Authors: Sara Craven
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.
“Go and change, anyone who needs to,” Quince said. “The rest of us will wait in the courtyard. But hurry. It will be an eventful trip, I promise.”
None of them dared miss the outing, of course, even though nobody wanted to fish. Who knew what business would take place on Quince’s yacht? Anyone left behind could be at a disadvantage if he decided to conduct the bidding there.
She needed to let Eric know Quince was not the one who had killed Bergen after he stole the information on the radar shield. That fact meant there was another man involved in all this, perhaps even on this island, keeping out of sight. Maybe with plans to eliminate all the disgruntled bidders after the deal went through.
As Quince led them down to the courtyard to wait for Carlotta and Minos, she addressed Eric. “I had so hoped
we would see our friend again while we were on vacation. Odd how he’s disappeared when we expected to see him.”
Eric cleared his throat and glanced at Quince who was busy chatting with Sean McCoy about fishing in Ireland. “He will probably appear again before we return home.”
“You think he will surprise us?” she asked with a sigh.
Eric’s lips quirked in a half smile and he reached for her hand as they walked. “No doubt. I’ll have another friend try to find him.”
Dawn squeezed his hand. “Good. I would feel much better if we knew what happened to him.” And infinitely better if he didn’t pop up somewhere with a weapon trained on them.
“So you have never fished?” Eric asked.
“Doesn’t one use worms for this?”
He threw back his head and laughed heartily, attracting Quince’s and McCoy’s attention. “No, my dear. I promise we will use no worms today.”
The other men joined the laughter at her naiveté. All except Minos, who remained grim. Dawn blushed appropriately and ducked her head again, biting her lip to keep from laughing, too.
God grant her a chance to hold that fishing rod and she would show these yo-yos how to land the big one. Gramps hadn’t dragged her down to the coast every summer for nothing.
Eric, however, had seen the gleam in her eye and issued a wordless warning by pursing his lips and giving an infinitesimal shake of his head.
Dawn sighed, shrugged and looked out across the placid and incredibly blue waters. How could evil exist in such a beautiful haven? Why would anyone desire any more wealth than a place like this island, especially if it meant conspiring with terrorists to create more havoc in the world?
The afternoon proved pleasant, considering the circumstances. No one other than Quince seemed to know exactly what those circumstances were. What was his plan?
Dawn noticed that the
Angeline
was nowhere in sight as they left the island. There were eight in all aboard the
Diana,
including Eric, herself, Quince, Carlotta, Sean, Minos, the Greek captain Helos at the wheel and a young fellow called Paulo who remained below unless he was serving drinks. Everyone else lounged topside.
Dawn relaxed in the sun beneath a wide-brimmed hat Quince had offered her from the salon below. They sped out across the Aegean, ventured very near the coast of Turkey and then trolled the deeper waters for the marlin Quince said they were after.
Carlotta grumbled periodically, her voice nearly as harsh as the prominent bones of her face and the slicked-back hairstyle that made her ebony hair shine with cold blue light.
Minos remained silent and avoided the others as much as possible, biding his time until the expedition was over, Dawn supposed.
Sean McCoy, on the other hand, threw himself into the expedition with gusto. But it was Eric who snagged the fish.
They were off then, giving the marlin its head while Eric’s rod bent under pressure and the tendons in his bared forearms accepted the strain. His delighted grin looked genuine, his euphoria was contagious.
Dawn felt mesmerized by the sight of him locked in an elemental struggle with a creature easily triple his size and weight.
Quince hovered, offering sage advice, his gaze never leaving the prey. Periodically it would jump clear of the
water, writhing with strength and grace, then splash down again and tear forward, still firmly hooked. It seemed a shame to catch and kill this beautiful denizen of the deep, but Dawn felt the excitement anyway. A paradox, for sure.