Island Promises (4 page)

He sighed. “My conscience will rest easy then that I tried. Piece of advice, though. Make sure you get a sturdy stick when you cross the inlets. If the gators come after you, hit ‘em on the side of the snout. Sometimes if you hit ‘em with enough force, they’ll be so stunned for a minute that you’ll have time to get away.”

Riley stumbled a little in a grassy area. The vehicle came slowly behind, keeping pace, the engine protesting at the slowness.

“A woman like you, educated, world traveler, probably already knew that, though. Probably just another insult from a sexist jerk like me. Hell, you probably wrestle gators for fun on spring break in Florida.” He shifted gears and began to make a U-turn. “Wouldn’t want to insult you any further, but Anthony asked me to pass on a tip in case the snakes . . .”

Without another word, Riley hoisted herself into the passenger seat of the old four-wheel-drive vehicle.

Riley’s temperature was climbing but it wasn’t because of the balmy late afternoon breeze.

The man who sat at the scarred metal desk in front of her was raising her blood pressure by the minute as well. They had been going round and round for almost a half-hour. His desk was very organized, as was the other desk in the small block building. But along the walls were boxes and boxes of documents.

This
is what they do with the paperwork
, Riley thought.

She bit her tongue to keep from saying it out loud. They must sweep it off their desks every night into one of those boxes and never deal with it again. She was determined that wouldn’t happen to her.

“We have to wait for the senior official.” The man’s patience seemed to grow as Riley’s deteriorated. He had a slight British accent, which gave him an elegant air, but he infuriated her even more as she stood sweaty, frizzy-haired, and sunburned. He sat very still, very erect, his white, close-cropped hair a stark contrast to his dark skin. The nameplate, all polished silver, said his name was
Captain Ricardo Juarez
. “The magistrate will come back, maybe Monday, maybe Friday.”

“I’ve been trying to explain to you that I can’t wait that long.” Riley picked up her heavy, tangled hair and tucked the wayward strands into the back of the ball cap she wore. A fan was on overhead, but the slowly moving blades only served to push the hot air toward the spot where she was standing. “This magistrate person,” she started, kicking the bamboo chair where Joe had pulled an old hat over his eyes and appeared to be napping, his legs splayed out in front of him. This was the fourth or fifth time she had kicked his chair for emphasis and this time he only grunted and edged the cap lower. “This man,” she started again, using her best broadcasting voice, “could sail away on my boat while you’re waiting for official action. You need to make some kind of injunction or some other legal thing to stop him.”

Captain Juarez shuffled the papers she had given him. Admittedly they weren’t much—her passport, her plane ticket stub, a color brochure of the
Reprieve
from years ago when it was for sale. There was no bill of sale, no registration. Edgar, the accountant, had taken care of all that, and she’d left in such a hurry that she hadn’t even thought to look for those papers.

“I will tell you what needs to be done.” Captain Juarez leaned forward. His short sleeve, khaki shirt and matching shorts showed no sweat stains. Probably because he didn’t do enough work to sweat. “This is not Cheecago. This is our country, the Shalee Islands. And you must live by our rules.” For the first time, the man raised his voice.

“Let me tell you what I think about your rules,” Riley began.

“You may return next week,” said Captain Juarez, interrupting her. He opened a desk drawer and placed Riley’s papers, including her passport, inside and locked it. “Now,” he said, rising, “we are closing.”

“You can’t do that!”

Joe had come to life and was tugging her toward the door. Ever since she’d met him, he seemed to be pushing or pulling her. She shook him off.

“Do you know who I am?” She was yelling. “Do you know I could expose this on American television?”

From behind her, Joe’s arm went around her waist. “Time to go,” he whispered in her ear.

“No! I need that passport. He has no right.”

“Riley, I’m warning you,” Joe said softly.

Captain Juarez stood, an old-fashioned rotary dial phone in his hand.

“I’m not leaving here without my papers and some satisfaction.” Riley tried to get away from Joe’s grip.

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” Before she knew what was happening, Joe took her arm, spun her around and threw her over his left shoulder as though she were a duffel bag. Suddenly she was seeing the world upside down. She heard Joe say something to the captain. She heard the captain laugh, which made her madder, if that were possible. Then they were on the move.

Stunned, it took her several moments before she found her voice. Then she protested for him to let her down, to stop being such a brute. She tried to punch him, but her arms were swinging wildly and hit only air. He kept walking, past the old vehicle they came in and trudged up a hill, breathing hard. The blood was pooling in Riley’s head and she felt lightheaded.

Joe dropped her in soft grass and fell down beside her panting, both of them on their backs, letting their cramped muscles release. After a moment, Riley sat up slowly, feeling her blood return to its rightful pattern. The scene before her was restful, postcard beautiful. They were at the top of a grassy cliff that overlooked the sea. To either side of the cliff were palm trees and sweet-smelling flowers. Before them lay the water, so clear and aqua she could make out the top of a reef offshore. The sky was so bright it hurt her eyes but she couldn’t look away. The sound of waves breaking, of exotic birds, and of their own labored breathing surrounded them.

She tried to slow her breathing, to get in the zone. She’d taken a meditation class once where they talked about zoning out. But she hadn’t lasted more than one class. Peace and calm were not her thing. Action and persistence were.

She punched Joe on the arm.

“What the hell? As if that arm isn’t sore enough from carrying you all the way up here.”

“If you’re kidnapping me and stealing my boat, I want you to know I won’t go down without a fight.” Although she wondered how much fight she had in her right now.

“You need to get out of Chicago more,” he said. “You sound like a gangster in a late-night movie.”

“You’re not kidnapping me?”

“Why the hell would I want to do that? You can’t cook. Your diplomatic skills need work. And you’re stealing my clothes.” He ran a finger down the button front of the denim shirt she wore. The finger lingered a moment too long on the bare skin right above her belly button where the shirt had fallen open.

“You stole my boat.” She rose up on her elbow and studied him. His hair was darker underneath where the sun hadn’t touched it. His lips were slightly parted and his eyes were fixed on her face.

“My boat,” he said. “Free and clear. I have all the paperwork. Bought it from a charter company.”

Despite herself, Riley felt a strong desire to touch him. Too tired, too much sun, too little food—that was what was creating this wild fantasy of rolling in the grass with him, hearing the sea, feeling those strong arms holding her.

“If you’re not kidnapping me, then why did you pick me up and carry me away? And why didn’t you carry me back to the boat? Why up here?”

“Did anyone ever tell you that you ask too many damn questions?” He flung his arm over his eyes to block out the sun’s glare.

“It’s what I do. I’m a journalist. In Chicago.”

“As the man said, you’re a long way from Chicago.” He turned, leaned his head on his hand, and stared at her. “Captain Juarez was about to throw you in jail.”

“No.”

“Yeah.”

“He had no grounds, no right, nothing to stand on.”

To her dismay, Joe laughed. “You are such a baby.”

“I am not, and I resent that.”

“You may be a hard-ass in Chicago, where most everybody plays by the rules, but down here, they don’t always play fair. Captain Juarez was just irritated enough to throw you into one of those caves they call a jail and wait two or three months to sort out the rules and your so-called rights. When somebody, maybe, finally figured out you didn’t belong there—and that’s a long shot—they’d throw you out without so much as an apology.”

Riley was silent for a moment, picking at blades of grass. “Then why here? Why not the
Reprieve
?”

“I needed somewhere you didn’t know. I figured you needed time to cool down. Had it been the
Reprieve
, you might have been able to figure out how to get off the boat and head back to Captain Juarez’s office.” He paused for a moment. “Before you go thinking I’m all selfless and gentlemanly, this was pure self-interest. If you went charging back ready for battle, I might have felt obligated to go with you. And then we’d both be fighting the rats for scraps of bread in some hellhole of a prison.”

The sea was beautiful—calm and gentle with rolling white caps breaking smoothly against the beach. Here and there bright umbrellas dotted the sand but the beach was so large that it wasn’t crowded.
Beats the frozen shores of Lake Michigan
, Riley thought.

“Maybe I should thank you for carrying me out of there.” She didn’t look at him as she said it. Apologies were not her strong suit.

“Maybe you should. And just maybe I know how you can show your appreciation.” He reached up and twirled a strand of her hair around his finger. Then he ran his fingertip gently down the side of her face, coming to rest in the open V of the shirt, just below her throat. Leaning forward, he kissed her.

The world stopped. The surf pounded below them in rhythm with her heart. All her senses came alive. The grass was soft on her bare legs; the air smelled of salt and flowers. The man with her was powerful and sexy and lit up every nerve in her body.

“Come on.” He broke off the kiss as abruptly as it had started. “I need to get back.”

Still reeling, Riley felt too shaky to get up. “Where will I go?” She hated the neediness in her voice. She was a strong woman used to taking care of herself. Here, she was in a strange country with only the clothes on her back, which weren’t even hers. She had nowhere to stay, no passport. Whether the
Reprieve
actually belonged to her wasn’t something that was going to be resolved today, or tomorrow, or probably next week. Until then, she had to meet the basic necessities of life—somewhere to sleep, something to eat, and some semblance of safety.

He looked out to sea. “Can you clean? Make a bed? Wash dishes?”

“How hard can it be?”

“Somebody should commit me to the nut house because this is crazy.” He sighed. “You can crew on
Reprieve
until we figure this out.”

Chapter 3

One minute Riley was being rocked to sleep by the gentle lap of waves against the boat, and the next she was sitting up screaming. A man stood at the foot of the bunk, jumping around, flailing his arms, and hollering.

“Get out of here before I scream.” Chest heaving, Riley clutched the quilt and eyed the man in front of her. She felt some of the panic ease, and her breathing slowed. He didn’t give her a sense of danger or fear. He had an open face with skin a shade paler than most who spent their lives in the hot sun. Again, Riley thought he must be using some pretty good products to prevent sun damage. Instead of a T-shirt, he wore a breezy button-down print that was ironed, as were his pleated shorts. Only the white socks would have kept him from the pages of a fashion magazine.

He broke into a shaky grin. “You’ve already screamed,” he pointed out. “And it scared the hell out of me. I’m leaving. Just don’t scream again, please. I get all nervous and upset when anyone does that. I don’t handle emotional distress well.” He turned as best he could in the limited space, but was caught with no way to open the door. “Listen,” he said, “I have to sit down on the bunk and put my feet up or I’m never going to get out of here.”

“What are you doing in here?” Riley asked, curious.

“I’m Mitchell.” He held out a long, thin hand. Riley hesitated before accepting his handshake. “Joe asked me to come aboard and cook for a while. Apparently there was a big mix-up and the cook he hired couldn’t even boil water.” His slender hand clamped over his mouth. “So sorry. I do that all the time. That was you, wasn’t it? Excuse me while I take my foot out of my mouth.” The foot he held up had white socks under the sandals. “Can’t stand sand between my toes,” he explained when he saw her staring. “Just a thing I have. Everybody has something. What’s yours?” he asked as he tucked his feet under him to sit Indian style on the end of the bunk.

“Now that I think of it, mine is feet, too. I can’t stand it if my toenails aren’t painted. Weird, I know. But I’ll get up in the middle of the night to paint them. Can’t sleep knowing those nails are down there under the covers with the polish all chipped and ugly.” She snaked a foot out from under the covers.

“Girlfriend, I’m surprised you can sleep at all. They are desperate.”

“All my polish was in my luggage and I lost it.” Reality suddenly intruded and she cut him a sharp glance. “Wait a minute. You never answered me. Who the hell are you and what are you doing in my room?”

“Don’t call it a room. I used to do that, but Joe and Anthony can be so fussy about that kind of thing. It’s a cabin.” He paused and Riley studied him. He was tall and thin all over. His hair was longish but it was cut in a trendy style and he’d obviously done something to it to keep the island humidity from turning it into a ball of frizz. She made a mental note to ask him what he used.

“Anyway,” he continued, dragging her from her appraisal. “I’m the new cook. But I already told you that.” He didn’t seem offended by her tone or her open study of him. “And I’m going into town for supplies and I thought you might want to tag along.” Unwinding from the lotus pose, he was able to get the door open by bringing his knees up to his chest. “We could get to know each other, chat over island tea.”

“How soon are you going?”

“Soon as you’re ready.”

“Five minutes.” She was already grabbing for her clothes. “See you on deck.”

“Tell me why we’re walking again.” Riley was sweating and every step on the bumpy dirt road that climbed from the marina sent a fine mist of dirt up as far as her knees.

“It’s good for you,” Mitchell said. “Besides, there’s only that old wreck of a car left at the marina and it doesn’t run half the time.”

“And the other cars are?” A bug tried to fly up Riley’s nose. A pretty striped bug but a bug all the same. She stopped and did a jig, swatting at her face.

Mitchell stopped and watched her for a moment without saying a word. Once they were on their way again, he told her Joe had taken the four-by-four to training and Anthony had taken the van for provisions.

About halfway to town, an open all-terrain vehicle stopped.

“Henri!” Mitchell flew at the driver, canvas bags flapping, arms outstretched. “When did you get home?”

“Yesterday. I finally graduated. You’re looking at a Harvard MBA.”

Mitchell stepped back, one hand on his hip, his head cocked to one side. “What I’m looking at is pretty damn fine, if I might say so.”

Henri laughed heartily. Riley had to agree with Mitchell’s assessment. Henri was beautiful with his tan-gold skin that shone in the sunlight and close-cropped dark hair that gave a hint of being kinky were it allowed to grow. Even seated, it was apparent he was tall and built like an athlete, powerful, useful muscles in his arms and legs. The smile he flashed showed white, even teeth.

Mitchell introduced her and they both swung into the back seat, bumping along into town. “Parental units glad to have you home?”

“Mama’s beside herself and my dad smiles whenever I walk into the room. It’s hard dealing with so much admiration.” Henri smiled into the back seat.

“His parents own the best hotel on the islands,” Mitchell explained to Riley. “All they want in life is for their boy to run the business and give them grandchildren to spoil.”

“Have you ever got them figured out.” Henri turned his head to make his words heard over the motor.

“Maybe it’s the neon sign they posted outside advertising for a wife for you. Or maybe it’s the fact that’s all they ever talk about.”

“See what I mean?” Henri shouted to Riley. “Being the crown prince has its downside.”

He dropped them a few blocks from the center of the village and they made their way through the fruit stands and the fish stalls, Mitchell haggling good-naturedly. The market was a panorama of colors and sounds and smells. From the vegetables to the printed island shirts to the pastel sun umbrellas, color bloomed. The harsh beat of drums mixed with the sweet tones of a string band. The music was nearly drowned out by the shouts of vendors offering their wares. The smells went from sweet and tempting baked treats and ripe tropical fruits to overpowering fresh fish.

Everyone seemed to know Mitchell and they all looked at her curiously. Although he introduced her, Mitchell didn’t offer any explanation for her presence. When they were finished, the canvas bags he’d brought were full of gourmet chocolates, sweet fruits, hairy coconuts, and hard vegetables. The rest would be delivered to the boat.

“The best part,” he said as he took her hand and led her up a small rise to a building painted in pale colors, with blue trim, yellow shutters, and cool green walls. It was set into a garden of palms and stone walkways. Beyond the façade, a second story reached up and seemed to disappear into the foliage and the mountains beyond. The four-wheel drive that had dropped them at the market was parked near the entrance. This was a beautiful place, tranquil and at ease with its surroundings, welcoming and calming, but promising wonders and surprises.

Once inside, it didn’t take long for Riley’s eyes to adjust. The interior was filled with light from tall windows and skylights. The windows were open to the island breezes. The ocean smelled old and salty and wise. Its gentle winds drifted over the trees carrying off the sweet smells of coconuts and the big, blooming flowers that were everywhere.

To the left stood a small reception desk built out of layers of native stone and finished with what appeared to be a polished tree trunk. To the right, in a darker room, which took up most of the first floor, was a restaurant and bar. Mitchell swung open the double doors as though he were making a grand entrance in a 1930’s Hollywood movie.

The room was cool and inviting. Tall windows looked out over the village and to the marina and the sea beyond. Opposite the windows ran a long, highly polished bar of exotic wood. In-between, tables were set up with brightly colored cloths in different muted colors.

“Act like you’ve been somewhere before. Close your mouth for starters.” Mitchell took her elbow and steered her to a table in the center of the room.

After the heat of the markets, the air was blissfully cool here, the big fans lazily moving the air, the breeze off the ocean was just enough to dry the sweat that had pooled where her hair lay stuck to her neck, a heavy, unruly mass, thanks to this island humidity.

A large woman in a flowered dress made her way to them and swallowed Mitchell up in her dark arms. Her hair was wound up on her head, tinged white on the ends. Her large, deep brown eyes peered right over Mitchell’s shoulder and directly at Riley. It was such a knowing gaze. It was as though she were looking past Riley’s ever more frizzing hair and her too-big clothes, past the tough reporter’s façade, and directly into her soul.

“And who have you brought me?” The big woman took her by the shoulders and studied her. Her words were liquid, slightly accented, like the flow of the sea.

“Riley Santey, we are glad you have come,” she said after Mitchell introduced her. Keeping an arm around Riley’s shoulders, she steered her toward the bar.

“Stanley, look who has come to visit.”

A thin man, rather short, with pale skin and stooped shoulders, leaned out over the bar. He was as quiet as the woman was boisterous. Vaguely nodding in their direction, he turned, and in an instant set two tall foamy glasses the color of light chocolate on the bar.

“Our treat,” Rosa said. “Every newcomer should have island tea.”

“Thanks, Rosa, Stanley.” Mitchell took a big gulp and white foam coated his upper lip. “Henri gave us a ride. You must be so proud of him.”

“We are.” Rosa patted Stanley’s hand and he smiled. “We’re glad he’s home.” She beamed at her son, who was donning an apron and getting ready to work the dining room.

When Rosa turned to greet another party, Mitchell motioned for Riley to follow him and they sat at a table near the open French doors. A shaded patio was just outside and then the glorious view of the village and the sea.

“Now this is my idea of a vacation.” Riley let the canvas bag slip off her shoulder before she collapsed into the chair. “Instead of some tiny room on a rocking boat.”

“Cabin. It’s not a room. It’s a cabin.”

“Yeah, cabin. As if it wasn’t bad enough, trying to cook in that fire hazard of a kitchen was a nightmare.”

“Galley. Not kitchen.”

“See, that’s what I mean.” She tried tucking stray hairs behind her ears but they popped right back out. The hairdressers on the Chicago news show would have their work cut out for them when she got back. “I belong on land where a bed is a bed.”

“Bunk. Don’t say bed.”

“And everything has a name everyone knows. I don’t know why we bought that damn boat in the first place. Tax shelter, I guess.”

Mitchell coughed and sputtered until Riley thought she would have to flip him over and pound him on the back. The few people in the restaurant at this early afternoon hour stared and Stanley started out from behind the bar. Mitchell held up a hand to indicate he was okay and gradually people went back to their drinks and dinners. Leaning back, Mitchell put a hand over his heart and took several deep breaths.

“Are you trying to kill me?” he asked. “That’s the second time today you’ve had my heart being faster than a cardio video.”

“What did I say?”

“That Joe Logan sold the
Reprieve
?”

“It wasn’t his to sell. I own it, along with my, well, I guess, my partner.”

Mitchell’s stare was disconcerting.

“What?” Riley finally demanded.

“You don’t seem crazy. Maybe it’s the shock of so much sun after all those gray days in the rust belt. The
Reprieve
is Joe Logan’s boat. Everybody knows that.”

She could feel her face flushing. Damn Joe Logan. He had stolen her boat and had convinced everyone it was his.

“Maybe everyone is wrong about him. Did you ever think of that?” She couldn’t keep the bratty tone out of her voice. “Maybe he took the
Reprieve
without asking.”

Mitchell doubled over in laughter and slapped his knee. Once again, heads turned from the bar and diners glanced over their shoulders. The whole scene made her even madder.

“If he didn’t steal my boat, then where the hell has he been for the last three days? Sure looks like he’s running from the scene of the crime.”

“Joe works with the Coast Guard here as a trainer. Donates his time to keep these guys up to date on the latest techniques. And I say ‘Thank God’ because if I ever fall overboard I want people who know what they’re doing.” Mitchell reached over to her plate and speared a juicy piece of fish before she could slap his hand away. “I don’t want to know about this,” he said. “I want to enjoy the view, the food, and, hopefully, the company. You and Joe can battle this out. Seems like an even match.”

Fuming, Riley decided to let the subject alone. They finished eating, a marvelous meal with seafood, island fruits, and spicy rum drinks when the sound of a woman crying caught their attention.

“This is soap opera city. Settle in and watch the show,” Mitchell whispered.

The young woman, tall and slim with beautiful black hair, threw a tray full of glasses at Henri’s feet. To his credit, he didn’t flinch. But Riley did. She would have wound up in Mitchell’s lap if he weren’t twisted around watching. The tearful woman ran past them out the French doors and disappeared around the side of the hotel. Riley was about to comment when Mitchell shushed her and inclined his head toward the bar. Big Rosa, Henri, and Stanley were huddled near one end, talking quietly.

“Her boyfriend is leaving for the mainland and says if she doesn’t come with him, they’re so over,” Mitchell relayed, still whispering.

“How can you tell that?” Riley was amazed. From this distance she could only make out a word every once in a while.

“Years of practice.” Mitchell never took his eyes off the group. “I happen to love prying into other people’s lives. When I was in college I used to be addicted to soaps, but I decided real life was much more interesting.”

“So why’d she break the glasses?”

Mitchell shrugged. “You tell me. Drama Queen. Hormones gone wild. Violent streak. Who knows with women?” Mitchell paused, reached behind him, and fumbled for his drink. “They have to hire someone fast. A cruise ship is due in tomorrow.”