did this to him. Someone wanted him dead. That alone should have added to the terror. Instead, he was even more determined not to let that person win, promising himself that he would survive in spite of everything. That became his mantra. He would survive. He would survive.
Hours passed. He clung to the buoy that must have come untied in the storm and was now adrift, his life depending on it even as exhaustion made his arms weak. His determination to survive stayed strong.
With daylight came his first land sighting. He knew he was too weak to swim to shore. So he floated, feeling himself being swept along in the waves and tide. That land disappeared and for hours without more land in sight, he’d felt as if he would never set foot on solid ground again.
His arms were numb from clinging to the buoy. He began to question how much longer he could hang on. He’d seen a ship in the distance, but he couldn’t let go of the buoy to try to wave his arms for help. Anyway, the ship was way too far away. After a while, he thought he’d only imagined it.
Just as he thought he’d only imagined the island that came into view. At first it had only been a dark line on the horizon. But then he saw the color green. Trees. Palm trees.
Until that moment, he had no idea where he was in the entire world. But the water was warm. Had he gone into colder water, he knew he wouldn’t have survived more than a few hours at best.
He hung onto the buoy until he was only yards from shore, afraid that he couldn’t trust gauging the distance. To drown so close to shore would be too cruel.
Finally letting go of the buoy that had saved his life, he swam only a few yards when his feet touched bottom. He stumbled and fell, swallowed salt water, coughed and regained his footing. His legs felt boneless. He fell again and ended up crawling up on the beach on his hands and knees.
He sprawled on the sand, completely spent. The sun beat down on him. He closed his eyes and must have passed out, because when he woke, the sun was low in the sky and there was an old woman standing over him. She offered him water. His lips were cracked and dry, his body sunburned.
With her help, he was taken to a small hut where she cleaned his wounds and found him some clothing to wear that was too large for him but soft and clean. He lay down on a woven mat and slept until he woke starving. Following the smell of food, he found the woman working in the larger of the buildings of what had once been a small resort.
“Hurricane damage,” she said when she saw him eyeing the destruction around them.
“Where am I?” It was the first words he’d spoken. They came out raspy through his cracked lips.
She put a plate of food in front of him. “You are at what is left of Crystal Cove, my resort.”
“An island?” he asked between bites as he shoveled in the food.
She nodded. “Dominica.”
When he frowned, she said, “In the Caribbean.”
He stared at her for a moment before going back to eating. The Caribbean? He had no idea how he’d gotten here, all he knew was that he was alive—for the moment. The knowledge that someone wanted him dead seemed deep within him but no less real.
“Are you in some kind of trouble?” she asked.
He didn’t answer right away, just scraped the last of the food into his mouth before he looked at the row of badly damaged cottages in the small cove. Some were missing walls, others roofs. Most of the debris had been piled up away from the main building as if she planned to eventually burn it.
“I don’t know,” he finally told her.
She studied him for a long time. He’d never felt more vulnerable. He had no idea what he was doing in the Caribbean, let alone how he’d ended up in the dark ocean. Nor did he know what he was going to do now. He was weak and afraid. If whomever it was he had to fear found him before he could regain his strength...
“I could work for room and board,” he said.
She looked past him to the cottages. “Help is hard to find. So many places destroyed by the hurricane last year.”
“I can fix the cottages and get them ready for guests,” he said. “I would start with the ones that need the least amount of work. If you get me the supplies, I can help you while I get my strength back.”
“I have a phone you could use to call...” She motioned to the gold band on his left ring finger.
He stared at what appeared to be a wedding ring. “There’s no one,” he said shaking his head.
“Do you have a name?”
That was the most frightening and unsettling part, he realized. He had no idea who he was. “Joe,” he said.
She nodded, as if su
specting that was as good as she was going to get. “Joe, I’m Marissa. You don’t give me any trouble and you can stay in the hut up in the trees where you slept. You work, I’ll feed you and give you enough money to buy some clothes and anything else you might need.”
He reached out his hand, shook hers and then rose to take his plate and fork to the kitchen—even though the effort was almost more than he could manage. The walk back to his hut took far longer than it should have. He had to stop several times to catch his breath. Once there, he found part of a broken mirror.
Before then, he hadn’t seen his own face. Holding up the shard of glass, he’d stared at the man he saw there. It was frightening to look into his gray eyes and see a complete stranger who appeared to have seen better days.
Gently, he touched the healing scar on his cheek. He’d found another one on his forearm and another on his side. There was also a lump on the back of his head that was tender to the touch. He had no idea how he’d gotten the wounds. But they were healing, he was healing.
Each day after that, he worked as long as he could. He was still weak from his ordeal. He ate, he slept, he worked. He avoided the ocean, finding a small creek where he could bathe.
The days passed in a blur. Each morning he woke, hoping today would be the day that he remembered who he was and how he had gotten here. With each new day, he also hoped he would remember whom and what he had to fear.
Most days Marissa was the only person he saw. The first time her nephew Hermon came by, he’d hidden and watched the two conversing on the portico of the main cottage. A few days later when he was working, the nephew came down to meet him. Hermon had asked if the law was looking for him. Joe had no idea but said he didn’t think so. That seemed to satisfy the young islander.
Once the first cottage was inhabitable again, he went to work on the second one and then the third. He had no idea what day it was or even what month. His life before ending up in the ocean was a black hole—except for the fear that someone had tried to kill him and would again.