by Addison Fox
As she got to her feet, Mr. Reynolds rose and came around the desk. He held out his hand. Surprised, Connie took it. Instead of the handshake she had expected, he clasped her hand between both of his. It was an oddly tactile gesture for such an aloof man.
“However this venture may turn out...” He paused and Connie sensed he was fighting an internal battle. As if the personal and professional were at war within him. The result felt like his version of a truce. “I wish you well, Miss Lacey.”
It was only later, when she got back to her grim, one-room apartment and counted—then, in disbelief, recounted—the money, that she began to truly appreciate the gulf between her world and that of Corazón. What constituted “sundry other items” to Mr. Reynolds was almost a year’s salary to Connie.
Laughing, she tossed the notes into the air and briefly contemplated just disappearing with them. To hell with “second cousin several convoluted times removed” Sylvester and his mysteriously worded proposition. This money could buy her the freedom from fear she had been dreaming of. Temporarily, it was true, but even that was so much more than she had wished for. No more moving from town to town and job to job? No more looking over her shoulder? Yeah, I’ll take that and deal with the future when it gets here.
A pang of guilt tugged at her. Backing out wasn’t an option. She had just accepted Mr. Reynolds’s wretched invitation and a promise was, after all, a promise. Besides—despite its reputation—she was intrigued enough by Corazón to want to see it and, even if she admitted it only to herself, she wanted to meet the legendary Sylvester.
The ease with which Arthur Reynolds, senior partner in the firm of Reynolds, Prudah and Taylor, had tracked her down was unsettling. Even if she hadn’t been contemplating answering Sylvester’s eccentric summons, it would have been time to move on. Goodbye—she experienced a minor moment of panic as she tried to remember where she was. It had to happen one day—Farmington, Missouri. The last month has been okay, but it was never a long-term thing. We both knew it. No hard feelings.
She had a week to prepare for the journey. With a shrug, she tucked the money away at the back of her closet and curled up on the bed with a book. Connie could have her belongings packed in an hour. She’d done it often enough.
* * *
Mr. Reynolds’s emailed instructions were meticulous. The launch that was to take her to Corazón would meet her at the marina in Charlotte Harbor. He had even included a map showing the exact location.
Charlotte Harbor was a vacationer’s paradise. The hotel where she’d spent the night, although modest, had been way beyond her usual budget. Eating shrimp and drinking beer at a beachside restaurant, she’d watched the sky fade through shades of bright blue and burnt orange to black. It had crossed her mind—how could it not?—that this was all some elaborate trick. That, at some point, he would appear before her and gloat over how easily she had fallen for this whole trick. Then he would pull out the knife... Stop this. Every time you think of him, every time you remember, he wins.
An internet search had revealed nothing irregular about Mr. Reynolds. His was a well-respected, international law firm, with offices all over the country, including one in St. Petersburg, Florida. The company dealt with wealthy clients and celebrities, even those as well known as Sylvester. And the de León family were some sort of relatives of her mother’s, however distant. Connie had always known that. The last few years had taught her to be watchful. With good reason. But perhaps it was time to put caution aside? What did she have to lose by going to Corazón? Unless she was brave enough to seize this chance, she would never know. According to Mr. Reynolds, who had, after all, personally traveled all the way to Missouri to meet with her, she might even stand to gain a great deal.
Connie reached the quayside a few minutes before the time Mr. Reynolds had specified. It was busy without being bustling, mostly with fishing charters and tourists embarking on a day of island hopping. There was no reason for the horrible crawling feeling of nervousness that caused her to keep glancing over her shoulder. She wasn’t being watched. He couldn’t possibly know she was here. It was just habit kicking in. She had gotten used to sensing his presence everywhere. It was called self-preservation.
The email had said there would be other guests traveling to Corazón with her. Sylvester had no close family, but he had invited several distant relatives. None of them knew the reason for the invitation. That was something Sylvester probably intended to reveal once they were on the island. She couldn’t see anyone who looked like they might be waiting for a launch to take them for an extended stay on a luxury island. The thought of enforced proximity to strangers made Connie shudder slightly. Compulsory enjoyment. Was Sylvester some sort of masochist? Look on the bright side. Wherever this adventure might lead, at least it was not into a temporary job in a poky office where she would be chained to yet another dreary desktop computer.
A slightly shrill voice interrupted her thoughts. “Hurry up, Guthrie! I told you we should have left the hotel earlier. And I still don’t understand why we couldn’t have flown first-class. No, don’t put my cosmetics case there! Oh, for heaven’s sake.” The woman exuded restless, perfumed elegance. Connie decided her companion must be her husband. Who else would obey her staccato instructions so meekly? The hapless Guthrie followed in her wake, carrying a quite astonishing array of suitcases from the cab onto the quayside. Then, as his companion found the original arrangement unaccountably displeasing, he obligingly reorganized them.
“But that was how you told me to do it, Lucinda.” His protest was made in tones of mild confusion.
Looking up, Connie encountered the gaze of a tall, fair-haired man who was wheeling a single suitcase as he approached her. There was something vaguely familiar about him, but she couldn’t quite place what it was. From his frowning expression, he appeared to be thinking exactly the same thing as Connie. They both regarded Lucinda and Guthrie in dawning horror. Oh, please, God, no. Surely life could not so be unkind? A paradise island, even one with a sinister reputation like Corazón’s, deserved pleasant—if not perfect—company. Let my instincts be wrong. Just this once.
“The email said nine-thirty and it’s exactly that now. Unpunctuality is abhorrent to me. Don’t stand there, Guthrie. I can’t see the harbor with you blocking my view.”
The man with the suitcase drew level with Connie. She felt her cheeks burn as he gazed down at her. Four years after the attack that had left her scarred, she should be used to people staring at her, but it had never become any easier. Obviously realizing his silence was making her nervous, he made a visible effort to strive for normality.
“Are you waiting for the de León launch?” When she nodded, he held out his hand. “My name’s Reynolds.”
“Oh!” Connie was taken aback. That was the name of Sylvester’s attorney, but this was not the same man she had met with in Missouri. He was younger, fairer, and there was less formality about him. She regarded him a little doubtfully. There was a definite resemblance, however.
“From your expression, I suspect I was right. I take it you are on your way to Corazón, having met with my father a week ago?”
Connie felt the frown clear from her brow. Her nervousness began to disappear like champagne bubbles rising to the top of the glass. “Oh, yes. I can see it now. You look a little like your father, you know.”
“I hope to God that’s not true. He acts like he’s got a baseball bat rammed up his ass most of the time. Although I shouldn’t complain. I’m a junior partner in the firm and, even though it leaves him short-staffed in the Florida office, he’s given me as much time as I need to go on this little jaunt of Sylvester’s.” His voice was cheerful. “Allow me to put my powers of deduction to the test even further by using a process of elimination to decide which of Sylvester’s relatives you might be.” He tilted his head to one side and studied her face.
Connie had the di
stinct impression the gesture was for show and that he already knew who she was. How could he not? Her hand went to her throat in a protective gesture and she thought she saw a glimmer of something in his eyes. Probably sympathy. She hated that look. It was too depressingly familiar.
“I was going to guess that you must be Constance Lacey. But I’m not sure you’re old enough.”
“If you are on your way to Corazón as your father’s representative, Mr. Reynolds, you will know I’m twenty-seven. Since I look every day of my age, I’m going to accuse you of being the most outrageous tease.”
His eyes twinkled in response and she decided she liked him. He was easy to laugh with.
“Acquit me, Miss Lacey,” he said, adopting the same mock-formal tone. “I was trying to flirt, not tease, and I’m never outrageous. You are wrong about one thing, however. I am on my way to Corazón, but not as my father’s representative. Like yours, my mother was a distant relative of the de León family. I have been summoned as part of this curious proposition of Sylvester’s.”
“Oh.” Connie fiddled nonchalantly with the top button on her shirt. “Have you met him?”
“Sylvester? Oh, yes. Many times.”
Connie succumbed and allowed her curiosity to get the better of her. “What is he like?”
“Exactly as he appears in the press. Handsome. Charming. Witty. Unfathomable. Sylvester has never been anything less than pleasant to me, but, at the same time, I wouldn’t want to cross him. I’ve never been allowed to get close enough to him to know how he’d react.” Lifting one hand, he shielded his eyes against the brilliant sunlight. A sleek, white boat with a rampant lion emblazoned on its bow was approaching the quay. “Unless I’m very much mistaken, this, Miss Lacey, is our lift.”
“My friends call me Connie.” Even as she said it, Connie tried to remember the last time she’d trusted anyone enough to say those words. It was no good. Whenever it had been, it was far enough in the past for her to have forgotten it. Trust and friendship were words that had been missing from her vocabulary for a long time. It was too soon to say if the younger Mr. Reynolds would restore them but she experienced a tiny flare of hope that he might. She didn’t feel anything other than friendship toward him, but even that was much more than she’d experienced for a long time.
“Mine call me lots of things, most of them unrepeatable. I hope you’ll settle for Matt.” It was said with an ironic smile that Connie couldn’t help returning.
* * *
Of course Connie had known that Corazón was an island. And of course she’d known it was remote, part of a far-flung, jeweled string on Florida’s westernmost edge. Through media coverage of his lifestyle and daring exploits, didn’t the whole world know that Sylvester—one of the wealthiest and most well-known men on the planet—protected his privacy by disappearing off to his privately owned little heart-shaped paradise whenever it suited him? She just hadn’t added the anxiety induced by a boat journey into this already stressful venture.
Connie had never been fond of boats and, after the fuss of ensuring Lucinda’s luggage was safely stowed had died down, she stepped nervously onto the elegant launch. This was unlike any other boat she had ever been on. It was piloted by a man in an impeccable uniform—also bearing the de León logo—who introduced himself as Roberto. In his capable hands, the vessel skimmed the water with barely a sound from its powerful engines and only the faintest suggestion of movement. You’re in de León territory now. You sold out. Connie could almost feel her mother’s disapproving gaze. As always, the bright shard of pain triggered by the memory of her drove itself deep into her chest.
Once clear of the marina, the waters were as smooth as a sheet of shimmering blue silk spread before them. Overhead the sky was an unrelenting, uninterrupted shade of azure and they passed tiny green islands ringed with sea grasses and golden sands.
“You look like you’re on a white-knuckle ride rather than a leisurely boat journey.” Matt lounged against the rail at her side.
“I’m not great with boats.” Connie adjusted her floppy straw hat so her face was shaded. It would be just her luck to turn up at her first encounter with Sylvester looking like an overheated beet.
“Bad experience?”
“No.” It was true and yet... His question touched a chord, something deep and unexplored within her. Her thoughts were interrupted when Matt leaned excitedly over the side, making her panic that he might fall in.
“We’ve got company.”
Connie forced herself to shift slightly to one side so she could follow the direction of his gaze. A group of playful dolphins had joined them and was swimming alongside the launch. In the pleasure of the moment, she forgot to be afraid. Laughing at their antics, the breeze on her face, the salty tang in the air, all of those things combined to lend poignancy to the atmosphere. She was reminded of childhood beach holidays spent playing among sand dunes. A brief pang of wistfulness for those days, for her big, laughing father and quiet, kindly mother, tried to tug at her, but she brushed it aside. Not now. This was not the time for sadness and nostalgia.
Sometime later Matt drew her attention to Corazón as it came into view. Although most of the island sat low in the sparkling waters, the northernmost edge reared high and craggy above green-tipped cliffs. Connie could just make out what appeared to be a tall building perched on the highest point of them all. By keeping her eyes focused on it, she gained a clearer image of the unusual outline as the launch drew closer.
“Is it a lighthouse?” She turned questioning eyes to Matt.
“It is. That is also the site of an original property, a fortress built by Sylvester’s ancestors.” He pointed to where the headland trailed long, rocky fingers into the water. “See those openings in the rocks, almost like windows?”
Connie shielded her eyes with her hand, following the direction of his finger. There were four crude, almost square shapes high up near the top of the cliff.
“When the de León family first made their home here and built that fortress, they had to fight hard to keep their island safe. Sylvester’s ancestors were forced to take drastic measures. Those windows are part of the dungeons they built beneath the fortress. Any prisoners who managed to escape from their cells were likely to blunder around in the darkness and fall out of one of those openings.”
Now they were closer to them, Connie studied the apertures. “Couldn’t they climb up from there and reach the top of the cliff?” Even as she asked the question, she decided it seemed unlikely. Although the openings were close to the top of the cliffs, it would still entail a long climb up a sheer rock face with no rope or other safety equipment.
“I suppose if the climber possessed superhuman powers, they might. We’ll have to ask Sylvester if anyone ever achieved it.” He turned his head to look back at the lighthouse. “These cliffs have always been a danger to boats coming into this stretch of water, and several ships ran aground in close succession in the nineteenth century, with the loss of all lives on board. This tower was built in response, but it was never entirely successful in its job as a beacon for sailors. There is some debate about the motives of Emilio de León, the man who chose to build it.”
“How on earth do you know so much about it?” Connie was fascinated by the story but couldn’t help wondering at the source of his in-depth knowledge.
“The de León account is one of my father’s most lucrative. As a junior partner, I took over part of the workload and started coming to Corazón regularly. I drank in the stories of its history, particularly because of my own family connection.
“Why were Emilio de León’s motives questioned?” Matt was a born storyteller and Connie found her fear of the water relegated to second place in her fascination to hear the rest of the story.
“Wrecking,” he replied bluntly. “It has been rumored that the de León fortune is founded on the lives of th
e hundreds of men who died when their boats were deliberately lured onto these rocks. In fact, some went further than that and called Emilio a murdering bastard.” He must have seen the change in Connie’s expression, because he switched to a lighter note. “The lighthouse was decommissioned not long after it was built. The island has always belonged to the family, and the de León home, site of the modern-day mansion, was built on the other side of the island.”
The boat skipped over the waves and around the tip of the island. They were looking up now at the lighthouse. Or rather, it was looming over them. The distinction seemed important. Despite the bright sunlight, Connie shivered slightly. It would be foolish to suppose those lost souls lingered here still in some guise or another. Or that they wished for vengeance. Yet there was something about this lonely place that invited fanciful thoughts. Some of the stories she had heard about Corazón resurfaced in her memory. She had always dismissed them as just that. Stories. Fiction. Perhaps initiated by the de León family to make themselves appear even more interesting to the outside world. Although why that would be the case when they were known to have had more than their fair share of mystery, heartache and misery, she couldn’t fathom.
All she knew was that the island’s name always carried with it a sinister undercurrent. A darker side to its status as the paradise escape of a billionaire that it had never quite shaken off. As if a cloud passed over the sun each time the word Corazón was spoken. Connie almost laughed at the foolishness of her thoughts. A combination of her fear of boats and Matt’s story was probably not the best way to start her visit to this island.
“I don’t know what possessed Sylvester to invite such a crowd.” Although Lucinda had determinedly kept her distance throughout the journey, her voice reached Connie now above the sounds of the seabirds and the waves buffeting against the side of the boat. “I thought this was going to be a select family party.”
“It might be fun.” Guthrie gave an apologetic grimace as he met Connie’s eyes. “Like a school outing.”