Eyes of Fire

disgust. He shook his head. “Did that doorknob really turn? I’m feeling like an idiot. There was definitely no one there.”

“Maybe not,” Sam said.

“Let’s not mention this, huh?”

She agreed. “Let’s not.”

He left her at the door to the main house. She went in and found the living room, dining room, kitchen and bar all empty. She hesitated, wondering how the entire house could be empty, then wandered into her father’s office.

Adam looked up as she entered. He was in black jeans and a black T-shirt. The color complemented his dark good looks, the ebony sleekness of his hair, the gray of his eyes. The shirt even seemed to make the muscled bronze of his arms more appealing.

“Dismal day, huh?” he said.

She nodded.

He stretched out an arm. “Come in and join me. I don’t bite.”

“Really?”

“Not unless I’m invited to.”

She would have liked to dispute those words, but he was telling the truth—she knew from experience. It would be a lie to suggest that she hadn’t invited what had happened between them when they first met.

“What are you doing?” she asked him. He was seated at the big old seafarer’s desk. She chose one of the big leather upholstered chairs on the other side of it, curling her feet beneath her as she sat.

“Studying charts, notes, references.”

“Find anything?”

“Lots of things.”

She folded her arms over her chest. “I’ve studied almost everything in this room, and I never found anything. Except the obvious. Charts—dozens of charts. Books on the building of the Beldona, her cargo, her crew, her purpose in the New World. Speculation on the Steps. Advice on sailing through storms. Theories on the disappearances in the triangle.”

“Your father’s notes?” he suggested.

“I’ve read them.”

“Hank’s notes, as well?”

She nodded.

He stood, pushing a journal toward her. It was written in her father’s handwriting. He tapped an entry made the morning Justin had disappeared. Sam leaned close to read the scrawl her father had left in the book. She squinted. It read, Study ocean floor.

She sat back, shrugging. “I know all the dive sites. I’ve visited them all my life. I can see the ‘ocean floor’ at all those sites with my eyes closed.”

Adam seemed disappointed. “All right,” he said, after a moment. “I’ve got another one for you.” He stood, taking another ledger from behind the desk, setting it down.

She thought that his fingers trembled slightly as he turned the pages of the book.

Hank’s book. A diary he’d kept on his research. Every page seemed to be filled. He’d listed crew members by name, sails, masts, guns, ship’s silver and china, glassware, cutlery. Then suddenly, as if it had been an afterthought, he’d written, Things not what they seem?

“What do you make of that?”

“I don’t know. Hank was…obsessed.”

Adam closed both books, staring at her. She wanted to return his stare, but she felt her gaze falling. She studied her hands. “It’s a dismal day. Jem has gone back to his place to sleep. Jacques will be starting dinner soon. I wonder if anyone will even make it in to eat. I hope the weather clears for the morning.”

“Do you?”

“Of course. Everyone is so anxious to dive.”

“You’re not.”

She shrugged, suddenly wishing she hadn’t come in here. It was disconcerting to be here. On the one hand, it was oddly comfortable to be alone with Adam. On the other…It was torture.

Adam leaned forward suddenly. “Sam, you’re like an ostrich. You want to hide your head in the sand so you won’t have to realize that your father is dead.”

Tears pricked her eyes. She blinked them back. “You’re wrong. I do realize my father is dead. I know it all too well.”

He stared at her, shaking his head sadly. “All right. You accept that he’s dead. But you don’t want to know how he died. You don’t want to think that Hank Jennings found the same brutal end.”

She lifted her hands in a dismissive gesture. “You’re wrong. No matter how they died, it had to be brutal. Drowning can’t be easy. A heart attack, a—”

“It would be a little too convenient for both men to die of undersea heart attacks, don’t you think?”

She sat very still, then closed her eyes for a moment, leaning back. She looked at him again. “When my father disappeared, I spent a week sleeping out on the dock, praying that he’d come back. Yancy and Jem finally convinced me that my sleeping on damp wood wasn’t going to help anything. I still spent the majority of my time on the dock. I stood there, I sat there, I waited. I took the Sloop Bee out day after day. I talked to the Bahamian police, the Coast Guard, the FBI—divers, salvagers, you name it. I—”

“You wrote to me.”

She nodded, looking away. “Yeah.”

“I’m sorry, Sam. So sorry.”

She shrugged. “It’s been a long time now.”

“Not so long since Hank disappeared.”

She shook her head, wishing he would go away. She didn’t want to think about things that hurt so badly.

“The point is, Sam, something happened to them. You’ve got to come out of your shell. We owe it to them to find out what the hell happened.”

She hesitated, then leaned over the desk. “Give me a journal.”

“You said you’ve read them both.”

“I have, but…” She shrugged and admitted, “I missed both those entries you just showed me. Or, if I saw them, I didn’t think anything of them. And it’s a rainy afternoon. What the hell else is there to do?”

Adam passed her a journal, arching a brow, but her head was already lowered over the book he had passed her.

He smiled anyway, lowered his own head and tried to concentrate once again.

At around six Yancy came in. She’d made them Jamaican coffee, rich with sugar and whipped cream. She wound up staying, perched on another chair, and reading about the Spanish prisoners taken aboard the Beldona.

Jem joined them at six-thirty, having gotten some sleep. The bump on his head was all but invisible. Sam kept her head studiously in her book while he explained that he’d gotten the bump from the medicine chest over his sink.

Jem read with them for a while. They exchanged books and read some more.

At seven-thirty Jacques—his chef’s hat perfectly in place, his mustache perfectly twirled—stuck his head in. He cleared his throat, winking at Adam. “Mon Dieu, ma cherie! There are real guests here, as well, you know.”

Sam looked up, startled. She glanced at her watch. “My Lord, I’ve forgotten—”

“Mais oui! But I have not!” Jacques said proudly. “Your guests have made themselves drinks and are now in the midst of an Italian buffet.”

“Oh. Pizza night,” Yancy said.

Jacques rolled his eyes. “Pizza night! Where is the respect due?” he moaned.

“Thanks, Jacques. You’re great!” Sam called as he disappeared down the hallway. “Well, I guess I’ll see to the guests,” she said, rising.