Echoes in the Dark

“You are Caroline Evans?” he said. “My reputation won’t stand an attempt to pick up some strange woman at the airport.”

I’ll just bet it won’t, she thought, but she smiled, extending her hand to reassure him. “I’m Caroline Evans.”

“Andre Gerrard,” he said. His handshake was pleasantly firm and brief. “My sister asked me to meet you. Our transportation arrangements can be a little confusing for someone not born to boating everywhere. She asked me to take you to the island. I have my boat and can have you there, resting from your journey, much quicker than if you wait for the ferry. I hope that’s all right. I have identification,” he said, perhaps seeing the hesitation in her face.

“Since Madame Rochette didn’t mention her brother’s name, I don’t suppose that would help. Besides, it seems that everyone here knows who you are. The cooperation of the airport staff should be recommendation enough of your credentials. I don’t think they’d contrive to help you kidnap ‘some strange woman.’”

The laugh that broke from him was rich and full, and its ease touched a chord somewhere deep inside. She liked men who were unselfconscious enough to laugh like that. She found herself studying the laugh lines around the blue eyes and realized that he was now simply smiling at her scrutiny.

He’s probably used to having that effect on women, she thought. He certainly has the right equipment. And knows it. And knows how to use it. And I am a cynic, she chided herself, smiling, but he took the smile caused by that admission as an answer to his own. By that time, her bags had arrived, and there was no more time for conversation.

When he handed her into a Porsche, she wasn’t surprised. It wasn’t new, but classic, lovingly cared for, and he drove it well. They didn’t talk against the force of the wind. Eventually she took the pins from her hair and let it whip in tangling strands around her face. Not very businesslike, but what the hell. He’d been sent to pick her up, and she’d had no choice in her means of transportation. She’d attempt repairs once they reached the island.

The boat, too, fitted her image of the man at her side. It was sleek and fast, not new, but again classically styled, wood with brass fittings. She knew nothing of boats, but recognized the money and time it would take to care for something like this.

He controlled the boat with the same unthinking competence he had used to handle the convertible while the salt air finished the disorder of her careful hairdo. He had handed her in and out with that strong brown hand, and as she walked up the steep steps from the landing, she could still feel the strength in those steadying fingers tingling against her palm.

He had held her hand a fraction of a second too long, and she tried to ignore the long-forgotten messages such a gesture evoked, but she was attracted. She was honest enough, with herself at least, to admit it. She couldn’t remember when she had been so attracted to a man, and the irony of that thought wasn’t lost on her.

She took a deep breath as they neared the top of the stairs and the beginnings of the flagstones of the patio that stretched behind the modern house that commanded the summit of the island. It was nothing like the ancient family estate she had imagined. Instead it was sleek glass and cypress, but it was as imposing in its size as her imaginary mansion.

She shivered involuntarily, wondering where the sudden chill had come from in the warmth of the tropic sun. She must have paused because she felt his hand in the small of her back, a gentle movement of its thumb against her spine.

“It’s all right. Don’t be nervous. We’re very informal around here. It’s the ambience of the tropics, I suppose. All this lushness,” he reassured. When he laughed, she glanced up into that beautifully masculine face to find a look of real compassion for her nervousness. “No one’s going to eat you. I promise. No big bad wolf.”

She smiled at her foolishness and, unconsciously straightening her shoulders, started across the wide expanse of the patio. He followed, easily carrying both her bags, which he set down just inside the room they entered through the French doors. They waited a moment for their eyes to adjust to the pleasant dimness, so she missed the rise of the figure from the long coral couch across the room. The woman was halfway across the gleaming quarry tile, her hands extended, before she was clearly visible.

“Caroline? Of course. I was quite specific in my instructions. I wanted someone young and attractive and fun. I really do need help with those endless letters. God knows, I’m weeks behind, but that wasn’t my prime motivation. I just wanted someone to be friends with. I hope we will be. I’m Suzanne Rochette.”

By that time she was there, but instead of taking Caroline’s outstretched hand, she pulled her into a quick hug and then held both her shoulders to study her features.

Caroline’s first impressions were jumbled by the unexpectedness of the greeting. Nothing was as she had anticipated. The figure before her wore jeans as aged as her brother’s, a faded T-shirt and was barefoot.

Even given the ambience of the tropics her brother had talked about, the attire seemed strange for such wealth. Of course, she knew nothing about that. Who was she to judge? She realized that something was expected of her, so she smiled into the friendly blue eyes and was rewarded with a quick squeeze of those small, almost tomboyish hands on her shoulders.

“I’m so glad you’re finally here,” Suzanne said, smiling.

“I’m very glad to be here and very grateful that you chose me. I’m looking forward to helping you.”

“Well, I didn’t really choose. Paul did that, but I already feel that he made the perfect selection. Has Andre treated you nicely? I have to warn you. He is much sought after and far too sure of his attractions. He’s really a nice boy, but take everything he says with a grain of salt. It’s all too practiced. That’s not his fault, of course, but regrettably true.”

During the monologue on her brother’s character, she was guiding Caroline to the couch she’d been occupying when they arrived. Caroline glimpsed the genuine amusement on her brother’s face and was relieved that this, apparently, was an old joke between them, not something directed at her attraction to him, which she hoped hadn’t been that obvious.

“I’ll remember that,” she said, smiling. She glanced at Andre who winked at her and gently swatted his sister’s bottom.

“How am I going to succeed in luring young lovelies if you persist in warning them off? You’re supposed to be on my side.” He dropped a swift kiss on the blue-veined temple exposed by the dark gamin cut of his sister’s hair. “Why don’t you let me show Caroline upstairs for a rest. She’s had a long journey and would probably like to change and lie down before dinner. You can finish destroying my character later tonight.”

Suzanne released her hand and nodded. “You’re right, of course. I’ll finish my book, and we’ll talk after dinner. Slacks are fine. We only dress if there are guests. I’m very glad you’re here,” she finished, reaching to touch her lips gently to Caroline’s cheek.

“I’m very glad to be here.” Caroline’s answer was sincere, and she felt the prick of tears behind her eyes. She couldn’t have imagined a warmer greeting than she had been given. It was balm to the tension that had held her since the plane had touched down. “Thank you. I’ll see you at dinner, then.”

“Somebody will come for you so you won’t get lost. We eat around eight. If you’re hungry now, I can have something sent up. I didn’t think to ask if you’d had lunch.”

“I’m fine. I ate on the flight. I’ll be ready by eight.”

She smiled again into the friendly blue eyes and followed Andre up the stairs. He had retrieved her bags, and she found something reassuring about that, as well—about his carrying them himself instead of summoning some hovering servant. All her preconceptions and fears were dissolving in the ease of their welcome.

“I think you’ll like your room. Suzanne spent days deciding where you should be. You’re close to her, of course, and it looks down on the garden pool. The surf here is dangerously strong, so I wouldn’t advise swimming in the sea, but the pool is available at any time. There are light switches for the atrium in every doorway. I thought you might prefer looking out on the sea, but those rooms are too far from Suzanne to satisfy any urge for a quick nighttime conference, so she decided on this one.”

The suite was beautifully appointed, but not at all formal. The colors were the muted greens of the waters closest to the shore and the creams of the surf. The decorator had used a shell motif sparingly in the border and spread. Andre opened the floor-to-ceiling louvered windows, and the garden that the house surrounded was just below, lushly planted around the pool. The tiles of the pool were navy, the richness of its dark depths contrasting the sparkle of the sun on its surface and the colors of the flowers that surrounded it.

“It’s so beautiful,” she said, breathing in the fragrance of the blooms that were wide and drooping in the afternoon heat.

“I’m glad you like it,” he said, apparently assuming her comment to refer to the room rather than the tropical paradise she supposed he was too accustomed to even notice anymore.

“I like it very much. Thank you for everything, especially for taking time to meet me personally. I was a little concerned, despite all Monsieur Dupre’s careful instructions.”

“You’d have managed. Everyone’s very friendly. I wanted to meet you. It was my pleasure.” He smiled, the blue eyes warm.

The silence grew between them. She wondered if his words had been intended to convey the attraction she was attributing to them or if, as his sister had said, he was simply so practiced at flirtation that he did this intimate smile and meeting of the eyes automatically.

“Well,” he said finally, “I’ll let you rest. I’ll see you at dinner. I’m looking forward to seeing you at dinner.”

There could be no mistake about the intent of the fingers that closed gently around her hand and raised it to his lips. They barely touched the skin, but the warmth of his mouth and the gentle breath he took before he released her hand was electric. The current flared briefly in his eyes before he turned and retreated across the thick, foam green carpet.

When he had closed the door behind him, she looked out into the richness of the garden again. She shook her head in a slow, deliberate, negative movement and then closed the doors against the reflected glare of the pool.

She slipped out of the linen dress that had already begun to wilt in the heat and humidity. She hung it carefully in the cedar-lined closet and removed her heels and hose. Turning back the thick spread, she lay down against the cool, lavender-scented sheets that seemed vaguely comforting and, because she had slept so little the night before, she drifted easily into sleep.

* * *

“I TAKE IT our guest has arrived?” The quiet voice was carefully emotionless, but Suzanne knew Julien well enough to read a lot that he intended to hide.

“She’s here, all right. I just don’t understand why she’s here. What possible purpose do you believe allowing her to come here will serve?”

She ran her small hands across the broad shoulders and massaged the tension she could feel in the strong column of his neck. He rolled his head in response to the release that her fingers were kneading into the tight muscles, but he didn’t answer her question, just as he had refused to explain his reasons from the beginning.

“Why? Why? Why are you putting yourself through this?” she asked, her small fist pounding an emphasis to each question against the corded muscles of his upper arm until he caught her hand and held it still with the tensile strength of his. His thumb massaged her knuckles, and he laughed.

“Expiation,” he said, and his voice was rich with the laughter that still lurked behind the word.

“Expiation?” she repeated, pulling her hand free. “Expiation.” This time it wasn’t a question. “Are you sure that’s the right word? Are you sure that’s what you mean?”

“What word do you think I mean?” he asked, still amused by her anger.

“Retribution,” she whispered, wondering as she had from the beginning if it were possible he had not told her the truth.

“Like some Old Testament injunction? An eye for an eye? Is that what you expect?”