Authors: Sara Craven
He got up then and headed back to the panel which opened as if by magic. Or perhaps a remote he carried in the pocket where his hand had disappeared. “I will work that out for you if the others are not successful.”
“The others? You mean Carlotta and Sean?”
“Of course. If he returns, try to act normal so you won’t give yourself away. Remember,” he said seriously, dropping the attitude of amusement, “if he suspects you plan to betray him, he might kill you before you have a chance to act. If that happens, there is no one here who would even think about bringing him to justice. Even
I
wouldn’t, so be warned.”
“But why do you want this? His death, I mean? I thought you wished Jarad or one of the others to buy something from you, to pay you a fortune for whatever they came here after.”
“I will be compensated,” he assured her.
“What of me, Quince? When you are finished with your games?”
He shrugged. “You are an innocent, caught up in a web not of your making. If I can, I mean to save you.” Then he smiled at her, not a baring of teeth, not taunting, either. A real smile that looked sincere.
Dawn watched him leave. The panel slid soundlessly back into place and the wall looked as solid and impenetrable
as the rest. She sank down onto the sofa and sighed loud and long, not caring who heard or observed.
What had he meant,
he would be compensated?
Was someone paying Quince to get rid of the bidders? If so, why not just kill them all and be done with it? Or at least kill them all but the one lucky winner who got to buy the plans from him?
But maybe he wasn’t selling the plans after all. It sounded more and more to her as if he had set a trap with the offer just to get them to the island.
She needed to discuss this with Eric and get his thoughts on it, but there was no way they could speak openly. It wasn’t safe to talk. She wished he really did have that handy mind link thing going on.
So here they were, acting up a storm, while everybody tried to murder everybody else. Except for Quince. It seemed he intended to keep his hands clean and let the others—and her, of course—do his dirty work for him.
Eric stood in the shadows near the pool, observing Quince, who strolled the terrace while smoking a cigar. Try as he might, Eric could not tell what the man was thinking. What an enigma.
He was just about to reveal himself and see whether he could get anything from Quince with a one-on-one conversation, when Conroy appeared.
“Have the new bidders arrived on the mainland?” Quince asked quietly.
“Yes, just this afternoon. They should be arriving here the day after tomorrow if that is still your wish, sir.”
“Fine. This group should be out of the way by then. If not, we will combine them and see what happens. Carry on, my friend.”
Conroy nodded and went back into the house.
There were others coming? What was going on here?
Eric had followed Carlotta and Sean, knowing that Carlotta was planning to seduce the Irishman into helping her get rid of the competition, namely himself.
But Sean had other ideas. Eric listened as they had a heated argument. Sean said he hated all she represented. The organized manufacturing and marketing of drugs worldwide was anathema to him. Her blatant sex appeal and the way she used it went hand in hand with the seductive powers of her product, as far as Sean was concerned. McCoy was an idealist at heart.
When the two had separated, Eric had returned to the terrace. Somewhere out there in the darkness, one of them would probably die. Eric hoped Clay would be able to prevent it. If he could secure one or both, they could be taken into custody for questioning later when the Sextant team arrived.
However, now there would be others arriving soon. It made no sense, unless Quince was systematically getting rid of terrorist representatives, or at least arranging it so they could conveniently knock off one another.
Where was the profit for him in that? What was his game? Maybe Quince saw himself as one of the good guys. Eric walked out of the trees onto the terrace.
“Come join me, Jarad,” Quince said, a smile in his voice. He puffed on his cigar and blew a stream of smoke upward, watching it dissipate into the humid night air. “Smoke?”
“No,” Eric answered, sauntering over to take one of the cushioned lounges. He sat down on the edge of it, leaned forward and clasped his hands. “What are you planning, Quince?”
“Why, nothing,” he replied. “There is very little more to offer here on the island in the way of entertainment that we haven’t already done. Brilliant fishing today, by the way.”
“One of them killed Minos and you know it,” Eric stated.
Quince nodded. “It is a cruel world, Jarad. In your line of work, you come to expect death to rear its ugly head fairly often, as do I. In my opinion, Minos is no great loss.”
“His people might disagree, and they knew he was coming to you for this deal.”
Quince smiled. “I expect and hope for a response to his death when they learn of it. The same with the woman and the Irishman.” He grinned and pointed at Eric with his cigar. “And you, too, of course, if you are a victim.”
Eric laughed, a bitter sound. “You plan to kill me, too?”
Quince affected a wounded expression. “But I have killed no one, Jarad. Each of your organizations will be informed of how their delegate met his or her end. The repercussions will fall on other heads, you see.”
“Ingenious, but not too lucrative,” Eric remarked, pushing back on the lounge, linking his hands behind his head. “Why the advance warning? You have put me on guard against the one who returns tonight.”
“And you will prevail, I’m certain,” Quince agreed. “Maybe you will survive to make me a fabulous offer and then go home with what you came here for.”
Eric knew that was not in his plans. Quince thought he had a deal with Dawn, as the unhappy Aurora, to get rid of the offending husband. The bidders would all be dead if he had his way.
The new group coming in would probably repeat the scenario. How long did Quince plan to keep this up? And had he been at it a while already, changing the bait as necessary?
Eric got up and leisurely headed for the French doors. “Good night, Quince.”
“Good night, Jarad. Sleep well.” A chuckle accompanied the suggestion.
Had Quince already provided Dawn the means to take him out? She must be jumping up and down to share what had happened in Eric’s absence, but there was no way they could talk about it.
The microphones in the suite would be of the best quality, able to detect the slightest whisper. Quince had a fortune at his disposal for such things. He would employ them, too, to stay aware of any side deals made by his guests.
Whatever was going on with Sean and Carlotta would probably be caught on audio if not on tape. How else would Quince convince their respective organizations that he wasn’t the one who had gotten rid of their valuable representatives? No, he was pitting not only the buyers he had invited to the island against one another, he was extending the battle to their respective fraternities.
The chaos created by that could only benefit mankind in the long run, Eric thought to himself. But it was still vigilante justice anyway you looked at it. If, indeed, providing a little justice was Quince’s intent. God, he wished he knew the man’s mind.
“A
urora?”
Eric was back at last, thank God. She hurried out to the sitting room and walked into his waiting arms just like a good little wife should. Dawn had to admit she didn’t mind this part of the charade at all. Eric didn’t seem to, either.
“I was afraid for you, Jarad,” she said, laying her head on his shoulder.
He caressed her hair, smoothing it, soothing her. “No problems. After you left us I saw no one out there but our host. You should be in bed.” He smiled down at her, his eyes gleaming as he eyed the pale yellow satin nightgown she’d donned and plucked away the clip she had used to pin up her hair. “You smell of jasmine.”
“I am just out of the bath,” she explained.
“I should have returned a bit sooner. I could have joined
you.” He bent to nuzzle her neck. His lips sent delicious shivers down her spine.
She pulled away. “Have your bath now. I’ll assist you.” She took him by the hand and led him to the bathroom, allowing herself to frown after she turned away from him, in case Quince was watching them.
Once they were in the bathroom, she turned and mouthed the words, “There are no cameras here. Two mikes,” she said, pointing to the locations.
He smiled and nodded his approval. “I hope the water is hot. My legs ache from the long walk. Perhaps you could help relieve that.”
She turned on the water in the tub, then faced him again. He was scanning the room, probably wondering how thorough her search for cameras had been.
“I’m very good at it,” she assured him, following the path of his scan with one of her own.
“I know,” he replied, and began shucking his clothes, apparently trusting that she was talking about the physical security of the room, not her leg-rubbing skills.
But how could they communicate unless she deactivated the mikes? She really needed to talk to him.
Suddenly she had an idea. Hadn’t he mentioned being a Scout? She knew they had the finger-spelling alphabet in the Boy Scout manual. Her cousin, who was deaf, had proudly pointed it out to her once. But then, Jim was older than Eric. Maybe it wasn’t in the handbooks Eric had used. Still, it was worth a try.
It was a long shot, she knew, but Eric was supposed to be very proficient in a number of other languages. Dawn had learned to sign as a child in order to communicate with Jim. Maybe Eric had been as fascinated with the language
as she had been. “Do you understand the alphabet for the deaf?” she spelled out slowly.
Eric looked surprised, then smiled and gave her the sign for
yes.
He finger-spelled the word
genius
and pointed to her. Then he proceeded to tell her, in ASL, the American Sign Language, that they should have thought of this sooner.
Dawn, stared, openmouthed, while he then removed the rest of his clothes and got into the tub.
She caught herself ogling and turned away slightly, but continued to steal glances at him. It was impossible to ignore his nudity, and he obviously thought it funny that she would try.
They had been intimate the night before, but somehow this seemed even more so. His muscles rippled as he began to soap himself, watching her all the while as if daring her to join him. She forced her gaze to remain on his face.
Dawn was sorely tempted, but knew exactly how that would end. They would make love in that enormous tub. Enticing as that was—as
he
was—at the moment, she knew they needed to talk. Besides, she didn’t exactly relish having a listener or listeners at tubside while they frolicked in the suds.
Signing comfortably, she told him of Quince’s visit to her room through the concealed doorway and explained what he wanted her to do.
Eric revealed what Quince had admitted to him, and the possibilities that brought up. Quince would have to silence her, too, eventually. They agreed on that.
Even if the man’s motives were lofty and he let her live, she would never be allowed to leave the island if he succeeded in what he was doing. Their mission had to succeed and the team would have to arrive soon to accomplish that.
Eric’s command of the language was imperfect, interspersed
with many more spelled-out words than she used, but it proved fully understandable.
Every now and then, he would speak out loud as Jarad, ordering her around, sounding suggestive and teasing. Finally, downright provocative. Dawn got the feeling that he meant at least half of it.
She watched his hand rise and approach her breast. With one wet finger, he touched her through the gown and smiled into her eyes. His lips formed the words, “I want you” while he made the sign for it.
Her heartbeat raced even faster. What would it be like to take his dare, to slip off the satin and slide into the warm water beside him? Her imagination ran wild. She knew exactly what it would feel like. Dawn needed to be held. And he wanted to hold her, that was very clear.
Their gazes locked. What was left of her resolve melted. She stood, peeled off her peignoir and gown and stepped into the huge marble tub. He reached over and pushed the button to turn on the jets of water, surrounding them with warm, powerful streams that seemed to force their bodies closer.
Not that she needed a push. His hot slick skin slid against hers when he embraced her, firing her to fever pitch as his lips met hers in a devouring kiss. Damn the mikes, she couldn’t contain the groan that rose from her throat, merging with his.
He lifted her slightly and entered her without breaking the kiss.
Complete,
she thought.
I feel complete.
Nothing mattered but this, this incredible oneness.
He felt the same and she knew it somehow, sensed that he had abandoned all caution, all thought of self-preservation, all pretense. This was as real as it got. And as profound a feeling as she had ever experienced. Nothing compared.
Dawn moved sinuously, grasping for more, winding her arms around his neck, sliding her fingers through his hair and holding on for dear life. The sensations bombarding her stole what breath she had left. Strong pulsating jets pummeled the base of her spine and the middle of her back. Powerful legs entwined with hers.
The scent of him, earthy, exotic, mingled with the sandalwood soap that half coated his body. His growl of pleasure reverberated through her while his hands glided over her, now gripping firmly, then searching madly.
Higher and higher she flew until he splayed one hand against her lower back and pressed her to him for a final, shuddering thrust. She must have cried out. His mouth covered hers and took them under the water for a second. That did anything but douse the pure glee that welled up inside her.
They surfaced, sputtering and laughing, bodies still joined. His expression grew tender as he brushed the wet hair from her eyes and looked into them, the sign for
I love you
on the hand he used for the caress.