Eyes Of Fire

“You never gave me a chance to give you anything—”

“Like what?”

“Like explanations! So this time, you’re just going to have to ask and ask damned politely when you want something. I didn’t give, is that it? I went through one hell of a wringer.”

“Adam—”

“You took a hell of a lot more than you ever seemed to know, Miss Carlyle,” he interrupted.

“Damn you, Adam!”

But he walked away and the door closed firmly behind him.

4

The bar in the main house where the guests gathered before dinner was old-fashioned, very Victorian and very comfortable. There was a huge double-sided fireplace running the length of the far wall; it connected with the dining room. The hardwood floor was covered with numerous thick Persian carpets in shades of burgundy and mauve; the bar itself was carved oak; and high-backed, brocade-upholstered chairs and love seats were set about at intimate angles. Beyond the velvet over linen drapes, wicker chairs with similar upholstery lined the porch.

When Sam came into the bar via the porch, Yancy was just setting out crystal bowls filled with nuts. Sam didn’t speak to her at first; she went behind the mahogany bar to uncork a bottle of her favorite Chablis. She poured herself a glass and stared at Yancy, who was watching her with condemning eyes in return.

“Go easy on that. You’re not a good drinker, Sam Carlyle. Especially not with wine.”

“Excuse me, are you my keeper?”

“No, I’m not,” Yancy assured her. Like Jem, though, Yancy had grown up with Sam. They were best friends. They had laughed together, matured together, weathered all their losses together, survived together. Sam and Yancy were almost exactly the same age; they’d been born a month apart. Sam had always considered Yancy to be one of the most beautiful women she had ever seen. She was Sam’s height, with black hair she kept cropped almost to her skull, olive eyes, and skin the color of pure honey. Her father had been a Creole sailor, her mother, Katie, had been from Trinidad, and she had been the first chef Sam’s father had hired when old Jimmy had passed away. Jimmy had been in his nineties, still ruling the kitchen, when he had suddenly expired while making gumbo. They had all mourned him deeply—they had by that time rather come to believe that he would live forever. But then Katie had arrived with Yancy, and Sam, three at the time, had quickly come to understand that Jimmy had lived a long, fruitful and happy life, and that it was okay to love Katie, as well. In addition, Sam had found herself thrilled to have another little girl to play with, so Yancy had become the sister she’d never had, and Katie, who was patient and gentle, had certainly done well in the mother department. Years later, when Katie had died of heart failure, they had both felt as if they had lost a mother. In the same way, Yancy had shared every bit of pain, anger, frustration and loss when Sam’s father had disappeared without a trace.

“I simply love a sip of good wine,” Sam told Yancy defensively.

“Careful. It might love you back a bit too much. And I think that you’ve had more than a sip already.”

“Yancy!”

“Oh, don’t worry. No one else will be able to tell. I simply know you.”

“Yancy, damn it—”

“Don’t you go yelling at me. I didn’t tell him to walk back into your life.”

Sam poured the wine, set the cork in the bottle and walked around the bar. She headed to the set of chairs directly before the fire, leaving her glass on the counter. Yancy came over and sat down beside her. Sam stretched her hand out. Yancy took her fingers and squeezed them.

Sam had to smile. “I’m sorry I yelled at you. He just took me by surprise. But, Yancy, that’s not the worst of it! You wouldn’t believe…” She hesitated, wondering how much she should say. Then she remembered that she was talking to Yancy. “Yancy, someone just attacked me in my bathroom.”

“What?” Yancy nearly shrieked.

“Sh, sh!” Sam said. “You’ll have everyone checking out.”

“Well, girl, they should be checking out if that’s what’s going on. Who attacked you? Not—oh, I don’t believe it!”

“No, no, Adam didn’t attack me. He stopped the man who did.”

“Out of the past and straight to the rescue,” Yancy murmured. “But who…?”

“I don’t know.”

“How can you not know?”

“He was wearing a ski mask.”

“A ski mask!”

“Sh!”

“No one is here. You were attacked by a man wearing a ski mask—on a Caribbean island?”

Sam nodded, turning around to make sure that Yancy was right and that they hadn’t been joined as yet. “I was in the tub when this guy appeared, dressed all in black, trying to drug me, I think.”

“You think,” Yancy murmured skeptically.

“Yancy, he had some kind of a cloth in his hands.”

“Black?”

“Right. Damn it, Yancy, this is serious.”

“I’m sorry. So tell me—”

“He was definitely trying to drug me. I can still recall the awful scent of the cloth. I was nearly knocked out, but then the guy in the ski mask was pulled away—”

“Adam?”

“Yes.”

Yancy was quiet for a minute. Then she shrugged. “Well, he is useful,” she said.

“Yancy…”

“Okay, so did you try to breathe wine because of the attack, or because of Adam?”

“Yancy!”

“Ah, because of Adam,” Yancy said.

“Yancy….”

“He did save you, right?”

“Yes, he did.”

“And you said thank you.”