The Island Page 5

  “Okay, that’s a scary thought!” Sandy said, shivering.

  “It’s getting better and better for me, girls. Please, go on,” Brad said, laughing, but also trying to ease the fear the girls seemed to feel.

  “We’re in the Bermuda Triangle, too, aren’t we?” Amanda asked, rising. “Luckily, I don’t have a superstitious bone in my body.” She stretched, and Keith’s shirt fell from her shoulders. She reached down languidly to pick it up and slowly walked—or sashayed—over to Keith to return it. “Besides,” she said softly, “there are a lot of handsome, well-muscled men around here to protect us if we need it. Well, good night, all.”

  Her cousins and father rose to join her, saying their thank-yous as they rose.

  The group began to break up, everyone laughing, promising to see each other in the morning.

  As they returned to their tents, Beth was silent.

  “Aunt Beth, are you afraid of ghosts?” Amber asked.

  “No,” she assured her niece.

  “Then what are you afraid of?” Amber persisted.

  Beth glanced self-consciously over at Ben. “The living,” she said softly.

  Her brother sighed, shaking his head. “Just like good old Captain Pierce, I carry a gun. And I won’t let anyone close enough to use it against me,” he assured her.

  A few minutes later they had all retired, Ben and Beth to their “one-bedroom” tents and the girls to the large “two-bedroom” Ben had recently purchased for his daughter. None of them were more than ten feet apart, with the girls situated between the adults.

  Amber and Kim kept a light on, and Beth found herself hoping their supply of batteries would be sufficient. She could hear the girls giggling, probably inventing ghost stories. She told herself that people were simply susceptible to the dark, to shadows, whispers on the breeze, and the dark intent of a tale told by firelight.

  But she was uneasy herself. She reminded herself that she had been uneasy long before Keith’s ghost story.

  It’s just a story, he’d said. A good story, told on the spur of the moment.

  And it hadn’t scared her. Not a silly—even sad—ghost story.

  Yet…she was scared.

  Despite her unease, she eventually drifted off to sleep. Her dreams were disjointed, snatches of conversation, visions that seemed to dance before her, never really taking shape until she saw, in her mind’s eye, a beautiful young girl in eighteenth-century dress, a handsome Spaniard and a sea captain, sword in hand….

  The sea captain—arresting, exciting, masculine—took on the appearance of someone familiar…Keith Henson.

  Sadly, even in her dream, the beautiful young girl looked like Amanda.

  She tossed and turned as the dream unfolded, more like a play with the director continually calling, “Cut!” than a real dream.

  And then she heard the wind rise, a rustling in the brush…

  She awakened, a sense of panic taking hold of her. Her palms were clammy, her limbs icy.

  It was just a nightmare, she told herself.

  Except it wasn’t just a nightmare.

  Nearby, the foliage was rustling. Someone was creeping about in the stygian darkness.

  Pirates had definitely frequented this area, once upon a time.

  Spanish galleons had carried gold.

  Had Keith truly only been telling a tall tale?

  Because human nature never changed. Piracy still existed. She wasn’t frightened by anything sad that might have occurred in the past, because the present could be frightening enough.

  Someone was out there. Not a ghost.

  Someone very much alive.

  3

  NIGHT MOVES.

  He had expected them.

  Someone on the island was playing games.

  Innocent games? Searching for legends?

  Or games with far more deadly intent?

  Keith rose silently and waited just inside his tent, listening, trying to determine from which direction the noises were coming. There was a breeze, so the trees continued to rustle. But he had heard far more than the subtle movement of the palm fronds in the soft, natural wind of the night.

  Whoever it was, they had slipped across the sand and into the dense foliage of the interior.

  Looking for a skull?

  Or was there something more, something entirely different, going on? Perhaps he shouldn’t have told his ghost story. But he had told it on purpose, watching the others closely for their reactions. In the end, though, he’d learned nothing except that everyone seemed awfully easy to spook.

  But had he caused this movement in the night?

  He eased slowly, silently, from the tent and started across the white sand. Just ahead, barely discernible, the rustling sound came again.

  Suddenly there was a light ahead, as if whoever was there felt they had gone far enough not to be noticed.

  With the appearance of the light, he knew for certain he wasn’t chasing some nocturnal animal through the trees.

  He followed, quickening his pace as he left the beach behind.

  FEAR KEPT BETH DEAD STILL for several seconds until her instinct to protect the girls rose to the fore.

  She almost burst from the tent, to find…

  Nothing. Nothing but the sea by night, the soft sound of the gentle waves washing the shore, a nearby palm bent ever so slightly in homage to the breeze.

  She went still, looking around, listening.

  Still nothing. She told herself she needed to get a grip. She had never been the cowardly type, and stories were just that: stories. There were real dangers in life, but she had always dealt with them. She didn’t walk through dangerous neighborhoods alone at night. She carried pepper spray, and she’d learned how to use it. She even knew how to shoot, since their friends included several cops, who’d taken her to the shooting range and taught her how to handle a gun, though she didn’t choose to keep one, since her house had an alarm system.

  So why was she panicking?

  Because in her heart of hearts, no matter what anyone said, she was certain she had seen a skull. And it hadn’t belonged to any long-dead pirate.

  No one nearby, no sounds now. She still had to check on the girls.

  First she looked down the beach. All the fires were out, and she could see the tents, silent in the night. Keith and his buddies had tied a hammock to a couple of palms, where it swung ever so slightly in the breeze. Down from them, another group of tents, and farther still, a larger tent, all of them quiet and dark.

  She hurried over to the girls’ tent and looked in, her heart in her throat. But both of them were in the second of the two little rooms, and they were soundly sleeping. Their light was still on, turning their small bedroom into an oasis and everything around it into a black hole.

  She exhaled in relief and started backing out—straight into something solid, large.

  In her, terror rose and she screamed.

  KEITH HEARD THE SCREAM and froze, his blood congealing at the terror in that shrill sound.

  In a split second, he was back in action.

  The scream had come from the beach.

  Beth!

  The light ahead went out, but he ignored it and turned, tearing through the brush, desperate to reach her.

  SHE LET OUT A SECOND, terrified scream; then she swung around, ready to fight to the death on behalf of the girls.

  There was no need.

  “Dammit, Beth,” a voice swore fiercely in the night. “What the hell are you doing?”

  She blinked, drawing back with just seconds to spare before giving her brother a black eye.

  “Ben?”

  “Who the hell did you expect?”

  “You scared me to death,” she accused him.

  “What’s going on?” Amber asked nervously, rubbing sleep from her eyes as she crawled from the bedroom.

  Kim followed, and the four of them wound up in the small outer room of the tent, tripping over one another.

  “Nothin
g,” Ben said irritably.

  Just then, as Amber tried to stand, she bumped one of the poles and the tent collapsed on them.

  Ben tried never to swear around his daughter, but tangled in the nylon, tasting sand, Beth could hear him breaking his rule beneath his breath.

  “It’s all right. The tent just fell,” she heard herself protesting.

  But when she twisted to free herself, she only became more entangled.

  Then the fabric was lifted from her, and, looking up, she saw the face of Keith Henson, tense and taut as he stared down at her.

  “What the hell is going on?” he demanded curtly.

  “Nothing,” she snapped.

  “You screamed.”

  By then Ben had managed to escape the mess of poles and nylon and make it to his feet. He was shaking his head disgustedly.

  “Sorry, everyone.”

  When she looked around, still on her back, she saw that everyone was there, flashlights shining. Had she really screamed that loudly?

  Well, of course she had.

  And she was still flat on her back in an oversize T-shirt riding up her thighs, staring up at everyone. Just as the thought occurred to her, Keith reached a hand down to her. At that particular moment, she didn’t think twice about accepting it.

  His grip was powerful. She was on her feet before she knew it.

  “What is going on?” Amanda demanded, swiping back an errant piece of blond hair. Even at night, Beth noticed dejectedly, Amanda looked great. Like a soap-opera character who awoke in the morning with perfect makeup and shiny teeth.

  “Are you all right?” Hank asked, polite as always.

  Roger, definitely the oldest in the crowd, set an arm on his daughter’s shoulder and looked over at Beth, smiling, as well. “Maybe we should avoid ghost stories at night,” he said easily.

  She tried to smile. And then apologize. “I’m really sorry. I woke up, and went to check on the girls. And then, backing out, I ran into my brother, who was apparently checking on why I was checking on the girls. There were too many of us in too small a space. I guess I woke everyone. I’m sorry.” Except, of course, she was certain that she hadn’t awakened everyone.

  Someone had already been up and creeping around the island.

  Who?

  It was impossible now to tell, because all of them were there. Staring at her.

  Amber started to giggle. Beth stared at her, brows raised.

  “Oh, Aunt Beth, I’m sorry, but it is funny.”

  “Yeah, a real hoot,” Ben muttered.

  “Hey, let’s just get the tent back up, huh?” Keith suggested.

  Kim stared at him, obviously fascinated. “Oh, sure, thanks.”

  “I can manage—” Beth began.

  “Take the help when it’s offered, honey. Then maybe we can all get some sleep.” For once Amanda spoke without malice. There was even a teasing tone to her words.

  Ben smiled. “Keith, if you’ll give me a hand, we’ll have this back up in two minutes.” He cleared his throat. “Beth, you’re in the way.”

  “Excuse me.”

  “Me, too,” Amanda said, and yawned. “I’m going back to bed. Dad, want to walk me back? Hank? Gerald?”

  “If you guys are all set, we’ll go catch a little more sleep, too,” Sandy said.

  “We’re fine. Good night all,” Ben told them.

  Once again they parted for the night. Or what was left of it. Glancing at her watch, Beth saw that it was around four in the morning.

  The girls’ tent was quickly repositioned, and their group, too, was ready to try for a few more hours of sleep.

  Ben thanked Keith, as did the girls. “Hey, Aunt Beth. You could bring your sleeping bag in here, and then you wouldn’t have to worry about us,” Amber said.

  “I’ll give you guys your privacy,” Beth told her, smiling.

  Keith was staring at her, his gaze intent, as if he was trying to read something in her expression.

  Then he smiled easily, without suspicion. “You all right?”

  “Yes, fine.”

  “I’m sorry if I scared you with my story.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. I’m not afraid of ghosts.” She couldn’t help the feeling that her eyes were narrowing. And she wondered if he realized she was telling him that she was scared, but not of any story—of him.

  “Well, then, good night.”

  With a wave, he started off for his own tent.

  “Girls, go to bed,” Ben said firmly.

  “Good night,” Amber said.

  “Good night,” Kim echoed.

  They went into their tent again. Beth winced as she heard them giggling.

  “Beth, what the hell was going on?” Ben demanded.

  She sighed. “I heard a noise. I was worried about the girls.”

  He let out a sigh. “What’s the matter with you? You never used to be paranoid.”

  “I’m not paranoid.”

  “Listen, Beth, we’re surrounded by people here, half of the people we know. Nothing is going to happen.”

  “You scared me,” she protested. “Creeping up behind me like that. You might have made yourself known.”

  “I didn’t know who you were,” he told her.

  “Aha!” Beth declared. “You were worried. Admit it.”

  He sighed. “Beth, nothing’s going to happen,” he responded. “Trust me, huh?”

  “I do trust you,” she told him.

  “Then act like it.”

  “Okay.”

  “Can we go to sleep now?” he asked hopefully.

  “Yes.”

  “Okay. Good night.”

  “Good night.”

  Beth realized that he was waiting for her to be safely tucked back into bed. She smiled and nodded ruefully, then crawled back into her own tent and into her sleeping bag, where she lay staring at the fabric above her in the deep darkness of the night.

  She rolled over. It was better in that direction—the girls were still sleeping with the little lantern flashlight on.

  She tried to close her eyes and sleep.

  She had heard something.

  Or had she? Maybe it had been only the natural rustling of the wind in the leaves. Had she simply made up something in her mind, and become truly paranoid?

  Or, on the other hand, was she just being sensible?

  Trust me….

  She did trust her brother. He would gladly die for his daughter, she knew, and would probably do the same for her, and for Kim.

  She just hoped to hell he was never called upon to do so.

  She tossed again, yearning to go to sleep.

  It was a long time coming.

  AMANDA MASON WAS DEFINITELY a flirt. She made a point of crashing into one of the guys every time she hit the ball.

  Usually himself, Keith decided wryly. He wasn’t letting it get to his ego, since she also liked to tease Lee—she’d seen the boat, and they’d all said it was his. She didn’t much mind brushing against Brad, either, even though he was here with his girlfriend. But so far, no one had taken their makeshift volleyball game too seriously. So far, everyone was laughing.

  He, Amanda, Brad, Lee and Kim were one team. Sandy, Amber, Gerald, Matt and Ben made up the other. Roger Mason sat on the sidelines, being the ref.

  So far today, they hadn’t even seen Ms. Beth Anderson.

  “Outside!” Matt yelled in protest of Keith’s serve.

  “It was not outside—you just missed it,” he returned.

  “Where’s our referee?” Matt demanded.

  “Sleeping, despite the noise,” Amanda said, chuckling affectionately as she pointed to her father.

  It was true. Roger had leaned back in the hammock and gone straight to sleep.

  “It was definitely outside,” came a voice.

  Keith spun around. She was up at last, yawning despite her late appearance. She held a cup of coffee. Sunglasses covered her unique marble-toned eyes, and she was in a bathing-suit top and chopped-off
Levi’s pedal pushers.

  His serve hadn’t been outside, and if she had been watching, she had seen that. He wondered why she had decided that they were enemies from the first moment she had seen him.

  Other than the fact that she’d been trying desperately to hide her discovery from him.

  He forced a smile. “Hey, Matt, the lady says you’re right.”

  “Beth Anderson, you’re blind!” Amanda protested irritably.

  “It’s just a game, isn’t it?” Beth asked politely.

  “I’m going to have to speak to the commodore and make sure you don’t ref any games at the club,” Amanda said, a teasing note in her voice that was meant to hide her still-obvious dislike.

  Beth managed an icy smile and an easy laugh. “You do that, Amanda,” she said.

  “Aunt Beth, come play,” Amber urged.

  “I think I like Roger’s idea best,” she said.

  “Sure—wake the rest of us up in the middle of the night and then sleep all day,” Matt teased. “I don’t think so.”

  “No, of course not, come play,” Hank urged. “And you can ref my game any old day,” he teased.

  “Come on, Beth, play,” Ben urged.

  “I’d make the teams uneven,” she protested.

  Roger, who had appeared to be so peacefully sleeping, rose. “I’ll join in and make it even,” he offered.

  He walked past Beth, smiling. “Fifty-eight, and I guarantee I can take on you kids.”

  It was interesting, watching the group dynamics, Keith thought. Everyone seemed to get along fine except for Amanda and Beth.

  Was Beth jealous?

  Or was it vice versa? Amanda was petite, ultrafeminine. Beth seemed…

  Elegant, he found himself thinking. A strange adjective, since she was in beachwear, as casual as any of them.

  The teams readjusted. Beth took the serve.

  It was wicked.

  From the rear corner, he barely returned it. Ben caught the ball, and Roger, bless him, attempted a slam. Amazingly, Beth caught it low, setting it up for her brother, who went in for the kill.

  “Point,” Beth said calmly, reclaiming the ball.