 
Caribbean Romance Teaser

Book 1

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Both books are written in standard English mixed with local Caribbean dialect.

Jewel Amethyst's Hurricane of the Heart

The Player:   
When Kyle agrees to be the best man at his best friend's destination wedding in Dominica, he has one thing on his mind: partying. But all that changes when a powerful hurricane strikes the island and he finds himself trapped in a village and falling hard and fast for the indigenous beauty queen, Alia Graneau.

The Planner:   
Alia Graneau has goals that do not include men, least of all an immature, irresponsible American party-animal like Kyle. But the hurricane devastates more than her beautiful island; it wreaks havoc on her heart when she falls under Kyle's spell and is forced to choose between her ambitions, her love for her country and her love for Kyle Robinson.

Can their love, born in a hurricane, survive the ravages of real life?

Copyright Jewel Amethyst

Alamanda Press: An Imprint of CaribbeanReads Publishing

Chapter 1

"Damn!" Kyle Robinson cursed, squeezing his temples between his palms.

A jackhammer exploded in his head as a thunderous thump echoed around the small room. He opened one eye lethargically.

Bright sunlight assaulted his eyes. His head throbbed. Mumbling something unintelligible, he pulled a pillow over his head and buried himself in the soft bed.

The thumping persisted, a loud echo that reverberated off the walls of his temples. Cursing beneath his breath, he tossed the pillow away and sat up massaging his aching temples. Now that he was awake, he realized that the loud thump had been a mere rap on the door; a light one at that. Through squinted eyes he looked around the brightly painted room, disoriented.

Where the hell am I?

Realization returned in flashes: Dominica; bachelor party; wedding... The wedding! He sprang out of bed, the sudden movement churning bile in his stomach. With a pounding head and racing pulse he rushed to the bathroom, dragging half the bed covers with him.

"One minute," he tried to shout, but succeeded in emitting a gravelly whisper. _Did I oversleep? Am I late for the wedding?_ He glanced at his watch and breathed a sigh of relief. He still had a few hours to whip himself into shape.

Quickly, he downed two aspirins he had found in the miniature first aid kit with tap water and splashed his face. His scraggly reflection stared back at him in the oversized bathroom mirror. The wild partying the night before had left its mark. His characteristic "Robinson" light brown eyes were swollen and bloodshot. His normally clean-shaven face sported a gritty five o'clock shadow. There was a small bruise on his left cheekbone courtesy of a fight with a local.

He examined his milk-chocolate torso looking for any other telltale signs of what had occurred the night before. What he saw was evidence that his perpetual excessive partying was causing his six-pack abs to lose definition. He definitely had to hit the gym.

Kyle looked down at the red boxers he was wearing. They were turned inside out and back to front. He had no clue how he had gotten back to his hotel room the night before. They had held the bachelor's party at the hotel bar. Drinks had flowed, calypso music had been pumping and there had been girls galore. He had already downed about six Kubuli beers and a few rum punches when he started flirting with a well-endowed local girl. A few minutes later he was on the dance floor sandwiched between two Kim Kardashian look-alikes in a sensual grind. A big burly fellow had approached. He had shouted something to one of the girls in the local Creole dialect, grabbed her and punched Kyle in the face. The last thing Kyle remembered was throwing a wild punch in the air that missed his attacker by a mile.

Another knock on the door brought Kyle back to the matter at hand.

"Hold your horses! I'll be right there," he shouted, his deep voice now loud and clear.

It could only be one person knocking at his door: Kevin.

Kyle opened the door with every intention of greeting his cousin with the usual, "Whad up, dawg?" Instead he stared, mesmerized.

Standing before Kyle was five feet seven inches of sexy curves that could grace the cover of any fashion magazine.

From her smooth bronze complexion and long wavy hair Kyle figured she was mixed-race. Her large almond eyes tapered elegantly at the sides and were fringed by long straight lashes. The only makeup she wore was bronze lip gloss that enhanced her full lips. Her most striking feature, though, was her aura of regal elegance, the confident poise of someone who knew where she was going in life.

Kyle looked her over, a flirtatious smile gracing his lips. His eyes landed near her bosom as he strained to get a glimpse of the cleavage above her button-front multicolored blouse.

In his best Barry White voice he crooned, "I must have died and gone to heaven."

"Mr. Robinson?" the lady asked in a light Dominican accent.

Her voice was like honey: smooth, fluid, and totally sweet.

Kyle drew his eyes away from her bosom.

"That's me."

"I'm Alia Graneau, the activities coordinator. I will be in charge of coordinating the wedding and making sure everything goes smoothly," she said, with a sunny smile that revealed even rows of pearly-white teeth and dimples on both cheeks.

"I am delighted to meet you, _ma chérie_ ," Kyle flirted, extending his hand to her. Her hands were soft and smooth in his. Her long, well-groomed nails sported a French manicure.

Ignoring his overt flirting, Alia continued. "In anticipation of inclement weather, the hotel has decided to end all activities early in the unlikely event that we have to evacuate the hotel guests. So we've moved the wedding forward three hours."

"Really? What kind of inclement weather are we talking about?"

"A hurricane. It's expected to pass sometime tomorrow, possibly with tropical storm-force winds. Right now, we are not in its projected path for a direct hit, so all of this is just precautionary," she said.

Kyle lowered his voice an octave. "I guess that leaves enough time after the reception for you and me to have a few drinks."

Alia stiffened. She flashed him a practiced smile that did not reach her eyes. "I'm sure you already have a wonderful woman who would be happy to share much more than drinks with you. I'll be back in ninety minutes to escort you to the reception hall. Is there anything else I can do for you, sir?"

"Yes. Have a drink with me later."

Alia sashayed away hurriedly, leaving Kyle still standing in the doorway staring at her round backside.
Chapter 2

The open reception hall with its low-lying fortified stone walls was elegantly decorated. Bouquets of ginger lilies, heliconias and anthuriums adorned each table, blending their delicate tropical fragrance. A priest clad in formal phylacteries sat in a wicker chair beneath a trellised archway where the bride and groom would exchange vows.

The bride, dressed in an elegantly simple spaghetti-strapped pearl gown, and her bridal party in coral strapless dresses, waited nervously in the lobby while the groomsmen milled around the bar waiting for the wedding to begin. The thirty or so wedding guests were already seated in the chintz-covered straight-back chairs. The only person missing was Kyle Robinson.

Alia checked her watch impatiently. She wondered if he had gotten cold feet. She had been back to his room, but could not locate him. None of the hotel workers involved in the wedding preparations knew where he was. It was getting late.

Alia checked the bars one last time. She rushed past the swimming pool.

"Looking for me?" The deep unmistakable voice of Kyle Robinson invaded Alia's thoughts.

She swung around and did a double take. Standing at the poolside bar with a rum punch in his hand, Mr. Robinson looked nothing like the beaten-up old jalopy she had seen that morning. At six feet tall, in a sleek tuxedo with his hair neatly trimmed, face clean-shaven and startling brown eyes clear and alert, he looked quite suave, handsome even.

Alia breathed a sigh of relief. "Everyone is waiting. We need to get to the hall now."

Kyle took a last sip of his punch and placed the glass on a poolside table. "There's no hurry. Shall we?" He extended his elbow to escort Alia back to the reception hall.

Alia ignored it and said with a wry smile, "I hope you weren't getting cold feet, Mr. Robinson."

Kyle laughed. "Now why would I get cold feet? It's not like I'm having a life-changing experience."

Alia raised her brows but said nothing. She was really sorry for the woman crazy enough to marry this flake. She led the way to the reception hall.

"So, are we on for drinks later?" Kyle continued where he had left off earlier as they entered the corridor between the bar and the reception hall.

Alia shook her head in disgust. "Shouldn't you be spending your wedding night with your bride?"

Kyle chuckled, his face registering comprehension. He placed his hand on her shoulder and steered her toward the bridal party gathered in the lobby.

Alia recoiled at his touch, angered by his mocking laugh.

"Kevin," he beckoned to his cousin.

Kyle's tall, lanky cousin, dressed in a dark grey tuxedo, left the three groomsmen and walked toward Kyle and Alia. At six foot six he towered over Kyle.

Before Kyle could get a word out, Kevin said, "Man, we've been looking all over for you. Where were you?"

Kyle did not answer. Instead, he introduced his cousin to Alia. "Alia, I want you to meet my cousin Kevin Robinson.

He's the one getting married today. I'm just the best man."

Alia's face turned deep crimson. "I'm so sorry, Mr. Robinson," she apologized profusely. "I just—assumed you were the groom."

Kyle chuckled lightly and said with a wink, "You know what they say about assumptions."

Alia's regret turned to anger. Kyle Robinson was certainly full of himself.

Tersely she said, "If there is anything I can do to make it up to you, please let me know."

Kyle smiled. "You could let me have the first dance with you."

"First dance is for the maid of honor," Kevin reminded him. "I hope you remember the choreography."

Kevin and Leila had wanted a fun wedding so they had a choreographer design a sexy Latin dance for the bridal party.

"The second dance then," Kyle corrected himself. He looked at Alia expectantly.

"I don't know if you noticed," Alia responded coldly, her accent deepening, "but I'm working."

With that she walked away to organize the bridal party for the procession.

***

The wedding ceremony went off without a hitch, as did the choreographed first dance. Kyle could not have been prouder of his cousin as he watched him commit his life to Leila. Kevin was just a year older than Kyle and the two had been partners in crime since childhood, from getting into trouble as teenagers to partying like animals in college and beyond. Two years before, while celebrating his twenty-fourth birthday, Kevin had gotten into a serious accident. He recovered physically, but something changed within him. He was no longer fascinated by the party lifestyle and wanted to settle down. That was when Kyle introduced him to Leila, a friend from college.

Leila had always been well-grounded, fun-loving and ambitious.

She had milestones she wanted to meet. One of those milestones was being married by twenty-five and having her children before thirty. She and Kevin hit it off at once so it was no surprise to Kyle when Kevin proposed to Leila barely a year after meeting her. At first Kyle thought his cousin was nuts for wanting to marry so young, but seeing them together, the way they looked into each other's eyes, he knew Kevin and Leila were doing the right thing.

After the first dance Kyle sauntered over to the bar to have a quick drink before taking his place on the dais at his cousin's side. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Alia Graneau approaching.

He turned around and gave her a suave smile. "Ah, you must have changed your mind about that dance."

"It's time for the best man's speech," she responded brusquely.

"Oh man!" he said with exaggerated disappointment. "I thought we were gonna get our groove on."

Alia ignored him.

"What time you get off work?" Kyle persisted.

"What is that to you?"

"I'm just thinking we can meet back here and have a little private party, know what I'm saying?" He winked at her.

"In your dreams, Mr. Robinson," Alia said and walked off.

This time she did not even bother giving the practiced smile.

"It's Kyle," he called after her.

The bartender looked up at him. " _Garçon_ , you wasting your time."

"What do you mean by that?"

"Every man in this place has tried."

That statement only strengthened Kyle's resolve. "That's because she hasn't met me as yet," he said with a wink. He drained the glass and walked up to the podium.

Kyle tapped the microphone lightly to get everyone's attention.

"Hi, ladies and gentlemen. Hope everyone's having a ball cause I'm about to bore you with the best man's speech." A groan went up from the guests dining on Dominica's finest cuisine.

One guy shouted to Kyle to make it short, eliciting a chuckle from the audience.

"Before I delve into my little spiel about how lucky Kevin is to have found Leila, or what a wonderful wife Leila would make, the bride and groom have asked me to do a little housekeeping."

Kyle paused. "It is no secret that before Leila won Kevin's heart he was the number one _playa_. Oh yes, Kevin did some damage in his day. Well, now that he's decided to become a one-woman man, Kevin has instructed me to ask all the women who have keys to his apartment to return them. If you have a key to Kevin's apartment please come up and place the key in the dish on this table."

Kyle pointed to a dish with "Groom" printed on it. He looked around the room. No one moved. There were puzzled looks on a few of the guests' faces. "Come on, ladies. No need to be shy," Kyle urged.

No one moved. There were a few chuckles from the audience.

A few seconds later a man came up and placed a key in the dish.

Kyle feigned surprise. "This is a little awkward. Kevin, is there something you need to tell us?"

Kevin just chuckled, going along with the flow.

Kyle addressed the man. "Sir, are you sure this is a key for Kevin's apartment?"

The man looked up at the audience who were now laughing uncontrollably. "What? Oh no, this is for Leila's apartment." He quickly removed the key and placed it in the bowl labeled "Bride."

"Well, guys, if any of you have a key to Leila's apartment, she has asked you to come up and place the key in the bowl."

Suddenly a long line formed as men, including a very old man with a cane and a hobble, came up and one by one dropped the key noisily in the bowl. The guests erupted in laughter.

Kyle dug in his pocket and removed a key. He looked at his cousin apologetically and dropped the key in the bowl. "Sorry, man." He looked up in time to see Alia Graneau doubled over in laughter. He smiled triumphantly. She had a sense of humor.

There was hope yet.

After the laughter died down Kyle continued his speech which, though emotional, was punctuated with humor. At the end of the speech he looked over at Alia. A young white man in colorful shorts and sleeveless muscle shirt stood next to her.

With his sandy blond hair and deep bronze tan, he looked like a California surfer dude. The man whispered something in Alia's ear and she laughed. He then patted her on her shoulder and disappeared. Kyle could not help but feel a twinge of envy.
Chapter 3

After dinner, while the guests were dancing and having a ball, Kyle wandered over to the bar.

"The usual," he said to the bartender who was now familiar with his taste in liquor.

The bartender poured a rum punch. He placed the drink on the bar and said, "I've seen lots of destination weddings, but this one takes the cake. That key thing was hilarious."

Kyle smiled his thanks and sipped his drink. He looked over at Alia standing on the other side of the room. The surfer dude had returned and was whispering something in her ear.

She listened enrapt to whatever he was telling her.

Kyle nodded his head toward Alia. "What's her story?" he asked the bartender.

The bartender shrugged. "She has goals in life, and they don't include men."

"Lesbian?"

The bartender shook his head. "Oh no. She's into beauty pageants. She was crowned Ms. Wob Dwiyet two years ago, and placed first runner up in last year's Miss Dominica carnival queen pageant. She even represented Dominica in a Caribbean wide competition in the US Virgin Islands and won."

"What's Wob Dwiyet?" Kyle questioned.

The bartender pointed to a poster hanging on the wall near the bar. It featured a woman dressed in a colorful madras gown with white petticoats showing, like an ancient French belle. She sported an elaborate matching headdress.

Kyle observed the poster for a while. "That doesn't tell me much," he said, swirling his drink with his finger.

"That dress is a Wob Dwiyet, derived from the old French Robe Douillette. It is part of our national dress that signifies both our French and African influence," the bartender explained.

"During October and November around our Independence Day we celebrate our Creole culture with lots of activities. Miss Wob Dwiyet is a beauty-slash-talent pageant that celebrates our culture."

"A beauty queen," Kyle said with a satisfied smile, nodding his head. "That's even better."

"She can be quite a ball buster. So if you know what's good for you, you'll stay far."

"Wanna bet she and I hook up before I leave this island?"

The bartender just laughed. " _Tèt ou wèd_ ," he exclaimed in Creole.

"What does that mean?"

"It means your head is hard. You're conceited. You're wasting your time."

Kyle ignored the bartender and beckoned to Alia as soon as the surfer dude left. Alia sauntered over with barely concealed disgust, yet managed to sound professional when she asked, "Is everything okay?"

"Not really," Kyle said, giving her his sexiest smile. "You see, I was looking forward to a dance with you and, well, since I didn't get it I am feeling a little down."

Alia sighed. "As you can see, I am still on duty."

"What about we hit a club after you get off work? I'm sure you must know some of the best clubs on the island," Kyle persisted, twirling his drink in his hand.

"I'm not into clubs," Alia responded.

"And just what are you into?"

"I'm definitely not into you, Kyle," she said coldly, eliciting a muted chuckle from the bartender.

Kyle persisted. He loved a feisty woman. It made the chase and the eventual capture so much more interesting.

"Now tell me, Alia Graneau: How can you decide you're not into me when you haven't really spent time with me?"

Alia shrugged and tossed her head. With a sweet smile that showed both her dimples she said, "You're not my type."

As she attempted to walk away, Kyle held her elbow. "So, what's your type?"

"Not you."

The bartender laughed openly. "Man that was cold."

Kyle felt a twinge of embarrassment which turned to anger. He could not understand how this woman could spurn his advances like that when he had always had such an easy time getting any woman he wanted.

"Am I too dark for you?" he asked. "Or you just prefer the roasted surfer type?"

"Maybe I do," she responded coldly.

Kyle continued. "Listen _sista_ , we may be from different countries with different cultures and backgrounds, but we are all African. And if my history is correct, your ancestors and mine both suffered through slavery."

"Then you need to reread your history," Alia responded icily.

"I am not African."

Kyle's jaws almost dropped. _How could this girl deny her ancestry?_

He had always thought Caribbean people were proud of their African ancestry.

Kyle was irate when he said, "So exactly what do you think you are?"

"I'm Kalinago," Alia answered proudly, and before Kyle could respond, she brushed his hand off her elbow and walked away.

Kyle stared at Alia's back for a long while. He looked on with disgust as the surfer dude returned, whispered something in her ear and escorted her out of the ballroom. He shook his head in disbelief. "I can't believe that woman would deny that she's black."

The bartender placed another rum punch on the bar in front of Kyle. "Maybe because she isn't."

Kyle raised his eyebrows.

The bartender removed a tourism magazine from below the counter and tossed it to Kyle. On the cover was a photo of Alia in a cultural costume. She stood on a black rock next to a cliff with the waves and surf beating around her. The caption above it read, "Welcome to the Kalinago Territory."

Kyle glanced at it and tossed it back to the bartender. "So she is a model too. Big deal."

The bartender tossed it back to him. "Read the article."

As Kyle read the article, he learned that the Kalinago were indigenous Caribbean people known as the Caribs. They had inhabited the islands of the Lesser Antilles for centuries before Columbus arrived. The colonists eventually decimated the population with warfare, forced labor and strange new diseases.

The only remaining populations were on Dominica and the island of St. Vincent. Sometime in the late nineteenth century a colonial governor, recognizing that the population was on the verge of being totally annihilated, decided to preserve the remaining few thousands. He dedicated protected land on the north side of the island and allowed them to have their own governance. That area with its various villages was called the Kalinago Territory.

Kyle looked up at the bartender and smiled. "I stand corrected.

So is there something between her and that surfer dude?"

The bartender laughed. "That surfer dude is our boss and you are more likely to score with him than she is."

Kyle nodded. He raised his glass. "Then there's hope yet."

The bartender shook his head and mumbled something in Creole that Kyle did not understand. Just then Kyle felt a slap on his back. He turned around in time to see one of the local guys who had been at the bachelor party the night before.

" _Sa ka fete_?" Kyle greeted the guy who went by the nickname Butcher.

" _Sa ka fete_ ," Butcher greeted in a thick Dominican accent and gave him a fist bump. "I see you're learning to talk Patois."

Kyle laughed. "So, where the party at?" he asked.

"Right here. Look at all those sexy girls."

Kyle looked around and snickered. "This party is lame, man. I'm related to half those girls."

"There is a big lime in Portsmouth later tonight. Hot girls and all you can drink."

"Well, what are we waiting for?"

"Don't you have an obligation to this party? I thought you were the best man."

Kyle glanced around at the wedding guests having fun.

Kevin's father was dancing with Leila, while Kevin danced with her mother. Most of the other guests were coupled up, slow dancing. Others were drinking and laughing, having a good time. Kyle was the odd man out. He had not thought of bringing a date to the wedding, not when the trip was so costly. Plus, he had heard that the girls on the island were top-notch.

"They won't miss me," he said to Butcher. "I'll go change out of this monkey suit. See you in a few."

***

The conference room was already filled with hotel employees when Alia entered. Julien LeBlanc, the representative of NEMA, the National Emergency Management Agency, had just finished speaking. Mike Galloway, Alia's boss, took the stage.

"What did I miss?" Alia whispered to her friend Sondra Shillingford.

Sondra sighed. "The tropical storm has been upgraded to a category three hurricane and it's heading straight at us."

"What!"

"Sh!" Alia's coworkers shushed her as they strained to listen to their boss's voice.

"We have a few hours to evacuate the guests at this hotel.

There are several chartered flights leaving out of Melville Hall Airport that will take guests from various hotels on the island to Puerto Rico. The guests can make connecting flights to their final destinations from there. We have chartered buses leaving every half-hour for the airport. The last flight is at 9 p.m. so it is imperative that we get the guests out by 7 p.m. Each of you has been assigned a block of guests to evacuate. Alia, you're responsible for the wedding guests."

Alia spent the next few hours rounding up the guests. By the time the last bus left, all but one of Alia's guests were safely on their way to Melville Hall Airport. The only person unaccounted for was Kyle Robinson.
Chapter 4

Kyle drove his rented Jeep from Portsmouth in the early dawn hours. Slowly he navigated the empty roads, admiring the sunrise on the tranquil Caribbean Sea and the way the sun's rays kissed the lush mountainsides. The terrain on this side of the island was different from that which he had witnessed coming from Melville Hall Airport on his arrival three days before. Instead of narrow winding roads between forested mountains with intermittent streams and deep ravines, this area was drier with a more beach-like type of vegetation. The road was wider and smoother with the Caribbean Sea on one side and hills on the other.

As he crossed the bridge over the Layou River, Kyle stopped the vehicle and took in the breathtaking view of the sun's rays reflecting on the water. He reflected on his evening.

The great party that Butcher had described turned out to be a disappointment and Kyle concluded that Butcher had just wanted a ride to his home in Portsmouth. Because it was still early when they left, they stopped at a block party in Mero. It might as well have been a children's birthday party for all Kyle knew. There were hardly any drinks and most of the girls were teenagers. The only saving grace had been the mouth-watering local food which he had consumed with abandon.

After hitting a few bars, they finally got to the party in Portsmouth sometime around ten. It was a sausage fest: mostly men with a smattering of unappealing girls. Bored, Kyle left the party a little after midnight and found a bar. He drank and flirted with a Ross University medical student. A few hours later he ended up at her apartment - the best and worst part of the whole night. And where was Butcher in all this? Somewhere at his home fast asleep. As for the med student - the minute they got to her apartment, the woman passed out drunk. He himself had been too tipsy to navigate the winding roads in the dark and so had decided to spend the night at her place.

As he entered the capital city of Roseau, Kyle was shocked to see a ghost town. The place felt deserted. Even the hotel seemed abandoned. There was no one at the front desk. The dining room where Kyle expected to be served a hearty Dominican breakfast was empty. As he made his way to his room, he saw a member of the hotel staff looking as if he had not slept in days. The man looked genuinely surprised to see Kyle.

"Where is everybody?" Kyle asked the employee.

"Most of the guests have been evacuated," he responded.

"For a tropical storm?" Kyle asked incredulously.

"Tropical storm? Sir, we're expecting a category four hurricane sometime this evening."

"What?" Kyle exclaimed. Alia had told him that a tropical storm was to pass way north of Dominica bringing at most a little high wind and some rain. When had that forecast changed?

The last thing he wanted was to be trapped in a hurricane on a small island with rugged terrain like this one. He had seen water coming off the sides of the mountains when it was not even raining. He could only imagine the flooding and landslides heavy rain would cause.

"Are there any flights leaving the island today?" Kyle asked hopefully.

The hotel employee shook his head. "We chartered flights for our guests. The last one left around nine last night."

"There must be something leaving the island. I am not staying here, not in a category four hurricane."

"You might want to call the airport first. It's an hour away and it may just be closed."

Kyle ran to his room and began throwing his clothes wildly into bags. He called the airport. After a long time someone answered and informed him that there was a charter flight leaving in the next hour. Grabbing his bag, Kyle ran to his rented Jeep.

He dumped his bags on the passenger side and jumped in. He navigated the winding treacherous road as fast as he could manage.

When he reached the airport it was deserted. A lone security officer informed him that the flight had left fifteen minutes before and the airport was now officially closed.

"No way!" Kyle shouted angrily. "It can't be closed. There has to be a flight."

The man shook his head. "Sorry, _garçon_. See where this airport is located? It's bounded by a mountain, a river and the sea.

Nobody flies here when there is a little rain shower, much less a hurricane."

Kyle threw his hands up in frustration. "Is this the only airport on the island?"

"There is Canefield Airport close to Roseau, but I doubt that it's still open."

Kyle began the hour-plus drive back from the airport. It was already past nine and he had not had a bite to eat. He was just outside Roseau when his cell phone rang. It was his mother.

"Kyle, how can you be so irresponsible? Kevin and all the other wedding guests are on their way to the States as we speak.

Why weren't you on one of those flights?"

Kyle had no idea what to say to his mother. Finally he answered.

"I'm on my way from the airport. I missed the last flight. I guess I don't have a choice but to ride this one out."

Kyle held the phone away from his ears as his mother's voice erupted in a tirade. After a few minutes of Kyle's silence, his mother quieted down. He could hear computer keys clicking in the background.

"How far are you from Canefield Airport?" she asked.

"I guess a few minutes," Kyle responded.

"There is a charter flight for Ross University students leaving in a few minutes. Let me make some calls and see if I can get you on it. In the meantime, go to the airport."

Kyle drove frantically. If there was a flight, he would make it by hook or by crook. A few minutes later his mother called back to tell him his name had been added to the list. Kyle could not have been happier.

The drive to Canefield Airport, though short, seemed interminable.

The winds were already picking up with intermittent guests and it started to drizzle. Finally he made it to the airport.

A few medical school students were sitting in the small terminal waiting impatiently. The lone agent at the counter seemed harassed as they bombarded her with questions.

Kyle approached the agent to confirm that he was on the flight. The lady spoke in a soft controlled voice. "Your name is on the list. Unfortunately, we don't know if that flight will make it to Dominica. The plane had to make a detour to St. Lucia."

He wanted to scream. Why hadn't Kevin called him when they were evacuating the guests the day before? Why did he get suckered into attending a lame party? Why hadn't he left the woman alone and just driven back into Roseau last night?

Kyle sat with the rest of the students looking expectantly at the agent. Twenty minutes went by before she announced that the chartered flight had been cancelled due to deteriorating weather conditions and the airport was officially closing. The students groaned and clamored around the agents, all talking at the same time. Kyle grabbed his bag and left. He would just have to hunker down and ride out the storm.

Chapter 5

" _Bondyé_!" Alia exclaimed, struggling to control her umbrella in the wind-driven rain. The wind got under it and folded it backward. In the meantime she was getting soaked.

Frustrated, she threw the bent umbrella to the ground and looked at her watch. It was just after eleven o'clock. The officials had said the hurricane should pass that night, yet the island was already experiencing intermittent gusting winds and rain showers. She sighed and retrieved the umbrella, struggling to untangle its twisted bones.

Dealing with guests who were either reluctant to evacuate or terrified to the point of being irrational the night before had been challenging. Evacuating the guests, securing the hotel, and ensuring that the guests who elected to remain had access to emergency supplies had taken up most of the evening. Many of the night staff had not shown up. Alia ended up sleeping at the hotel, and was seeing the outside of the Fort Young for the first time since the day before.

Using her cell phone, she called her great aunt, Tanti. There was no answer. She knew she had to check on her. Tanti was in her nineties and lived alone in a small wooden shack in Silver Lake, just across the river from where Alia lived in Elmshall.

She would try to convince Tanti to ride out the hurricane in Elmshall with her. The problem was that Alia had no means of transportation and Tanti was not answering her phone.

Alia looked around once more for a bus. The whole city of Roseau was a ghost town. No buses were running even though this was Saturday, the busiest day of the week, and the hurricane was not expected to make landfall for another twelve hours.

She walked along the waterfront near the cruise ship berth hoping she could get a ride with someone going in that direction, but besides an emaciated dog rummaging through a garbage bin she was the only soul on the road. She would have to make the long trek to Silver Lake to ensure her aunt was safe.

Suddenly she heard a car horn beep. Alia looked up hoping for a ride. She rolled her eyes in disappointment when she saw who was driving.

"Need a ride?" inquired Kyle Robinson in his unmistakable voice with its strong American accent.

Alia sighed. She definitely needed a ride but hesitated to expose herself to the kind of harassment he had subjected her to the day before. With a gracious smile she declined.

Kyle drove alongside her, slowing the vehicle to a crawl as she kept on walking. "It's raining. I can give you a lift wherever you're going."

"Thanks, but I prefer to walk," she said coldly.

"Suit yourself," Kyle responded, "but that piece of twisted metal won't do you much good."

As if to prove him right, a gust of wind turned the umbrella inside out once more, twisting the flimsy bones and separating the material from the frame. Alia dropped the umbrella into the nearest garbage bin and kept walking.

Kyle drove along beside her, keeping pace. "Gosh woman, are you always this conceited?"

Alia stopped as if in deep thought, then responded, "Yes," and continued walking.

Kyle chuckled, intrigued by Alia's response. "Ok, here's the deal. I'll take you wherever you're going, no strings attached. I promise I won't harass you. I won't even tell you how stunning you look with your clothes soaking wet and clinging to your body outlining every delicious curve, as long as you give me a smile."

Alia could not help smiling. Kyle was an annoying pain in the rear but he was funny - when he was not pissing her off.

"Thanks," she said, reluctantly entering the vehicle.

"Where to?" Kyle questioned.

"Silver Lake, but I'd like to make a quick stop to pick up a few supplies, if you don't mind."

"Hey, I have all day and I probably should pick up some supplies myself," he responded.

Alia directed him to a supermarket not too far from Canefield Airport. Kyle jumped out and opened the passenger door with much panache. Alia shook her head in amusement.

The supermarket was crowded. The shelves had been emptied of most of the basic supplies. Yet the people moved along in an unhurried pace but with an air of excitement. They may have been shopping for Christmas for all Kyle knew. Patrons spoke in a mixture of Creole or Patois and dialects of English, often going back and forth between the languages.

While Alia did her shopping, Kyle grabbed a few frozen entrees, a deck of cards for playing solitaire, a flashlight with batteries, a pint of soursop ice cream and a six pack of beer. He joined her in the long line at the checkout counter.

Alia looked at him quizzically. "Where are you going with those?"

He held up the items in his cart sequentially. "Food, comfort food, protection, and entertainment."

Alia snickered. "You're aware that electricity is the first thing to go during a storm, right?"

He waved her off. "I'm at the biggest hotel in Roseau. How bad can it be?"

Alia shook her head in disbelief. "This is not a passing thunderstorm."

Kyle looked into Alia's shopping cart. It was stocked with canned foods and dried goods: corned beef, tuna, sardines, rice, matches, candles, cigarette lighters, and a few gallon bottles of water.

"Didn't know you smoked," Kyle commented.

"I don't," Alia responded.

Kyle pointed to the cigarette lighters and raised his eyebrows.

"Matches can get wet," she answered.

Kyle perused her basket once more. The things she had chosen made sense. He looked at the long line ahead of and behind him. "Hold my place in line," he said, and ran back to the shelves.

He grabbed the last can of corned beef, a small pack of Loubiere bottled water, and the last picked-over baguette on the shelf, then dashed back to his spot in line.

It took them almost half an hour to get to the cashier and out of the store. They made one more stop at a gas station.

While Kyle refueled the vehicle, Alia bought a cylinder of propane and a bottle of kerosene. As they crossed the bridge over the Roseau River, Kyle noted how high the river had risen since he had driven over it earlier on his way back from Portsmouth.

He was still contemplating whether his decision to be a Good Samaritan was a good idea when they drove past the cricket stadium and uphill on to the narrow winding main road. Mountain cliffs lined one side of the narrow road while intermittent villages occupied the other. Kyle noticed the exposed rock on the side of the mountain had nothing to prevent erosion. They arrived at a small hamlet with a smattering of tiny wooden houses.

"Turn left here," Alia instructed.

Kyle was surprised, but said nothing. He turned onto a narrow road between miniature wooden shacks with rusted corrugated galvanized metal roofs and fences. Most of the fences were crooked with sharp edges that looked downright dangerous. The village appeared impoverished and decrepit. They pulled up in front of an unpainted wooden house with an old worn shingle roof and a lopsided porch. With her air of sophistication and her history as a beauty queen, Kyle could not believe Alia lived in this indigent village. He assumed she would be living in one of the posh houses on the hill overlooking Canefield Airport that he had admired from afar.

As if reading his mind Alia said, "I'm checking on my elderly aunt. Hopefully I can convince her to take shelter with me during the hurricane."

Kyle smiled. He did not know whether the relief he felt was because she did not live in this rundown village, or because he had discovered a caring, nurturing side of Alia. He jumped out and opened the passenger door.

Alia fixed her eyes on him. "There is no need to pretend to be a gentleman Kyle. You've done quite a lot. The least I can do is open the door myself."

"Ok," Kyle answered, and closed the door.

After a minute of struggling with the door handle, Alia tapped on the window. Kyle opened the door stifling a laugh.

Alia was infuriated. "I was just beginning to think you were decent," she commented.

Kyle laughed out loud. "Okay, the truth is, I've been opening the door for you because the passenger door doesn't open from the inside."

"That's what happens when you get the cheap rental," Alia muttered under her breath.

Kyle ignored her comment and removed the propane tank and some of the groceries from the trunk of the vehicle. He followed her as she opened the rusted galvanized fence with its sharp edges and went onto the lopsided porch.

"Tanti!" Alia called loudly, knocking on the door.

A voice answered from somewhere in the back.

Alia left the porch and walked around the hard-packed dirt yard with Kyle in tow. The backyard was filled with fruit trees laden with mangoes, guineps, breadfruit, limes, and guavas.

They entered an unpainted brick kitchen that was separated from the main house by a rough poured concrete walkway.

There was only one door and one window adjacent to each other. The kitchen was bare except for a concrete counter and two roughhewn wooden tables on which lay blackened pots and pans draining on kitchen towels. At the back of the kitchen was a brick oven that led to the chimney. An elderly woman hovered over a coal stove made of clay in the center of the kitchen.

She was small and wiry with long straight silver hair and lots of wrinkles. She moved slowly but with strength and determination.

"Alia!" the old lady greeted, smiling brightly, revealing a mouth full of dentures. The two women hugged and spoke cheerily in Creole, obviously happy to see each other.

"Tanti, why are you cooking in the outside kitchen?" Alia inquired.

Tanti waved her hand. "That stupid gas stove just stopped working last week." Her accent was much deeper than Alia's making it difficult for Kyle to understand her English.

"You sure it didn't just run out of gas?"

"No, no. I have a full tank a young man just brought for me two weeks ago. I think the stove must be choked or something."

"Well, I brought you a tank."

"I'm sure one of the neighbors can use it," Tanti responded.

She looked up and seeing Kyle for the first time, she smiled slyly and looked at Alia. "And is this your young man?"

Alia opened her eyes wide.

"Oh no Tanti," she said quickly. "This is Kyle Robinson.

He is just a tourist at the hotel. He gave me a ride here. He'll be going back to the hotel now."

"You can't go back yet. You have to stay and have lunch with us. I am making a nice broth. I'll be finished in a few minutes."

Kyle was hungry. He had not had breakfast and it was already lunch time. However, he did not want to stay too long and be trapped in this rundown place during the hurricane.

"Thanks, but I do have to get back soon."

"Come now, Kyle, you have to at least eat something. I have some bakes that I made this morning. Let's go inside."

She left Kyle with no choice. He entered the tiny wooden house through the back door and followed her into the indoor kitchen. He was surprised to see a modern furnished kitchen with a refrigerator and a gas range with built-in oven. Tanti poured him some tangy carambola juice in a Coke glass and placed some bakes and codfish on a white enamel plate. They sat at the kitchen table and ate while Alia tried futilely to convince her aunt to go back to Elmshall with her.

"I have lived through lots of bad weather right here," Tanti said. "I not going nowhere."

"But Tanti, a little wind blow and this place can't hold up.

Come with me. My place is much safer."

Tanti laughed. "I not going to Elmshall right in the river flood plain to take shelter in a storm. During hurricane David all those new houses were destroyed. Roofs were flying everywhere and people were trapped for days because landslides blocked the only road in and out of that place. As for that bridge they put there after David, as soon as a little rain falls, the river floods and cuts it off. Makes more sense if you stayed here with me. Plus Elmshall is a far walk for an old lady like me."

Kyle could see Alia was getting frustrated. "I can drive both of you to Elmshall," he offered.

Tanti smiled at him sweetly. "If you don't mind, sweetheart, I can do with a strong pair of hands right now."

"Sure. Anything for a sweet lady," he responded graciously.

Tanti led him outside. The rain had held up briefly. The blue skies with white puffy clouds he had seen that morning were now grey with ominous looking clouds. The breeze had calmed, leaving the trees standing still.

Tanti gave him a machete, blunt and rusted with age. She led him to a tree with branches laden with bunches of little green round fruits.

"I want you to trim the branches on this side, if it's not too much for you," she said.

Kyle stared from the old lady to the dull machete and wondered why she was asking him to cut the branches. He certainly had not bargained for this.

As if reading his mind, Tanti answered, "That way if the tree falls, it would fall toward the fence and not the house."

Kyle understood. "You don't have a sharper machete?" he asked. _Or a power saw?_

Tanti took the machete and poured Coca-Cola on it, then rubbed it with a lime until it shone. She then dragged it on a rough stone to sharpen the edges.

"There," she said, handing it back to him.

As Kyle climbed up the slippery tree trunk and began chopping away at the branches, Alia emerged from the kitchen.

She began fixing the hurricane shutters on the old house and filling large drums and buckets with water while continuing her futile efforts to convince Tanti to evacuate the old home.

Tanti looked at Kyle, now chopping a bunch of green bananas from a tree. "He's a keeper," she said to Alia.

"Not for me. The guy is a no-good philanderer. "

Tanti chuckled. "Sweetie, if that guy was no good, he would not be putting his life in danger to help out _vyé fanm_ like me."

"He's just trying to impress me," Alia responded. "And it's not working."

"First impression isn't always the right impression," her aunt warned.

A few minutes later Kyle joined them in the outside kitchen. The wind had picked back up and the rain resumed but with a light drizzle. While Tanti spooned some broth into an enamel bowl, Kyle asked, "What's with the fireplace?"

Tanti smiled and placed a bowl of steaming broth in front of Kyle. "That is a bakery. My husband, God rest his soul, moved to Roseau in the early seventies to sell his baskets. I was bored. So I started baking _kasav_. We had a good thing going up in New Town, but in '79 Hurricane David destroyed everything we owned, so we ended up here in Silver Lake, like most people here who lost everything. There was no bakery here, so my husband built this little bakery so I could continue baking _kasav_ and bread. Now I'm ninety-two I can't handle all that heat, so I gave it up about a year ago."

Kyle smiled as he ate the broth. The soup was grey and looked unappealing, but it was the most delicious thing he had ever tasted. "You're ninety-two? You don't look a day over fifty."

Tanti giggled.

After eating they braved the intermittent gusting wind and the now driving rain and went back into the main house.

Kyle looked at his watch. It was past two and the wind was swaying the trees with mild fury.

"I hate to eat and run, but I must go now," he said.

" _Bondyé! Ola ka alé?_ " Tanti exclaimed looking out the window at the swaying trees and driving rain.

Kyle looked at Alia questioningly.

"Good Lord! Where are you going?" Alia translated.

"I'm going back to the hotel, but I can drive both of you to Alia's home," Kyle offered.

Tanti shook her head and spoke to Alia in a mixture of Creole and English. A heated debate ensued between both women while Kyle observed, amused at the musical language that he did not comprehend.

"Come on, ladies; make up your mind. I have to get back to the hotel before the weather gets worse," Kyle broke up the argument.

"It's no use Kyle. I'll stay here with her," Alia conceded.

She appeared both frustrated and defeated.

"You should stay too," Tanti said to Kyle. "It's not safe driving in these conditions."

Kyle looked out the window at the deteriorating weather.

The rain was coming down even harder and the gusting wind was more consistent, but there was no way he was staying in that decrepit place when the hotel had all the creature comforts.

"I'll be alright," Kyle assured her.

"Tanti, it's safer for him at the hotel than here," Alia added.

No sooner had Kyle stepped out of the house into the torrential rain, than Tanti turned to her great niece. "You know he'll be back, right? I'm sure the river is probably over the bridge."

" _Bondyé_. I hope it isn't."

Tanti only smiled.

Chapter 6

The windshield wipers on the old Jeep worked overtime, yet Kyle could barely see the road in front of him. The rain came down in torrents and the wind blew leaves across the windshield. Tiny rivulets formed on the roads as water poured off the sides of the already waterlogged mountains. Kyle prayed that he would reach the hotel safely.

He rounded a sharp bend in the road and slammed his brakes. There, in the middle of the road, lay a large tree. It had been uprooted from the mountainside. A clump of soft clay hung on its roots. Water backed up between its branches and trunk forming a small stream.

"Damn!" Kyle exclaimed. There was no way for him to get around the tree as it blocked the entire road. The water formed a miniature waterfall over the edges of the ravine on the other side.

Kyle sighed in frustration and thumped his fist on the steering wheel. He put the Jeep in four-wheel drive and did a five point turn on the narrow slippery road that was now coated with wet mud. A few minutes later he was knocking on Tanti's door, soaking wet.

Alia opened the door and sighed. Kyle shuffled in, slamming the door against the gusting wind. The two stared at each other silently for a long while.

Tanti broke the silence with a softly spoken declaration. "I knew you'd be back."

Kyle disentangled his gaze and looked at Tanti.

"There's a tree blocking the road," he said. "I just wanted to know if there's an alternate route to Fort Young Hotel."

Tanti gave a sarcastic chuckle.

"There is, but I'd be well wicked to send you that way. Let's get you out of those wet clothes before you get _fwédi_."

She gave him a towel and led him to a barrel filled with old clothes of all sizes. "I keep these to give to the poor," she said.

Kyle was surprised. He had thought she was the poor. He rifled through the clothes. They were certainly dated and smelled of camphor balls. Then he remembered he still had his bag in the Jeep from his trip to the airport.

"Actually, my luggage is in the Jeep. I'll go get it."

Before Tanti could respond, Kyle darted outside to the vehicle.

The wind howled ominously and the rain stung his eyes. He grabbed the bags and rushed back in, slamming the front door shut. The force shook the entire house.

After changing out of his wet clothes, Kyle joined Alia on the wooden-armed couch and watched the weather updates on the old fuzzy television. Tanti in the meantime filled kerosene lamps with oil and placed old bits of rags on the floor by the front door to keep water from seeping under.

Suddenly the television screen went black.

"Power's out," Alia explained, flipping the light switch on and off for certainty.

Kyle smiled and grabbed his deck of cards and the ice cream that was now runny from sitting outside the refrigerator.

"Entertainment, anyone?"

Tanti winked at Alia. "Quite resourceful!"

Alia smirked. He could fool Tanti with his pretentious acts of generosity but he sure ain't fooling me. She was still skeptical of Kyle's motives, though she was seeing a side of him she had not seen before. She still detested the way he ogled her. And yes, she thought his unction was quite pretentious. But he had gone out of his way to assist Tanti, and that was a noble quality she had not expected of him - if he was genuine at all.

With the wind howling, sometimes rattling the little old house, Kyle, Tanti and Alia played several rounds of Rummy 500 and Twenty-one in the flickering light of the kerosene lamp. Tanti won all but one round.

This surprised Kyle. "Where did you learn to play cards so well?"

"Son, I've had decades of practice. In the early eighties I ran a little bar shop down the road. At nights the men would sit outside drinking and playing cards and dominoes. I picked up a few things."

"I didn't know you had a shop, Tanti," Alia said. "What happened to it?"

"I sold it when my Sammy died."

"If you don't mind my asking," Kyle questioned, "when did your husband die?"

Without missing a beat Tanti responded, "12th May, 1998."

She pointed to a framed sepia photo of an old man and a much younger woman. The woman looked like a mature version of Alia. "That's my Sammy."

"That's your daughter with him?"

Tanti smiled. "I don't have any children. That's me."

Kyle raised his eyebrows, but only said, "You were...are...very beautiful."

"I know you're looking at the age difference. Sammy was twenty years older than me." Tanti's voice trailed off and she looked at Alia knowingly as she reminisced about her husband.

"I remember when I first met him. I couldn't stand him.

You see, I was young, I was beautiful and I felt I was all that. I had also liked this young good looking man. He used to dress well and always smelled nice. One day when I was fifteen, m mother caught me with him. We were only talking, but Mammy decided it was time for me to get married. She arranged for me to marry Samuel Fontaine. I took one look at Sammy and told my mother I was not marrying that ugly _vyékò_. _Misyé_ had children as old as me. But you know how it was back then. When your parents decide you have to marry a man, you have to marry him. So we got married. The best thing I ever did.

Sammy treated me like a queen. I despised him when I first married him, but a year later I couldn't imagine life without him."

"And what happened to the boy you liked?" Alia inquired.

"Fathered half the kids in Salybia; drank himself to an early death. You see, Alia, first impression is not always the correct impression."

Alia smiled, realizing that Tanti was using her life lessons to change Alia's perception of Kyle. "Who was he?" she asked, certain she must at least know some of the man's grandchildren.

"He's your grandfather. Your father's father."

Alia visibly stiffened at the mention of her father. Tanti gave a yawn. "I'll leave you two young folks. I'm going to bed."

She got up from the table and slowly walked to her room before calling to Alia. "Alia, get some blankets for our guest and pull out the settee bed."

When Alia returned with the blankets, Kyle immediately resumed his flirting. "We're all alone by the flickering light of the lamp. What do we do now?" he asked coyly.

"I'm going to bed,." Alia said brusquely. "Good night."

"But it's only seven," he protested.

"I had a long night last night."

"Mine was even longer. How about a game of poker?"

"Ok, one game."

"Strip poker."

Alia dumped the blankets onto the settee and strode into the second bedroom of the two-bedroom house.

"I was just joking," Kyle called after her, but it was too late.

She slammed the door, shaking the house. The vibrations extinguished the kerosene lamp plunging the living room into total darkness.

***

Kyle awoke with a start to the loud howling of the wind like a freight train and the sound of branches cracking. He was getting wet. He looked up.

"Oh my God!"

One by one the shingles on the roof over the tiny kitchen area were being ripped off and tossed like rags in the wind. The gaping hole left behind sent swirling rain and leaves into the kitchen and living room. He jumped up off the couch just as another section of the roof lifted off, sailing in the air. Through it he could see the trees bent almost at the middle swaying wildly in the wind. Over the roar of the wind and rain he heard a loud crash. Branches from a mango tree fell onto the roof over the living room.

Kyle frantically banged on both bedroom doors. "We've gotta seek shelter now!" he shouted, his voice filled with panicked desperation.

Alia appeared at the door in short pajamas that fit snuggly about her bust. Her hair, loose from its confines, flowed almost to her waist but Kyle hardly noticed. Confused, Alia began speaking in Creole before switching to English. " _Sa ki wivé la?_

What happ—" Before she could finish her sentence she let out a scream as she saw the gaping hole in the roof covered by the tree branch. "Tanti!" she yelled. "Wake up!"

Alia rushed into Tanti's room. Her heart was racing, her eyes wide with fear. Tanti was already awake and holding the flashlight she kept by her bed.

" _Sa ki wivé la?_ " Tanti exclaimed, startled by the commotion.

"The roof is gone. We have to find shelter!"

"The outside kitchen," Tanti suggested. "It has a parapet roof."

Tanti grabbed a blanket and bits of old clothes from her bedroom and rushed as fast as she could to the back door. A turtle would have moved faster.

Kyle opened the door and stared into the darkness that was illuminated only by the weak beam of Tanti's flashlight. He surveyed the scene. The wind howled loudly, the trees swayed violently and the rain stung his face. Fruits were flying everywhere.

Water ran through the yard like a small river. He saw a bit of galvanized sheeting from a fence fly in the air and land somewhere behind the kitchen. He was scared, but knew he had to move quickly and there was no way Tanti could make it quickly enough without getting injured.

Tanti gave Kyle the blankets. "You two go without me. I'll stay in here until it's over."

"We're not leaving without you, Tanti," Alia responded.

"I'm an old woman. I've already lived my life and made peace with my maker. I would only slow you down. Go ahead."

"Follow me, Alia!" Kyle shouted over the roaring wind.

He lifted Tanti like a baby and dashed out to the safety of the old kitchen. When he looked back, Alia was still standing in the doorway.

Alia stared outside fearfully. Another bit of the roof ripped off and landed somewhere near the kitchen. She made the first tentative step out of the door. The force of the wind knocked her backward into the side of the house. Suddenly she heard a crash. The street light outside Tanti's home fell, almost crashing on the galvanized fence. The electric wires kept it suspended in midair. Alia froze. She could not will her feet to get moving.

"Alia, run for it!" Kyle shouted angrily. Instead she stood as if in a daze, clutching unto the doorframe.

"Dammit, Alia! Run!" he screamed. Frustrated, he made a mad dash toward the house, staggering against the force of the wind. A coconut tree fell in his path barely missing him. A few wires from the lamp post broke, dropping the post even lower.

Shingles from Tanti's roof whizzed past his head like paper in the strong winds.

Kyle grabbed Alia, slinging her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. He ran quickly back to the kitchen against the ferocious winds and slammed the door shut, latching it with the wrought iron hooks.

"Put me down!" Alia ordered, embarrassed.

"A simple 'thank you' would be fine," Kyle snapped, depositing her unceremoniously on the cold hard stone floor.

"What the hell is wrong with you?"

"Nofing!" Alia snapped right back, her accent deepening in her anger. She sank to the ground and closed her eyes, drawing in long deep breaths. Her body shook like the leaves in the hurricane - force wind. She was terrified. And she was angry – angry at Tanti for not coming with her to Elmshall to take shelter in a well-built brick house that was much safer than this shack; angry at Kyle for embarrassing her; angry at herself for freezing like an idiot in the face of danger. She knew better. She knew the safety rules and what to expect. Yet she had frozen like a _zèzè_ , standing outside in the dangerous winds instead of running to take cover.

Tanti's voice was frail but calm when she spoke. "It'll be all right. God will see us through." She began to sing the hymn, " _Till the Storm Passes By_." Her voice trembled as she sang.

Alia joined in and Kyle who was busy pacing sat down next to them on the old clothes that Tanti had spread out on the floor. He did not know the song, but he joined in, humming.

Wet and cold, the three sat huddled together under the blanket, seeking warmth from each other. They were terrified.

Outside the wind howled loudly and the rain beat against the roof. They finally fell asleep sometime before dawn, praying that they made it through the storm alive.

Chapter 7

Alia opened her eyes and looked around. She could no longer hear the winds howling. Everything seemed eerily quiet and still. Sunlight seeped through the cracks near the door and window alerting her that it was daylight, though the kitchen remained dark. She tried to move, but was trapped by something heavy. It was a leg.

"Tanti," she whispered, touching the leg.

"I'm over here," she heard Tanti call from the far end of the kitchen.

_Kyle!_ Alia shoved Kyle's leg off her own and jumped up.

The sudden movement woke Kyle.

"What happened?" he asked. "Is the storm over yet?"

"You were lying on me," Alia snapped.

"Big deal!" Kyle retorted, still seething from the mishap the night before. "I should have left you out in the storm."

"Maybe you should have," Alia answered.

"You are such an ungrateful—" Kyle stopped himself.

"Ungrateful what? Say it."

" _Timoun_ ," Tanti called from her perch on a sack of coals.

"Behave yourselves. Instead of fussing with each other, you should be giving God thanks that he brought you through the storm safely."

Alia and Kyle glared at each other. They both knew that Tanti was right

Kyle conceded. "You're right Tanti. We should be giving God thanks."

Tanti said a prayer, thanking God for taking them through the storm and asking for courage to face what was yet to come.

At the end of the prayer Kyle exclaimed, "Amen, the worst is over."

Alia shook her head. "You're so naïve it's unbelievable. This is just the beginning. The worst is yet to come, right Tanti?"

Tanti nodded and took the few steps to the door. She tried to open it but it was jammed. She pushed it again but the door did not budge.

"Maybe it's swollen from the rain," Alia suggested. "Let me try." Alia pushed at the door, using her entire body, but it still wouldn't budge.

"Don't send a girl to do a man's job," Kyle commented as he shooed Alia out of the way. He put his full weight behind the door, groaning as he did, but it would not move.

"I think the correct cliché is, 'never send a _boy_ to do a man's job'," Alia shot back joining him in pushing the door.

"Something's blocking it," Kyle said, leaning against the wall. He tried the window, but that was blocked too. Frustrated, he banged his fist against the window and yelled, "Which idiot builds a house with one door and one window all on the same side?"

"My husband," Tanti whispered quietly.

"I'm sorry, Tanti," Kyle apologized. "I didn't mean to knock your husband."

"That's all right, Sonny." Tanti patted his shoulder. "How old are you? Twenty-three? Twenty-four?"

"I'll be twenty-five in a few months."

"You have a lot more years to live and learn." Tanti looked toward the brick oven that was used for baking bread. "There is another way out of here. It's through the chimney over the brick oven."

Kyle climbed into the hearth. He looked up at the narrow chimney leading to the outside. There was no way his broad shoulders could fit through the narrow opening. "It's too narrow."

"I can fit," Alia volunteered.

Kyle laughed sarcastically. "You, with the French manicure, sexy nightie, and pink flip-flops are volunteering to climb up the chimney? You gotta be kidding me."

Alia glared at him and removed the scrunchy she wore around her wrist. She quickly tied it around her hair and braided the ponytail, wrapping the braid around into a bun. She climbed into the hearth.

"What do you think you're doing?" Kyle asked.

Alia ignored him and began climbing up the chimney.

Tanti placed a hand on his shoulder. "Never judge a book by the cover, _timoun_. We're Kalinago. We didn't survive centuries of colonialism by being weak or fearful."

Alia peered through the dark narrow shaft. Though it had not been used in a while it was filled with ashes and soot. She tried not to cough as she jammed her back against one side, chocked her foot against the other side, and hoisted herself up.

It was like climbing a coconut tree in a coffin. She was relieved when she finally pushed through the top of the chimney and greeted the bright sunlight.

The air was cool, still and damp. The sky, despite the sunshine, displayed a layer of even white flat clouds, way up high.

There was an ominous calm pervading the atmosphere as if the entire place was shrouded in a blanket. Alia could hear a bird chirping miles away. Her eyes scanned the surrounding village, as she inhaled the moist air.

"Oh—my—God!" she gasped.

From her perch on the rough concrete roof of the eight-byten kitchen she could see that the entire village had been flattened. Only a smattering of houses remained standing. Galvanized sheeting littered every surface. Fallen trees were everywhere.

The mountains that normally boasted thick vegetation was bald, the leaves stripped from the trees left standing. Even the bark had been skinned off of the trees that Alia could see.

She placed her hand on her sooty face and gasped when she saw the river behind the house.

" _Bondyé_!" she exclaimed.

The normally clear, slow-flowing river was a raging brown rapid. The high water spilled over the lower banks on the other side flooding everything in sight. Big boulders tumbled down the river like pebbles in a stream. Galvanized sheets from roofs blown off in the storm zipped by on the water. She even saw two cars and a van, crumpled like paper, floating rapidly downstream.

At last she turned her focus to Tanti's house. The damage to it was nothing compared to most of the houses around them. The shingles of the roof over the kitchen and living room had peeled off leaving a gaping hole. A branch from the fallen mango tree partially covered the opening. The trunk of the mango tree lay on the concrete path between the outdoor kitchen and the back door that was still ajar after their escape. It was that mango tree that blocked the entire front of the outdoor kitchen, trapping them inside.

"What's happening out there?" Alia heard Kyle's muffled voice echoing from the belly of the kitchen.

"There's a tree blocking the entrance," she called down.

She knew she would have to get help. Pink flip-flops were the worst shoes she could have chosen to be wearing, with all the sharp galvanized sheets, nails and debris littering everywhere, but what choice did she have? Unlike Kyle, she had not brought a change of clothes and had dug in Tanti's barrel for something to sleep in.

She walked to the edge of the roof, determined to climb down on the uprooted mango tree, when she heard some men calling, "Ma Fontaine!"

It was a few of the young men from the village walking around with cutlasses clearing the area and searching for missing people.

Alia waved both arms to them. "She's trapped in the kitchen," she informed the men before scrambling down the fallen tree.

The men began cutting and hauling away the branches, clearing the door and the path to the main house. Half an hour later, the kitchen door opened and Tanti and Kyle stepped out.

" _Bondyé_!" Tanti exclaimed, shock and horror registering on her pale wrinkled face.

"Damn!" Kyle exclaimed at the same time. He looked around, mouth agape. He had never seen such devastation in his life. The galvanized fence all around the house had fallen.

He could clearly see his vehicle with the lamppost still hanging by the wires just inches above it. All around houses were smashed in, overturned, and crushed into piles of rubble. Sheets of galvanized roofing were twisted, wrapped up like crumpled paper.

Kyle ran his hand through his closely cropped hair and gasped. "Unbelievable!" The videos of tornadoes he had seen on television paled in comparison to this. This had been the mother of all storms.

While the men continued clearing away the fallen tree branches and galvanized sheets, Tanti walked slowly toward her house, gingerly stepping over bits of shingles that once comprised her roof. She sat on the rickety wooden steps at the back door and placed her hands under her chin. She could not believe what she was seeing, and she had lived through many a hurricane.

Kyle looked at Alia and raised his eyebrows in surprise. She was a mess. Black soot covered her face and hair. Her clothes had been torn during the climb. Her pony-tail had become undone and her hair whipped messily around her face and down her back. She looked like a homeless bum.

"What are you looking at?" she demanded when she caught Kyle staring at her.

"Nofing," Kyle mimicked her.

She walked off in a huff and joined Tanti on the step. Alia placed her arm comfortingly around her great aunt. "It'll be okay, Tanti."

"I'm sure the insurance will take care of it," Kyle, standing with one foot on the step, offered by way of comfort.

"What insurance, nuh?" Tanti asked.

Alia shook her head in disbelief. Kyle was either naïve or just plain stupid.

"Government aid? Hurricane relief?" He quickly backtracked, realizing how stupid he must have sounded. Here was a ninety-two year old woman with little to no income, living alone in a little more than a shack, in an impoverished village. There was no way this woman would be paying insurance for her house. It was then the enormity of the loss hit him. He was certain all those other folk in the village who lost their homes had lost everything.

Kyle began searching around for Tanti's cutlass and any other tools he could find around the house. As the men left to assist others he called, "Wait up. I'm coming with you." He went along with the men, leaving Alia still comforting Tanti.

Chapter 8

Kyle was hungry and thirsty but he kept going. His wrists ached, and his palms were sore from cutting tree branches with the dull machete. His arms hurt from lifting sheets of rusted galvanized iron from fallen roofs and fences as they cleared the area. He wished these people had a power saw, but dared not express that thought.

The men went around chopping trees and checking to make sure all the villagers were safe. They salvaged what they could from wrecked houses: nails, screws, wood, anything that they could use to roughly repair the houses left standing. There was no means of communication with anyone outside of the village. Power was out. Cell phone towers were down rendering cell phones useless. Telephone service was down. Even the local radio stations were no longer broadcasting.

Finally Kyle could take it no more. He had not had a bite to eat since the afternoon before when he had eaten the broth with cassava bread and the ice cream. And since he had started working he had not had a drop to drink. It was hot and humid and swarms of sand flies hovered in the air just above the ground, often getting in his eyes and hair. Worst of all, he was \sweaty, sticky and stinking. He needed a bath in the worst way.

"Look guys, I've got to call it a day. I'm hungry."

"Me too," the guys simultaneously agreed. "Let's go see if Ma Fontaine ha' anything."

When Kyle got back to Tanti's house he was surprised.

Most of the rubble and tree branches had been cleared and piled on the river bank behind the house. The gaping hole in the roof was covered with a bright blue tarpaulin held down by cinder blocks. Tanti sat in the back yard on a stone fanning a fire. Three stones were roughly put together and breadfruit was roasting in hot coals between them. In the old kitchen, Alia was using the coal pot to fry chicken. She was clean and fresh in a man's jeans and a red political t-shirt.

"You cleaned up quite nicely," Kyle commented, taking a seat on a sack of coals in the kitchen.

"Can't say the same for you," she retorted, handing him a ration of chicken, fish and some roasted breadfruit with boiled green bananas.

He ate with gusto and drank from the bottled water he had bought the day before.

"If I wasn't so hungry, and the chicken didn't taste so nice, I'd respond to you," Kyle answered.

"Enjoy it while you can. Feast today, famine tomorrow."

"What does that mean?"

Alia placed a few more pieces of chicken in the large castiron skillet, making the fat sizzle.

"After today, the only meat you'll see will be from a can. Right now, we have to use up all of the frozen goods before they spoil."

"I'm sure electricity will be restored in a few days. I'll be back at the hotel by tonight anyway."

"Yeah, sure," she replied sarcastically.

"Come on, have some faith in the system!"

"Do you know how long it takes for DOMLEC to restore power after a small storm? We're talking weeks, if not months."

Alia flipped the chicken with a long two-pronged fork, sending hot fat splattering.

"You serious?"

"When have I not been serious?"

Kyle thought about it. "During my speech at the wedding."

Alia smiled for the first time that day. It was a beautiful smile that lit up her face. "That feels like so long ago."

Kyle laughed. "Back then you refused to have a drink or dance with me, and look, we've already slept together."

She pointed the hot fork at him, "If I ever hear you repeat such a _fing_ in the company of others I will beat you with a frying pan."

She took a black coal from the opened crocus bag nearby.

Kyle laughed. "Hey, it's the truth."

He slipped out of the kitchen just as the lump of coal came whizzing past his head.

As Kyle stepped into the yard, a little girl about ten years old ran up to him. She spoke rapidly in a mixture of Creole and English. Kyle could not understand what she was saying but he could tell it was urgent. He looked around for the men who had accompanied him back to Tanti's house but they had all eaten and left, no doubt to continue the cleanup efforts. Only Tanti, Alia and a pregnant woman remained.

Kyle steered the girl to Alia. As she spoke, Alia's eyes opened wide. "Ma Benji," she called to the pregnant woman.

"Finish frying these for me." She turned to Kyle. "Come. Her brother is trapped in the rubble."

As the three ran across the street, climbing over piles of debris, Alia asked the child what had happened.

The child responded in a mixture of Creole and barely intelligible English. "Me _brotha_ , he too _zèzè_. _Mouché_ go get some stupid _fing_ back in de house and it _kwévé_ 'im. We ha' to hurry, because I call 'im and call 'im but he doh answer."

"What's your name and where are your parents?"

"Teneice," the little girl answered. "Our _motha_ in St. Thomas so we _leave_ with our _grandmotha_ in that house." She pointed to a house without a roof. One side of the house was caved in.

A coconut tree had fallen on the other side.

Kyle, with the two young women trailing behind, climbed over the piles of rusted galvanized sheets and nails trying to reach the house. "What's your brother's name?" he asked.

"Teshawn, but we call him Tètè."

"Tètè!" All three called in unison, but there was no answer.

They picked their way carefully through the broken-down house, calling "Teshawn" and "Tètè" alternately. Finally they heard a groan coming from under a pile of rubble.

Kyle tried to climb under, but got stuck and had to come

back out. "He's in there but I can't reach him."

"Let me try," Alia offered.

Kyle looked at her hesitantly but did not try to dissuade her. He remembered the events of the morning all too clearly. Alia lay on her belly and wriggled her way through the pile of debris that surrounded the narrow opening. It formed a darkened tunnel. She squeezed through the narrow opening and found the small boy, no more than eight years old, lying on the floor of what had once been a tiny bedroom.

"You okay?" she asked.

The boy's face was tearstained and contorted in pain. His lips quivered as sobs wracked his shoulders. He shook his head, unable to speak, and pointed to a dresser that pinned his left leg. Alia tried to move the dresser, but it would not budge.

She pulled several of the drawers laden with clothes from the dresser. "When I lift it, I want you to crawl out, okay, Tètè?"

He nodded.

"On the count of three. One, two, three," Alia lifted the dresser and Teshawn wriggled from beneath it. His foot was bruised and swollen. "Can you walk?"

Teshawn got up and limped, favoring the swollen foot. Alia scooped him up in her arms. Instead of exiting through the narrow hole, Alia handed the boy to Kyle through the bedroom window that was partially blocked by branches of a coconut tree, and climbed out.

As soon as she got out, Kyle exclaimed, "You're bleeding!"

Only then did Alia notice a small gash on her left foot. "I'm sure it's nothing."

"We need to get you both to the hospital," Kyle said, carrying the whimpering child.

"I don't think his leg is broken. It's just bruised and swollen."

"Are you a doctor?"

"No. Are you?" Alia answered testily

"No, that's why we need to get him to a hospital."

"Kyle, I'm certain the road is not clear as yet."

"Well, it's a chance we have to take. He needs medical attention and you need your wound bandaged and taken care of."

"It's nothing Tanti can't fix."

"Can she give you a tetanus shot?" he asked testily. "God knows what rusted metal gave you that cut."

Alia conceded and a few minutes later they were loading the whimpering child and his sister into the back seat of the Jeep.

They were barely five minutes into the drive when Kyle came to an abrupt stop. He got out of the vehicle and looked around in amazement. It was the same area where the tree had fallen the day before when he had tried to return to the hotel.

The road had been washed away leaving a gaping hole. A crowd of people gathered around the caved-in road gawking. Loud chatter filled the air. It seemed everyone was giving an account of what had happened.

Sighing, Kyle got back in the vehicle and reversed. "There must be another way out of here."

"One way in, one way out," Alia said.

"Then where does this road lead?"

"To Laudat, Screws, Trafalgar, and up the mountain."

Kyle would not hear of it. He had to get out of that place.

He drove past the flattened village of Silver Lake.

"Where are you going?" Alia demanded.

"To find another way out of here!"

" _Bondyé_!" Alia exclaimed. " _Tèt ou wed_. You want to kill us?"

He drove uphill on the narrow pothole-ridden road. They passed the school where multiple people left homeless by the storm had taken shelter. They drove past another small settlement.

The homes were brick and much larger than those in Silver Lake, but most of them were missing their roofs. Trees lay randomly in the road and mud was everywhere. A few minutes later as they rounded a bend, Kyle brought the Jeep to a grinding halt. A whole chunk of the mountain lay in the road and the ravine on the other side. Two of the houses in the little subdivision were buried under the landslide.

" _Bondyé_!" Alia and Teneice exclaimed in unison. They stared in horror at the landslide and the extensive damage it had caused. The place was deserted. An eerie silence hung in the air.

"Damn!" Kyle shouted, beating his fist against the steering wheel. He was frustrated. There was no way out. He banged his head repeatedly against the steering wheel. All day he had been trying to remain calm, trying to deal with it, knowing he would be back at the hotel and at least be comfortable soon. But now reality hit him. He was trapped in a broken-down village, with little of anything. He knew his mother must be worried sick because he had not called her since the flight had been cancelled the day before. He should have been enjoying the natural beauty of the island and reveling in the nightlife, not chopping trees with Stone Age tools.

Alia reached over and touched him on the back comfortingly.

"It'll be okay. We'll get through it."

Kyle raised his head and gave a wry smile, "We? As in you and me?"

Alia said dryly, "Don't push it Kyle."

Kyle laughed. He threw the Jeep in reverse and began making a multipoint U-turn. Just as he got the Jeep facing downhill, the back tire fell into a rut. He pressed the gas, but the wheels just spun around stirring up mud.

Alia sighed. "What now?"

"We're stuck. Grab the wheel - I've got to get out and push."

"I can't. I don't know how to drive."

Kyle looked at Alia incredulously. "How old are you?"

"Twenty-one."

"And you can't drive? Good gracious, every sixteen year old knows how to drive. You just have to steer while I push."

Alia shook her head. She stared fearfully at the unprotected ravine on the other side of the narrow road. "You drive. I'll push."

"What have you been smoking, lady? I won't let a woman push a car while I drive!"

"May I remind you I'm the one who climbed up the chimney and I'm the one who rescued Teshawn."

"Both cases you were just squeezing through small spaces, not pushing a heavy car with three occupants."

"I can help her push," Teneice offered.

Kyle threw his hands in the air. "Just my luck to have two girls in ponytails pushing the Jeep out of the rut."

"Chauvinist!" Alia exclaimed.

"Whatever."

A few minutes later, Alia and Teneice were pushing the Jeep, while Kyle steered. At first the wheel just spun futilely, splattering mud on the girls. Eventually it gained traction and the car eased up out of the rut and began rolling downhill.

Teneice and Alia high-fived each other and began singing Beyoncé's "Run the World (Girls)."

As soon as they approached the Jeep, Kyle drove off laughing.

Alia shook her fist at him.

He reversed to meet the girls and laughed. "Girls run the world, but I run this vehicle."

"And I almost believed for a moment that there was some bit of good in you," Alia sighed.

"Lighten up, Alia. You don't have to be so serious all the time."

Alia smiled and looked back at Teneice. Together they sang, "Run the World (Girls)."

"Okay, enough already," Kyle complained. "We get it."

The two girls laughed and high-fived each other.

When they arrived at Tanti's, she and a few women were cooking pig snout soup with red beans and ground provisions.

Tanti examined Teshawn's foot. After pronouncing that it was not broken, she proceeded to bandage it with green banana peel soaked in vinegar and a scrap of cloth. She also placed a horrible smelling salve onto Alia's wound before bandaging it.

With dusk falling, the now homeless villagers sought shelter with Tanti for the night. They set up a makeshift bathroom of old galvanized sheets roughly propped against each other near the remnants of the back fence. With water limited, Kyle could only use a small bucket for his bath, dipping tiny amounts out with an empty butter container.

His body ached and his hands throbbed with pain when he finally settled for the night on the floor of Tanti's living room with about five other men. How he longed for his bachelor pad back in New Jersey with its nice Tempur-Pedic bed - and perhaps a woman next to him to complete the dream.
Chapter 9

The night air was cool, fragranced by fallen fruits just beginning to rot. It produced an aroma of fine wine that perfumed the air. The moonlight kissed every surface, washing the leafless, branchless trees with silver, while the combed mountains stood like tall silhouettes against a backdrop of the sterling moon. Had the circumstances been different, it would have been a beautiful romantic night.

Alia sat on a small boulder a few yards from the river bank.

Her eyes were fixed on the rapidly churning brown waters but her mind was far away. There were so many things she had to sort out. Tanti always said obstacles were just minor bumps in the path of life. Well this hurricane was an enormous mountain.

She looked back at Tanti's house with its bright blue tarpaulin almost glistening in the moonlight. She had promised to fix the house. It was a promise she meant to keep. Tanti had sheltered her when she moved to Roseau to attend the Dominica State College where she had gotten an associate's degree.

Tanti provided for her and expected nothing in return. She owed it to Tanti to take care of her. But the money she had saved was for continuing her education and pursuing her dream of being a journalist. If she used it to fix Tanti's house, she would have to stay in Dominica and work another two or three years before going off to university.

"Great night for romance, don't you think?" Kyle's deep melodic voice startled her.

It took a few seconds for her to regain her composure.

"Are you following me, Kyle?" she demanded.

"Of course; I have to protect you," he answered, his eyes twinkling with mischief.

Alia cast her eyes up at him. He was wearing shorts and an old tank top and sported a budding beard, but he looked good. He smelled fresh, of Lifebuoy soap and some kind of body splash.

"Do I look like I need protecting? Or is that your feeble attempt at chivalry?" Her tone held a hint of sarcasm.

He sat on the rock next to her. "I was out here long before you. I saw you exit the house."

Alia smiled for the first time that evening. "So why are you out here?"

Kyle looked over at the picturesque mountains. "It's a beautiful romantic night. Why waste it?"

She fixed her eyes on him and repeated the question.

"I couldn't sleep - not with five sweaty bodies around me and Mr. Elwin snoring like a Mack truck."

Kyle's statement elicited a laugh from Alia. "If you think that's bad, try three women in your bed including a pregnant one and a little baby screaming every few minutes. Oh, and don't forget the kids on the floor."

Kyle joined her in laughter. The few times he had heard her laugh, he had liked it. It was light and almost carefree. It made her seem like a different person.

They were quiet for a brief moment, each one reflecting on the day and their current circumstance. In the still of night, the crickets chirped above the roar of the river. A few bats darted overhead.

Kyle broke the silence. "Do you think they'll fix that road anytime soon?"

Alia shook her head. "I doubt it. Right now, we're cut off from everybody."

"Looks like fate always brings us together," Kyle observed.

"Then fate has a wicked sense of humor."

Kyle laughed. "What? Is it so hard to imagine you and me together?"

"Kyle, look at us. We have nothing in common. You're all about the party and your _siwo_."

"Siwo?"

"Good time. Fun. Partying," she translated.

"Now how would you know that?"

"You forgot the circumstances under which we met?" Alia asked quietly.

Kyle chuckled lightly. "There was the bachelor party the night before; what do you expect?"

"And the reason why you missed the evacuation flights?"

Kyle shrugged his shoulders in resignation. "In my defense, I am on vacation."

"Vacation from what? Common sense?"

Kyle patted her on her shoulder. "Vacation from a very stressful job."

"What work do you do?" she inquired.

"Why don't you guess?"

Alia thought deeply. The way he had been throwing money around, she would guess it had to be some well-paid job. She knew he was college educated, because in his speech he had mentioned meeting Leila Delmont while in college. She had also heard him discussing with some of the men that evening about what it would take to rebuild and improve the village, mend the roadways and prevent landslides. "An architect or an engineer."

Kyle smiled. "Not even close. I'm a bank teller."

Alia raised her eyebrows in surprise. She would never have guessed that. "I heard you tonight -"

"I studied architecture for about two years before changing to engineering," Kyle responded, looking over at the mountains.

"Then why are you working as a bank teller?"

"I guess I partied a little too much and flunked most of my engineering courses. I switched to business and finance and hated it. Then my mother decided I was wasting her money so she pulled the plug. I took an associate's degree in business administration and that was it for college."

"Sounds like you lacked focus."

"The funny thing is, when I entered college, I knew exactly what I wanted to do. I wanted to be an architect, like my father."

"So why did you change your mind?"

"It's a long story."

Alia looked at her watch. It was a little past eleven. "We have all night."

After a long moment of silence, Kyle turned the tables.

"What about you? Besides working at a hotel, what do you want to be?"

"Since I was a kid, all I ever wanted to be was a journalist. I was hoping to make that dream a reality by next year, but with the hurricane damaging Tanti's house, it may take a little longer."

"I would have guessed your ambition was to be a model."

"You would have been so wrong. Why would you think that?"

"You're beautiful, well-dressed, and you've modeled before.

I saw your photo on the travel guide."

Alia smiled and looked up at the moon. She grabbed a small pebble and threw it toward the raging water. Wistfully, she said, "That is just a means to an end. But right now, this hurricane has thrown a giant monkey wrench in my plans."

"I know. Had it been different, yesterday I would have been touring the Emerald Pool and the Cabrits. Today I would have been visiting Titou Gorge, Trafalgar Falls, and the Fresh water Lake. And tomorrow I would be hiking Morne Diablotins."

"Seems like the hurricane messed up all our plans, though some are more life-altering than others."

"You know, you don't have to wait until you go to college to be a journalist. You can start now. You have the perfect opportunity - a whole village flattened, cut off from the rest of the world. You have exclusive footage. It could be like a video diary."

Alia smiled. "You're forgetting one itsy bitsy problem: I don't have a video camera."

"I do. It has two fully charged batteries and tons of CDs plus a sixteen gig hard drive. I can be your cameraman and you can chronicle the damage and the recovery efforts."

"Really!" she exclaimed, her accent deepening in her excitement.

"Yes, really," Kyle responded, suddenly caught up in her enthusiasm. It felt so wonderful to see her beautiful, genuine smile. In the light of the silver moon her face was radiant.

"Oh Kyle. That would be so great. I totally underestimated you."

Kyle smiled. "And I you."

Kyle and Alia gazed into each other's eyes, smiling. Alia drew her eyes away and gazed up at the moon. The emotion she was experiencing was making her a little uncomfortable. Yes, it was gratitude, but there was something else underlying it. It was attraction, desire, and a kind of closeness she did not want to

feel at this time.

Kyle's voice was soothing when he spoke. "I looked at your well-groomed nails and hair and thought you were one of those ultra-feminine women who concentrated a little more on appearance than substance. I was totally wrong."

Alia smiled and looked down at the moist ground.

He continued. "You are strong, determined and have a heart of gold. I never expected you to do all the things you did today. The way you got down and dirty and helped with the cleanup, the way you climbed through that tiny chimney. And then you put your own life in danger to save Teshawn's life. I've gained a whole new perspective and a lot of respect for you."

Alia kept her head down. She twirled a pebble between her fingers, her discomfort escalating. Her mind raced as she tried to make sense of all the emotions churning within her.

Kyle placed his finger under Alia's chin and lifted her face. He gazed into her dark brown tapered eyes, captivated by her beauty. Her long hair flowed gently around her face. Her exotic eyes held a dreamy, sultry expression. Kyle stared at her, lost in her gaze, enthralled with her clear flawless skin, her high cheekbones, and those deliciously full sensuous lips. He whispered,

"Alia, you are beautiful, on the outside and the inside."

Alia felt her heart flutter, beating like a drum in her ears.

She could hardly breathe as she gazed into his large light-brown eyes. She saw passion, desire, and felt herself slipping, falling into his romantic trap.

Kyle touched her hair tentatively. It was soft and silky. The attraction for Alia was so strong it took his breath away. Slowly he lowered his face toward hers, his eyes never leaving hers. He saw in them longing, desire and a vulnerability that was totally uncharacteristic of the super-composed Alia. His heart raced as his lips inched closer and closer.

Alia closed her eyes. Her heart was racing and her mind was in turmoil. A day ago she had hated Kyle Robinson. Now here she was, on the verge of doing something she had never done before. She was confused, feeling things she should not be feeling.

Not for Kyle, not for anyone at that point in her life. The attraction was so strong she felt helpless. Her mind was telling her not to do this, but her body was ignoring it. His hand in her hair, the other hand on her chin lifting it for his kiss felt so right.

Suddenly a moment of clarity ensued. This man would do anything and say anything to have a good time. What happens after the kiss? Sex? And then he would be gone from her life just as quickly as he had come.

Alia jumped up from the rock, leaving Kyle seated, a strange expression on his face. "This can't happen," she said before dashing off to the house.

"Alia, wait!" Kyle called to her departing back as he stood up from the rock. He had no idea whether to chase after her or let her be. No woman had ever run away from him like that before. Kyle looked at Alia as she crossed the fence and headed for the house. "Man!" he exclaimed, kicking the rock he had been sitting on. He had come so close.

So close to what? A kiss? A one night stand? An ephemeral tryst?

Kyle looked longingly at her disappearing back and realized one night with Alia would never be enough. She was the type of woman who would keep him wanting more.
Chapter 10

The morning light flooding the tiny outside kitchen did not awaken Kyle. The aroma of breadfruit roasting among the coals, smoked herring frying, and hot cocoa being brewed from locally grown cacao beans did not stir Kyle from his sleep. Not even the commotion of multiple women preparing a communal meal for all the folks staying at Tanti's place awoke him. He was tired, stuck in a deep sleep, dreaming of one thing: a night with Alia.

Finally, sometime around nine o'clock, Kyle's eyes fluttered open. He stretched and yawned, shifting the sacks of coals beneath him. Squinting, he peered around the tiny kitchen. The smothered embers still glowed in the coal pot. He recalled how close he had come to kissing Alia the night before, and the realization that his attraction for her was more substantial than he had initially anticipated. When he left the river bank the night before, he could not fathom going back into the cramped living room and sleeping on the floor with five sweaty men, when Alia with her sweet-smelling hair and tantalizing lips was just a few feet away.

So he had made a bed in the detached kitchen by aligning sacks of coals end to end on the concrete table and slept there. It was not a comfortable bed, but he had been tired.

So after tossing and turning for a few minutes, he had fallen into a deep, restful sleep.

Kyle jumped off his makeshift bed and went outside to wash up. The place was deserted except for the pregnant woman and Tanti.

"Where's everybody?"

"Gone to clear up the rubble," Tanti responded, handing him a tarnished enamel plate with roasted breadfruit and smoked herring.

Kyle ate with gusto while looking around for signs of Alia.

The smoked herring with the breadfruit tasted wonderful, and though he would have preferred some fresh-squeezed grapefruit juice, the cocoa tea went down well.

"Where's Alia?" he asked Tanti.

Tanti looked up at Kyle with a sly smile as if she knew some great secret. He wondered if Alia had mentioned what had transpired at the river the night before. He doubted it.

"She went to take some food to the people taking shelter in the school and some elderly women up the hill," Tanti responded.

"Up the hill?" He asked surprised. He had driven up the hill and the only thing "up the hill" before the landslide was that small but affluent-looking settlement a few miles away. "She walked?"

Tanti nodded.

Kyle was impressed with Alia even more. Beneath the cold controlled exterior she was a gem.

He went to get himself ready for the day. With the heat and hard manual labor, most of the bottled water had been consumed.

Since it would be a while before water could be restored and the river was still running muddy and way above flood levels, Tanti decided to reserve most of the water for cooking and drinking. Only one bath a day was allowed and the quantity of water allotted for that bath was drastically limited. Consequently, Kyle used a damp rag to freshen up and sprayed himself with as much cologne as he could tolerate.

Just as he finished dressing, Alia returned.

"Good morning," he greeted her cheerily.

Alia mumbled a response and moved around rapidly packing food in a Pyrex dish.

"I need to talk to you," Kyle continued.

Alia did not meet his eyes. Instead she snapped, "Not now."

Before Kyle could say anything else, Alia covered the dish with a kitchen towel and quickly exited the yard. He looked at Tanti and raised his eyebrows in surprise.

"She's been like that all morning," the pregnant woman told Kyle. "It's like she's setting on rotten eggs."

"Give her a break. She has a lot on her mind," Tanti responded.

Kyle couldn't help but wonder if her behavior that day had something to do with the kiss-that-almost-was the night before.

***

It was midday when Kyle returned from helping the men clear the road and sift through the rubble. It had been hard going.

The fallen fruits were now rotting, attracting swarms of large blue-tailed flies, fruit flies, and a variety of bugs. There was nowhere to dispose of the fallen trees once they were cut. It was unbearably hot and humid with almost no breeze. And yes, the tools they could access were primitive.

When Kyle returned, Alia was in the kitchen busily pounding a paste in an enormous mortar and pestle. "What are you making?" he asked, startling her.

Alia looked visibly uncomfortable. " _Toton_ ," she answered brusquely.

"What's that?"

"Pounded breadfruit."

Kyle observed her driving the pestle in the mortar, angrily beating the boiled breadfruit to a pulp. Her once manicured nails were broken unevenly and her fingers were blistered. Her cuticles were blackened from the coals. She had worked side by side with the men clearing some of the rubble and then returned to help Tanti cook on the coal pot.

"Are you okay, Alia?" Kyle inquired.

Alia did not answer. Instead she pounded the _toton_ with a vengeance.

"What's eating you? Are you upset because of what happened last night?"

Alia stopped briefly. She looked at Kyle with steely eyes and sternly said, "Nofing happened last night."

"Come on, Alia, I know you felt that energy between us."

"I don't know what you're talking about." Alia got up and took the mortar outside. She began serving the men and women the _toton_ with canned corned beef that had been stewed with onions and other seasonings.

After Kyle had eaten, he ran into the house and dug in his bag for the video camera. He had made a promise to Alia and, despite her sour mood, he was going to keep it. When he returned to the makeshift camp in Tanti's yard, Alia was nowhere to be found.

He grabbed the camera and walked down toward the river.

As he gingerly stepped over twisted galvanized sheets and tree branches he saw Alia sitting on a fallen tree trunk, staring out at the water deep in thought.

Kyle turned on the camera and approached her.

Hearing the footsteps behind her, Alia looked up at Kyle and scowled. "I said not now, Kyle," she warned sternly.

Kyle spoke into the camera in the low tone of a radio announcer.

"This is Alia Graneau, our lead journalist. She will guide you through the destruction caused by the fierce winds and rains of Hurricane Harriet."

As Kyle turned the camera toward Alia, she smiled grudgingly and blocked the lens with her hands.

"You can't film me like this. I'm not ready," she said.

He put the camera on pause: "And when, pray tell, will you be ready? When the cleanup is completed and we have nothing much to report?"

Alia brushed her hair back with her fingers and plaited it into a French braid. Using the tail of her shirt, she wiped coal dust off her face then tied the oversized t-shirt in a knot on the side. "I'm ready now. Where shall we start?"

"The river."

Alia's smile was genuine when she looked at him. With a low husky voice and a much neutralized accent, Alia spoke.

"Hurricane Harriet visited the tiny island nation of Dominica leaving devastation and destruction in its wake. A category four hurricane, Harriet flattened much of Dominica, flooded rivers, and caused major landslides. Here in the tiny village of Silver Lake, just a few miles east of the capital city of Roseau, the devastation is complete. Take a look at the river behind me, rising several feet above flood level and carrying with it roofs, houses, cars..."

When Alia finished her introduction she looked up at Kyle for approval. He was smiling, impressed with her professionalism and the sparkling personality revealed in that short narrative.

The two laughed and walked down to the brown roaring river, still high and thunderous. They walked around the village filming broken-down and roofless houses while Alia narrated.

They walked the mile or so down the hill to where the road had caved in and filmed there. They filmed the men hard at work cutting trees, and displaced residents sorting through rubble recovering the remnants of their possessions.

Some men cutting a large tree that had fallen on a house called out, "Yank, stop messing with Miss DA and come do some work."

Kyle called back lightheartedly, "Eat your hearts out, suckers. I've got the best job in town."

The men laughed and continued working while Kyle and Alia trudged uphill to the landslide. Side by side they chronicled the devastation left in the wake of Hurricane Harriet. Everywhere they went, folks treated them as if they were a couple.

As they wrapped up videotaping the landslide and the damaged homes, Alia looked up at Kyle and smiled. "Thanks,

Kyle."

"For what?"

"For giving me the opportunity to practice my future profession."

Kyle smiled. "You'll be a great journalist someday."

"You really think so?"

"Yes. You're a natural."

The smile on Alia's face was as priceless as it was beautiful. It was a smile that would be forever embedded in Kyle's mind.

Chapter 11

It was dusking in by the time they reentered the village.

Kyle checked his watch. "I say we call it a night, get some grub and a bath."

"We'll continue tomorrow?" Alia asked hopefully. She was feeling happy for the first time since the hurricane. Chronicling the damage caused by Harriet, telling the stories that would otherwise go untold, gave her a sense of purpose. It was a welcomed escape from the helplessness she was feeling. "I'd like to get some interviews with the people."

Kyle shrugged. "You heard the guys. I have to leave the beauty queen and put my hand to the plough."

"C'mon Kyle. What's a documentary without the human side?" She stopped on the main road just outside the hamlet.

"Why don't you leave the camera with me and I'll film while you put your hand to the plough?"

Kyle looked at her, a playful smile on his face. "Hmmm. I don't know. This is an expensive piece of equipment."

"And I promise to guard it with my life."

Kyle hesitated.

Alia looked up at him with doe's eyes and batted her long lashes. "Pleeeeease? Pretty, pretty pleeeeease."

Kyle clucked his tongue. "Okay, but it'll cost you."

Alia laughed lightly. "How much?"

Kyle's smile widened. "How about some extra grub on my plate?"

Alia said in a throaty voice, "That can be arranged."

"Are you flirting with me, Alia Graneau?" Kyle teased, his eyes twinkling as he spoke.

Alia laughed a light feathery laugh. "What do you think, Mr. Robinson?"

Kyle looked her over from head to toe before answering. "I guess I'm pretty cheap. I can be bought with good food and a pretty smile."

They laughed and Kyle handed over the camera, demonstrating for her how it worked. They were still in light spirits, laughing when they entered Tanti's yard. The camera was still recording.

They stopped short, the laughter dying on their lips. Huddled in a little circle, all the folks who gathered at Tanti's for meals listened intently to the static-filled squawk of a transistor radio.

" _Sa ki wivé la_?" Alia inquired with concern.

She was immediately shushed.

Tanti broke away long enough to whisper, "DBS radio is back on air."

Kyle and Alia joined the throng, straining to hear the solemn newsreader as she recounted the devastation caused by Hurricane Harriet. No place on the island had escaped the fury of the winds. Portsmouth and areas to the north were the hardest hit. Rivers flooded their banks carrying away homes and vehicles. Landslides throughout the island had left people stranded. Strong winds had left many homeless and without power or water. There were at least two people confirmed dead and dozens missing or unaccounted for. The airports and sea ports were damaged, making it difficult for aid to get to the island. And even if the ports were operational, the damaged roads made distribution improbable. At the end of the broadcast, they requested prayers for the country and played "Ave Maria" followed by repeated recitals of the Rosary.

The news from around the island left those in Silver Lake feeling that they were lucky. Everyone was alive and accounted for. At the same time they felt hopelessness. There would be no power or water restored. The road to Silver Lake would not be fixed anytime soon. As a result, residents were stranded with dwindling supplies.

Potable water was already in short supply. Baths were already restricted, laundry terminated and the rations had been reduced dramatically as the food in Tanti's kitchen was quickly used up. The villagers had foraged through some of the broken-down homes looking for canned goods, but with most folks having had little to begin with, the venture did not add much to the stock of goods in Tanti's pantry.

As the residents learned that food was scarce island-wide they became overwhelmed with despair. Their concerns about the welfare of relatives and friends increased astronomically.

Despair translated into anger, and as the radio station played solemn religious music, the villagers began to grumble and fuss.

Gone was the flippant attitude of camaraderie. Gone was the holiday atmosphere where people welcomed days at home from work. No longer were the excited chatter and light ribbing taking place. The tension wound tight.

Camera forgotten, Kyle observed the villagers crestfallen with despair. "Come on guys, I'm sure the roads will be cleared soon and aid will get to us. The rest of the world is not going to see a country suffer like this."

Mr. Joseph snickered. "How can they get aid without the air and seaports? You think relief is going to magically drop down like manna from the sky?"

Kyle thought about it. He was worried too. His family and friends were probably dying with worry about him, fearing him dead. There was no way to get word to them. No way for them to reach him. He could imagine his mother calling Congress and lobbying every politician she knew from her days as a White House aide to do something to find her son.

"America will find a way to get relief to the island," he responded with more confidence than he felt. He had the nagging feeling that they, in this isolated village cut off from all other areas, were on their own.

Ma Lambert, an older woman in her sixties, spoke up in an accent so deep that what she said was lost on Kyle. "Even if the island get aid, you fink they gon give it to us? We not rich; no politicians live here. This is Silver Lake. They'll give it those who could already afford it."

A heated political debate ensued. It grew louder and louder until a vociferous woman called Finey made it personal and verbally attacked Mr. Joseph.

"Woman, you better doh test me today before I give you one _kaloté_." Mr. Joseph jumped up from the tree stump where he was sitting.

"You want to try," Finey challenged, standing directly in front of him with her hands akimbo.

Finey's live-in boyfriend, Egbert, jumped up too. "You doh put your hands on my woman without going through me."

Mr. Joseph threw a punch and Egbert ducked, throwing a punch in return. Mr. Joseph ducked and the punch intended for him hit Finey instead. An all-out brawl ensued.

In Creole Tanti shouted, "Get out of my yard if you're going to behave like animals."

They ignored her. A soft spoken gentleman that the folks had nicknamed Preacher Man stood between the fighters, separating them from each other and eventually calming them down. After everyone had settled, Preacher Man said in a voice that could be used on a pulpit: "God makes the rain to fall on the just and the unjust. He makes the sun to shine on the rich and the poor. And he will bring aid to members of all political parties and social groups and income brackets."

"Amen!" Tanti said clapping her hands. "If we remain together we can get through this."

Though the fight had stopped, tensions ran high and people were snapping at each other.

Suddenly Ma Joseph, Mr. Joseph's wife who operated the shop that once belonged to Tanti, showed up with a bottle of Red Cap rum. "Look what I found in the rubble." She held the bottle high.

A cheer went up from the men. It was a welcomed sight. In addition to a few extra cases of canned corned beef, spam and tuna, she had found a few cases of Kubuli beer intact and a few unbroken bottles of rum.

One by one the men passed the bottle of rum to each other. Kyle went into Tanti's house and by the light of the kerosene lamp located the cards he had bought for entertainment.

Another man provided dominoes. In a few short minutes, they set up a table and some old benches on the street in front of Tanti's house. A bright gas lamp was hung from the bit of fence that remained standing, providing light for the game. Boisterous games of cards and dominoes ensued.

A few minutes later, people from the houses at the bottom and the top of the hill joined in. Someone brought bakes and saltfish and grapefruit juice. Soon the tension was lifted as the men drank and laughed loudly while the women gossiped. Children played marbles and hopscotch before getting ready for bed.

Tanti, Alia, and Kyle stood near the fence observing the lively game of cards while capturing the impromptu party on video.

Tanti commented _sotto voce_ , "Hurricane Harriet, the great equalizer."

"What do you mean by that, Tanti?" Alia inquired.

"If everything was normal those people from up the hill in their big walled houses would not be caught socializing with the people from Silver Lake. This hurricane has stripped them of their worldly possessions just as it has stripped us of ours."

Alia observed and had to agree. In the years she had lived with Tanti she had never seen anyone from down the hill or the new community up the hill hang out in Silver Lake.

"Hey, Yank, how about a game of doubles?" Mr. Joseph called to Kyle.

"What's that?" Kyle asked.

"Dominoes in teams."

Kyle strolled over to the card table and took a seat across from Mr. Joseph. He took a swig of rum as it passed around.

Four of them played several rounds of dominoes with Kyle and Mr. Joseph teaming up against Preacher Man and a small man they called Squeezie. Everyone at the table drank except Preacher Man.

Kyle passed the bottle to Preacher Man but he waved him away. "The Good Book says: 'Wine is a mocker and strong drink is raging and he who is given to it is a fool'."

"Come on," Kyle urged. "A good stiff drink will make the loss a little easier to swallow."

"Let sleeping jumbie rest," Squeezie said.

Kyle did not understand the saying and continued urging Preacher Man to try the rum.

"The prophet Isaiah in his God-granted wisdom said, 'Woe to them who rise up early in the morning and seek after strong drink, who tarry late into the evening as wine inflames them'," Preacher Man responded.

"Didn't Jesus turn water into wine?" Kyle asked.

"What do you know about the scriptures, Yank?" Preacher Man demanded.

"Enough to know that the apostle Paul told Timothy to drink a little wine for his stomach's sake," Kyle countered.

"That was medicine in those days," Preacher Man explained.

Finey shouted from her perch on a log near the fence: "Then you must have been really sick a year ago, Preacher Man."

The crowd laughed heartily. Preacher Man ignored the laughter and plunked down his last domino, winning the game.

"Anyone of you _zèzès_ up for another round?" he asked triumphantly.

"Winning get to your head already, Preacher?" Mr. Joseph asked. "Let's go another round."

"What's a _zèzè_?"Kyle leaned over and asked Squeezie.

Squeezie answered without looking up, "An idiot."

Preacher Man and Squeezie lost the subsequent rounds and the spectators taunted them relentlessly. As the taunting increased, so did Preacher Man's frustration.

Kyle offered, "Have a shot, it'll calm your nerves."

"Yank, leave Preacher Man alone. Everybody knows he can't hold his liquor," Squeezie said.

Preacher Man plunked down a domino, shaking the flimsy card table in the process. "I can hold my liquor just fine." He grabbed the bottle from Kyle and took a swig. "Happy now?" he asked. "Hand me a beer, Yank."

Kyle obliged.

As the night wore on, Preacher Man drank more and more and quoted scriptures. It was comedic and kept the gathered crowd entertained. He got up from the table, staggering, throwing punches at the air as if fighting an invisible opponent. This elicited more laughter from the few men remaining around the card table.

"I think you should go home, Preacher," Mr. Joseph said.

"Where does he live?" Kyle questioned.

"Up the hill," replied Mr. Joseph.

Kyle looked at Alia. She was watching him keenly, visibly upset. A few seconds later she plunked down the video camera on the table in front of Kyle and walked off. Though the game was not yet over, Kyle laid down his dominoes and got up from the table.

Mr. Joseph stood and opened his palms in disbelief. "What?

You're going to follow her like a boom-boom fly?"

"No, I'm going to give Preacher Man a ride home. You don't expect him to walk all the way up the hill in this condition do you?"

With the help of a few men he loaded Preacher Man into the Jeep and drove him up the hill to his severely damaged home.

The roar of the river did nothing to soothe Alia's anger and disappointment. She sat on a log seething over what she had witnessed that night. _How could grown men be so callous? How could Kyle be so uncaring?_

She had just begun to get comfortable with him and finally admitted to herself that she was attracted to him in some weird way. He was quite paradoxical. One minute he was self-centered, caring only about having a good time at the expense of others, the next he was altruistic, putting the wellbeing of others far above his own. She did not understand him.

She would never get men. That was why she kept far from them.

Men had always been good for one thing: stripping women of their dreams and hopes. She had seen her mother saddled with the burden of raising five children on her own, while her father had fun. She had seen her sisters' dreams derailed by men. Her oldest sister, Jenna, had wanted to be lawyer. Her second sister, Patricia, wanted to be a medical doctor and Alia wanted to be a journalist.

Jenna got pregnant at eighteen and immediately married her baby's father. The man proved to be an abusive philanderer who kept her barefoot and pregnant. Four years and four children later, Jenna had had enough. She left her husband and migrated to Antigua. Instead of becoming a lawyer, Jenna was raising four children on her own and lived in the slums of Grace Farm, cleaning schools for a living. Her dream of becoming a lawyer was dashed.

Pat also got pregnant at eighteen, but never married. After seeing what her older sister suffered, she packed up and migrated to St. Kitts. She fared much better than Jenna. She married a Kittitian and became an elementary school teacher but her dream of becoming a medical doctor was never realized.

Alia stared out at the river, thoughts turning over in her mind. She would not let her attraction for Kyle get in the way of her ambitions, no matter how charming he pretended to be.

She was still seething at his callous treatment of Preacher Man when she heard the twigs crunching behind her. She did not have to look up. She knew Kyle must have followed her to the river bank. And though she hated to admit it, not only did she expect it, she secretly wished for it.

Kyle sat on the log next to Alia, making her heart race uncontrollably.

Alia stared out at the river, saying nothing, the anger on her face masking her turbulent emotions.

"You okay?" Kyle asked, breaking the stillness of the night.

His voice held a hint of tenderness, concern, and remorse.

Alia did not answer. She folded her arms about herself, the warm river air sending an unnatural chill through her body.

"If it's any consolation, I drove him home," Kyle said softly, his words barely audible above the roar of the river.

Alia sighed. "How could you be so callous?"

Kyle cast his eyes on the water and remained silent. The river was slowly going down, leaving a few new basins in its wake. The water was not as brown as earlier that day, but cloudy.

She looked up at Kyle, her eyes still flashing daggers. "I can forgive you because you don't know Preacher Man's history, but the others - I mean they live around him. They know what he's been through."

Kyle took a stick and doodled hearts on the damp soil. He immediately erased them with his foot. "What's his story?"

"Preacher Man was an ordained minister. He had a beautiful wife and a really nice son, Michael. Michael and I were in Dominica State College together. Four years ago our class went on a hike to Titou Gorge, that deep gorge between the mountains that was featured in Pirates of the Caribbean. Michael tried swimming under the arch to the waterfall on the other side and drowned. Preacher Man never got over it. He began drinking and after constantly finding him face down in the gutter, the church stripped him of his position. His wife eventually left him, and the drinking escalated. He is an alcoholic, Kyle. A year ago he got his life back in order. He stopped drinking and he and his wife finally got back together. You have just undone all that the poor guy managed to accomplish in the last year."

Kyle was genuinely remorseful when he looked at her. "I'm so sorry, Alia. I didn't know he was an alcoholic. I just thought he was being a religious snob with his scripture quotes."

Alia looked up at Kyle, her eyes softer, the angry scowl gone from her face. Their eyes met and held for a long moment.

Alia sighed. "I excuse you." She looked back out at the water. "Those guys laughing at his antics and teasing him have no idea the pain and suffering his wife must be feeling."

Kyle observed her soft jaw line as she gazed out on the water.

Her French braid was becoming unraveled. Stray strands fell around her face.

He spoke in a soft voice. "Does your reaction to Preacher Man have something to do with your father?"

Alia stiffened. "What did Tanti tell you about my father?" she demanded.

"Nothing. But I saw your reaction the other night."

Alia sighed but remained silent.

"You can talk to me, Alia."

"What do you know about the lives of poor people in this place? You would never understand."

Kyle smiled. "You'd be surprised that my life is far from perfect and my family is definitely not like Bill Gates'. But even if we were, it doesn't mean I cannot understand."

Alia picked up the twig and began doodling in the mud.

"My father was one of the best fishermen in Salybia, just like his father before him. He was a kindhearted man and a good provider when he was sober. But just like his father, he was a drunk. When he was drunk he was quite entertaining, so people were always content to buy him rum. It embarrassed my mother no end when men brought him home passed out. While he was out drinking and spending everything he made on rum, we had to suffer poverty. We survived on the kindness of friends and relatives. One night when I was about eight, he went out on his boat after drinking. Nobody stopped him. He never came back.

People searched for days, but neither he nor his boat was recovered.

Some people say he died, others suspect that he ran away to one of the French islands, still others say a soucouyant devoured him. No one knows for sure."

"What's a soucouyant?"

"A mythical creature like a vampire."

Kyle placed his arm around her shoulder and drew her to him. "I'm sorry about your dad."

They sat in silence on the log for a long time, his arms around her back, her head resting on his shoulders.

"You remember I told you that I wanted to be an architect but changed my mind?"

Alia nodded.

"My father was my role model then. He was an architect with his own architectural firm. Then in my second year of college, he just upped and left my mother after thirty plus years of marriage. Nobody saw it coming. He began running around with a bunch of barely legal girls, squandering his money on exotic vacations and showering them with lavish gifts. He abandoned the business, leaving my older brother, fresh out of graduate school, to take over. I was so disappointed in him, I changed my major. I didn't want to do anything that reminded me of him. Two years later he came back home. He was sick. Turned out, he had a brain tumor. I had a hard time forgiving him. I asked my mother why she took him back. She said she forgave him because she knew it was not him that was behaving so riotously, but the brain tumor that changed his behavior. He died two years ago."

"Did you ever forgive him?"

"I don't know. Sometimes I feel that I have forgiven him, and other times I feel that I haven't."

"I know the feeling. Sometimes I feel that my father abandoned us and other times I am certain that his boat sank."

Alia sighed and nestled her head on Kyle's shoulder. They had a lot more in common than she had originally thought. She felt a closeness to Kyle that she had never felt with anyone before.

His nearness was as comforting as it was frightening. She knew she was playing with fire but felt powerless to stop.

Kyle's hand gently caressed her long soft hair. Slowly he undid the braid, letting her hair cascade around her face. Alia felt herself falling under his spell. She gazed into his eyes and felt as if he could see into her soul. She lowered her eyes, taking in his full lips and wondered how they would feel on her own.

Her breath caught in her throat and suddenly fear enveloped her. She had to stop whatever it was she was feeling. She extricated herself from his semi-embrace and walked over to a bare tree standing on the river bank. She needed to clear her head.

Alia leaned against the debarked tree trying to control her racing heart and her rapid breathing. She did not notice when Kyle got up from the log and followed her.

"You know," he said softly, observing the moonlight reflecting off the waters, "this reminds me of my first kiss."

Alia looked up at him and swallowed hard. She inhaled deeply, calming herself.

Kyle continued. "My parents had taken us on a trip to the Amazon for their twenty-fifth anniversary. I must have been thirteen or fourteen."

He took a step closer to her, his nearness making her heart flutter.

"You visited the Amazon?" she whispered. Her voice shook.

Kyle nodded, a smile gracing his lips.

"She was sixteen years old. One moonlight night, she took me for a walk along the river. It was just like this: the moon sparkling on the waters, the night creatures singing, the warm breeze whispering through the trees. She asked me if I'd ever kissed anyone. I said no. She just put her arms around me like this..." He placed his arms around her, effectively trapping her against the tree. "...and lowered her lips like this..." He lowered his face toward Alia.

Alia inhaled deeply, her heart racing, her head in turmoil.

She closed her eyes as her chest heaved up and down. She felt his hand on her hair as he removed a stray strand from her face.

She swallowed the lump in her throat. Her lips were dry, yet she was afraid to moisten them. She opened her eyes to see him staring down at her with eyes filled with desire.

Their eyes locked. His eyes sought permission to ravish her lips. Her lips parted expectantly. His lips captured hers in a tender yet passionate kiss that took her breath away and left her weak in the knees.

When he reluctantly released her lips, he whispered, "And I've been trying to recreate that moment ever since."

Alia looked up at him with fear-filled eyes, but she remained rooted to the spot.

He smiled and asked, "When was your first kiss?"

Alia was silent. She did not want to answer that question - not when her first kiss had been just a few seconds before when he ravished her lips and left her desiring more.

"Kyle," she whispered. "We can't—"

Kyle's lips covered hers, cutting off the words she was about to say. His tongue probed her mouth passionately as he drew her close to him, tenderly caressing her arms and back.

Alia responded with passion, her tongue meeting his, entwined in a sensual tango. Her heart beating wildly, her knees weak and rubbery, she leaned against his hard chest for support.

Every fiber of her being came alive as his touch awakened sensations she had never before experienced.

She gasped when his lips left hers long enough to nibble at her throat. He showered her face and neck with tiny kisses that left her burning with heat.

"Oh God, Kyle," Alia whispered weakly. Her body had taken over, effectively shutting down her brain, taking with it all rational thought.

He placed his index finger on her moist lips. "Shhhh," he whispered as he nuzzled her neck and sent a trail of hot wet kisses down to her chest.

His mouth was hot on hers when he captured her lips once more. He snatched the very breath from her lungs, leaving her panting.

She grasped the back of his head, savoring the sweetness of his kisses and kissed him passionately. When they released each other they were gasping for breath. Alia searched Kyle's eyes.

The passion she saw, the raw desire she felt as his erection poked into her belly, was as scary as it was tantalizing. The realization that she wanted way more than just a few kisses struck her with sudden clarity. It was a fearful thought. Men had always been the downfall of the women in her family.

She finally found her voice.

"Stop, Kyle," she whispered breathlessly. Her heart attacked her sternum with a vengeance. "We have to stop."

"Alia, Alia," he gasped. Kyle closed his eyes and nestled her head on his chest. It was hard to stop. He wanted Alia in the worst of ways.

"I'm sorry," she apologized, extricating herself from his embrace. "This can't happen again. I should never have led you on."

"Alia, you didn't lead me on," Kyle whispered, but Alia was already running up the inclined river bank toward the house.

Kyle stared at her silhouette against the moonlight. He closed his eyes. He had kissed many a girl in his day, but none had had the effect that Alia had on him. His desire for her had surpassed mere affection, surpassed mere physical desire.

Chapter 13

Perfect.

The moonlight sparkling on the water like myriad tiny stars beckoned enticingly. The basin, a miniature lake courtesy of Hurricane Harriet, spanned a twelve-foot diameter. It was fed by a tiny new tributary separated from the main body of the Roseau River by rocks, stones, and silt, and drained back into the river somewhere downstream via a tiny creek. It was far enough upstream of Silver Lake and downstream of the neighboring village to offer a modicum of privacy. The high cliffs separating it from the main road limited access and ensured isolation. The shading by thickets of underbrush and a verge of wooded area made it all the more appealing.

Kyle laid out his towel and freshly laundered pajamas on the grassy verge. He stripped naked, his body now sculpted and chiseled from the manual labor of the past few days. He dove into the chilly waters, letting the coolness soothe his aching body and troubled mind. With the sliver of Lifebuoy soap left, he scrubbed himself thoroughly from head to toe before enjoying a relaxing swim in the water.

It had been ten grueling days since Hurricane Harriet had trapped him here in Silver Lake. Seven days since he had shared those beautiful time-stopping kisses with Alia. The thought brought warmth to his heart and heat to his nether parts.

Lots of things had changed since then. The river had returned to its normal crystal clarity and flowed lazily to the sea, leaving gifts of new miniature lakes and basins. The airports had been opened for aid relief, though not for commercial flights.

Food and supplies were entering the country. He had heard it on the radio. Many places in Roseau and the outlying areas were getting cleaned up and electricity was being restored to the essential services. Roads were being repaired to allow transportation to and from the air and sea ports. Most of the missing had been accounted for. A second radio station had come back on air. But all that meant nothing to the residents of Silver Lake.

Isolated from everyone else, the people prayed for the day when the only access road into the village would be fixed. There was still no communication either by cell phone or land line.

Power was still out. Water was still not flowing in the taps. The food had been dwindling rapidly, the rations getting smaller and smaller. After a week the canned meats had all but run out. A few days before, a man down the hill had slaughtered the last of the fowls from his flock and that supplied meat for the day. But it had been days since Kyle or any of the villagers saw meat. Most of the provisions - dasheen, sweet potato, yams, and green fig - had been consumed. The fruits that remained on the few standing trees were long gone. The only staple that seemed to be in abundance was breadfruit.

Kyle had eaten breadfruit in every form: as breadfruit logs, fries, breadfruit balls, _toton_ , mashed, boiled, stewed, curried, in soup, as casserole and his favorite, roasted among the coals. But he was tired of breadfruit. At this point he longed for a Big Mac and fries with all the works, or maybe some deep-fried KFC chicken. The cravings had become almost erotic.

There was probably a reason for that. Not only was he food-deprived, he was horny as hell. Since that day a week before when he had shared those toe-curling kisses with Alia, she had avoided him like a plague. She no longer visited the riverside and mused about the future or reflected on what had happened during the day. She avoided being alone with him at all times. She never looked into his eyes anymore. It was painful seeing her so close, yet not being able to hold her, touch her or feel her lips on his, her tongue exploring the secret places of his mouth. She had ignited a fire in him that was yet to be quenched and she was oblivious to it.

Kyle sighed and swam as fast as he could to one end of the basin and back. He got the distinct impression he was being watched. He ducked under water and emerged, shaking his head like a dog after a bath. He quickly reached for the towel on the grass verge. To his astonishment, all of his clothes had disappeared.

***

It was only after eight, too early for Alia to sleep. But with a dwindling supply of kerosene and no idea when that would be replenished, conservation was mandatory. A strict eight p.m. lights-out rule was put in place at Tanti's home. So Alia sat on the back step in the light of the moon only half listening to a talk show on the radio station.

Her mind was elsewhere on her favorite subject: Kyle. He seemed to occupy every waking thought, no matter how much she tried to put him out of her mind. She had avoided him this past week - not an easy thing to do when he was living in the same two hundred square-foot space. The feel of his lips on hers, the warmth that had spread to all parts of her body leaving her tingling in places still foreign to her, lingered.

She was conflicted and it was visible. She had spent the last few days with the other women doing laundry in the river. Ma Elwin had observed her the day before washing one item of clothing over and over again while staring into space. She commented that Alia needed to get her head out of the clouds.

Soon a few of the women began teasing her, asking if she was daydreaming about Yank.

Alia looked up at the sheets hanging on the line, billowing like sails in the mild breeze. She inhaled the fresh scent emanating from them. Bits of clothes hung on fences and over trees.

She was so happy the river had returned to normal. It was a welcomed relief to wear clean, freshly laundered clothes, take a full bath with more than a bucket of water and wash her long thick hair.

Alia was still slouching on the step looking dreamily at the sheets and thinking of Kyle when she heard the announcement that work on the road to Laudat would commence the next day.

Alia bolted upright and listened attentively as they gave the details.

She wanted to dance and shout. Silver Lake _was_ on the road to Laudat. They were finally getting to them!

She rushed into the house. "Tanti! They're fixing the road tomorrow. We'll be able to get supplies soon."

Tanti and the two women sharing her bed rejoiced at the news. After a few minutes of jubilating, the house quieted and most people went back to sleep. But Alia was too wired to sleep.

Once again she slipped out of the house. She knew Kyle never went to sleep early, but she checked the kitchen where he normally slept anyway. He was not there. She had to find him.

She had to tell him the good news. She walked down by the river to the tree where they had shared that heart-stopping kiss.

The memory of his lips on hers made her shudder. But he was not there.

She asked a teenage couple enjoying a romantic stroll in the moonlight if they had seen Kyle. They pointed up river, stating they had seen him head in that direction. Alia trudged along the bank of the river, her thin eighties-style wraparound dress no match for the chill of the river air. As she neared the new basin she heard splashing. Shielded from the path by dense brush and shade trees, she saw Kyle swimming naked in the miniature lake. Her heart leapt in her chest. Uncertain whether to go or stay, Alia stood in the shadow of a tamarind tree observing him silently.

Gosh, he was sexy! His body was nothing like she had seen the first day they met at the hotel. He had lost at least ten pounds. He was ripped with lean taut muscles and washboard abs, a veritable Nubian god. She was there a good five minutes admiring his body when the idea hit her. With a playful smile, she executed her diabolic plan and retreated to the shadows.

Kyle girded his hips with the towel and looked around.

"Who's there?" he called.

Someone was playing a prank on him and it was not funny.

He turned around 360 degrees, trying to see in the dim moonlight. The forest was eerily silent.

"This is not funny!" he yelled.

He knew a few of the guys were pranksters, but could not imagine any of them playing this kind of trick on him.

"Okay, you've had your laugh. Now give me my clothes and get over with it."

He heard a rustle behind a large tamarind tree. He stepped in the direction of the tree. The person moved around the fat trunk and out of sight. Kyle walked around the tree hoping to spot them but the mischief-maker kept just a few inches out of sight. Kyle changed directions abruptly and the prankster bumped into him, still holding his clothes.

"Alia!" he exclaimed. He was both happy and relieved to see the laughter on her face. "Who knew you had it in you to play a prank."

Alia giggled, her laughter reverberating off the trees in the area. She held out the clothes to him and as soon as he reached out to grab them she hid them behind her back and ran. He chased her around the tree.

He finally grabbed her around her waist and pulled her back into his bare chest, stripping her of his clothes. She swung around in his arms to face him. They were both laughing.

Kyle asked, "What's gotten in you? This is so unlike you."

Alia grinned. "They're working on the road down the hill tomorrow. We are getting out of here!"

Kyle pumped his arms, "Yeah baby! We're free!" He lifted her off the ground and spun her around enthusiastically. The towel almost slipped from his waist in the process. He placed her gently on the ground and held the falling towel with one hand.

"I think you can get dressed now," Alia whispered, her eyes drawn to his lower abdomen.

Kyle rewrapped the towel around himself. He placed both hands on her waist and drew her to him. "Who said I want to?"

Alia let out the breath she was holding. She looked into his eyes, captivated by the desire she saw, drawn by the passion she felt. "It's... It's a g—good idea," she stammered.

Her heart raced. He smelled delicious. The fresh scent of Lifebuoy soap combined with his natural musky odor to give a sensual, arousing aroma.

"I want to make love to you, Alia," Kyle breathed in her ears, his lips brushing against her earlobes sending shivers down her spine.

Alia sucked in her breath, her eyelids heavy. She knew she should have been offended. She had met him only eleven days before. But the truth could not be denied: she wanted to make love to him. It had been seven painful days avoiding him, when she wanted nothing more than for him to shower her with kisses, caress her tenderly, and yes, though she did not want to admit it, make love to her.

Kyle kissed her eyelids, her cheekbones, her nose, all the while whispering sweet nothings that drove her wild with desire.

" _Bondyé_ , Kyle," she whispered weakly. "This is a bad idea. We..." He planted wet hot kisses on her chin. "...can't..." His lips brushed softly against hers sending shivers down her spine. "...do..." His mouth was hot on hers when he captured her lips.

He kissed her passionately, hungrily sucking the very breath from lungs. Words forgotten, mind blank, Alia responded with fiery passion. She had dreamed of this moment all week and no matter how much control she wanted to exercise, she was powerless.

They kissed again and again, deep sweet passionate kisses.

His tongue explored the deep recesses of her mouth, filling her with a burning desire for fulfillment. Between kisses he whispered breathlessly, "I missed you Alia. Why'd you stay away so long?"

"Oh Kyle, I missed you too," she gasped, running her hands over his rock-hard muscles. She was burning with desire.

She wanted him like she had never wanted anything before. She kissed him again, building the heat to incredible proportions.

Kyle's hands expertly caressed her arms and shoulders, working their way toward her chest. Through the thin material he caressed her breast. Her nipples responded, hardening and poking through her dress. He wanted to feel them beneath his fingers, and taste them. He slipped his hand into the fold of her dress, tenderly caressing her breast.

She was not wearing a bra. Alia moaned. She had never been touched there before. It was an indescribable feeling that left her weak in the knees and hot to the core. Her whole body throbbed.

Bending his head, Kyle kissed her neck and placed myriad hot wet kisses on her throat and chest. Untying the string at the waist, he unwrapped her dress and looked with lust-filled eyes at her beautiful round breasts heaving as she breathed in short rasps.

"You are beautiful," he gasped. Her hourglass figure was lovelier than anything he had seen. He took one erect nipple into his mouth, slowly suckling, his tongue gently caressing it. It sent him wild. His penis painfully hard, he knew he had reached the point of no return. Taking her entire breast into his mouth he suckled as if his life depended on it. His breathing was raspy; a deep guttural moan escaped his lips.

Alia gasped and leaned back on to the trunk of the tamarind tree, her knees no longer able to support her. Her breathing came in short gasps as his hands cupped her hips while he suckled her other breast.

She moaned as his towel slipped from around his waist. His penis stood erect, poking into her lower abdomen. She could not help herself. Tentatively she touched it, feeling its hard ridges and tenderly caressing the shaft.

Her mind collapsed. All logical thought dissipated. She was driven by the needs of her body and the heat that had built to explosive levels. She wanted him, as much as he wanted her.

Suddenly, in the distance, they heard leaves crunching. Kyle and Alia pulled away from each other, gasping for air. Rapidly, she fixed her clothes while he got dressed. They were still breathing deeply, their faces red with passion when the teenage couple passed close to them holding hands.

After the couple had passed, Alia looked at Kyle. Her passion was replaced by fear when she realized the enormity of what had almost occurred.

Fully dressed Kyle drew her close.

Alia was trembling when she looked up at Kyle. Her expression was one of fear, mingled with desire and pain. She spoke softly, haltingly, when she said the next words: "Kyle, we're moving too fast. I'm not ready for this."

Kyle wanted to scream, _"I need you woman."_ Instead he whispered,

"I'll wait until you're ready."

He planted a loving kiss on her forehead.

He was not one to mix up lust and love. He had to admit - he had never really been in love. The closest he had come to it was his first year of college when he had had a steady relationship that lasted all of three months. But what he was feeling for Alia, the softness, the tenderness, that ache in his heart that made him want to be with her perpetually was more than lust, more than desire. It was something he was willing to wait for, though he knew his time on the island was limited.

Could this be love?

***

Alia could not sleep, no matter how she tried. Thoughts of what had happened earlier that night filled her mind. She had never felt that way before, not for any man. She had always viewed men as the enemies, the obstacles that kept women from achieving their goals. She had guarded her virginity with a figurative chastity belt. And here she was, about to lose it with a man she hardly knew. Not only did Kyle make her burn with desire, but the emotions she felt were overwhelming. It seemed she could not breathe much less think around him. He managed to rob her of all rational thought. _Is this what love is? Am I in love with Kyle?_

She couldn't think straight knowing he was outside in the kitchen probably lying on the ever dwindling supply of coals, thinking about her. What had possessed her to go this far?

What would have happened had that young couple not interrupted them?

Alia slipped into Tanti's room and shook her awake. "Tanti, I need to talk to you."

Tanti looked around, disoriented for a split second. "Is everything okay?"

Alia shook her head.

Grabbing the flashlight, both women made their way into the indoor kitchen. The blue tarp covering it fluttered in the wind. Tanti lit the gas stove and put a kettle on for tea.

"You got the stove fixed?" Alia whispered in surprise.

Tanti nodded. "Mr. Elwin fixed it today. The tube connecting the tank to the stove just needed a little jiggling." She placed some fresh lemongrass leaves into two cups and poured the boiling water.

Together they sipped the aromatic herb tea while Tanti waited patiently for Alia to tell her what was on her mind.

Finally Alia, looking off into space, hands around the dented enamel cup, whispered her question. "Is it okay to make love to a man after just a few days of meeting him?"

Tanti did not expect the question and opened her eyes wide in surprise. After a moment of silence, she asked, "Kyle?"

Alia nodded.

"Are you in love with him?"

Alia shuddered. The thought of being in love and ending up like her sisters was terrifying. They had both suffered because they allowed themselves to fall in love with the wrong person.

Love was something that made one lose control and the thought of losing control was terrifying. Yet the feelings she was experiencing...there was no other way to explain them. She had rebuffed every man's efforts to connect with her in the past. She had not even so much as kissed a man until Kyle. And here she was contemplating sex with him, after knowing him for only a week.

Alia shrugged. "I don't know Tanti. I feel all these things and I can't tell if it is really love or just - you know," she said.

Tanti's smile was reassuring. "Kyle is a good man. I see it in the sacrifices he makes. But he is immature. Maybe a sober woman like you is just what he needs to become focused." She paused and sipped her tea. "Alia, I think you're in love with him. I noticed there was something the very day you brought him here. But don't lose your head in all this. He leaves this place as soon as the airports open. If you give yourself to him, can you live with not seeing him again?"

Alia contemplated Tanti's question. She could not imagine giving herself to Kyle and never seeing him again. Yet how could she not when the desire within her burned so deep. Just one glance and she was like mush. One touch and she was putty in his hands. Her brain refused to function when he was around. "What should I do?" she asked, looking across the table at Tanti forlornly.

Tanti shrugged. " _Timoun_ , I can't tell you what to do. All I can advise you to do is to find balance. Follow your heart, but listen to your mind. If I had followed my heart when I was young, I would have ended up like your grandmother and a host of other women in Salybia. Thank goodness my mother took that decision from me. But you, Alia, are so much more mature than I was at that time. You know what's right and what's wrong. You know what you want to achieve. Only you can make the decision for yourself." She added with a wry smile,

"You don't have to end up like your sisters. There are multiple ways to prevent pregnancy. Plus Kyle is nothing like those vagabonds your sisters got involved with."

Long after Tanti returned to her bed, Alia sat in the dark in the kitchen. The only light was the moonlight streaming through the opened windows. She still did not know what to do, but she admitted one thing: she was in love with Kyle.

Chapter 14

The entire village gathered around the caved-in road observing the dumpers and backhoes as they dumped rocks and silt from the mouth of the river into the gaping hole. Excited chatter from the ever-increasing crowd of spectators rose above the noise of the heavy equipment. It was a party atmosphere filled with great anticipation as the villagers celebrated the beginning of recovery for the residents of Silver Lake and beyond.

On the other side of the road, heavy equipment and trucks with supplies were parked, waiting for the road to be fixed. It was only a temporary fix with steel plates connecting one side of the road to the other. The real challenge would be further uphill, clearing up the landslide and opening up the road to some of the most visited tourist sites on the island.

Kyle leaned against his parked vehicle, loud calypso music blasting on the car radio. He observed Alia standing on the outskirts of the crowd talking to a man in his mid-thirties. By his body language he could tell that the man was enamored with Alia and that maddened Kyle, dampening the celebratory mood.

Kyle tried making eye contact with her to no avail. He was about to walk over and whisk her away when he felt a vibration in his pocket.

He removed his cell phone. _He had a signal!_ Hundreds of text messages and missed calls were registering on the phone.

Anger forgotten, Kyle gave a loud whoop. A few people on the periphery of the crowd looked at him as if he was crazy. He held the cell phone up and shouted, "I have a signal!"

Soon people were busy checking their cell phones, making calls, sending text messages and communicating in any way they could. When Kyle looked for Alia, the man she had been talking to was nowhere in sight and Alia was frantically dialing a number.

Kyle entered the Jeep for privacy, rolled up the tinted windows and turned off the music. He dialed his mother, his heart beating rapidly with anxiety. The phone rang a few times before she picked up breathlessly as if she had been running to get it.

Hearing his mother's voice, he immediately teared up, something he did not want anyone to witness.

His mother cried into the phone, "Oh Kyle, Kyle, Kyle.

You're alive." He could hear her sniffling, hardly getting the words out. "Are you hurt? Are you okay? Have you eaten anything?

Where are you?"

The questions tumbled over each other too rapidly for him to answer. "I'm okay, Mom," he whispered hoarsely, his voice breaking. He took a deep breath. "I was trapped in a little village, but everyone made it through the hurricane safely."

"Oh God, Kyle, we thought you were dead. We tried calling everywhere we could. I miss you so much. We all miss you.

When are you coming home?"

Kyle was hesitant when he answered. "I don't know. They are just now fixing the road for us to leave the village, but the airports aren't opened for commercial flights as yet."

"Make sure you're on the first flight out."

Kyle looked around at the villagers, many of whom still occupied the Community High School building or Tanti's hut. He had an option. They did not. He did not answer.

"Your brothers are here," his mother said. "We were having a prayer vigil for you tonight. Your sister should be arriving in an hour's time. She drove down from Connecticut. Do you want to talk to them?"

"Not—" With his battery life low and no way to charge it, the last thing Kyle wanted was to prolong the conversation.

"I'll put you on speaker phone."

"No, Mom, don't put me on sp—"

"Whad up, dawg?" Khalil, his middle brother greeted. It was too late. His mother had put him on speaker phone. "We were just about to start your memorial service," he quipped.

"Who is she?" His oldest brother Daryl teased.

"She who?" Kyle asked. There was no way they could know about Alia.

"The broad who made you miss your flight. The only thing could make you do such a dumb thing is a nice piece of ass."

Kyle laughed. His brother, now owner of their father's architectural firm, was always straight-laced and organized. He had taken the responsibility of running the business just out of graduate school where he had done an engineering degree and an MBA combined. He had married young, and now lived vicariously through Kyle. Though he would never traipse around the world, party all night, or hook up with women, he lived for the stories Kyle would tell. "You know I don't kiss and tell."

Both Khalil and Daryl exclaimed in unison: "Since when?"

"Did a coconut fall on your head during the hurricane?"

Khalil teased.

Kyle could hear his mother in the background scolding them for being so cavalier.

When she came back on the line she told Kyle that the entire community of Rochelle Township had collected enough to send two containers of food, clothing, and medical supplies to the island. He thanked her and asked her to call his boss. He was not due back from vacation for another week. But with the changes, he still had no idea when he would leave the island.

After he had hung up, he heard a tapping on the window. It was Alia. She slipped into the vehicle beside him.

"You okay?"

He nodded.

"Then why are you crying?"

Kyle looked at his face in the rearview mirror, wiping the salt tracks from his dried tears. "I'm not crying."

Alia rolled her eyes, and then said with a wry smile, "I like a man who is not afraid to show his emotions."

"Crying is for wusses," Kyle said defensively.

"Then I find myself hopelessly attracted to wusses." She touched his face tenderly, planting a kiss on his lips. "Did you get in touch with your family?"

He nodded and smiled wistfully. "They were just about to memorialize me."

Alia got serious. "Really?"

"Nah. They were just having a candlelight vigil for me. My mother said she would use it to drum up donations for hurricane relief." It was his turn to touch her cheek tenderly. "Did you get your mother?"

Alia shook her head. "She doesn't have a phone. I'll have to go to her when the road clears."

Kyle laid his head back on the seat and closed his eyes. The road clearing was a good thing. It would allow him to go back to the hotel where there was some modicum of comfort and sooner or later he would leave the devastated island. Yet he felt a sad trepidation, as if the change would bring a loss. The thought of not seeing Alia again was gut-wrenching.

As if reading his mind she said, "We can still keep in touch when you leave. I'll get a Magic Jack with an American number and we can call each other every day."

Kyle reached over and caressed the back of her neck. Then he drew her to him, hugging her as if his life depended on it. "I still have a few days left before the airport reopens for commercial flights. Let's make the most of them."

Alia sighed and kissed him, a deep long passionate kiss. It was a kiss that held a promise.

When they finally parted, she whispered, "I'll miss you."

Kyle held her hand, caressing the back of her palm with his thumb. An idea had just occurred to him. "Why don't you come back to New Jersey with me?"

Alia laughed. "You're crazy."

"Why not? I have a relatively large apartment with an extra bedroom."

"Because, Kyle, I have a life here. I have a job, Tanti to care for, and I am this close to finally going off to UWI." She held her thumb and index finger a fraction of an inch apart.

"There are universities in America. Think about it."

"There's nothing to think about, Kyle."

Kyle sighed. The thought of not being with Alia was unbearable. Either he was in love or he was becoming a real softie. He wondered if that guy he had seen flirting with her was someone from her past, or maybe someone she had been seeing secretly. Maybe her reluctance had to do with a man.

"You're not seeing someone, are you?"

Alia ran her hand through her hair. "How can you ask such a thing? You think I'd be seeing someone and go as far as I did with you last night? What kind of woman do you think I am?"

"Who's the guy you were talking to earlier?"

"That was my teacher from college. He lives up the hill and he just agreed to cosign a loan that would help me get to college and fix Tanti's house, should I apply for it."

Kyle immediately felt embarrassed. He did not know what was happening to him. He was becoming an insecure wimp.

"I'm sorry, Alia," he said softly. "I just can't bear the thought of seeing you with someone else."

"Oh, Kyle," she whispered, squeezing his hand. "I don't want anybody else."

He held her hands in his and for a fleeting moment felt a completion he had never before experienced. He would have to find a way to convince her to travel to the States with him. He had only a short time.
Chapter 15

" _Bondyé_!" Alia cried. Her hand flew to her mouth in shock.

Kyle stared in stunned silence.

Alia looked around her apartment in dismay, the keys almost slipping from her fingers. The initial shock of witnessing her home without its newly renovated shingle roof was superseded by her consternation at the mayhem in her basement apartment. The river had visited, depositing two feet of thick mud in its wake. Her new overstuffed sofa and loveseat were covered with a thick layer of caked mud. On the wall, brown water stains rose just two feet shy of the ceiling, a clear indication that her apartment had been under at least six feet of water.

Near the back door, her heavy entertainment center, handcrafted by her older brother, lay overturned at least eight feet from its original location. Her bookshelves were empty. Alia stared at the bare walls forlornly. Not long ago those walls had been adorned with irreplaceable memories of her youth: a grainy photo of her parents' wedding, Alia and her father on his boat, she and her sisters outside a stone church. The opposite wall had showcased her pageantry with a collage of photos from the Miss Wob Dwiyet, the Miss Dominica competition and her coronation at the Miss Virgin Islands Caribbean pageant. They were all gone. Alia dug frantically through the mud for her photos.

That's when she noticed her flat screen television, acquired just a few months before on hire purchase, was gone, ripped out of the wall. There were no signs of her laptop or stereo system.

Her closets were bare, her clothes gone.

"I've been robbed," Alia muttered in disbelief. Despite the disparity in socioeconomic status between the impoverished residents of Silver Lake and those of the more affluent flanking communities, Alia had not witnessed one incident of looting. In fact, everyone had worked together, helping each other. As Tanti had so aptly described it, Harriet had been the equalizer.

Thus it came as a surprise to Alia that in this middle-class, respectable neighborhood filled with devout church-going folks, her apartment would be robbed in the wake of such a terrible disaster.

"Looters," Kyle agreed resignedly looking around the small two-bedroom apartment.

"It's not looters." A voice spoke behind them causing Kyle and Alia to turn rapidly.

"Mr. Immanuel," Alia acknowledged her landlord sorrowfully.

"What happened?"

"When the basement began flooding we decided to salvage as much of your stuff as we could."

Overcome with emotion, Alia hugged her landlord.

"Unfortunately, the roof came off and - well, you can see for yourself." Mr. Immanuel beckoned for them to follow him.

They went outside to the back porch and up a flight of stone stairs without railings. It was only then that Kyle realized just how much of a sacrifice the Immanuel's had made. They would have been exposed to the high winds and driving rain as they negotiated the external stairs that connected the upper story to the apartment below, just as he, Alia and her aunt had been when they had taken shelter in Tanti's detached kitchen.

The small group walked gingerly through the roofless house, carefully stepping around furniture that had been destroyed by the elements.

Mr. Immanuel pointed to a closet in the master bedroom that was six feet high and three feet wide. "When the roof came off, we had nowhere to run. Outside, the water from the river was up to six feet. The basement was already flooded. We took shelter in that little closet."

Alia tried to picture Mr. Immanuel and his overweight wife huddled in the tiny closet. It was bad enough that she had shared the detached kitchen with Kyle and Tanti, but that kitchen was ten times as big as the closet. A quick flashback of the howling winds that had rattled the shutters on the tiny brick kitchen and the terror they had felt as they escaped Tanti's house made her shudder. The Immanuel's had suffered so much more, yet they had sacrificed to save the things she held dear.

The thought brought tears to her eyes and she had to struggle to hold them back.

"Where are you staying now?" Alia asked her landlord.

"In Castle Comfort with my daughter. She fortunately did not suffer any damage." He picked through a few soggy boxes and handed them to Alia.

Alia smiled as she held up the photo of her parents' wedding. The glass was broken, but the photo was largely unharmed.

So was the one of her father and herself. "Thank you," she whispered to Mr. Immanuel, swallowing back tears.

Kyle sauntered over to the front window. He had a clear view of Silver Lake sitting on the cliff across the river. Tanti was right. Silver Lake with its poorly constructed houses was still a safer place in a hurricane than Elmshall. The same mountainside that threatened to collapse on them also shielded them from some of the harsh winds. Its location on the cliff prevented the level of flooding evident in this low-lying area. He was thankful that Tanti had not bowed to their pressure to evacuate.

Kyle returned to Alia's side and placed a comforting arm around her. "It'll be okay."

Mr. Immanuel observed the couple together. "Do you have a place to stay?"

Alia nodded.

Mr. Immanuel smiled. "I've got an appointment with the insurance agent in the next few minutes. You and your boyfriend will be okay here?"

Kyle and Alia looked at each other and smiled. _Is that what they were?_ It was something Alia had not had time to wrap her head around as yet. She had never had a boyfriend, had never kissed anyone or shared the kind of intimacy she shared with Kyle. She held no illusions. She did not perceive Kyle as the type of man who settled with one woman. In any case, a boyfriend had never been a priority on her list of accomplishments - at least not before she achieved her goal of being a world class journalist.

"He's not—" she tried to correct Mr. Immanuel.

Kyle cut her off, extending a hand to Mr. Immanuel while squeezing her with the other. "Kyle Robinson. It was really nice meeting you and thanks for taking care of Alia's belongings. I hope everything goes smoothly with the insurance and you'll be able to rebuild soon."

Mr. Immanuel smiled his thanks as he pumped Kyle's hands. He turned to Alia, taking her hand in both his giant palms. "I know you're in good hands," he said with a wink. "You have a good man." A moment later he was gone as quietly as he had appeared.

Alia looked up at Kyle questioningly. "Boyfriend?"

"Anything wrong with that?"

"Yes," Alia responded. "You'll be gone in a few days."

He fixed his eyes on her, contemplating whether or not to repeat his invitation. Looking at her fragile state and the despair he saw in her eyes, he decided against it. When the time was right, he would bring it up again. Instead he placed his arms around her, drawing her in for a comforting hug. "Everything will be okay."

***

The drive through Roseau was an eye-opening experience. Both Kyle and Alia had listened to reports of all the cleanup and restoration efforts in Roseau, and had expectations of some level of normalcy. Nothing could have been farther from reality. The place still resembled a warzone. Many of the exotic trees in the Botanic Gardens had been uprooted, the branches and trunks still lying haphazardly on the paths. The low-lying stone bridge to Elmshall was still covered in mud and rocks making it impassable.

On the Waterfront, the mouth of the Roseau River was blocked by huge boulders and a mini-mountain of sand and silt, forcing the river to fork and enter the sea via two divergent paths. Backhoes and bulldozers were busy removing the sand and silt and depositing them on to dumpsters to be taken to construction sites. A few cars could still be seen, sticking out of the shallow waters of the bay.

They parked the Jeep across from the public library, just a stone's throw away from Fort Young Hotel. From the outside nothing looked amiss; however, on entering the hotel Alia could tell there was water damage. A musty odor emanated from the carpets and walls. The hotel was deserted.

Kyle clicked his tongue. "Looks like the sea paid Fort Young a visit."

Alia did not respond. Life as she knew it was over. Not only had she lost everything and was homeless, now she no longer had a job. She sighed and walked out into the main corridor near the bar and reception hall where Kevin and Leila's wedding had taken place almost two weeks before.

Kyle followed. "You think they still have drinks in the bar?"

Alia shot him a stern look and kept walking toward the lobby. They heard footsteps and turned to see the source. Mike and three men in shirt-jacks strode toward them.

Mike introduced the men as insurance adjusters and then shook his head sorrowfully. "It's bad."

"What happens now?" Alia inquired anxiously.

Mike shrugged. "This is unprecedented. The hotel will be closed for the foreseeable future. I've been in touch with the owners only today. They're still unable to get into Roseau." He chewed on his lower lip. "Once we can arrange a meeting, we'll see how we can compensate the workers, but beyond that, I have no idea."

***

Returning to Tanti's house immediately was not an option - not after being cramped in that area for ten days. Kyle and Alia decided to explore other parts of the island and chronicle the damage.

Their first stop was Scotts Head. Surprisingly, the damage to the main road along the west coast of the island was less severe than expected. Only a smattering of houses in the Soufriere and Scotts Head regions were visibly damaged.

The couple drove on to the narrow rocky peninsula on the southern tip of the island that separated the Atlantic Ocean from the Caribbean Sea. More rocks had been deposited on the narrow strip of land and a small pool of sea water had settled at the base of the headland, but besides that, there were few changes.

Alia jumped out of the vehicle, shoes in hand, and Kyle followed suit. They walked to the edge of the calm Caribbean Sea.

The view of the Roseau shoreline was breathtaking. The sun reflected on the water sparkled like a million stars twinkling in concert. Seeing the vast expanse of ocean was a liberating feeling after being cooped up in Silver Lake for so long.

Alia stood at the edge of the water, letting the tiny waves break around her ankles. Closing her eyes, she turned her face up to the sky. She inhaled the cool sea air as the gentle breeze wisped her long flowing hair around her face. A serene smile consumed her face and she submitted to the calm soothing rhythm of the waves lapping the shore and the occasional squawk of a brown pelican. And for one fleeting moment, she forgot all of her troubles: her lost home, her lost job, the major bump in the road of life, Hurricane Harriet.

When she opened her eyes, Kyle was standing behind her, his hands encircling her waist and folding her into a warm protective embrace. Alia leaned into him, letting her head rest on his clavicle. They rocked to and fro, a rumba to the ocean's song.

Kyle nuzzled her neck. "I have a proposal for you."

Alia smiled lazily, reaching her long arms up to encircle his neck. "I'm listening."

"Come back to New Jersey with me."

Alia was silent. Wriggling out of his embrace she swung around to face him. "Kyle, you know the answer to that."

"Alia," he entreated, his voice bearing a hint of desperation foreign even to him. "You have lost everything."

"Except my dignity," she responded.

"Just how would traveling with me make you lose your dignity?"

Kyle asked, exasperated.

Alia sighed and walked a few feet away from him. He looked at her expectantly.

"Kyle, I am independent here. I have always been. I don't want to be a burden on anyone. I don't want to be your charity case."

"Alia, look at all you've done for me. I screwed up when I missed the evacuation flights. I was stupid enough to think that some frozen entrées and a few beers would get me through the hurricane. But you helped me through it. If I hadn't given you that ride to Tanti's I would have been stuck in a hotel room, unprepared and alone. Do you think I could have survived on my own in these conditions?" He lowered his voice. "Think of it as repayment for all you've done for me."

Alia placed her arms around Kyle's waist. "You mean well. But what happens when I begin to cramp your style?"

Kyle smiled. He drew her into his arms and looked into her eyes. "You won't cramp my style."

"Hmm, let me see... No all-night partying, no harem of women, no unlimited flirting..."

"I can live with that."

"Kyle, you and I both know that's not true. After the novelty wears off, your eyes will start wandering and I will be the impediment keeping you from having fun."

He kissed her on her lips. "Why don't you just come back with me and we'll take it one step at a time?"

Alia shook her head.

"What other choices do you have?"

She stared across the narrow peninsula at the waters of the Atlantic Ocean, contemplating her options. "I guess I can go stay by my sister in Antigua. They have a thriving tourist industry. I may be able to find work at a hotel there. Or maybe I can go to St. Kitts by my other sister. I don't really care for her religious zealot husband, but I'll have to live with it."

"Or you can come with me and let me take care of you."

"Kyle, I never once in my life considered being a kept woman or living with a man I'm not married to."

"Listen, Alia, if you're uncomfortable staying with me, you can always stay with my mother. She has an unoccupied guest house that she's been trying to fill since I left home."

Alia smiled and said nothing.

"What can I do to convince you?" he asked, his lips hovering inches from hers.

She smiled lazily. "Kiss me."

His lips covered hers in a deep passionate kiss that ignited every fiber of her being and took her breath away. When he released her he asked, "Convinced as yet?"

She looked up at him through hooded eyes and whispered, "A little more convincing needed..."

He kissed her again and again. When he finally let her up for air, she whispered, "I'll think about it."

Kyle never thought he would be so happy to hear such a vague promise. He hugged her to him, lifting her off the ground. For the first time in his life, he was willing to give up everything, including his bachelor lifestyle, for a woman.

Find out how Kyle and Alia's romance unfolds now:

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Jewel Amethyst was born and raised on the Caribbean island of St. Kitts. She is the author of two mass market romance novels, Marriage of Convenience and From SKB with Love one of three stories in the Holiday Brides' romance anthology. She has also written an authorized sequel to the _Pretty Little Liars_ series called _Pretty Little Liars: Indiscretion_ and a middle-grade science novel, _Zapped! Danger in the Cell_. Hurricane of the Heart is her second full-length romance novel. Jewel currently resides in Maryland with her family.

Text copyright ©2015 Jewel Amethyst

All rights reserved.

CaribbeanReads Publishing, Basseterre, St. Kitts, West Indies

J.L. Campbell's Grudge

Corra Bingham is all about preserving her sanity. After dumping her cheating ex, she goes on vacation in Xantrope. Time away is just what she needs to take her mind off the double whammy of her no-good ex and overbearing father. But things turn complicated when she nearly loses her life to a ruthless and persistent stalker. She's clueless as to why anyone would choose her for blood sport, but isn't happy when Phillip Denham appoints himself as her protector. He's everything she doesn't want in a man - good-looking, frugal with the truth, and a law-enforcement officer. Try as she might, she cannot make him go away, not even if it means saving her life.

Phillip Denham is a man on a mission. On a previous visit to Xantrope, he discovers that he has a twin. His life is a lie and he wants answers. Intrigued by the missing pieces of his past, Phillip returns to the island to trace his roots. While there, he encounters Corra and someone who is intent on putting her six feet under. She's a fascinating woman, but doesn't seem like the type who would make enemies, which leaves Phillip to wonder just what she's involved in. Not that she'd give him the time of day, for him to find out her secrets. Using his skills as a detective, he races to find answers that will prevent Corra from ending up on a slab in the morgue.

Copyright © J.L. Campbell

Published by The Writers' Suite

Interior Design: J.L. Campbell

1

Corra

Friday, August 31, 7:15 P.M.

One final lap and she'd quit.

Corra cut through the water, savoring the warmth left over from a day's worth of the sun's brilliance.

She braced her legs against the tiles and spun over on her back to admire the tapestry above.

A thousand stars winked an invitation to forget she was earthbound.

Xantrope's reputation for breathtaking beauty made her vacation choice easy this year. The land boasted brilliant flowers in a range of colors, and the citizens were friendly. Though the island lay close to home, she'd never taken the hundred-mile trip. Two days in, and Xantrope still lived up to her expectations.

Corra sighed, closed her eyes and let the water keep her afloat. She'd face Jamaica and her problems in a couple of weeks.

A small splash disturbed the velvety liquid, but she was too lazy to open her eyes. That was probably someone who also had some excess energy and needed a swim to relax them for bedtime.

She raised her head. Nobody in sight. Perhaps she was mistaken.

The tangle of trees and shrubs—designed to imitate the wild—blocked most of the light from the adjoining path. If she let her thoughts run free, the vegetation easily took on the appearance of a pack of zombies, poised to pounce and devour her flesh.

The secluded pool, which had seemed so inviting when she discovered it, now made her uneasy by its stillness. She rolled her eyes at her thoughts and let reality assert itself. Yards away, other vacationers lounged in their rooms, sated from dinner at the special seafood buffet put on earlier in the evening. She ought to stop watching so many horror movies and reading those blood-and-gore books.

The surface of the water broke around the outline of a man.

What the heck?

She prepared to give him hell, but before she uttered a word, he clamped her ankles and flung her to the side, attempting to keel her over. He pinned her from behind, chafing her skin. Then he grabbed a fistful of her hair and forced her face down. Foamy bubbles escaped on both sides of her head.

The water, which had always represented a source of life to Corra, now carried the possibility of death.

She kicked at her attacker and flailed her arms, desperate for air. Her limbs dragged, weakened by the laps she'd swum and her struggle. A flurry of bubbles left her nose, but she dared not inhale. He dragged her head back and forced it down again. Water flooded her nostrils, burning her sinuses and then rushing down her throat.

In a do or die attempt, she heaved her butt out of the water and tried to swing her body around.

It was a waste of energy.

This man intended to kill her.

Damn this headful of hair!

Please!

Her lungs gave out, activating a sea of froth, which added to the frenzied churning created by their thrashing limbs. She gulped and her throat closed, cutting off her breath. A frantic rhythm pulsed in her ears and pain spread in her chest.

Her heart or lungs would stop in seconds.

Her eyes closed and she drifted to where the darkness waited.

Someone shouted.

Once.

Twice.

She floated free of the restraining pressure.

Maybe someone will save me if I'm...

2

Phillip

Friday, August 31, 7:20 P.M.

_Lucky._ She was damned lucky he happened along when he did.

Phillip processed the scene in front of him. He had seen the result of many crimes, but not in-the-act like this. A few feet away, a thin man forced a struggling woman under the water.

Phillip commanded his feet to move, and peeled toward the pool, shouting as he went. The attacker swam to the edge, hauled himself out and took off down the strip of paving stones.

Phillip's muscles bunched and the policeman in him took charge, urging him to give chase, but the woman demanded his help. She floated facedown, moving in tandem with the water.

Her dark swimsuit acted as a beacon, drawing him to her.

He shucked off his shoes and dove into the pool, pushing to get to the center before she drowned. At the moment of contact, he gripped her shoulders, and turned her over.

Using a one-handed backstroke, he supported her body and maneuvered her to the steps. He climbed out—clumsy under her weight—and laid her on the tiles. Her face reflected the blankness of deep sleep.

He pushed her head to the side, allowing water to escape. Next, he tilted her head back, opened her mouth and pinched her nose. Taking a deep breath, he covered her mouth with his.

He let the air flow out in strong puffs, and then put his ear next to her mouth.

No warmth, no hitching of the breath.

Nothing.

He lifted her wrist and checked her pulse. Was that a faint beat? Hard to tell. Twice, he performed mouth-to-mouth resuscitation before her chest lifted and a sound emerged from her throat.

She was choking. He grabbed her shoulders and lifted, turning her to the side. As water leaked from her mouth onto the cement, she coughed and gurgled. He propped her up, waiting while she cleared her lungs. Her shoulders jerked and she pressed a hand to her throat.

Again, he shifted her so she sat up straighter. It was then that she started gouging his skin, and screaming, but only hoarse cries came from her throat.

"Don't worry, he's gone." He captured her wrists and lowered his voice. "He's gone."

Deprived of the chance to shred his skin with her nails, the woman hacked some more, and glared at him from beneath a soaked puff of hair.

He waited for her to speak.

She spat out a quick string of words. "What the heck d'you think you're doing?"

"Other than saving your life, you mean?"

She cleared her throat, rubbed her neck and inched sideways from him. "That's what you call it?"

"I wasn't the one trying to drown you. He got away."

She squinted at him in silence, and apparently decided to believe him. "He escaped?"

Phillip nodded. "Obviously, you don't know who it was."

"No, I don't," she whispered. "I don't live here. Why would anybody ..."

He shrugged, now conscious of his wet clothing, and the shivers that rocked her. A towel laid in one of the lounge chairs to their right.

He dropped it around her shoulders before he helped her to stand.

"We should get you to a doctor and notify the police," he said, while slipping into his shoes.

She shrank out of his reach. "I don't need the police."

Was that a trace of fear in her eyes?

"Lady, someone just tried to kill you."

She waved him away, and relaxed her facial features. "I'll be fine in a minute."

"You don't say."

Her posturing did not fool him. For some reason, she wanted to avoid the police.

He studied her arched brows, dark eyes and full lips. Water weighed down her hair, her chin lifted in defiance, and a near-petulant expression sat on her face. Still, she made a striking picture. Independent, royal and stubborn were words that came to mind as he studied her.

He tried another tack. "Complications do arise from near-drowning, you know."

She moved from one foot to the other and drew the towel closer to her body. "Like what?"

"Pneumonia, infection, brain damage."

Standing akimbo, she asked, "Do I look like I have brain damage?"

"Some symptoms show up within forty-eight hours." He smiled. "I can't say whether or not you're normal, since we've just met."

She drew herself up, opened her mouth, and coughed. He suspected it wasn't what she planned originally, but he used the opportunity to get her into her flip-flops and on the main path.

"Sorry," she gasped, when her coughing stopped.

Ignoring her attempts at politeness, he continued moving toward the nurses' station. He found it easily, having noted the location earlier.

The examination did not take long and the nurse pronounced her fit, but echoed Phillip's suggestion that she ring the doctor on call as a precaution. The woman ignored their advice.

At Phillip's insistence, they left the main building and headed to her room, which she reluctantly told him was close to the pool. On the way past an outdoor bar, he ordered a glass of cognac, and gave it to her at the entrance to her room.

"You should drink this. It'll warm you up and calm you down."

Despite the fright shadowing her eyes, her lips curved at his quip.

The carved Ackee on the door displayed her room number, and he wondered whether she'd be safe. From her sidelong glances at him, she still had doubts about his innocence, and who could blame her?

His attention strayed to the silver doorstop. She'd left her room open while she had a swim? She'd struck him as cautious and sensible. Now he had to rethink that.

She followed his gaze, and pointed in the direction of the pool. "I didn't plan to be in the water for long."

"All the same, you can't swim and watch your room door at the same time."

Lines of displeasure creased her forehead. "You're right, but this island is supposed to be safe. Isn't their crime rate the lowest in the Caribbean?"

"Odd things happen."

She pulled the towel close, which reminded him that it was bad form to have her standing around half-naked after nearly losing her life.

"Mind if I check your room?"

Her cocked eyebrow and puckered lips asked whether he'd gone mad.

He grimaced to hide a smile. Irony of ironies; she thought it okay to leave her room unprotected, but had a problem with him doing a security check. "I want to make sure nobody slipped inside."

She pushed the door, a not-quite-sour expression in place. "Sure, go ahead."

He made a swift, but thorough sweep of the two rooms. They mirrored his, except they were decorated in different shades of color. He secured the bathroom window, then tested and locked both sides of the sliding door.

She stood in the passage, clutching the goblet and waiting for him to finish. Wrapped in the towel, with her hair still dripping, she reminded him of a teenager. However, she had to be in her late twenties, at least.

While he eyed her, she stared at his chest, where the thin cotton dribbled and clung to his skin. After she had her fill, she met his eyes, frowning as though seeing him for the first time.

Undoubtedly, the color of his irises under the light puzzled her. At the quirk of his lips, a dusky flush colored her skin.

He rubbed the back of his neck. "Since you won't let me notify the police, we should at least tell the hotel security what's happened."

"Why?"

"In case you forgot, you nearly lost your life."

She licked her lips, glanced outside and let out her breath. "The man is gone, and nobody's in here, so I don't see the point."

"And what's going to stop him from coming back if you don't take the necessary precaution?"

She cupped her palms around the glass. "How is he going to find me?"

"The same way he did before."

That took the wind out of her sail. She slumped against the wall. "Okay fine. I'll call the hotel security."

He told himself to be content with that. Her safety was not his business, but his instinct told him she needed protection. Had she lied about not knowing the identity of the man who assaulted her? It would be interesting to find out, as her reaction made little sense.

"I'll go change my clothes and meet you back here," he said.

She shook her head. "You must have other things to do."

"I'm on vacation," he said, which was not the entire truth.

"Oh."

"You go make the call. I'll be right back."

He stood in the corridor, and she held on to the door. Her brows pulled together, hinting that suspicion continued to plague her. "Remind me again. How do I know _you_ didn't try to kill me?"

He gave her a full smile. "You don't. You were out cold, remember?"

"Why should I trust you?"

"Think about it while I'm gone." He turned to leave, but hesitated. "By the way, what's your name?"

"Coretta." She paused, angled her head toward him, and a facetious light shone in her eyes.

"But my friends call me Corra."

"I see."

He admired her spunk. After her ordeal, she should have been a wreck, but there she stood giving him backchat.

He raised a hand to smooth the cloud of hair surrounding her face, but let it fall. As much as he wanted to do so, he didn't have the right to touch: not her high cheekbones, soft lips, or the long lashes now hiding her eyes.

He wondered if any man had the right, and what motive anyone had to kill her. Curiosity turned to resolve. He'd nose around and see what he found out.

"Do what I asked," he said, before leaving her.

He returned to the pool, where he covered the entire area, squinting for clues under the light.

An instant before he gave up, he spotted a sliver of an object, nestled beneath a palm tree, just out of reach of the lights.

He picked it up with a napkin pulled from his pocket, and hurried toward a lamp post. He held the frayed, moist toothpick up to the light. Maybe it meant nothing, or he could choose to believe what his gut told him.

Someone had Corra under surveillance before the attack.

Instead of going to his room to dry off, he went in search of the head of the hotel security team.

3

Corra

Saturday, September 1, 7:30 P.M.

Phillip Denham already had one strike against him. He was too good-looking with his not quite-narrow nose, almost lush lips and glossy cap of hair that bordered on being bristly. And those eyes of his - now black as obsidian and deep as a well - matched the dark swirls in his dress shirt.

Corra had never seen eyes that color in a nut-brown face. She got lost in them every time she stared at him. She could not say how she knew, but he saw behind her mask to where she hid her insecurity. Fear still stalked her after yesterday's assault. Somehow, he knew that.

Worst of all, she found him dangerously attractive. She smoothed the napkin on her lap, still unsure why she agreed to have dinner with him.

She let her thoughts roam to their surroundings. The sculptures and wall hangings reflected Indian themes, and the colorful assortment of half-eaten dishes before her had not disappointed her taste buds.

Phillip's earlier discussion with their waiter confirmed his familiarity with Indian food, which said something about him. How did a Jamaican policeman become an expert on Indian dishes?

From their conversation, she discovered his intelligence soared far above average, which made her wonder about his rank. She followed his hand, which lifted a forkful of Tandoori fish to his mouth. With a shift of his eyebrow, he questioned her close study.

A tiny smile dismissed his concern.

Since her last relationship ended ten months ago, she decided to avoid any entanglement. Men couldn't be trusted, plain and simple. If she changed her mind any time soon, an ordinary man would do just fine. Phillip probably had women buzzing around by the dozen. By her standards, he was too tall and bulky, but women found those qualities irresistible.

Phillip reminded her of her father and a bit of Bradleigh, whom she hadn't thought about in a few days.

Good.

It was time she got over him.

In a minute, Phillip would have two strikes against him, for she suspected he belonged to the constabulary force. He had the look of Babylon - as they called policemen in Jamaica - clean shaven, no-nonsense, and something intangible that whispered law enforcement.

"Tell me something," she said, "are you a policeman?"

He glanced around the room before he replied. "Yes."

Disappointment soured the corners of her mouth, and she sighed. Strike two.

"What rank?"

"Detective Inspector." He propped the cutlery on the plate. "Is something wrong?"

Bradleigh was two ranks below that at Detective Corporal.

"No, nothing at all," she mumbled.

"You look terribly let down for it to be _nothing at all_."

She picked at a loose thread on her dress and sighed again, knowing her next statement would sound foolish. "If you must know, it's because you're a policeman. I don't like police."

He did that slight lifting thing with his eyebrow. "Somehow I thought you would have been different from the average Jamaican. Distrustful of the police, half the time for no reason."

"Oh really? You live in the same country that I do? Every few days in the news we hear

about police shooting people willy-nilly."

"Yeah, and you know what we're up against. Criminals with more fire power than we have."

She fixed her gaze on a marble elephant, disturbed by the thought that the gunshots fired by the police didn't bother her all that much. The ballooning crime rate helped to desensitize her to the unlawful action of rogue police officers. Sad, but it was part of the reality of living in Jamaica.

However, the other things policemen did in their personal lives disgusted her beyond measure. But she was no longer involved with a cop, so had nothing to be upset about. "Look, I'm sorry if that sounded like an accusation. It wasn't personal."

"If that was an apology, I accept it," Phillip said, softening his words with a smile.

It made her stomach do a little flip-flop. Nevertheless, he still had two marks against him.

She sipped from the glass of Aam Panna, a tasty drink made from green mangoes, which Phillip said was considered some kind of tonic. When she replaced the tumbler, it occurred to her to find out what she could about him. Not that she was interested in having a holiday fling, but it couldn't hurt to know why he'd chosen Xantrope as his holiday destination.

Maybe she'd ask her father if Detective Inspectors made enough money to take overseas trips. That's if she could bring herself to speak to Father nicely. To the public, Assistant Commissioner Edmund Bingham represented an upstanding lawman and pillar of society, but with his family, he morphed into a controlling disciplinarian who needed to get a life. To rid herself of the sour expression she felt creeping over her face, she asked, "So why did you choose Xantrope?"

"Family business," he said.

Softly, she asked, "So that's why you're here?"

He nodded, sealing her opinion of him.

Three strikes. The man was a liar. A day ago, he'd claimed he was on vacation.

Maybe he needed some down time while he dealt with family business and that's why he called it a vacation.

Her mouth curved and she drew her own conclusions. Most likely, that was a big, fat lie.

Family business probably meant trying to make nice with some 'baby mother', which was another thing she hated about policemen. They tended to spread their genes indiscriminately.

Corra, you're being unfair.

She wasn't, not according to what she had experienced with them. His activities meant

nothing to her. She now considered policemen off-limits.

The waiter came to her elbow. "Everything all right?" he asked.

She nodded, and Phillip asked him for the chit. That put Phillip one notch higher. He could have taken her to one of the restaurants on the property where he didn't have to spend any money, but he chose to do otherwise.

Though he had character, she wasn't interested in him. Not even maybe.

He walked her to her room and waited while she opened the door. The warm air, scented by night-blooming Jasmine, and punctuated by insect calls, should have provided the perfect romantic setting. Instead, worry, and the man at her side, bothered her.

She missed his next words when the crackle of a portable radio interrupted their conversation.

A security guard patrolled nearby. He came around the side of the building and touched two fingers to his forehead in greeting. Both of them nodded at him.

"Can you think of anything at all that might make someone want to hurt you?" Phillip asked, turning to face her.

She shrugged and tugged the hair out from the collar of her dress. "No. I don't have any enemies."

He said nothing, but she put some space between them by edging backward to allow a couple to pass down the corridor. He touched her bare shoulder, which set off a muted buzzing in her belly.

"Are you sure?"

Was she sure of what?

She frowned, thrown off-kilter and wishing the ruckus in her stomach would stop.

"There's no reason anyone would follow you here?"

She wanted to tell him to mind his own business, but the cop in him would lead him to ask more questions. Did he know more than he was letting on? Why was he so interested? What if _he_ had reason to harm her?

She quelled her uneasiness, told him goodnight and firmly shut the door between them. Once she satisfied herself the room was secure, she got on the phone and placed a call to her best friend in Jamaica.

4

Garrett

Saturday, September 1, 9:30 P.M.

So Coretta had found someone to protect her; the same busybody from last night.

That woman was luckier than she knew, but all the luck in the world wouldn't prevent her from dying. She lived only because time had gone against him yesterday. Another few seconds and she would have been a statistic.

He wouldn't give up. It wasn't in his nature. What he wanted was within reach, therefore, he'd fight on.

Coretta Ingrid Bingham — even her name sounded privileged. The woman had a gold spoon in her mouth and didn't know it. Granted he had more wealth than she could dream about, but she stood in the way of him adding millions of dollars to his fortune. Bad enough that she didn't die when she should have. Now he had to find another way to get rid of her. How typical of her to complicate his plans. But not for long.

She closed the door on the man she had dinner with, leaving him standing in the passage. He pushed his hands into his pockets and walked away from her door, shaking his head.

Follow him or not?

No. Better to focus on Coretta.

He removed the toothpick from the corner of his mouth and dropped it in his shirt pocket. He had lost one already. He couldn't afford any more slip-ups.

The man stopped and skimmed the garden from end to end before he continued walking.

She _would_ send him on his way without even a good night kiss. Garrett snickered and then concentrated on his plans.

Coretta had already proven herself a handful. After that failed attempt, he needed a foolproof idea. Better to kill her now, rather than wait for her to go back to Jamaica.

A tragic accident somewhere on the grounds could work, with no one the wiser. The waterfall came to mind as an ideal spot for a mishap. She had sat there this afternoon, reading in the shade of a Poui tree. Coretta was a creature of habit, which guaranteed another visit at some point.

He'd get his chance then.

In the shadows cast by a knot of Royal Poinciana saplings, he drew mental pictures of the steps necessary to committing a close-to-perfect murder. A fleeting picture of her father chilled his skin and knotted his stomach. He ignored his reaction and visualized all he stood to gain.

He tilted his head and laughed softly. Miss Coretta Ingrid Bingham had limited time left in this world. When she died, he'd have the freedom to pursue and overtake his dreams.

5

Phillip

Sunday, September 2, 7:30 A.M.

In his room, Phillip stared at the laptop, debating whether or not to have breakfast. Most times he didn't, but hesitated now based on the likelihood that he might see Corra. That's if she wasn't hiding from him in her room. He'd walk down to the breakfast area in a few minutes, but right now, he wanted to concentrate on the information on the screen.

Paul Mario Weekes, 33 years old, married, two children, occupation: farmer.

His police record was clean; however, Phillip's investigations had revealed that his brother had shady areas in his apparently pristine life.

Phillip read no further, but it didn't matter. He had committed everything on the screen to memory ages ago. He was simply procrastinating over what to do with the data in his hands.

Several months ago, while in Xantrope working on an intellectual property theft case, he had confirmed what he suspected for some time. He had another sibling, a twin in fact.

The first time he spotted Paul, Phillip was sure he was working too many hours and his eyes were fooling him. By the time he scrambled from the unmarked car, the man had disappeared, swallowed by one of the buildings lining the busy street in the business district. He had taken a huge gulp of coffee, cautioned himself to stay alert and keep his eye open for his suspect to emerge from the bank across the street.

The second time, when Paul turned up at the hotel where Phillip was keeping watch over a targeted female, something fell into place and he knew he wouldn't be comfortable until he unearthed everything he could about his double.

Everything he had felt in childhood came rushing back - the loneliness, the sense of loss, and of being incomplete. Cheesy, but so real.

He waited two weeks before he confronted his parents, unsure of how to approach them. His mother had gripped his father's hand as she sat in their living room, and avoided connecting with her son.

Anthony Denham finally cleared his throat and began to speak. "I ... we intended to tell you, but somehow we never got around to doing it. You are everything we wanted in a son and, well ... the urge to tell you faded as the years passed."

He closed his eyes and swallowed. "We never thought you'd find out because ... "

Phillip raised his brows and waited.

"Because we brought you back from ... from Xantrope."

Phillip faced the window and stared across the street. At least they hadn't lied about where they got him. They loved him. He knew that, but their duplicity hurt. All the emptiness he had borne alone would have been easier if he had known why he felt the way he did.

"Did you know I was one half of a twin?"

The silence answered his question. On his heels, he spun to face them. His father stared at him, defiant, his arm across his wife's shoulder. With tears in her eyes, his mother begged him to understand. The weight of their guilt had fallen on them all at once. Suddenly, they seemed older, or perhaps he was seeing them as strangers for the first time.

His father was as tall and wide as he, so he had never questioned their familial relationship.

The shifting gray eyes, they had attributed to some distant relative. A blatant lie, but no doubt concocted to deceive and yet comfort him.

Phillip sat up and banished his parents from his mind, unsure whether he had forgiven them yet. For now, he would concentrate on filling his stomach.

On the wide verandah facing the beach, he selected an array of fruits before pausing to find a table. Half way through his scan he spotted an Afro puff tamed somewhat by a sheer, yellow scarf. The petrified expression on Corra's face would have amused him on another occasion.

Now, he wondered what would cause her to react in that way. She ran the emotional gamut from confident to all out fear. Perhaps she still thought he was the one who had tried to kill her.

Another sweep of the area took care of the unease that came with his thoughts. Against her wishes, he had asked the hotel security to be extra vigilant while she was staying on the property.

Revealing his identity had guaranteed cooperation, which made him more at ease. He had no explanation for his hunch that she wasn't out of danger, but knew from experience it paid to stay alert. He ignored Corra's reaction to the sight of him and sauntered to her table, where she sat alone. Her black and yellow shift left her arms bare. Her toes peeked out below acres of material that made up her skirt and made him think of a little girl playing dress up in her mother's clothes.

A glance at her plate reassured him that she had sat there only a few minutes ago.

He approached the table, trying to be as non-threatening as possible. "You're up with the birds. Regular habit?"

She tipped her head to the side. "It's beautiful here, so it's easy to get up early."

He slipped into the chair across from her, taking the decision of being in her company out of her hands. "Mind if I eat with you?"

She shook her head, but her eyes said otherwise.

He speared a chunk of Cantaloupe and resisted the smile trying to grab his lips. She was polite, if nothing else. While she kept her eyes fastened on the eggs and sausage on her plate, he stole glances at the lashes hiding her almond shaped eyes. Everybody wore false eyelashes these days, but no, hers were real. Too spiky to be anything else. Her lips were pulled tight, as though she was displeased. He could take one guess at the reason and he'd be right. Slowly, he chewed the Melon.

Her gaze lit on his face and flitted away to a humming bird that hovered nearby.

She certainly was skittish. His size could be intimidating, but he was being as friendly as he knew how. Not that it was helping.

He had sent his partner an email overnight and was waiting for information that would confirm the hunch he had about Corra. On the surface, there seemed to be no reason why she would be a target. She didn't have the petulance of the privileged. Nor did she look like the type who would lead anybody on and make them turn spiteful, which puzzled him even more. Maybe she was standing in the way of something someone wanted badly. As to what 'it' could be, he had no idea.

Her gaze bounced away the moment he looked at her, and he wanted to smile again. He wasn't sure whether she was afraid of him because he was a man or because he was a police officer. He doubted it mattered much. From his side of the table, it seemed as though she had made up her mind she wanted nothing to do with him.

But he had other ideas. The few times he had ignored his instincts, he ended up paying dearly. Something was amiss with Miss Coretta Bingham and the cop in him was going to find out what.

The cool morning air swept his skin, simulating the chill that alerted him to danger. A minute study of the eating area and its surroundings yielded nothing, however, Phillip didn't lower his guard. He wasn't a policeman for nothing. Whatever lurked in waiting for Corra had to get by him first.

He popped a piece of Pineapple in his mouth. Corra followed his every movement until she realized he was watching her. Her lids lowered and her skin flushed a shade darker.

He found her reaction endearing. Another woman might have boldly met his eyes and let him know she found him attractive. Not Corra. She acted as though it was a crime that she was drawn to him. He wasn't the best looking man in the world, but neither was he a gremlin. Her reaction made him think twice though, which made him want to laugh again. But she wouldn't understand, and he didn't want her to think he found her amusing. She'd probably walk away from him and never look back if she suspected anything like that.

She was halfway through her meal, which reminded him to put his brain in gear. After the unsettling episode just now, there was no way he was leaving her to fend for herself.

"Ever been sailing in a glass-bottom boat?" he asked.

She shook her head, but asked. "They offer that here?"

He nodded. "I was thinking about taking a trip this morning. Boat leaves at ten-thirty. You game?"

She ran her teeth over her plump bottom lip and frowned at the sea.

"I'm told the marine life around here is fascinating. You won't regret it."

Her eyes lit up and he knew he had her then.

She sucked her lip into her mouth and nodded. "Sounds like fun. I'll go with you."

He kept the triumph off his face, and ate another piece of Pineapple.

"Meet me in the lobby at ten. A bus will be waiting to take us to the marina."

For the first time since he sat, she smiled. An open gesture which forced him to take a sharp breath to keep the air circulating in his lungs. He gathered his thoughts and quit staring. If he kept that up, any minute now she'd withdraw into herself and deprive him of that sweet smile.

Gentle ripples spread outward from the boat, creating a minor disturbance on the water's surface. The striped canvas above them provided shade and enhanced the view below. Several times, Corra touched the floor of the boat in wonder.

The uneven bed of coral beneath them glowed in brilliant hues of red, blue and yellow. Their myriad shape was a source of fascination for Corra, who pointed to a patch of clubbed-finger coral that waved at them in a lazy motion. Angel fish, Butterfly fish, Clown fish and Cardinals were among those he pointed out to Corra as they darted in and out of the reef, their colors competing with those of the marine garden.

It's like going scuba diving without getting wet," Corra remarked.

"And there's the additional benefit of getting a bird's eye view," Phillip said.

"How d'you know so much about fish?" she asked.

"My father is a fish keeper," he said. "He passed his love of it on to me."

"I bet you have an impressive tank," she said.

He grinned at her awestruck expression. "I do. I'll show it to you some time."

That ended her friendliness. In stages, she withdrew from him. Her hand no longer warmed his leg, where it had come to rest as she leaned over to stare at the marine life magnified by the glass. Subtly, she eased away from him and the easy smile left her face. In its place, a blank mask faced him.

So maybe he shouldn't have made it sound as if they'd have a connection after their vacation, but he was only being friendly. Or so he told himself. Against his will, something pulled him to her.

He thought about it for a moment and his brow cleared. He was probably drawn to her because he was a security officer and she needed protection. Not that she was prepared to admit or accept that. Earlier, he had asked her if she'd noticed any stranger acting suspiciously, or anything out of place. She had batted away his question with an open handed gesture that hadn't fooled him. The anxiety in her eyes was real, or he wasn't a ten-year veteran of the force.

The tiny marina coming into view distracted Phillip from his thoughts. He warned himself not to touch Corra, but lowered his voice to avoid the other couples within earshot hearing their conversation. "We can grab something to eat at the restaurant on the island. You okay with that?"

She nodded, clutched the bag she'd drawn on to her lap and kept her gaze glued to the dock.

He leaned against the side of the boat, waiting for the guide to give them the go ahead to disembark.

He held Corra's hand, despite her attempt to move ahead of him. On the pier, he let her go and watched her pick her way over the planks like a cat walking on a hot surface. He couldn't blame her because the weathered board didn't inspire confidence. However, according to the advertising blurb on the hotel's television channel, the island had its fair share of visitors. He hoped it meant they kept the marina in satisfactory shape.

They strolled down a cement walkway ahead of the other two couples. Corra's scarf floated on the breeze while her skirt clung to her legs. She'd changed into a cotton shirt blouse and peasant skirt, which made him wonder why she bothered. Her shift had looked great on her, but watching her fight to keep the material from clinging to her legs gave him a clue as to why she had exchanged the light cotton material for this skirt.

The guide pointed them in the direction of the thatch-roofed restaurant and disappeared.

Within minutes, they sat down over a meal of deep fried Fish & Bammies. Delicately, Corra picked her way through the fish and raw vegetables, leaving the golden triangles made from Cassava.

"You have something against them?" Phillip asked, pointing to the half-full plate between them.

She shook her head. "Too much fried stuff isn't good for me. I'm overweight as it is."

He cocked his head, as if he hadn't heard what she said. Then, unable to help himself, he smiled. "Where is this excess weight you're talking about?"

"Where _you_ can't see it."

Her smile was so unexpected, it rattled him. He couldn't keep up with this woman. One moment, she was prim and proper and unwilling to relax in his company. And the next, she was a playful sprite. Which was the real Corra?

A speed boat in the distance pulled his eyes away from her. Maybe a fisherman? But he knew otherwise, because the boat was too sleek to be a working vessel. It went past the dock and disappeared.

With undue energy, Corra stabbed her fish. She'd been watching him while his attention was on the boat. She was definitely more interested in him than she let on, which raised the question of why she was so hesitant to let him know. He sensed from her reaction to his confirming that he was a policeman that she'd had a bad experience. He hoped she wouldn't brand him with the same iron, but suspected she already had categorized and eliminated him as unsuitable.

Well, they'd see about that.

He leaned back, chewing on a tender bit of crab. When had he decided he wanted this woman? Probably the second he found out she wanted nothing to do with him. But that wasn't true. He'd been taken with her the minute he fished her out of the water and examined her face.

He eased forward in his seat, unsettled. With sharp eyes, he swept the area around them, extending outward to the beach and the turquoise waters. Nothing. But that wasn't what his senses told him. Someone had them under surveillance. He knew when he was being watched. If anyone had ideas about hurting Corra, the two of them were easy targets where they sat. Careful not to alarm her, he asked. "You finished?"

She nodded and picked up her glass. When she finished her lemonade, he rose and took her by the elbow. Peering through the open door of the bar, he said. "I think I caught a glimpse of an interesting fish in one of the tanks in there. Lemme show you."

Without question, she followed his lead, and while she studied the Zebra Tilapia he pointed out, Phillip scanned the immediate area.

His eyes told him there was nothing to fear, but his senses were in revolt. There. That speed boat again. This time, with three persons aboard. It might mean nothing, but he wasn't about to take any chances with Corra's safety.

He drew closer to her and watched the boat turn toward the mainland. With its retreat, an inexplicable relief came over him. Not good. It meant his senses were as good as they ever were.

He was not fainthearted and his gut feelings never failed him.

Corra was still in danger.

6

Corra

Monday, September 3, 12:30 P.M.

She had to give Phillip points for subtlety. She accepted his dinner invitation last night to prevent them from getting into a needless argument over her safety. And she hadn't regretted time spent in his company. He kept her entertained with stories about his father and their frequent fishing trips to Hellshire. He also amused her with stories about his sister, who thought she was one of the boys.

This morning, he had engaged her in a game of Checkers and then lay beside her under a row of palms, pretending to read an automotive magazine. He kept casing the beach too often to be doing anything other than watching out for her. She might have wondered what he had to be cautious about, except that three days ago, someone had tried to take her life.

Since then, Phillip had appointed himself chief of security and if she were honest, she felt safe in his company but didn't plan to get comfortable. She had six days left on the island and planned to stick them out. She refused to believe anyone here would want to kill her. It didn't make sense. Maybe it was a case of mistaken identity.

Still, she shivered, recalling her lungs filling with liquid and her limbs churning in the water.

If Phillip hadn't come along when he did ...

A little over two hours ago, he had left her with the excuse that he had some business to take care of in town. That sent her mind scurrying about in his affairs. He was a stranger on the island as far as she knew, so it was a mystery as to what business he could be about. But then he was a policeman, so he might actually be doing something official. She made a sound in her throat. If she believed that, she'd really believe someone had a reason to kill her.

A slender man wandered past for the third time inside of an hour. No doubt, a security guard minus the uniform. She wasn't sure how Phillip had got someone to watch her, but somehow he had. The guard had tried to be inconspicuous, but Corra \- was all too jumpy - had tensed the first time he strolled by her chair. The radio attached to his belt and the intermittent communication coming from it, confirmed that he was part of the hotel security team.

She sighed and shifted the floppy hat she wore to keep the sun off the back of her neck.

Setting aside the book in her lap, she wandered over to the railing that separated the property from the waterfall. The water bubbled over the edge of the limestone above and crashed to the rocks below, seething, churning and then spreading outward to form a rippling azure pool.

Wild orchids nestled in the rock wall, making Corra think of living on the edge. Something she didn't believe in. She liked things just so. Neat. Organized. Like life had been before Bradleigh decided to stray.

Someone touched her shoulder and she spun, clutching her hat that nearly blew off.

"Sorry, Miss."

The man in uniform stepped backward.

Corra raised her hand and let it fall. "I'm sorry. I didn't expect anybody."

"I understand." He held out an envelope.

Hand trembling, Corra grasped the edge. Nothing on the front, but the flap was tucked in.

"See you later," the porter said, before walking away.

Corra untucked the flap of the envelope and unfolded a sheet of paper. A doll, wearing an Afro, sprawled across the page and stared up at her with vacant eyes. The handle of a knife stuck out of her chest and crimson drops representing blood spattered the dark blue background of the page. The picture looked like a book cover. The title across the bottom of the sheet dripped blood. Taking shallow breaths, Corra held the paper up for a closer read. Coretta's Destiny. It didn't take her more than a second to figure out what the picture and words meant.

Her skin tingled, as though a host of stinging, creepy-crawlies had swarmed over her body.

She wanted to scream, but didn't.

I can't fall apart here.

The words banged around inside her head, like lotto balls in a plastic bubble.

Suddenly aware of how exposed she was in the open, she rushed to the beach chair and grabbed her book and the electronic door card. Throwing a panicked look over her shoulder, she caught the frown the security officer sent her way. Despite her attempt to appear collected, her feet carried her to her room at an undignified trot.

Having ensured the room was still empty, Corra slammed the door behind her and leaned on it, trying to slow her breathing. With trembling hands, she held the paper by the edges. Why was this happening to her? Hadn't she been through enough?

Hoping the panic that was trying to strangle her would go away, she checked the lock on the door, before crossing to the closet to get her handbag. She got out her address book, knowing that in her current state, she wouldn't be able to remember Anita's number on the first attempt. In typical fashion, Anita didn't bother with a greeting.

"Are you anxious to find out about this man or what? Can I take this to mean you're thinking about ending your relationship drought?"

Corra squeezed her tears away and concentrated on her friend's words. "I'm not calling because of that ... something happened ... "

Anita's voice went up by several decibels. "Something like what?"

"I-I got a message like the ones I was getting before."

"You're kidding right?"

Corra flung the envelope and message on the bedside table. "Would I joke about something like this?"

"D'you realize what this means?" Anita squawked. "You have to book a flight home."

Corra didn't want to give in to panic, but against her will, it was taking a chokehold. She heard it when she spoke. "Did you get a chance to talk to Max?"

"Well, he does know this guy you asked me about. He's a good cop, according to Max."

Though Corra suspected as much, it was a relief to hear.

"So, when are you coming home?"

"In a few days."

"A few days? I don't want to hear about you on the news, Corra!"

Pushing back her doubt, Corra tried to reassure them both. "I'll be fine. I'm in a secure environment."

"If your environment is so secure, how come somebody managed to deliver that note to you?"

That stumped Corra. "Uh, I'll book my flight when I hang up from you."

"Good girl," Anita said. "I'll call you later to check on you. Stay safe."

Corra replaced the handset, wondering whether the hotel would refund her for the days she would be losing. She doubted it, and frightened though she was, she didn't want to leave. Maybe she'd delay the booking for another day. She guessed her reluctance to return to Jamaica had to

do with her stubbornness, and her fascination with Phillip Denham, and then there was the fact that she didn't want to face the unfinished business she had left at home.

The phone rang at her elbow, startling her. She stared at it; should she answer? Maybe it was Phillip. That thought restored her equilibrium. She picked up the instrument and greeted the caller.

Nobody answered.

Her brows puckered. "Hello?"

The hum of the line and then a click met her ear. She shivered, warning herself not to rush to any conclusion. Maybe the caller had the wrong room number.

Or maybe it was the same person who continued to threaten her.

If it was, their tactic wasn't very original. Still, not knowing who had called set her scalp a'tingle.

She pleated the skirt of her dress, brows knitted. Then she sighed. Maybe she was making too much of a call that might be a mistake. But then, there was the note.

Her stomach grumbled, and she looked at the combination clock radio on the bedside table.

Lunchtime had crept by. She'd have something to eat, which would settle her stomach. Her thoughts would be a lot less frazzled then. The note and the envelope, she laid on the bed behind her so she couldn't see them.

After placing an order for room service, she sat in front of the television, gaze fixed on the cerulean blue of the waves. Shifting her feet, she sighed. She had to be going gaga to sit watching the hotel's activity channel.

A loud knocking pierced the void in which she sat. Her hand jerked and the remote fell to the tile. She rose from the seat, annoyed that a rap at the door had the power to unnerve her. Heart beating against her ribs, she put her eye to the door, immediately regretting that move. If someone had it in mind to hurt her, she had given them the opportunity to pop her in the eye. She had seen that once in a movie and it was a messy scene. The only good thing would be that if she had to go that way, it would be painless.

"Get a grip, Corra," she muttered, while pulling the door open.

"Hello. Put it over there," she said to the man standing in the corridor, holding a serving tray.

He entered the room, laid the food on the table and left.

Only when she secured the door did Corra let herself relax. She lifted the cover and inhaled the scent of onion rings and grilled beef. Deep in thought, she placed the bun atop the bottom half of the hamburger, pressed it down and then sat staring at it.

Could she eat, knowing her thoughts were in disarray? Again, she glanced at the clock.

Where was Phillip? Not that it was any of her business. He had probably found something in a skirt to distract him in town. She chided herself for classing him as a womanizer, considering she knew little to nothing about him, but a man as good-looking as he would hardly go unnoticed wherever he went.

What he does has nothing to do with me, Corra told herself and bit into the hamburger. She closed her eyes and savored the crunch of lettuce and the flavor of grilled beef.

Two thirds of the way through the burger, she gave up on eating it all. She pushed the plate away, ignoring the pile of untouched French fries. Again, she caught herself watching the time. She swallowed a mouthful of Pineapple juice, sighed and looked at the television again, conscious that she was doing something she'd promised herself she wouldn't do. How could she miss a man she had only met for the first time last week?

She hugged herself and wandered around the room, then eased into a chair, swinging one leg back and forth over the other. Even if Phillip looked like Quasimodo, she'd long to see him after what had happened earlier. Plus, she didn't know anybody else on the island, and he made her feel safe. She figured that had more to do with the fact that he was a policeman than anything else. But she had sworn off policemen. In fact, for the foreseeable future, men were off limits. Pity. Phillip seemed like a good guy. But then, so had Bradleigh, until he had shown his true colors.

She cocked her head. Was she hearing things, or was that another knock at the door? She raced across the room and skated to the doorway.

"Corra?" he called softly.

She yanked the door open. "Phillip."

Hot, she thought, watching him remove dark glasses.

A vertical line between his brows conveyed his concern along with his words. "Everything all right?"

She moved farther into the room, opening the door wider. "Uh, yeah. Come in." Striving to act casual, she waved him to a chair and shut the door, trying not to sag with relief.

He sat and put the glasses on the table. When he fixed his attention on her, she licked her lips and went to sit in the opposite chair.

"I looked for you at lunch," he said, eyeing the remnants of her meal.

"I decided to eat in. Too much sun, you know."

The slight quirk to his lips belied the seriousness in his gaze. He didn't believe her, of that she was sure.

He leaned forward, hands folded between his legs. "Corra, did something happen while I was away?"

How could he know? Not wanting him to think she had any plans to lean on him, she avoided his question with one of her own. "Why do you think that?"

He almost smiled. "Other than the pleats you're making in your skirt and the fact that you can't sit still, I'd say something definitely went down."

She stopped moving, and he smiled then.

"Actually—"

The phone rang and she put a hand to her throat.

His brows lowered and met each other.

The phone continued to trill, but she didn't attempt to do anything about it.

Phillip's expression went from curiosity to unease. "You should answer that."

She forced her feet to work with her brain's commands, ignoring the nausea that clogged her throat. "Hello."

A radio or television set blared, but no one returned her greeting.

"Can I help you?" This time, fright laced her voice. She held on to the bed post and let her weight carry her down to the bed.

Phillip took the handset and pressed it to his ear, but said nothing. After a moment, he put the receiver into the cradle.

He touched her shoulder. "Is this the first time?"

She shook her head. "It happened maybe an hour ago."

Staring into her eyes, he sat next to her. "Corra, is there something you're not telling me?"

She moved her head from side-to-side a second time.

He sat, gripped both her shoulders and turned her to face him. "Think, Corra. It's important."

She tilted her head, which brought the message into her line of sight.

Phillip followed the movement of her eyes, and in a heartbeat held the letter size sheet of paper by the edges, peering at it. When he focused on her, Corra forced herself not to flinch.

"Does this mean anything to you?" he asked.

Her eyelids twitched and as she watched, his lips pressed together in what seemed to be disapproval.

"Do I need to remind you that someone tried to take your life?" After an unyielding stretch of silence, he asked, "What are you hiding?"

She decided not to say anything. Though he was trying to help, it made no sense to bring up something that had no bearing on the current situation.

Phillip sighed and got to his feet, carefully folding the paper. He reached for the envelope.

"Obviously, you have some idea of what's going on here, but by refusing to tell me what it is, you're tying my hands."

The urge to tell him everything grew overwhelming, but Corra pursed her lips and stared at her hands.

Before he spoke again, Phillip turned the envelope over in his hands. "I'm not trying to use this as an opportunity to hit on you, in case that's what you think. I am a police officer so I can help. If you let me."

Tense seconds ticked by before Corra rose and went to stand next to the closed drapes.

Sliding a hand down the edge of one curtain she said. "Some months ago I had a stalker."

7

Phillip

Monday, September 3, 3:00 P.M.

"This is important. Think!"

Phillip's eyelashes came close to meeting those of the porter, who now sat in the security chief's office. Standing back, Phillip said, "Sorry, but I can't stress how important it is for you to remember who gave you that envelope."

The man dragged the back of his hand across his brow and crumpled his graying eyebrows.

"I—I remember now. It was left at the bell desk. The bell captain asked me to deliver it." He hesitated before continuing, "And there was a tip left with it."

He leaned to one side and pulled out a U.S. ten dollar note.

Phillip wanted to yank it out of his hand for fingerprinting, but that wasn't likely to happen since he wasn't at home. He also doubted that the man he was looking for would have been careless enough to leave any prints.

Phillip sat and faced the older man across the desk, who shrugged. "The bell captain has left for the day. I'll call him, but I'm not hopeful ... "

He let his voice trail away while he picked up the phone and after a short question and answer session, he replaced the handset. "He said a cabbie dropped off the envelope. He wasn't one of the people we use."

The security chief tapped a pen on the desk before sharing his thoughts. "Your guy is cautious to a fault."

Phillip got to his feet. "I was afraid of that."

Nodding to both the security chief and the porter, Phillip left the office. With the knowledge that Corra was safe in her room, he went to check his email.

After turning on the air-conditioner and getting a drink of water, he opened his mail. His partner and friend, Rance Wilson, was as good as his word and had sent him information on Coretta.

Although Phillip hesitated before opening the file, he told himself his snooping was for a good cause. He couldn't help Corra if he didn't know anything about her.

As he scanned the file, he felt his eyebrows lifting. Corra had said she'd been getting crank calls and messages as far back as six months ago. Looking at the information in front of him, he wondered why she hadn't allowed her father to handle it, since the man was one of the Assistant Commissioners of Police. That amount of clout could get her anything in a hurry, but she seemed hell-bent on handling things herself. This was a new mystery on top of what was happening to her. There was no rhyme of reason to her trying to deal with a problem like this on her own.

Which brought to mind the fact that she wasn't safe at home or on this island. Still, whoever was stalking her was probably also in foreign territory, which might give her an advantage. As much as she might resist telling him her business, he'd try and find out her plans.

He turned away from the desk, staring at the pool beyond the sliding door while his mind went to personal matters. When he arrived on Xantrope, he'd been so sure he was ready to meet his twin. Prior contact with Mark Weekes, the cousin he'd discovered, made Phillip eager to meet his other half. Now, he couldn't say why he was delaying what he'd come to do.

A swim would clear his mind of the fog that had blanketed his brain.

Twenty minutes later, he stood by the side of the bed with a towel around his waist while he waited for the telephone operator to put him through to Corra's room.

Her greeting was tentative when she answered. "Yes?"

"It's Phillip. What time d'you plan on having dinner?"

"I don't think—"

"Don't tell me you plan to sit in your room all by yourself for the rest of the evening?"

Her silence said that was exactly what she had in mind.

"Have dinner with me," he said. "They have an interesting floor show tonight that I'm sure you'll like."

"For a visitor, you seem to know about all the good stuff that's on property."

"Blame it on my line of work," he said. "Wherever I go, I like to get the lay of the land as early as I can."

"Hmmm."

He let a smile enter his voice. "So what d'you say? I promise to have you home by midnight."

"We'll see."

"I'll take that as a yes, Miss Coretta. Expect me outside your door promptly at seven."

"I'll be ready," she said.

8

Garrett

Monday, September 3, 7:30 P.M.

Coretta was now a problem he needed to solve quickly. It didn't help that she'd picked up that man.

Garrett smiled. The joke was on Denham, of course, because it wasn't as if he'd get past a kiss with her. Garrett would be surprised if she even gave that up. It was hard to figure out what it was about Coretta that made people want to protect her. It wasn't that she made it a habit to seek attention, because she wasn't that kind of woman. The fact was, that habit she had of picking up people who acted as a shield for her was starting to piss him off. It had taken long enough for Bradleigh to fade into the past. Now, this new complication.

Finding out Denham's name had been easy enough. Now, it seemed he would need to find out more about him. Garrett hoped Corra would make things easy and run Denham off before he got any ideas about sticking around.

When Garrett had followed her from Jamaica, it was with the intention of getting rid of her and catching a quick flight home. So much for that. The woman was more trouble than anyone he'd come across in his life. He'd made a smart choice to have one of his friends bring him in by boat, otherwise he might have stirred suspicion if someone was trying to connect dots on her behalf.

She and Denham sat eating on a wooden bench, under a tangle of Sea Grapes close to the shoreline. While Coretta's white dress seemed to be made out of a sheet, Denham wore black from top to bottom. If he carried a gun, it would be hard to tell.

Every so often he looked around them, as if aware that someone was watching. His scrutiny was casual, but Garrett was sure Denham had to be in the security business. Most people hardly paid attention to their surroundings, but this man had his antenna up at all hours of the day and night. His vigilance grated on Garrett's nerves, making him want to do something reckless that would take care of him and Coretta at once.

But Garrett knew that was only a passing fancy. He'd made it his life's work to be methodical and had no intention of giving in to impatience.

"She'd better just bloody die next time, or else ... "

His lips curled at his momentary loss of control. What else could he threaten her with that was worse than death? Torture? That wasn't his thing.

Phillip Denham's gaze swept the grounds again as if his eyes could cut the darkness. For a moment, Garrett thought Denham had spotted him, but that wasn't the case. He stood still while the man's gaze threatened to bore through him and when Denham's eyes went to Garrett's left, he slipped from behind the dense Shoe Black shrub, took the nearest walkway and left the property.

Tomorrow was another day.

One of the few that remained for Coretta.

9

Corra

Monday, September 3, 9:45 P.M.

The dancers spread their bodies low to the ground doing the limbo. The flames licked dangerously close to them, but they continued gyrating, absorbed by their provocative dance.

Corra leaned closer to Phillip to get a better view of a young boy whose turn it was to navigate like a crab under the bamboo rod that was placed even closer to the sand. She was unaware that she was holding her breath until he came out safe on the other side.

She sensed that Phillip was smiling before he spoke. "Getting a little anxious there, were you?"

Self-conscious, she tugged at her hair that she'd tried to tame under a bandana. "With all these tourists yelling and carrying on, it's easy to forget that these guys are experts and are paid to do this."

He chuckled. "In case you forgot, you're a tourist too so you're allowed to get on bad if you want."

That made her laugh out loud.

He patted her hand, reminding her that she had no business feeling so relaxed in his company. At the start of the evening, she'd been wound up, but as the hours slipped by, Phillip had done everything to put her at ease. At dinner, he entertained her with light conversation and had come through on his promise to escort her to the night's entertainment.

She had to respect the fact that although she'd told him about some of what had been happening to her in Jamaica, he hadn't pushed her for any more details.

Though she didn't like the thought of him mucking about in her business, she figured if he was worth his salt as a policeman, he'd be doing some kind of check on her. Another thing she disliked about the police. Too much access to information that wasn't their business. She sighed and rubbed her arms, suddenly weighed down by the fact that her problem had followed her on holiday.

Phillip laid a hand on her arm. "Are you cold?"

Wanting to shrug off his hand and knowing it would be bad manners, she shook her head while trying to ease away from him. "No, I'm fine."

The music of the steel pans almost drowned the wash of the waves where they sat, but not quite. Eyes closed, she turned her face to the breeze coming off the sea.

"What are you thinking about?" Phillip asked.

Surprised, she met his eyes. "Why d'you ask?"

"You look burdened."

"Wouldn't you be, if someone tried to kill you?"

"Are you sure that's all you have going on or is it that you haven't told me everything about that stalking business?"

She let a gentle smile take the sting out of her words. "Aren't you here on holiday? I don't expect you to give that up to be my bodyguard."

"And I never said I intended to do that."

While she worked out in her mind whether he'd just insulted her, she came up with an excuse to get away. She'd spent enough time in his company. "I think it's time—"

"For you to say goodnight, right?"

His deep chuckle made her want to sink her elbow in his side.

"What is that look in aid of?" he asked.

"You make it sound as if—"

His brows were raised and his dark eyes twinkled. "I know you're trying to get rid of me?"

She laughed, waving her hands in the air. "No, that's not it. I just think I've taken up more than enough of your time, but I do appreciate your company."

He got off the wooden bench and put out a hand to her. "Liar."

That stumped her for a second, but in reply to his smile, she ducked her head. This man saw a whole lot more than she gave him credit for, which wasn't a good thing when she had secrets she needed to guard.

As they walked on the warm sand down the beach, Phillip clasped her hand.

His gesture brought a tiny smile to her face. Anyone who saw them would think they were a couple going back to their room. The thought made her want to snatch her hand out of his. Her reaction had nothing to do with him, but her mental lapse had brought back pictures of Bradleigh. She kicked him straight where he belonged - out of her mind - and decided to enjoy the warmth of Phillip's hand clasped around hers. If she focused on him, she could keep the fear at bay.

He made a sound in his throat as if frustrated, but when she looked at him, his forehead was wrinkled as if he was deep in thought.

"Something wrong?" she asked.

"I was wondering about you," he said. "How come you haven't said anything about going home?"

Her footsteps dragged and then stopped. "Actually, I should have booked my flight out of here today. Don't know why I didn't. Stubborn, I guess."

"Or maybe you're a daredevil," he said, smiling a little bit. "I did wonder whether you were any safer here than you would be in Jamaica, because if you were being stalked there ... "

They stood to one side of the open air lobby, and when Corra decided to ask what he had in mind, he spoke.

"Normally, I'd advise that you go home, where you'd be in familiar surroundings, but despite what has happened to you, this island is safe and the hotel has been good enough to keep an eye on you."

He tipped his head to the left, and she followed the direction of his gaze. Just outside the lobby, a man in dark clothing stood next to a cluster of Bougainvillea.

Frowning, she asked, "Did you arrange that?"

She watched him keenly, somehow knowing he'd had something to do with it, but also wanting to know if he'd lie about it.

He slipped both hands into his pockets and then answered. "Sort of, but they were happy to do it. They wouldn't want anything bad to happen to you here."

"Not to mention the fallout if I got murdered on their property," she mumbled.

That made him smile and he moved her along with a touch to her back. "I doubt they'd put it quite like that," he said.

When she opened the door to her room, Phillip gently moved her aside and did a walk though to ensure that nobody but them was inside. With that done, he stood in the doorway and touched her cheek with one hand. "I guess I'll see you tomorrow."

She nodded, forgetting her earlier resolution not to lean on this man, whose gray eyes held all sorts of fascination for her.

Before she understood what was happening, Phillip replaced his fingers with his lips. He grazed her cheek, sending her tummy into a tailspin. His breath fanned her ear, forcing her eyes shut and making her toes stretch and then curl. How was it possible for him to have this effect on her by barely touching her?

Her eyes opened while he touched his lips to hers and only by exercising the greatest restraint did she stand still when he lifted his head. "G'night, Corra," he said, brushing her cheek with his thumb.

He stepped back, and she gathered her wits to mumble goodnight. After she closed the door behind him, she leaned against it wondering when her resolution to keep him at arm's length had disappeared.

10

Phillip

Tuesday, September 4, 1:30 P.M.

If it wasn't for the fact that Phillip was fascinated with Corra, he'd have thought he'd found his soul mate. The man sitting across from him, who lived in a replica of his body, was experiencing the same confusing mixture of emotions as he.

Paul's gaze reflected both wonder and suspicion. Through their cousin, Phillip had let Paul know he'd be contacting him, but Phillip had been deliberately vague about when he'd be on the island. It had taken him long enough to get around to this visit, considering that months had passed since he'd first seen Paul.

"You have to forgive me." Paul broke the silence, speaking in Phillip's voice - to his amazement. "I've been expecting you, but the reality is different from just hearing about you."

"I know. It's been a difficult time for me because now I feel as if I don't know who I am."

"I'd say you were lucky in that respect, but I also understand how you must feel. To make a long story short, our mother was a drunk."

Five minutes later, Phillip had received a history of their family or what little there was of it.

Beyond knowing their last name, Paul hadn't bothered to do any research.

"I notice you haven't asked me anything about how I got to Jamaica."

An enigmatic smile crossed Paul's face before he spoke. "You will find that I do my homework."

Which begged the question of why he'd done nothing about finding out more about their family.

"Since our father didn't stick around, I didn't see the use in looking for him," Paul said. "Also, our mother told me you died at birth."

Although Paul had answered the question before Phillip asked, he wasn't surprised.

"If she gave me up, then I understand why she told you that," Phillip said.

"She didn't have to lie. That was probably her guilt talking." Paul rubbed a hand across the back of his neck before adding, "Trust me, you got the better end of the deal by her giving you up."

Phillip shifted and looked away. He'd been busy resenting his parents, but by the sound of it, Paul and Mark had a rough childhood, raising themselves in sub-human conditions.

"It's in the past, so don't worry about it. It wasn't your fault."

Phillip met Paul's gaze, once again taken aback that the man on the other side of the desk knew what he was thinking before he said anything.

Phillip's research on twins had revealed all kinds of surprising data, including that intuitive thought thing Paul had just done. And then there were Paul's mannerisms that were so much a part of Phillip. Plus there was his wife, Janine. She reminded him somewhat of Corra. Curves to kill, that caramel-coloured skin and similar facial features.

What was Corra doing? He hoped she'd taken his advice to stay in her room or remain in areas where there were plenty of people.

"Something bugging you?" Paul asked, angling his head toward Phillip.

Slowly, Phillip shook his head. "It's nothing."

He brought his mind back to this meeting. Now, he was uneasy, but didn't know why. He'd figure it out in a minute.

Paul had twins. Did Phillip have any in his future?

As if his thought had brought them into the room, a scuffling sound came from the doorway, then a knock that was more of a scrape.

With a smile in place, Paul said, "Come."

The door opened and the twins exploded into the office, rushing to hang off their father's chair. Phillip had met them briefly when he arrived at the house and had been amused by their close study of him and their father.

Now, they continued their examination from both sides of their father's chair, reminding Phillip of boyhood pictures of himself. He closed his eyes, caught off guard by a bout of sadness.

What these boys had and took for granted, he'd missed growing up. He sat up, clearing his mind of those times when his younger sister had given him hell about his imaginary friend. The man across from him probably had no such experience. He was dispassionate when talking about the past, as if he wanted no reminders of that time. Knowing his history, Phillip understood why.

Again Paul smiled. "Like I said, you got the better deal based on what I know of your life."

That made Phillip frown. "What d'you know about me?"

Gripping each squirming boy by the back of the neck, Paul said, "I make it my business to find out as much as I can about anything that affects me directly."

His words were calm and factual, but Phillip got the feeling his brother had a lot more to him than the calm exterior he was seeing.

The phone at Phillip's waist buzzed, and his brows contracted. He wasn't expecting any calls and only had the phone in case of any family emergency. Then, he remembered that he'd given the number to Corra.

He put the mobile to his ear, curious because of the land line number. "Phillip Denham. Can I help you?"

There was a second's delay before the person on the other end spoke.

"Phillip. This is Corra. I didn't want to call, but I didn't know ... "

"What happened?"

"I got another message and someone was in my room."

"What kind of message?"

"Like the last one," she said, her voice almost at the level of a whisper.

"Are you sure the message wasn't just shoved under your door?"

"I'm not an idiot."

"I wasn't implying that." Measuring his words, he said, "Tell me why you think someone was in your room."

"Well, there was that message, plus the fact that someone has gone through my things."

"Don't touch anything," he said. "I'm coming."

11

Corra

Tuesday, September 4, 1:42 P.M.

"Corra?"

A sob left her throat when Phillip called her name. He was as good as his word. Her watch told her they had spoken less than fifteen minutes ago.

She pulled the door open, sagging with relief. She squinted at Phillip and held on to the door jamb. Either she was dizzy or her eyes were fooling her. Phillip's image doubled, but didn't combine the way it was supposed to and merge into one person. He wore a navy shirt and jeans and the carbon copy standing slightly behind and to one side of him had paired his jeans with a black shirt. Her brows contracted before she spoke. "Either I'm delusional or you have a doppelganger."

Both men smiled and then Phillip spoke. "I do."

In response to Corra's frown he added, "Have a twin."

She let her brows climb. "Really?"

"Yes, we can talk about it later. Can we come in?"

"Sure." She stepped away from the door, wishing she'd had the presence of mind to put on a little more than the robe she had belted at the waist over her bathing suit. The shock of finding her things other than how she left them had messed with her brain.

"This is Paul," Phillip said.

Paul nodded, letting his concern speak in a slight frown.

Phillip stood in the middle of the room and turned slowly, scanning everything. The other man didn't move, but also did a detailed study.

While they cased her room, Corra watched them. Had they been wearing identical clothing, Corra wouldn't have been able to tell them apart. Then again, maybe she'd know Phillip from that special something in his eyes when he looked at her. There was something in Paul's eyes too, but she figured it was curiosity.

"Where's that note?"

She pointed to the bedside table, and he picked up the folded paper, which she'd removed from the envelope. The letter size sheet carried another harrowing version of what was supposed to be a book cover. The two men examined it before Phillip carefully stuck it in the envelope and dropped it on the table.

He walked to the chest-of-drawers. "Anything missing?"

She shook her head.

"D'you have any idea what anybody would be looking for among your things?"

Again, she moved her head side-to-side.

"That stalker you told me about, d'you think he followed you here?"

"Why d'you ask?"

"Well, if nothing's been taken, I have to assume he didn't find what he came for. Unless he's playing with you."

She put a hand around her waist and the other to her neck, suddenly finding it hard to breathe.

Rubbing his nape, Phillip said, "I'll have to get the hotel security involved."

"Why?"

"If I have to tell you ... "

"What are they gonna do?"

"Unless you left your door open, the fact is that someone broke in." His raised eyebrows accompanied his question. "Don't you think that's a good enough reason to get the hotel involved?"

Her shoulders slumped and she reached for the single seat couch behind her and sat, cupping her forehead in her hands.

Phillip stooped beside her and laid a hand on her back. "I know this is hard to deal with, but I want you to put some clothes on before I get the security team in here, okay?"

She shook her head, got up and crossed to the chest-of-drawers. Before she pulled the handles, she looked at Phillip over her shoulder.

He nodded. "Someone this skilled would have worn gloves anyway."

She opened the drawer as if she expected something to leap at her, but beyond seeing that her things were in disarray, nothing was amiss. She grabbed some undies, conscious of the two men who shrank the space in her room.

Paul sidestepped her when she approached the cupboard. Again, her clothes were slightly out of place, but a rapid inventory pulled a gasp from her.

"What is it?" Paul asked.

"There's ... one of my dresses is missing."

The two men exchanged a glance before Phillip went to the bedside table and picked up the phone.

Swallowing convulsively, Corra bolted to the bathroom for a quick shower. In the enclosure, she tried not to think about what would have happened had she been in the room during the break in, but her mind kept going back to it. What if the person came back?

To stop herself from dredging up scenes that made her stomach twist, she dried off in a hurry, dabbed lotion on her skin and dragged on her clothes. She tamed her hair under an elastic band, while forcing her face not to reflect her fear.

When next she stood in her room, Phillip and his twin stood together by the glass door.

"It's clear whoever is behind this has a good chunk of disposable income," Paul said.

Nodding, Phillip added, "he's organized and if what you say is true, he's been keeping tabs on her."

The thought chilled her and she rubbed her arms.

Both men turned and Phillip smiled and moved to where she stood.

She returned his smile, disturbed by the fact that she felt so secure having him there when she was supposed to be independent. His take-charge attitude reminded her of her father, but to Phillip's credit, he hadn't been overbearing.

Paul took a couple of steps toward Phillip, rubbing the back of his neck. "Look, I know we only met today, but based on what's happening I think you and Corra should -"

A boom cracked the air. A second roar followed, and the glass door exploded. Corra crouched behind the bed, clasping the sides of her head and hoping she was in a bad dream. A repeated stabbing in her chest made her wonder if she'd been shot, but when she opened her eyes, there was no blood.

"Corra?" Phillip called.

"I'm okay," she said, when she got her voice to cooperate.

She scrambled closer to the bed, out of the line of the doorway, craning her neck to find Paul and Phillip.

Both men stood pressed to the wall, close to the door, looking outside from behind the drape.

"There." Phillip pointed a second before both of them ran outside.

Swallowing a shriek, Corra got to her feet. The last thing she wanted was for anybody to get murdered because of her. Tears sprang to her eyes and she pressed her fingers to her mouth, holding back a sob.

Someone pounded at the door and she spun with one hand pressed to her chest. What if someone was coming to finish the job? Throwing a glance around the room, she tried to calm herself.

The knock came at the door again and without hesitation, she yanked the stylish, wrought iron lamp off the bedside table. The cord hitched on the edge of the table and she yanked it, not caring if she destroyed the plug. The lamp came free and she huddled in the corner, hoping a second shooter wasn't lurking outside.

The door opened and clicked shut, then someone walked deeper into the room. A tentative call followed. "Hello?"

Corra held the lamp at waist height, prepared to clobber whoever came through the passage that opened into the room.

"Hello, Miss?"

"What d'you want?"

A man in the uniform of a hotel bellhop faced her. He moved toward where she stood in the corner. "Corra?"

Her stomach clenched and she raised the lamp. This man wasn't anybody she knew, so calling her by her first name rang all kinds of alarm bells.

He slid a hand into his pocket and when he pulled it out, his fist was folded around an object she couldn't see. He stiffened his arm and with a swishing sound, a blade popped from his fist.

Corra raised the lamp, gripping it so hard, the metal pressed into her flesh.

"What you gonna do with that?" the man asked.

His features were hidden under the peaked cap worn by the bellhops, but his voice was silky smooth.

Squeezing the lamp hard, she feinted to one side, praying hard that Paul and Phillip were on the way back.

The man moved with her.

She went to the right, planning to dash into the bathroom and lock herself in, but the shifting of his gaze to the left said he was aware of what she was thinking.

Breathing hard, she raised the lamp. It was going to be either him or her and she preferred to survive. She squinted, aware of the sweat running off her brow and wetting her armpits. Their eyes met and she blanked her expression. Let him try and work out what she was going to do.

The door opened a second time.

"Miss Bingham?"

The bellhop's face twisted in a snarl. He raised the knife, but didn't have the chance to use it.

Footsteps approached from the doorway and the man continued calling.

The first bellhop bounced on the bed, vaulted to the other side and ran through the shattered door, crunching over glass.

She let out a sigh and forgot to raise the lamp, just in case the person who'd come in was another attacker.

This man also wore a bellhop's uniform, but Corra had seen him several times before. At this point, she didn't plan to get careless.

He scanned the floor and bed, which were covered with glass, before looking back at her.

"Miss Bingham, are you okay?"

She raised the lamp, holding it before her chest.

"Who the hell sent you?"

12

Garrett

Tuesday, September 4, 3:30 P.M.

Whichever side of the bed Coretta had gotten out on today, she'd better get out on that side tomorrow. Lady luck had smiled on her once more, but Coretta had moved past being a thorn in his side and had graduated to a flipping flagpole.

Added to that, he kept being saddled with incompetent people who didn't know what the hell they were doing. He'd been wary of a shooting scenario and had paid an insane amount of money to his connection to have the job done.

Good thing he'd only paid half because all the incompetent shit had done was to make a mess of the glass and nothing else. He hadn't even managed to shoot any of the three people in the

room. To top it all, he'd almost been caught by those two wannabe commandos.

Garrett didn't want to get involved in hurting anybody outside of Corra's family, but would take on an army if it meant getting what he was after.

13

Corra

Tuesday, September 4, 7:30 P.M.

The mellow sound of Phillip's laughter drew Corra from where her mind had gone. Along with Janine and Paul, he continued laughing, but Corra had missed the joke. The heavy meal she'd consumed earlier made her a little sleepy.

"You all right?" Janine asked, leaning forward.

Corra nodded and put on a smile. A glance at Phillip revealed his concern. One of his eyebrows edged up, but he didn't speak. With a smile she let him know she was fine.

Around them, the walls were decorated with portraits detailing the Weekes's family life.

Wedding photos, photos of Janine in pregnancy, pictures with the newborn twins, shots of Paul and Janine with the toddlers, and a few with them hanging off their father, who grinned into the camera.

The spacious living room in which they sat radiated with love. With a tiny shake of her head and an inward smile, Corra made fun of her flight of fancy, but she couldn't help wanting a piece of what Paul and Janine shared. She sat in the love seat, leaning into Paul's shoulder, his arm thrown around her. Every so often, he nuzzled her hair or they shared a smile that included only them. What Corra wouldn't give to have a relationship like that. The thought startled her. She hadn't been aware she was harboring those kind of fantasies. Bradleigh's behavior had been enough for her to put romance and all the things that went along with it on a back burner.

Without her permission, her attention turned to Phillip, who sat next to her on the creamy beige sofa. She couldn't help sliding another glance at Janine and wondered if what was obvious to her was also obvious to Phillip.

She wouldn't say Janine was the spitting image of her, but she certainly looked enough like Corra to raise a few eyebrows. Corra's lips curled at the corners. Good thing she never went anywhere without her Kindle. She'd given the horror stories a break, so she had more than enough time to do a little research. It had to be more than coincidence that made Phillip choose to latch on to her.

She still hadn't been able to question Phillip about his earlier attempt to give her a heart attack by turning up with another copy of himself. Something - maybe the slight awkwardness between the two men and the way they glanced at each other when the other wasn't looking - hinted at the newness of their relationship. Plus, when they were in her room, Paul had said something she hadn't caught - something about the time they'd spent together. There was an intriguing story in there somewhere and she was more than a little curious to find out the details.

She studied the two of them again. Although it wasn't immediately obvious, Paul and Phillip had a tiny assortment of cuts from the glass that had showered them. She'd fared better as she was standing farther away.

The hotel's doctor on call had done a thorough job of examining the three of them, and Corra had been relieved when the manager had advised that their insurers would replace the door. She'd asked him to thank the bell hop, who had probably saved her life. He'd been asked to bring a message to her room from Anita, who'd been frantic at not being able to reach her earlier. That reminded Corra that she needed to call Anita and apologize because she still hadn't gotten around to talking to her.

The warmth of Phillip's palm settling over her hand startled Corra and she met his eyes.

"Huh?"

"I was saying I'll be right back."

"Okay."

She was more than a little puzzled as to where he was going, since it was clear she had missed some of the conversation.

He walked away, taking with him the scent of soap and the fragrance of spices and tobacco, which was another thing she found intriguing about him. Dipping her head, she hid a smile. This guy was taking her mind to all sorts of places it hadn't been in a while. She'd never been fascinated with a man's smell before, but Phillip was in a different league than Bradleigh, which spoke to familiarity breeding contempt.

That killed her mood. Familiarity was at the root of the problem between Bradleigh and her and the woman he'd been seeing on the side. To turn her thoughts off, she got to her feet and pointed toward the back of the house, where a solid pane of glass - broken by a sliding door - separated the living room from the patio. "Do you guys mind if I sit outside for a while."

"Go right ahead," Janine said. "Make yourself comfortable."

She got to her feet, speaking to Paul. "I'm going to check on the boys."

Corra opened the door and closed it behind her. Although she hadn't been bothered by mosquitoes since arriving on the island, she didn't want to leave the house open, just in case.

The area around the mega-sized pool was a welcome distraction. She relaxed on one of the lounge chairs, tipping her head up to enjoy the delicate perfume coming from rosebushes somewhere out of sight. The darkness, relieved by shaded lights at ground level, seemed to caress her skin and she thought how lovely it would be to sit there and not have to acknowledge the situation trying to wreck her peace. Right now, she wasn't as edgy as she'd felt earlier.

The Weekes's property stopped short of being a fortress. A security system was installed in the house, along with motion sensors on the outside and then there were the German Shepherds that had the run of the premises. They had given her a scare earlier when they rushed her, but Paul had told her they were just getting familiar. She had relaxed only when they got tired of her and went to check out Phillip, who'd gotten out after her on the other side of the vehicle.

That, in itself, had been a whole other interesting experience because the dogs had trouble understanding the appearance of another man who was identical to their master and clustered around him, sniffing and whining while he scratched behind their ears.

The door opened and Phillip walked onto the patio, sucking the air from Corra's lungs. He wore a pair of shorts and a towel slung around his shoulders. His muscled chest, arms and stomach were clear evidence that he was no stranger to exercise.

The sensation of being breathless was worse when he came over and threw the towel on the chair next to hers.

"You okay?" he asked, tipping up her chin.

"Why does everybody keep asking me that?"

"That could be because you look worried."

"If all this stuff was happening around you, wouldn't you be?"

He nodded and rotated his arms, giving her an up-close-and-personal view of his solid biceps and flat stomach.

She licked her lips and then stopped, not wanting to give Phillip the wrong impression. "And your brother has taken it upon himself to bring us here. I'm not sure I'm comfortable with that."

Phillip stopped moving and sat facing her. "Would you prefer to be at the hotel with little to no protection? Obviously, their security team was trying, but the guy who's after you is resourceful."

"I know, but still ... I just feel awful about inconveniencing people. Especially when I don't know them."

"Do they seem put out to you?"

"Well no, but ... "

"Don't worry about it. I haven't known Paul for more than a day, but I -"

"What? I figured you weren't too familiar with each other, but ... "

"That's true, but I can -"

She sat up and planted her feet on the ground between his legs. "You need to backtrack a little. You're saying you don't know these people?"

"It's complicated."

"You think?" She hiked her shoulders and raised both hands, palms upward. "What are we doing here? At least in the hotel, I was paying my way and I was comfortable in my own space.

The two of you packed me up and drove me here and you don't know each other?" She turned her head to look at the doorway before she continued, whispering, "How do you even know he's a good person? Explain this to me because I'm lagging here."

"Trust me, I was a little uncomfortable with it at first, but it makes sense."

"How do you know he's not a criminal?"

He looked offended, but she didn't care. She was the one in danger.

"Do you hear what you're saying?"

"Yeah, well, I'm the one being stalked."

He squeezed his nape a few times, distracting her with the flexing of his muscles. "Trust me.

Let's just say I'm an officer. It's my business to know these things."

She smirked, a bit more comfortable now. "You've been spying on him."

He nearly cracked his neck with the speed at which he raised his head. "Did you have to say that at the top of your voice?"

She giggled although she wanted to slap him. "You're making me feel like a criminal, plotting against the good guys."

The comment sobered her and she sighed.

Phillip clasped her hands in his. "Trust me, everything will be fine. We'll work things out in the morning and decide what to do."

"When did I become your responsibility, Mr. Denham?"

"When that man decided to attack you while I was minding my own business."

Raising herself from the seat, she kissed his cheek. "Thank you."

He stared at her, his eyes black and unreadable. When he stood, she plopped on her behind.

The man eased out of his shorts, robbing her of the air she'd just inhaled.

His muscular thighs reinforced his fitness and the dim light emphasized the sculpted quality of his limbs. He walked to the edge of the pool and dove in, commanding all her attention.

She lost count of the laps he did, so fascinated was she with his graceful slicing through the water. When he was finished, he swam lazily toward her and climbed out to stand nearby rotating his arms and putting her in danger of sensory overload.

She unfastened her eyes from his swim trunks and chiseled muscles, blinking to clear her mind of the undiluted masculine beauty on which she'd just overdosed. Who knew he was hiding more than his share of muscles under the ordinary gear he wore?

Come to think of it, she hadn't seen him with a gun either and he was supposed to be a cop. A bird called in the darkness and he turned in the direction of the sound.

Something on his left shoulder caught her eye and she stood to examine it. A red Lotus surrounded the Yin-Yang symbols and two black dots were lined up on opposite ends. Gently tracing the shape of the Lotus, she said, "What's this?"

He angled his head toward her, smiling. "You need me to explain to you what that is?"

"No, silly. Why this tattoo? You don't look like that kinda guy."

"And what kind of guy is that?"

"I dunno. One who wouldn't wear a tattoo?"

"You have problems with it?"

"It's not on my body."

She waited a beat and then asked. "Was it painful?"

"Bearable."

"Why that symbol though?" she asked, sitting.

He dried the water from his hair and she got the impression he was filtering what he should tell her. He lowered himself to the chair, flung the towel across his lap and clasped his hands.

"This is going to sound weird to you, but anyway ... "

He said nothing more, but she held on, sensing that he would speak when he was ready.

"It's like I always knew a part of me was missing. Sounds corny, right?"

She shook her head. "Not really. I've watched stuff on Discovery about estranged twins."

"I've always been fascinated by that stuff too." He pursed his lips and then stared at the patio tiles. "Now I know why."

She touched his knee. "D'you have parents?"

"Adoptive."

"And they never told you?"

"The time was never right, according to them."

"How did you find out?"

"I was here working a couple of months ago and knew for sure when the case blew wide open. I met a cousin then, and when someone resembles you that closely and you've experienced the emotional disconnect that I have, you start asking questions."

She withdrew her hand, conscious that she'd overstepped a line, not that he seemed to mind.

To lighten the mood, she said, "I couldn't help noticing that Janine has a certain something about her."

He laughed, throwing his head back. "I never would have said you were coy, but you just proved me wrong."

"Oh, I dunno. I was only pointing out something that was more than a little obvious. You both like a particular type of woman."

"We're twins. It's allowed." He touched her chin. "But what if I said I'm only drawn to you because you need protection?"

Looking him in the eyes, she said, "Then I'd say you were lying."

His eyes darkened and against her will, Corra edged forward as if Phillip were pulling her toward him without verbal communication. Their lips met in a gentle introduction, with teasing kisses that deepened gradually.

His tongue entered her mouth and her hands came up to hold his head in place, while his slow and thorough invasion left her breathless and wanting.

He gripped her arms, gently reinforcing his dominance. Her eyes closed and she forgot her resolve not to get involved with anyone.

When she thought she was in danger of melting into a hot puddle at his feet, Phillip withdrew, still pressing kisses to her lips. He rested his forehead against hers and whispered,

"And I'd say you were right."

"Hmmm?"

She struggled to pick up the thread of their conversation, and when she did, a satisfied smile curved her mouth. "I knew it."

Phillip looked deep into her eyes and she wanted to look away, but couldn't. She was grateful for everything he'd done, but there was the matter of how he made a living and her personal feelings about it.

All they had shared was a kiss, but knowing what she did, they had already passed their limit.

Phillip was all kinds of dangerous and she wasn't the adventurous type. Already, she was putting him and his brother's family at risk.

She rose, hoping she didn't leave any evidence of her arousal on the seat. He got up, and without meaning to, she stole another glance at his swimming trunks, satisfied that she wasn't the only one who'd experienced a spike in body temperature and other things.

He didn't seem bothered, but simply let the towel hang from one shoulder, and followed her inside.

Paul and Janine were nowhere to be found, so Corra did the wise thing and went to the room they had given her, where she could mull over the drama that had taken place today. She'd also call Anita, who would now be past frantic over the fact that she hadn't contacted her or landed in Jamaica.

14

Phillip

Wednesday, September 5, 1:40 P.M.

"The hotel needs to fire that whole team of bellhops," Paul said, staring at his computer screen.

"Isn't that a bit radical?" Phillip asked, looking up from his laptop.

"The man who attacked Corra was wearing one of their uniforms. That would be enough for me to get rid of the entire lot of them."

Phillip chuckled. "That's just frustration talking."

Paul sat back in his seat and rubbed his eyes. "I guess you're right."

"I know I am," Phillip said, keeping his eyes on the screen.

"What d'you have there?" Paul said walking around the desk to stand behind him.

"I'm looking through the passenger manifest for people who came to the island from Jamaica around the time Corra landed. After that, I'll widen my search."

"You can do that stuff from here?"

"The police in the region cooperate, so that's a yes. Plus, I have good friends where it matters."

"I've always found that helpful," Paul said.

"As we say in Jamaica, make a friend before you need one."

"Now, that, I agree with." Paul chuckled and went back to his seat. "I haven't said it, maybe because I've been a little taken aback and out of sorts since Mark told me about you, but I'm really glad to have you around."

"Same here," Phillip said. "Maybe you feel that way because your mother told you I was dead."

"I guess so, but somehow, I always thought she was lying."

"And you never had the urge to search?"

He shrugged. "Like I told you, I had too much going on. Raising Mark and myself, staying out of trouble, starting a business. Looking for someone who was supposed to be dead was not on my priority list."

"Point taken."

"Why did you take so long to contact me after you first saw me?"

Now Phillip was the one who shrugged. "It was like I always knew, but when the reality faced me, I was reluctant to find out the truth."

He looked away from the sympathy in Paul's eyes. "All of it made me realize my life was built on lies. My mother and father always told me the gray eyes were in our family line. What they couldn't explain was the fact that nobody else in my generation had them.

"The hair was easier, because there's Indian blood on both sides of the family. They still haven't been able to give me a proper reason why they decided not to tell me."

"I'm sure they were just trying to protect you."

"I guess and I'll bet they never expected me to find out."

"Like I said though, count your blessings."

"I know. They love me and I shouldn't lose sight of that."

They remained quiet for a few minutes, each wrapped in his thoughts. Phillip waited a while before asking. "What else do you know about our father?"

"Not much. He wasn't interested in sticking around, so I wasn't wasting my time searching for him."

"I hear you," Phillip said, stashing that away to be dealt with later, if ever. Finding the other half of himself was enough.

He went back to searching the data base, hoping to find even a trace of something suspicious. Nothing turned up after running through the names of those who had come to the island before and after Corra. Most were short-term visitors who had left again, but that still left him with a list of possible stalkers. If he took away the women, that left him with a dozen men - a small number that wouldn't be too much trouble to track.

He got out his cell, placed a call and within minutes his local contact had sent him the information he needed. After running down the names and locations, he hit a speed bump. None of them fit the profile of the person he was seeking.

Rubbing his forehead, he wondered if it wouldn't be the best thing to speak with the hotel chief of security and turn over some rocks inside the hotel. He sighed, knowing the man had been glad to have the problem of Corra's security taken off his hands and wouldn't be happy to see Phillip.

He put that idea aside as a last resort and got up to stretch. They had been closeted in Paul's office for an hour since lunch, but didn't have anything to show for it. Well, on the personal side, he knew a bit more about Paul. On Corra's account, he'd have to keep digging.

Paul's voice cut through his thoughts. "I'd offer you a beer, but Janine will say I'm setting a bad example with it being the middle of the day and all."

"Don't worry about it," Phillip said, standing in front of the window. "I'm not used to hitting the sauce at this time anyway. Plus, I don't drink much."

Paul chuckled at his comment. "That's probably a natural reaction, considering the mother we had."

The boys were now running around the yard, chasing a ball while Janine said something to them that Phillip couldn't hear. He continued watching them, conscious of the fact that he didn't have a family of his own. Not that he lacked anything, but his work was high-risk and he hated the thought of dying and leaving a wife who'd have to take care of herself. His mother already worried about him too much.

"They do give life a lot more enjoyment and meaning," Paul said, coming to stand beside him.

"I'm sure, but in my line of work—"

"Five or so years ago, I would have agreed with what you're going to say, but there's no time like the present to live."

They both laughed at his joke, before Phillip said, "Point definitely taken."

When they sat on both sides of the desk again, Paul got a Rubik's cube out of the drawer, twisting the colors out of line.

"I haven't seen one of those in ages," Phillip said. "Other than you, I'm the only person I know who owns one."

"It helps me think," Paul said. "And I'm wondering about your girlfriend."

Lifting his hands from the keypad, Phillip shook his head. "You do remember I told you I just met her here last weekend."

A knowing smile lit Paul's face. "We just met and I know you're interested in that woman."

"Be that as it may, my first responsibility is her safety."

Paul's knowing expression forced Phillip to take stock of what he'd just said. He sat back, smiling at his brother. Then he laughed. "You're right, I do sound far gone, having just met her."

"With Janine, I knew soon after meeting her that she was the one. I tried convincing myself I wasn't good enough for her, but life has a way of ripping the blinkers off when we try fooling ourselves."

"True, but it seems to me Corra has secrets. After I find out what's going on with her, I'll be more comfortable."

"Do whatever you have to, but it won't change the outcome."

Paul spun his chair toward the window, and Phillip followed Paul's gaze to where Corra was now throwing the ball to each of the twins in a high arc. The boys' muted squeals came through the sealed windows, along with the melodious tinkle of Corra's laughter.

Phillip dragged his attention away from them and back to the computer screen. The message icon flashed on the taskbar, and he opened his email account. Rance had sent him a message.

After reading the information, he snorted. That woman was indeed close-mouthed when it came to important matters.

"What is it?" Paul asked, facing him.

"Corra," he said, while scanning the copy of the police report attached to the mail, "was kidnapped a while back."

"What does that mean to this case?"

With his chin resting in his hand, Paul watched as Corra pulled her arms back and launched the ball over her head toward the twins.

"I don't know, but I sure as hell am gonna find out."

Pushing back from the desk, he got to his feet and left the office.

Find out more about Corra and Phillip's romance:

SMASHWORDS

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J.L. Campbell is an award-winning, Jamaican writer who is always on the look-out for story-making material. She writes romantic suspense, women's fiction and young adult novels. She is the author of thirteen novels, three novellas and two short story collections.

Visit her on the web at http://www.joylcampbell.com

You can also connect with her on Twitter

@JL_Campbell or on Facebook.

Be sure to check out the other books in the Island Adventure Romance series.

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Caribbean Books Foundation

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