Eyes of Fire

“Yancy!”

“Ah, because of Adam,” Yancy said.

“Yancy….”

“He did save you, right?”

“Yes, he did.”

“And you said thank you.”

“More or less.”

“Sam!”

“Yancy, you’re missing the point.”

“I’m not missing the point. There’s a dangerous whacko running around the island. We don’t want everyone to check out of the hotel, but neither do we want anyone else attacked by the whacko.”

“It’s strange, but I don’t think this particular whacko is a danger to the general public.”

“Now you’re losing me.”

“I don’t think our guests are in danger.”

“Why not?”

“The whacko is one of our guests,” she said, evading a direct answer to the question. She didn’t want to admit that she was relying on Adam’s judgment.

“My, my, my. What is the world coming to? Imagine. We’re letting the riffraff onto Seafire Isle.”

“Yancy, it isn’t funny.”

“Of course it’s not funny. You could have been…hurt. Or worse. Maybe we should call the mainland police.”

“I—I decided not to.”

Yancy arched a brow. “Did Adam suggest that you not do so?”

“Not exactly. He pointed out that it might not do me much good, and that I might wind up in greater danger.”

Yancy lifted her hands and let them fall back on the armrests of the chair. “Why?”

Sam didn’t answer her. She frowned suddenly. “Yancy, where’s the baby?”

Yancy smiled. “Upstairs. Lillie Wie is staying overnight because of the dinner party. She and Brian are napping right alongside each other.”

“Oh!” Sam said, leaning back into the chair with relief. Brian was six months old—and the love of all their lives. He had his father’s blue eyes and toffee brown hair, and the most winning smile known to man. Lillie was one of the day maids. There were four of them altogether; they came in the morning from Freeport and usually left with the mail boat in the afternoon, along with the two grounds keepers. Sam hadn’t been quite twenty-two when her father had disappeared, but between herself, Jem Fisher and Yancy, they had divided the duties on the island in a manner that had worked well right from the very beginning. Jem supervised maintenance, tennis, golf, lawn care, pool and beach care, and any repairs that became necessary. There were only two tennis courts, and the golf course was only nine holes. There was also only one pool, so Jem didn’t find his responsibilities overwhelming. Jem’s younger cousin, Matt, had taken a job with them during the last year, as well, acting as lifeguard, scuba instructor and jack-of-all-trades, but he only came over on weekends, when his college schedule allowed.

Yancy managed the main house, the reservations, the kitchen and the household staff. Sam was dive mistress, scuba instructor, social director and official hostess. It all fell together well. Yancy had always loved the house, which worked out well, because now she usually had the baby at her side, no matter what task she was up to.

“Were you afraid somebody might be after the baby?” Yancy asked her.

“I guess not. I’m just…unnerved,” Sam told her. “Is dinner all set up?”

“All set and ready to go,” Yancy said. “Jacques has everything in control.”

Jacques Roustand was the only other live-in employee on the island. He’d been their chef since Yancy’s mother had passed away eight years ago. He’d found himself in a sad position at first, of course, but he’d been so different and so entirely unique that Yancy herself had been the first to fully accept him. He was in his mid-thirties now, and appeared almost a caricature of the typical French chef, down to a slim, twirling mustache he had worn continuously ever since his arrival. He wasn’t exactly French, for though he had attended school in Paris, he had been born and bred a Louisiana Creole. Sam was convinced that it was more his mother’s influence than the French school that had made him a great chef. He never ran out of different ways to prepare crawfish, shrimp, Florida lobster or any creature they pulled from the sea. His dishes were colorful, exotic and could always be prepared for each individual guest in either a spicy or mild manner. She, Jem and Yancy all considered him invaluable—and any one of them was customarily willing to drop anything he or she was about to do when Jacques called. If he wanted garlic chopped, they chopped. Glasses filled, they filled them. Silver polished, they polished. Sam had once told Jem that she might own the island, but Jacques indisputably ruled it.

“Good evening, ladies!”

They both jumped up, turning to greet their first arrival for the evening.

It was Avery Smith, an elderly gentleman visiting the island on his own. He was tall and very slim, with a full head of iron-gray hair and iron-gray eyes to match. He was intelligent and charming. And wealthy, Sam assumed, judging by his impeccable clothing. He was very fond of Versace, elegant gold cuff links and silver-handled canes. He never appeared for dinner in less than a complete tux.

“Mr. Smith,” Yancy said. “Good evening to you. Would you like your customary brandy, sir?”

“I would indeed, my dear young woman.”

As Yancy went to get his drink, he smiled at Sam. “I wish I were just a few years younger. I would love to join one of your dive parties. I could hear the children laughing—so excited!—when they returned this afternoon.”

“I hope they didn’t disturb you,” Yancy said, giving him a snifter of brandy. “I tried to make sure I gave you and the Walkers cottages far enough apart.”

He sipped his brandy, waving a hand her way. “I like the sound of laughter.” He smiled again at Sam. “They say you are very, very good, like a fish in the water and charming with your tales atop it.”

“Thank you. I enjoy the water very much.”

“Every day?”

“Every day.”

Brad and Darlene Walker chose that moment to come scampering in, both asking Yancy politely for soda.

“Play you in backgammon, Sam?” Brad queried hopefully.

“Later, okay? Play your sister for now.”

Darlene groaned. “He cheats.”

“I do not!”

“Where are the parents of these little hellions?” demanded Liam Hinnerman, entering the room in a handsome tweed suit, Jerry North, small, fragile and lovely at his side.

“Liam!” Jerry murmured.

“Where are your charming parents?” Liam said.

“Oh, they’re coming along!” Brad said cheerfully, sliding into one of the big chairs that encircled an antique gaming table. “I’m red,” he told his sister.

“Yancy, I’d just love a Bloody Mary,” Jerry said, smiling graciously.

“And I’d kill for Scotch on the rocks,” Liam muttered, still eyeing the children balefully.

A deep, masculine voice suddenly spoke out. “Let’s get the man a Scotch before he decides to kill!”

Sam swung around. Adam had come into the room. He smiled at Hinnerman, walking around behind the bar himself, something the guests were more than welcome to do if they chose. He set a tall glass and a short one on the antique bar.

“Um—hello,” Jerry said, blue eyes wide as she stared at Adam.

Liam Hinnerman stared blankly at him.

“Hi,” Adam replied pleasantly to the two of them.

“You haven’t all met as yet,” Sam heard herself say smoothly. “Jerry North, Adam O’Connor. Adam, Jerry.