Straight Through the Heart

by Lyn Stone

  The craggy section of rock to the left would provide perfect cover for Clay’s secret insertion. The waves dashing against the rocks worried Eric, but Clay Senate was the ultimate warrior, an excellent swimmer. Now was not the time for a mind link, but Eric gave it a shot. All he picked up was solid determination mixed with a smidgen of annoyance. Or maybe those were his own feelings.

  Reluctantly, Eric deliberately quit trying to connect with Clay and concentrated on their own landing.

  The welcoming party was well armed with automatics. Eric approached as far up on the beach as possible. Two of the four men slung their weapons’ straps over their shoulders and waded out to meet them. Eric climbed out first, ignoring their greeters. Then he caught Dawn up in his arms to carry her ashore.

  “Here goes nothin’!” he muttered in her ear.

  “Eric, about what happened between us…” she began. “It was just…”

  “Fantastic, I know. Now hold that thought until we get off this island,” he ordered.

  She pinched his neck. “I was going to say it was a freak mistake and we ought to put it out of our minds.”

  “Okay, go ahead. I can if you can,” he replied without a touch of bitterness.

  “Sometimes I could just shoot you, Vinland,” she huffed.

  “Yeah, well, you might have to get in line behind those oafs with the Uzis. Now morph into meek mode, will you? We’ve got a job to do here.”

  Chapter 9

  There were steps carved in the sloped crags that surrounded the crescent section of beach. Eric deposited Dawn on her feet and left her to follow him. He briefly noted that the men who had dragged the Zodiac ashore were now collecting the bags out of it. The two remaining kept their weapons trained on him. The swish of wet fabric behind him assured him that Dawn was keeping up with his long stride.

  He allowed one of the men to run a metal-detecting wand up and down the length of their bodies without actually touching them. It was to be expected. They had left their weapons aboard the Angeline since the hardware would have been confiscated anyway.

  At the top of the steps, he paused. What a layout Quince had here. A virtual castle of natural stone blended beautifully with the island’s natural vegetation. From the air, it would probably go unnoticed. Up close, the attention to detail was impressive.

  The care with which the surroundings were cultivated proved Quince had good maintenance help. That probably meant a large staff beyond these guards he had sent to meet them.

  “This way,” one of the men instructed in Greek, stepping around Eric and pointing to the right.

  Eric followed, listening for Dawn’s footsteps on the flagstone path behind him.

  When they neared the double doors of the entrance, one panel opened, then the other. A white-coated servant gestured them inside and led the way to the curved staircase. The majordomo, Eric supposed.

  The older man smiled. “Madame is to go to her rooms with the baggage, sir. If you will come with me?”

  “I will see her to our room. Then I will come with you,” Eric announced, at his most imperious.

  “As you will, sir. This way.”

  The rooms proved to be more than adequate. They were adjoining, large and airy, containing identical king-size beds draped in white gauze. The rest of the furnishings looked antique and very expensive. “This will do,” he said, deliberately exhibiting impatience.

  He watched the hirelings deposit their bags. One disappeared with the case containing Eric’s laptop, an expected act.

  Then he addressed Dawn, not bothering to lower his voice. “Remain here. Lock the door.

  “Out,” he ordered the others and waited until they left. He stopped outside in the hallway and listened for the snick of the lock. With a satisfied nod, he followed the servant who had requested he do so.

  A feeling of excitement pervaded his every nerve. Now he would meet this Quince and see what they were up against. Dawn was probably seething at being excluded from this first meeting, but Eric felt a little relieved that he could scope out the situation first. Then again, he didn’t much like leaving her alone in the event Quince was on to them. Not that he thought Dawn was helpless, but she might be if caught unawares.

  Worrying about her could be deadly in itself, preventing him from doing what he came to do. He had to stop that now before he met Quince.

  “Here we are, sir,” the servant murmured as he tapped twice on the highly polished door and then opened it. “Mr. Jarad Al-Dayal,” he announced.

  Distinguished was the word Quince brought to mind. He reminded Eric of a silver-haired actor he had once seen in the vintage movies he loved to watch. Stewart something-or-other. Piercing gray eyes that held a coldness. Dark, expressive eyebrows, one now quirked as he examined his guest.

  He rose slowly from the luxurious leather chair and extended a long-fingered, well-manicured hand. “Greetings,” he said softly. “Won’t you sit down?” He gestured to the matching chair facing the one in which he’d been sitting.

  Eric swept his robe back and sat stiffly, regarding Quince with his most imperious glare. “Shall we get to the business at hand?”

  Quince smiled. “Patience, my friend. I have always heard that men of your persuasion preferred a bit of social discourse before discussing weighty matters. We have the entire weekend for business. And longer if we need it. Would you care for a drink?” He inclined his head toward the elaborate wet bar that filled one corner of the study.

  Eric narrowed his eyes. “You must know that men of my persuasion, as you so delicately put it, avoid alcohol.”

  “Perhaps a coffee, then?” Quince suggested, oozing hospitality, charm and sophistication.

  Eric sat back, tapping his fingers on the arms of the chair. “Orange juice.”

  Quince smiled and sat down as he spoke to the servant. “Two juices, Conroy.”

  They waited, observing each other without any subterfuge until they had been served. Then Quince said, “We will breakfast in the dining room in a quarter hour, Conroy. Inform the lady and have her join us.”

  “She will not,” Eric informed him. He sipped the fruit juice from the expensive crystal.

  “Why not relax the rules for the duration of your visit, Al-Dayal? This is a new world, and too much adherence to tradition impedes progress. Come now, I insist. Your wife will be perfectly safe.” His smile was almost a smirk.

  Eric returned it in kind. “I meant that she will not come if I do not order it personally. Unless you intend to use force upon her, which I would not advise you to do.”

  Quince laughed. “Is that a warning against the lady herself or repercussions from you?”

  “Both,” Eric stated without pause.

  “Then please, go with Conroy and fetch her. If you do not trust me to share a simple meal with your wife, how am I to believe you would trust me in any important transaction?”

  Was that an implied threat? Eric studied the man’s beatific expression but could not see behind it. However, Quince was providing the perfect opportunity to introduce Dawn to him so that Eric could add her reactions to his own. Dispensing with Dawn’s isolation would be convenient. The question was, how would it benefit Quince?

  Eric shrugged and took his time finishing his juice. “Very well,” he agreed. “It is no great concession. My wife was born in the West and is familiar with your customs.”

  “Excellent,” Quince said smoothly. “I am happy to see that you yourself are adaptable to Western customs when the need arises, Jarad. I may call you that?”

  “Of course, Quince. Or have you a Christian name you would like me to employ?” Eric asked with no small amount of sarcasm.

  “Quince will suffice.”

  Eric left the study, carefully concealing a frown of consternation. Their adversary was Greek, as the identity Interpol had for him indicated. He had learned his English in England, perhaps attended school there. He was absolutely fluent and well-spoken. That didn’t gibe with other indications of his so
cial status, however. Middle-to lower-class Greeks didn’t usually have access to a public school education abroad.

  Maybe Quince had not been born to wealth, but he possessed it now, that was for sure. This place had cost several fortunes. Quince worked hard at giving the appearance of old money, but little things gave him away. A few statues that were too Romanesque to mix well with classic Greek. Furnishings that were not quite eclectic enough to have been gathered at leisure over decades. This place had been thrown up all at once, accessories bought in bulk and the entire estate done up for show. Like Quince himself, whose sophisticated exterior sported a few telltale cracks in the facade. He was an actor who had done exhaustive research for the role but neglected to immerse himself in it or, perhaps, didn’t quite know how.

  While observations might be helpful, Eric regretted he had not penetrated a single thought of Quince’s the entire time he was with the man. Not even when they had shaken hands.

  First, Dawn had blocked him without even trying and now Quince seemed to possess a solid mental barrier. Eric found he couldn’t even read old Conroy’s thoughts. The servant was most likely cursing the need to climb the stairs again. His arthritis was giving him fits. But it was not from the man’s thoughts that Eric divined that information.

  Maybe the problem lay in trying too hard, Eric decided. He was too uptight. That had to be it. Dawn’s fault, of course, though he could hardly blame her. She hadn’t asked him to obsess over her the way he was doing.

  He shook his head and tried to clear it, but it seemed too filled with thoughts of her and whether she would be as relieved to see him as he would her in a few seconds.

  What a helluva time for him to fall like a third-act curtain. The play had barely begun.

  Dawn dressed casually for breakfast. She wore a white long-sleeved blouse, embroidered about the neck with a red Greek key design, and a calf-length flowing skirt cinched with an intricately woven belt of red cord. Dainty red sandals completed her ensemble. She quickly fastened her hair in a knot at her nape and went to present herself to Eric for his approval.

  He frowned up at her when she entered his room. “For the length of this visit only, I shall allow you to revert to your European customs because our host expects this. Do not make me regret it, Aurora.”

  Of course, he was performing for any audio or video surveillance installed in their rooms. But even knowing that, it amazed Dawn how that tone of his ruffled her feathers. The man was entirely too good at acting the chauvinist.

  She granted him a tight little smile. “Whatever you desire, of course, Jarad.”

  “Come.” He led the way out of the room, then held the door for her. The old servant was waiting for them in the corridor. Silently they followed him back down the stairs to the dining room.

  When they entered Dawn had her first glimpse of their adversary. Her breath caught in her throat. She had fully expected to see the man who had committed murder right before her eyes. The one who stole the information. It definitely was not him. But surely this guy must have hired someone to have it done.

  Quince rose and smiled at her. He was an incredibly handsome man, tanned and fit, impeccably dressed in a pale blue cashmere pullover, gray pleated slacks and sandals.

  “Welcome to the island, Mrs. Al-Dayal. Would you mind if I call you Aurora?”

  Dawn shot Eric a questioning look, as if asking his permission, and watched him nod once, his imperious frown darker than ever.

  She turned back to Quince. “Yes, of course. Thank you, Señor Quince,” she said, employing her Spanish accent.

  “Just Quince will do.” His smile widened as he gestured to the table. “Please, join me, both of you. The others will arrive momentarily, and in the meantime, we will have coffee.”

  Others? Dawn resisted voicing the question, but she was eager to see who else and how many had come to the island to bid on the information.

  There were only six chairs at the table, though it could comfortably seat fourteen. Was that significant?

  Their host sat at the head of the table, Eric to his right, she to his left.

  Dawn stirred cream into her coffee and kept her eyes averted from Quince, as was proper. His deep voice rambled on about the weather.

  In less than five minutes, two men and a woman arrived. Quince greeted them as cordially as he had Eric and Dawn, then proceeded to make introductions. “Carlotta Vasquez from Colombia,” he said, bowing to the tall, sultry woman whose sharp brown eyes raked Dawn with blatant curiosity. “You and Aurora should get on remarkably well since you share a common language. She is originally from Andorra,” Quince continued.

  Dawn nodded shyly and murmured a short, formal greeting in Spanish, which gained her no response at all.

  Quince turned then to a man who was extremely dark and sinister looking. “Obaya Minos from Tanzania.”

  That one said nothing, merely kept his thick lips pressed firmly together, his hands clenched by his side and appeared to be holding his breath. A portly man with a cleanly shaved head, Minos had elected to dress formally in a suit and a tie that must be choking his thick neck. Obviously, he did not like the atmosphere of bonhomie their host was attempting to instill.

  “Last, but certainly not least, we have Sean McCoy from Dublin.”

  The Irishman nodded and pulled out a chair for Carlotta, who pierced him with a disdainful glare over her shoulder. Whether that stemmed from the fact that Carlotta liked to do things for herself or because McCoy looked like an unmade bed was anybody’s guess. The man had a certain wild charm, Dawn guessed, if you liked spiky hair, thrift-store apparel and a probable connection to the extremist element of the IRA.

  “Jarad Al-Dayal and his lovely Aurora complete our party, my friends. Please, feel free to chat and get to know one another. We are a select group, all in the same line of work, as it were, though I do not like discussing business matters until the time is right.”

  Silence ensued as a white-coated servant poured more coffee and another began serving. The plates of fruit were fresh and beautifully presented with sprigs of mint and candied violets. Pastries gleamed with their golden crusts and sweet glazes.

  Dawn’s mouth watered as she kept her hands in her lap and waited for Quince to begin.

  Tension grew as thick as the honey Quince started spooning on his croissant. Everyone at the table must be wondering the same thing, of course.

  Sean McCoy took a deep breath and treated them to a crooked grin before addressing Quince. “I’ll ask for us all, then. Why would you be revealing our names?”

  “Insurance,” Quince replied evenly, taking a bite.

  “I don’t understand.” Eric leaned back his head and stared down his nose at Quince. “We are competitors, at least in this transaction.”

  “But you need not be,” their host said smoothly, lifting his cup. “Have your coffee, eat. There is a method to my madness, as you shall see later. For now, enjoy the meal.”

  The African stood abruptly. “I shall not make this pretense. Summon me when you are prepared to do business.”

  Quince stood, too, splaying his fingertips on the tabletop. “Sit down, Minos. Now!” His curt command left no room for quibbling.

  Minos paused only two seconds, glaring, then dropped his gaze and resumed his seat.

  So did Quince. “Thank you. Now eat. There are activities planned for today that you will not wish to miss.”

  “Ridiculous farce,” muttered the exotic Carlotta. “And dangerous.” She poked at her fruit with her fork, speared a ball of cantaloupe and chewed it viciously.

  Eric shrugged and began shifting the strawberries on his plate to one side as if they were slugs. His eyes met Dawn’s, a brief connection offering reassurance he didn’t try to conceal. His little know-nothing wife should be wondering what the hell was going on, Dawn figured. After all, she was the only one at the table not directly involved in the imminent bidding war.

  Never one to pass up a chance to fortify her strength, she
dug into the luscious fare Quince had provided and satisfied her hunger.

  Might as well seize the moment. It was rapidly becoming the creed she lived by. She had certainly done that with her partner in the early hours of this morning. There would be no further assuaging of that particular hunger any time soon.

  She should kick herself for it, but she wouldn’t. The slipup had hurt no one. Not yet, anyway.

  Their meal concluded with Quince’s announcement. With a clap of his hands, he stood. “I have a fishing expedition planned for the morning. We will hike to an inlet where my thirty-two-footer is docked and—” he leaned forward eagerly as he spoke “—hopefully bring in a noteworthy marlin.”

  Everyone glared at him except Dawn. She had no problem looking puzzled. It was Sean McCoy who protested. “A waste of time, Quince. What are you tryin’ to do here, make us all mates or somethin’?”

  “I did not travel halfway around the world to fish,” Carlotta snapped. “This is absurd.”

  Minos remained silent. So did Eric. Dawn looked to him for direction, as a wife should, but he was studying Quince intently. Could he divine what the man had in mind here? No, she still didn’t quite believe Eric could do that.

  They could be in big trouble if Eric was relying on that dubious ability to get what he needed from Quince. Not to mention what a problem it could be if he intended to use whatever mind-melding talents he thought he possessed to call in the cavalry if things got hot.

  Quince must be playing for time, delaying the bidding for some reason. But what could that be?

  Suddenly Eric stood. “The sooner we leave, the sooner we can return. I am ready.”

  “Wonderful!” Quince crowed. “Aurora? Have you ever fished before?”

  She ducked her head shyly, then shook it to indicate she had not.

  “Fine. It’s an uplifting experience, I can tell you. Nothing like a day in the good salt air to boost spirits.”

  Carlotta huffed audibly. “I am not dressed for this…fishing,” she complained. It was true. Her shirt and pants were silk and she wore three-inch heels.