The Island

by Jill Jones

  Halfway to their room, Keely stirred in his arms. “Jack?” she uttered, looking up at him, bemused.

  He set her gently on her feet again. “Are you okay? Can you walk?”

  She swayed against him, then seemed to recover her balance. “Yes, I…I think so. What happened?”

  Jack put his arm around her and supported her as they continued down the corridor. “You fainted. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about elevators before we got in that one. I never thought…”

  Keely didn’t reply, but she looked distinctly distraught. When they reached his suite, he showed her how to insert the plastic door key into the slot. When he heard the lock click, he pointed out the little green light and opened the door, allowing her to precede him into the elegant suite of rooms.

  When he’d checked into this hotel a few days ago, Jack had not paid much attention to the room. It was not much different from most of the upscale places where he’d stayed from time to time. But now, he looked at it through Keely’s eyes. On the right was a small sitting area with a sofa, two chairs, and a television. On the left was an octagonal table and chairs with curved chrome legs. Behind that was a small kitchenette with a microwave and coffeemaker. Across the hall was the bath which he knew contained a Jacuzzi® tub and a built-in hair dryer. At the far end of the suite lay a large, luxurious bedroom with a kingsized bed.

  Televisions. Chrome chairs. Microwaves. Coffeemakers. Jacuzzis. Hair dryers. Conveniences of the modern world. Luxuries Jack took for granted. But after the elevator incident, he became acutely aware that Keely knew nothing of these things. He must take better care in introducing her to life in the twenty-first century, or she might flee back into the arms of the “dragon.”

  “You can have the bedroom,” he said, taking her small bag into the far room, trying to ignore the lecherous thoughts that snuck into his mind when he glanced at the silken-covered bed. “I’ll sleep on the couch.”

  Keely walked through the apartment as if in a daze, running her fingers lightly over the furniture. When she reached the kitchenette, she turned, doubt marring her lovely features. “Jack, if ye do na wish me to stay with ye…”

  Had his misgivings about sharing intimate space with her been so obvious? For a fleeting moment, he thought perhaps she shared those misgivings, but he heard the fear that trembled behind her words and understood that she simply did not want to be left alone.

  “Of course, I want you to stay,” he said, feeling like a chump. But it would not be easy, being close to her in the same hotel suite. He considered what had taken place the night before. That simply could not happen again. “Keely, about last night…”

  “I fear I made ye angry with me,” she broke in, her words rushed. “‘I did na understand some things that happen between…uh…between men and women, but I have thought of them today. ‘Tis not of breeding with ye that I want.”

  Jack stared at her and saw two spots of red burning high on her fair cheeks. “Breeding?” Her quaint way of stating the very problem that concerned him brought a grin to his lips.

  “Aye.” She lowered her lashes and looked away. “‘Tis another of the things of life I know too little about. I did na mean to lead ye to the wrong impression last night.”

  Jack touched her lightly beneath the chin and brought her gaze back to his. “You do have a lot to learn,” he said, struggling not to repeat the kiss that had brought them to this awkward moment. “Especially about the effect a beautiful woman has on a man. But what happened was not your fault. It was mine. Can you trust me not to try that again?”

  Could he trust himself was more to the point.

  Her eyes were large and liquid, and he feared he might drown in those green depths at any moment. When she spoke, her words were like a caress. “I trust ye, Jack. And I thank ye more than I can ever say. Ye said ye would be here for me, until…I can find myself a bit, and I…I could use a friend.” This last was spoken with a bottom lip that quavered ever so slightly.

  Jack’s defenses threatened to disintegrate. He longed to reach out and touch her, to reassure her of his promise, but he did not dare. “You know I will always be your friend, Keely,” he managed, wondering how on earth he could remain only a friend. He must, however, for despite last night’s kiss, it was obvious friendship was all she wanted from him. But he must help her “find herself” soon, before his body betrayed his honorable intentions toward her. “Stay here,” he said. “Stay, until you are ready to be on your own.”

  “I do na wish to be a burden to ye, Jack. Mayhap ye can introduce me right away to the people you told me about, and then I will be about my own way.”

  “There’s no hurry. You are not a burden, Keely. You mustn’t think that. I want to help you.” But a gloomy thought crossed his mind. He wanted to help, but he did not want Keely to “be about her own way.” Not without him. She did not know about the phone calls from Keinadraig, or that someone from her island might try to harm her. Who would protect her if she went about her own way? But he had to admit his hesitation to let go of her stemmed from something deeper than that. Yes, he had vowed to protect her, and yet now, his feelings toward her included something more complex than mere protection.

  Did he love her? Or just desire her? Jack had never been in love before, and he doubted he had fallen in love with Keely in this short time. If he had, he was a fool. Their worlds were just too far apart for there to be any future between them. He was her rescuer, nothing more.

  “We’ll take things as they come,” Jack added gruffly, more disturbed than he wanted to admit. He changed the subject. “For now, why don’t you order up some lunch? I need to make a phone call.”

  She gave him a long, studied look, then a brief, almost apologetic smile. “How do we ‘order up?’”

  Jack explained room service, and they perused the leather-clad menu. Then he insisted that she place the order. The sooner she learned her way around her new world, the sooner she could be on her way, leaving her friend Jack cheering from the sidelines.

  Jack found the notion anything but cheering.

  Anxious to call Garrison and yet uneasy about it too, Jack turned on the television while they waited for lunch to be delivered and explained to Keely as best he could how it delivered pictures from thin air to the black screen sitting in the corner. Keely showed no sign of fear, just spontaneous curiosity that revealed her innate intelligence. It would not take her long to adjust, Jack thought with mixed emotions. Soon she would not need him.

  They watched a news broadcast while they ate. The newscaster reported a story about the Queen, another about an issue being debated in Parliament, and finally, one about an unsolved murder case:

  “The Metropolitan Police remain mystified in the case of the death of an unidentified woman whose body was found last week in a room at one of London’s finest hotels. In what appeared at first to be a murder followed by a suicide attempt, Mr. Brad Holstedt, an American businessman, was also shot and clings to life in a London hospital. Investigators say that although forensics showed gunpowder on Mr. Holstedt’s arms, in test firing, the gun found at the scene of the crime produced a pattern of gunpowder residue that is inconsistent with that found on Mr. Holstedt.”

  As the announcer issued a plea from the police for help in identifying the murder victim, the police sketch of Genevieve Sloan filled the screen. “Saints in Heaven!” Keely cried in astonishment, covering her mouth with her hand.

  Jack, too, gaped at the monitor. Why hadn’t Garrison given Inspector Sandringham the information concerning the identity of the dead woman? He drew in a deep breath. He’d put off the call as long as he could. With an inexplicable sense of foreboding, he went at last to the phone and dialed Garrison.

  “Garrison, it’s Jack. I’m back in London.” Before he could ask any questions, Garrison’s voice boomed in his ear.

  “It’s about damned time. Get over here right away. I’ve stalled Sandringham as long as I can.”

  Chapter Sixteen


  “I have to go to the hospital,” Jack said brusquely, replacing the receiver with a heavy thud.

  From the very briefness of the phone call and the dark expression on his face, Keely knew something was wrong, terribly wrong. A ribbon of fear snaked along her spine. “Is it your friend, Brad? Has he taken a bad turn?”

  Jack glanced at her and frowned, as if her question surprised him. “No,” he said in a distracted manner. “It’s…something else.”

  Something he was not going to share with her. Something that had to do with the news report about Genevieve they had just seen on the thing called a television. Although Keely felt as if she might fall apart from fatigue and the strain of everything that had happened in the past few days, she stood and went to him. Jack had promised to be there for her, but she sensed that now it was he who needed someone to be there for him. It warmed her that in some small way, she might repay his kindness.

  “I am going with ye.”

  “No. You stay and get some rest.”

  “I am going with ye,” she repeated in a tone she hoped brooked no further argument.

  Jack’s troubled eyes met hers, and she thought he was going to insist that she stay behind, then he touched her shoulder lightly. “If you’re afraid of being here alone…”

  “I’m not afraid!” Keely protested, wondering if it were true. “I…I just want to go with you…”

  She knew he didn’t believe her, and that he agreed with her coming along only because he thought she was afraid to be by herself, but it didn’t matter. Whatever kind of trouble awaited him, if he needed her, she would be there.

  They left the hotel and hurried across several streets teeming with late afternoon traffic. Keely found this outside world more fearful by far than the hotel room. She clung to Jack’s hand and let him guide her through the throngs of people and vehicles. Her heart was pounding, but she vowed to conquer this new world as quickly as she could. She must. But there was so much to learn.

  Keely had been amazed when Jack had turned on the television, and even more so to see Genny’s picture flashed on the screen. Jack had told her that people all over Britain were watching the same program. Would people in Penzance or Newlyn or even Mousehole see it? Would anyone recognize Genny? she wondered in dismay. The news program about the murder had made Genevieve’s presence in that hotel room seem so…illicit. Keely was glad no one on Keinadraig could see it.

  A disconcerting thought suddenly struck her. Jack knew Genny’s identity. Had known for two days. Why hadn’t he told the police? A hint of anger stirred within her. If he had, Genevieve’s character would not have received that unkind exposure on the television. But before she could allow the anger to surface, she considered what Jack had been doing for the past two days.

  Rescuing her.

  Still, how could he have forgotten to call and let this Scotland Yard place know he’d learned who had been murdered?

  Before she had time to consider this further, Jack whisked her into the hospital. Again the air was cooler than outside, chilled by what he’d described as “air conditioning.” But it was heavy with strange, foreboding odors, and the atmosphere was hushed. A wash of anxiety crept over her.

  “This way,” Jack said after checking a sign giving directions to the various wings of the building. They got on another elevator, this one entirely enclosed, and got off on the fifth floor. Keely waited while Jack checked with a woman wearing all white who spoke to him in a voice too quiet for her to hear. The nurse directed them down the hallway.

  “You’d better wait outside,” he said as they reached the door to Brad’s room.

  “I will come with ye,” she replied stubbornly, not wanting to admit to him how ill at ease this place made her.

  She saw she had displeased him, but his only argument was a warning. “What you see in there might frighten you. Brad’s in…pretty bad shape.”

  Suddenly, Keely wanted to see Brad, bad shape or not. This man might have shot her best friend. But if he had not, then he, too, had suffered at the hands of the murderer. If that was the truth, as Jack claimed, she felt an urgency to go to him and to pray for him to get well, for his own sake, and because Brad Holstedt was the only one who knew the truth of what had happened.

  Keely’s heart pounded as Jack escorted her into the quiet of the private room. An older man rose from a chair, not bothering to conceal his surprise at seeing her with Jack.

  “Who’s she?”

  “Garrison, meet Keely Cochrane. She is…was…a friend of Genevieve Sloan.”

  The man’s surprise turned to astonishment. “You knew her?” he said to Keely.

  “She was a kinswoman and a dear friend,” Keely told him, the words catching in her throat. In spite of the man’s surprise, grief had etched lines of sorrow on his face, an expression of such sadness that it reawakened her own mourning for Genevieve.

  Garrison turned to Jack. “Why didn’t you tell me she was with you?”

  “It’s a long story. I’ll tell you later,” Jack replied stiffly. “How’s Brad?”

  “Much the same, although his vital signs appear to be strengthening.”

  Keely summoned her courage. “May I…see him?”

  Garrison exchanged glances with Jack, who nodded with a reluctant shrug. Brad’s father motioned to the other side of the room where his son lay behind a cloth partition.

  Keely was not prepared for what met her eyes. She had never seen anything like this in any sick room on Keinadraig. On the bed, the figure of a person lay still as death, the head swathed in white bandages that concealed most of the face. The body was covered with a white blanket, with only the arms exposed. Into those arms were stuck what horrifyingly appeared to be needles. These in turn were attached to some sort of tubing that hung from bags suspended from hooks overhead. Other wires were attached to his body, sending some kind of signal to machines of equally strange nature that pulsed at the head of the bed. Keely grimaced at the grotesque sight, but she did not look away.

  Instead, she stepped timidly up to the bedside and reached between the bars of the railing that protected the patient from falling. With shaking hands, she lightly touched the man’s fingers. They were white. They felt cold. She closed her eyes and swallowed over the lump that ached in her throat.

  Who was this man, and why did he have to suffer so? How had he come to know Genevieve? And who had done this terrible thing to the two of them?

  Keely looked across at Jack and Garrison Holstedt. Both faces reflected anguish as deep as her own. How she longed for some way to right this wrong. For them all. But she knew of only one thing that was within her power at the moment.

  “May I be alone with him for a few moments?” she asked. “I wish to pray for him.”

  Her request took Jack by surprise. Until that moment, Keely had not mentioned anything even remotely religious. He had assumed her religious faith stopped at the dragon’s door. Did she hold another, more traditional belief? Or was she reverting to the dragon worship, attempting to make some kind of plea bargain on Brad’s behalf?

  The notion concerned Jack. Surely she would not do something as crazy as offer to return to Keinadraig if the dragon would spare Brad’s life. He hoped she was beyond that, but he determined to keep a close eye on her.

  He turned to Garrison. “Let’s go outside.”

  Jack could tell Garrison was not entirely comfortable leaving Brad alone with Keely, but he touched the older man’s arm and said, “It’ll be all right. Keely’s on our side.”

  The two men stepped into the hall, but neither spoke until they reached the lounge area several doors away. They were alone there, and Jack finally broke the silence.

  “What’s going on, Garrison? Why didn’t you give Sandringham an ID on the girl after I called you?”

  Garrison looked away. “Because I’ve been trying to avoid him until we had a chance to talk,” he replied after a moment.

  “Why?” Jack did not like the look on Garrison’s face.


  “Sit down,” Garrison said growled, indicating a chair while folding into one opposite. He cleared his throat before continuing. “Jack, did Brad tell you anything before…the shooting?”

  “What kind of anything?” Irritation tinged his curiosity. Why didn’t the man just come out and say what was on his mind? “He told me about the deal he was putting together, if that’s what you mean.”

  “Anything about my will.”

  “Your will? Why would he tell me anything about your will?”

  “Because last year after Betty died, I changed it.”

  “Why would Brad tell me that? It’s none of my business.”

  Garrison eyed him evenly. “Yes, it is your business, Jack. You see, I added you as a secondary beneficiary when it occurred to me that if for some reason Brad died before I did, there would be no one to inherit all that I’ve worked for my entire life. You’ve been like a second son to me, Jack. It was only natural…”

  Jack was out of his seat like a rocket. “You did what? How could you? Why didn’t you tell me?”

  Garrison shook his head. “Because I know you, Jack. I know what you think of my having helped you over the years. You don’t much like it, because you’re too damned proud to recognize the difference between caring and charity.” His voice went flat. “I just didn’t feel like arguing with you about it. I was hoping you might never know, because I fully expected to die and leave everything to Brad. It would be up to him to decide what to do about you.”

  Jack vacillated between horror and disbelief. He wanted no part of Odyssey Investments International. He wouldn’t know what to do with it if he had it. But this explained why Garrison had been so adamant about Jack joining the company.

  “Garrison, how could you…I mean, do such a thing without asking me?”

  Brad’s father gave a short, bitter laugh. “Brad asked me the same thing, not long ago. Not about the will, but about my appointing him to take over the company. Seems he doesn’t much like my line of work.”