Kitabı oku: «Too Close For Comfort», sayfa 4

Rosie shuddered, remembering how raw it had looked when she had finally loosened his shirt away from it. The bruising at the base of the wound had looked remarkably like the heel of her hiking boot. Of course, that wasn’t likely to be the only place he was bruised. Unwanted images of him standing naked in the shower filled her mind. She had seen his chest and arms. A scar bisected his chest, stark against a dark mat of hair, testimony of a major injury. Tanned skin stretched over well defined muscles and tendons. The veins on the back of his hands and his arms were equally well defined. Completely masculine. Completely fascinating.

And she was completely out of her mind.

Abruptly she set her mug down and pushed herself away from the counter, glancing at Hilda. ‘‘If that man calls you looking for Annmarie, what are you going to tell him?’’

‘‘That I haven’t seen her.’’

Rosie smiled. ‘‘So far, that’s the truth.’’

‘‘And he’s not answering the number he left for me, so I figure I’ve got a few questions for him the next time he calls. Preferably questions he can answer in person.’’

‘‘I don’t know whether to hope he shows or not.’’

‘‘We’d all be better off if we knew where he was,’’ Hilda said. ‘‘Your going away for a few days, that’s a good idea. There’s just tonight to deal with. I could take the two of them back to town.’’

‘‘If nobody saw them, we’re better off here.’’ Rosie shook her head and managed a smile. ‘‘They can hide in my wine cellar.’’ It was the name she had given to the bomb shelter hidden beneath the den, complete with an exterior entrance hidden a hundred feet away from the house, partway down the hill.

Hilda grinned. ‘‘Finally. A use for that room, never mind the cold war has been over for years.’’

Rosie smiled back. The old man who had built the house had poured a fortune into his insecurities. Never once had she imagined she would use the room for anything other than storage—certainly not for an escape that sounded like something out of a movie.

‘‘We’ll be okay,’’ she said. ‘‘I’ve got work to do to get ready.’’

‘‘You know we’ll keep an eye on things,’’ Hilda said. ‘‘I don’t want you worrying while you’re gone.’’

‘‘I know you will.’’ Unexpected emotion welled within Rosie, and she gave Hilda a quick hug.

The next few hours passed all too quickly. There were a hundred things to be done beginning with a call to her folks to let them know why she was bringing Annmarie for a visit and ending with a long list of the scheduled shipments of seedlings that needed to go out over the next three weeks, not that she intended to be gone that long. But just in case, she wanted to be prepared.

Hilda and Mama Sarah, bless them, provided the extra hands she needed to get everything in the greenhouse organized.

Rosie checked on Annmarie several times, who slept deeply, as though she had been kept awake for days. Each time she checked on the child, Sly sat up and watched her with inquisitive eyes as if expecting to be released from his command of ‘‘guard.’’ That he didn’t move from the room when she left gave Rosie a small measure of reassurance.

The upstairs was equally quiet, so much so that Rosie crept softly up the stairs to check on Ian. He slept sprawled on his stomach across the double bed, his feet and one arm hanging over the edge. His feet stuck out from the sheet, which had come untucked. His ankle bones were sharply protruding on either side of the Achilles tendon, the ankle itself looking oddly fragile in comparison to the rest of his musculature.

Unexpected memories swamped her, making her brace a hand against the doorjamb. Powerful…sweet feelings she hadn’t experienced in years. The whisper of a man’s breath against her cheek, the sweep of his hand against the inside of her thigh, his weight pressed against her.

She watched a long moment, her mouth dry. There had been a time when she was normal, seeking and enjoying the physical completion that came with being so close to a man. Once, a whole lifetime ago, she had imagined that she would one day have the kind of terrific marriage Lily and John had.

Rosie hadn’t wanted to remember.

Everything about this man made her remember.

If she allowed a man in her life again…and that was a very big if…he wouldn’t be anyone like Ian Stearne. She’d want someone she could feel safe with, someone who would cherish her, someone who would love the solitude here on the island as much as she did.

Within reach of Ian’s hand was his gun, a reminder this man had no more trust than she did. Remembering what had happened the last time she startled him, Rosie crept into the room and picked up the pile of clothes on the floor next to the bed. Since these were all he had, the least she could do was wash them.

He sat up in a fluid move, the gun once again in his hand, no trace of sleep in his eyes.

The predator was back.

She swallowed and held his clothes away from her.

‘‘I thought—’’ She cleared her throat. ‘‘I thought I’d wash your things.’’

The bed covers pooled around him. There was no doubt he was naked beneath the sheet. The instant she realized she was staring at his well-formed chest, her gaze slammed back to his face.

‘‘Okay.’’ He reset the safety on the weapon and watched her as she left the room. She was more than halfway down the stairs before she heard the mattress creak as he settled onto the bed.

Her heart pounding, at once again having a gun pointed at her, she went to the laundry room, emptying the pockets of his jeans before throwing everything into the washer. The pockets held nothing out of the ordinary…loose change, a Leatherman, a package of gum, a wallet. Nothing much that told her about the man—though what she had hoped for, she couldn’t have said.

Admitting distrust as much as curiosity drove her, she opened his wallet. It contained more cash than she had ever carried, a couple of major credit cards and his driver’s license, his address indeed next door to Lily’s. The face in the picture was smiling as though he didn’t have a care in the world. An expression far different than the predatory one he’d had a couple of minutes ago. Would the real Ian Stearne please stand up, she thought.

Behind the cash she found a couple of loose stamps and a laminated card. She turned it over—a photograph that was worn around the edges and creased as though it had once been folded for a long time before being protected behind the plastic. A group of children faced the camera, and she immediately picked out Ian. He looked ten or eleven. Two older children stood behind him, a boy and a girl, well into their teens. Two other boys, maybe five and dressed identically, were seated beside him. In his lap was a toddler, the only one of the group smiling. Remembering that her mother always wrote the date and their ages on the back of photographs, Rosie turn this one over. Nothing was written there. Whoever these people were, they were important to Ian—otherwise, why would he have had the old photograph laminated. Cousins, maybe, she decided, unable to see any family resemblance except between the two older kids and the five-year-olds.

A fishing license, receipt for a cash withdrawal from an ATM machine, and a permit for the gun he carried were the only other things in his wallet. Compared to the clutter and endless sheets of paper that filled her own, it didn’t seem like much to Rosie.

By the time twilight came, nearly all that could be done in preparation for their departure had been. Rosie glanced around the greenhouse at the orderly rows of seedlings that would be planted within another few weeks. Knowing she held the future for hundreds of acres of forest within her small greenhouse filled her with satisfaction. The realization always pleased her, even today when her mind hadn’t been on work at all.

‘‘Now I know why I became a nurse,’’ Hilda commented, rubbing the small of her back. ‘‘Better hours. Easier work.’’

Rosie smiled, briefly touched the resilient needles from one of the baby trees. ‘‘You’d rather save lives than watch things grow?’’

‘‘What I’d rather do is marry a millionaire and retire to a cabana on a tropical beach.’’ Hilda followed Rosie.

‘‘Not me. I wouldn’t give up this view for anything.’’ As was her habit, Rosie strolled toward the water’s edge, her gaze sweeping the panorama in front of her. Water and sky. Misty clouds and steeply rising mountains. The variegated shades of mauve that defined a soft sunset.

Hilda walked beside her, silent within her own thoughts.

Rosie turned toward the house where a light shone through the window. Inside, she could see Mama Sarah moving around the kitchen, the aroma of cooking onions wafting on the air. A couple of the kids had gone inside, but two others still played in the yard—their activity much less exuberant than it had been hours ago. Finally she raised her gaze to the hillside.

‘‘I hate this,’’ she murmured. ‘‘Being afraid and suspicious.’’

‘‘Not much choice if you want to keep that little girl safe.’’

‘‘Yeah. I know.’’

‘‘It’s pretty odd I was never able to get hold of the guy who reported his little girl missing.’’ Hilda clucked her tongue. She had gone back to her house a couple of hours earlier to check on messages. ‘‘I did get one answer back,’’ Hilda added. She glanced at Rosie, deliberately extending the pause.

‘‘Okay, I bite. And the question was?’’

Hilda grinned. ‘‘You’ve got a bonafide hero on your hands with Ian Stearne. Honorable discharge and a number of medals.’’ At Rosie’s raised eyebrow, she added, ‘‘You know how trusting Lily is—I just wanted to make sure this guy was legit.’’

‘‘Legit and a bonafide hero aren’t exactly the same thing.’’

‘‘That’s right. But this guy had a big article written on him in his hometown of Detroit. I left a copy of the fax for you on the kitchen table. Darn near got himself killed trying to get refugees to safety in Kosovo.’’

Probably how he came by the scar on his chest, Rosie thought.

‘‘And he runs something called Lucky’s Third Chance for kids. I left you an article about that, too,’’ Hilda said. ‘‘Your sister knows how to pick ’em.’’

Rosie wondered if Lily had ever seen Ian handle a gun.

‘‘I don’t like the idea of leaving you alone,’’ Hilda said.

‘‘I’m not sure we have any other choice. We’re all set for my cousin to meet us at the north end of Frederick Sound tomorrow afternoon. He can’t get there much sooner than that.’’

‘‘I still don’t like it.’’

Rosie didn’t, either. ‘‘Unless we were watched this morning when I got back here with Ian and Annmarie, nobody but you and Mama Sarah knows they’re here.’’

Hilda faced her. ‘‘You’ll call if you even hear an owl screech.’’

‘‘Or a mouse peep,’’ Rosie promised.

Rosie couldn’t have said what she expected dinner with Ian and Annmarie to be like, but it certainly hadn’t included the playful man who whooped and laughed and gently teased Annmarie into forgetting she was in a strange place. He sang to her, deliberately getting the lyrics wrong, accepting the child’s impatient corrections in a way that made Rosie think this was an old and familiar game with the two of them.

‘‘We’ll wash the dishes, won’t we Mr. Ian?’’ Annmarie said as Rosie began clearing the table. ‘‘Just like we do at home.’’

‘‘We don’t do dishes while we’re on vacation,’’ he returned with a grin. His sharp glance rested a moment on the shade covering the window. No one would mistake his silhouette for hers.

Annmarie pondered Ian’s statement a moment. ‘‘We can’t just leave the dishes dirty.’’

‘‘We could let the dog lick them,’’ he suggested.

She giggled. ‘‘You’re so silly. There would be germs.’’

‘‘Are you sure?’’ He held the plate up as if to inspect it. ‘‘I don’t see any germs,’’

‘‘That’s ’cause you need a mic…’’ She puckered her brow. ‘‘What’s the name of that thing Mama uses at work?’’

‘‘Microscope?’’ he offered.

She brightened. ‘‘That’s right.’’

‘‘I’ll wash the dishes,’’ Rosie said, picking up the plates and carrying them to the counter. ‘‘I bet there’s a movie on the TV.’’ The den was the one room in the house where there were thick drapes. The first winter Rosie had spent here, it was the only room in the house where she had felt truly safe.

‘‘I think she’s trying to get rid of us,’’ he said, scooping Annmarie into his arms.

‘‘You’ll come watch with us, won’t you?’’ she called as Ian carried her out of the kitchen.

‘‘Just as soon as I get my chores done.’’

As Rosie cleaned up the dishes, she listened to their muffled laughter coming from the den. She both envied and admired the easy rapport between them. She had only herself to blame that she didn’t know Annmarie as she now desperately wanted to.

She turned off the light in the kitchen and quietly let herself out of the house, Sly following her. He padded into the yard as he usually did, and she felt a moment’s relief from the day’s tension. Sly didn’t seem to smell anything unusual. She went to the edge of the porch and peered up the hillside where Ian had said someone had watched the house. From down here, Sly would probably never pick up a scent unless the wind came off the mountains at the center of the island instead of off the water.

Her relief vanished. Who did she think she was kidding with all her carefully made plans? The totem in the middle of her yard might be great for scaring away evil spirits, but would be useless against the men after Annmarie.

When Sly joined her back on the porch, she went into the house, carefully closing the door behind her. She heard a snicking sound and looked up in time to see Ian with the gun in his hand, putting the safety back on. Meeting her glance, he slipped the weapon in the waistband of his jeans at the small of his back.

She couldn’t decide whether to be relieved or terrified that he’d heard her and Sly go outside. Turning her back to him, she locked the door, her fingers lingering over the lock.

‘‘Everything okay out there?’’ he asked.

She nodded.

‘‘You okay?’’

She turned around to face him. ‘‘I’ve had better days.’’

‘‘But you got to see your niece on this one.’’

‘‘Yeah.’’

‘‘She’s a beauty. As innocent and sweet as her mom.’’

‘‘Yes, she is.’’

‘‘But you haven’t seen her since—’’

‘‘Eighteen months ago,’’ Rosie finished. The last time Lily and Annmarie had been to the island. Then Rosie had imagined being the favorite aunt who shared secrets and special times. She hated knowing she was more stranger to Annmarie than this man. She lifted her gaze to Ian’s, unwilling to let him see her regret. ‘‘I don’t imagine you’re too sleepy, since you slept the day away, but we ought to be going to bed soon.’’

His gaze sharpened, and she swallowed, once again caught within a delicate web of attraction, too aware of him, too aware of herself, disliking herself and him because of it.

‘‘Tomorrow’s going to be a long day,’’ she added. The pang of regret that he’d be going his way, she’d be going hers, surprised her.

He nodded.

‘‘Well, then…’’ Relieved that he didn’t say a word about beds or what to do there if a person wasn’t sleepy, she turned off the light in the kitchen and made her way toward the den.

An instant later someone rapped loudly on the glass of the kitchen door, and a man called, ‘‘Open the door, Rosie. I can’t believe you’ve locked me out.’’

Chapter 5

The doorknob rattled again. ‘‘C’mon, Rosie. I know you’re in there.’’

Ian glanced at Rosie. ‘‘Who the hell is that?’’

The dog stood in front of the door lazily wagging his tail. Ian would bet his new SUV that whoever stood on the other side of the door was someone the dog knew. Even so, he wasn’t reassured.

‘‘It sounds like Hilda’s brother,’’ Rosie returned, her own voice in a whisper.

‘‘Josh?’’ Ian asked, coming up with a name from earlier in the day. A man who came and went. When Rosie nodded, he added, ‘‘What happens if you ignore him? Will he go away?’’

She shrugged. ‘‘I don’t know.’’

‘‘Trust him?’’

A long second passed before she shook her head. ‘‘He’s probably drunk—sometimes he comes out here to sleep it off. There’s a cot in one of the sheds—if he stays he’ll crash there.’’ She frowned. ‘‘When he’s drunk, though, he never comes to the house. He doesn’t cause any trouble—just sleeps it off.’’

The man outside knocked on the glass again. ‘‘I just want some coffee.’’ The door shook as though he’d put his shoulder against it. ‘‘She ain’t here,’’ he said, his voice muffled as though he’d turned away from the door.

The hair on the back of Ian’s neck rose.

‘‘Nobody…’’ The man continued to talk, but what he said couldn’t be understood.

Ian drew his weapon and crept toward the door. Flattening his back against the wall, he peered through the thin sliver between the gauzy curtain and the glass. At first he saw nothing. Then one of the shadows moved, and he realized there was a man on the outside wall, standing just as he was, his back to the wall by the door. The shadows outside moved again, and one more time there was pounding against the door.

Ian pulled Rosie away from the front of the door and pushed her toward the den.

‘‘Mr. Ian. Auntie Rosie, where are you?’’ Annmarie called, her high voice sounding unnaturally loud. The patter of her footsteps faltered, then her voice became even more plaintive. ‘‘Mr. Ian?’’

His muscles tensed as the ominous shadows outside shifted. From the corner of his eye, he watched Rosie silently cross the kitchen toward her niece. Without taking his attention off the shadows, he assessed his options, which were damn few.

In the next instant the window in the door shattered, and an arm reached through the window frame to unlock the door.

‘‘Rosie, get out of here,’’ Ian commanded.

He grabbed the arm and jerked hard. The bone snapped, and the man cried out.

To Rosie, the breaking glass sounded like gunfire, but no less so than a man’s howl of pain. She scooped up Annmarie and ran into the den. Only half aware of the soothing words she gave the child, Rosie grabbed Annmarie’s jacket and shoes. From the kitchen there were grunts and the sound of a scuffle.

She didn’t have to wonder who had just broken into her house. She knew. Marco somebody. And Josh was with him.

Rosie took a shaky breath and turned off the light in the den, carrying Annmarie through the dark room.

‘‘I want Mr. Ian,’’ the child said plaintively.

‘‘Shh,’’ Rosie murmured.

Within a heartbeat, he had turned into a deadly predator—lethal in his intent, his gun appearing in his hand as though it had always been there. He scared her to death. She could only hope he’d buy the time they needed to escape.

‘‘He’ll be along in a minute.’’ She opened the door to a coat closet, the interior looking darker than she ever remembered. Reaching through the hanging garments, she pressed on the rear wall, and it opened. She fumbled for the light switch, found it, and turned on the light above a steep, hidden stairwell. She set Annmarie down and held her hand. ‘‘Come on. You, too, Sly.’’

Rosie heard a crash in the kitchen, the sound of breaking furniture, then a gunshot. Swiftly she retrieved her backpack from the closet floor plus one other that she used when she was gone overnight.

‘‘Mr. Ian,’’ Annmarie cried.

‘‘Shh,’’ Rosie whispered, urging the little girl down the steep steps. At the bottom she set down the packs, knelt and thrust Annmarie’s arms into the jacket, put on her shoes and tied them.

‘‘It’s those bad men again, isn’t it?’’ Annmarie looked up at Rosie. ‘‘I want them to go away.’’ Her chin firmed. ‘‘And I want Mr. Ian.’’

‘‘He’ll catch up.’’ Rosie put on a jacket, then guided the child toward the steel door at the back of the room. She didn’t know whether he would or not, but nothing was more important than getting Annmarie to safety.

She unlatched the door and pulled it open. Sly preceded her into the tunnel, his nose to the cold concrete floor. She took Annmarie’s hand. ‘‘Come on, sweetie. It will be okay.’’

‘‘Rosie, where the hell are you?’’ she heard Ian call directly above them.

Rosie kept walking, but Annmarie came to a firm halt. ‘‘Mr. Ian,’’ she called.

Rosie frowned and let go of the child. She went back to the hidden stairwell. ‘‘Down here.’’

An instant later he appeared at the top of the stairs. ‘‘Well, I’ll be damned.’’ He turned around and pulled the door closed behind him. Then he hit the light bulb with the heel of his hand, shattering it and thrusting the stairwell into darkness. He clattered down the stairs. ‘‘A secret passage. Just when were you going to trust me enough to tell me about this?’’

‘‘It wasn’t a matter of trust.’’ She turned on the flashlight she’d already put into her pocket and thrust one of the backpacks into his hands. ‘‘And it isn’t a secret. If that’s Josh out there, he knows about this. Everyone on the island does.’’

‘‘Everyone?’’

‘‘Yep.’’ She went to the doorway of the tunnel and turned to wait for him.

As much as she wanted to know what had happened, something in his expression kept her from asking. When his gaze lit on Annmarie, who stood in the dark tunnel with Sly, the lines around his mouth softened.

‘‘Hey, petunia,’’ he said. ‘‘I see you’re keeping Sly company.’’

‘‘You don’t have to pretend,’’ she said, her voice solemn. ‘‘I know it’s those bad men.’’

Ian glanced back Rosie, casually taking the flashlight from her. ‘‘How long is this?’’ he asked, walking away from her. ‘‘C’mon, Annmarie.’’

‘‘About a hundred feet. It comes out just below the greenhouse.’’ Rosie pulled the steel door closed behind her.

‘‘I saw your boat earlier today.’’ He glanced over his shoulder, the shadows from the flashlight making him look huge. ‘‘It’s all gassed up?’’

‘‘Of course it is,’’ she responded, feeling more annoyed by the second at his presumptive tone.

‘‘Excellent.’’

She hurried into the cold tunnel, noting that Annmarie was right on Ian’s heels.

‘‘Are we almost there?’’ the child asked. ‘‘I don’t like this place.’’

‘‘Talk real quiet,’’ Ian commanded softly.

‘‘Okay,’’ she whispered, then repeated, ‘‘Are we almost there?’’

‘‘Yes,’’ Rosie answered softly.

Ian suddenly flicked off the flashlight, plunging the tunnel into total darkness. ‘‘C’mere, petunia,’’ he whispered.

Though she couldn’t see him, Rosie knew that he had picked up Annmarie. A second later she saw a wavering light hitting the bushes that hid the entrance to the tunnel.

‘‘Tell me about the end of the tunnel,’’ Ian commanded softly, bending his head close to Rosie’s ear.

Oddly aware of the scent of his clothes that she had washed earlier, Rosie thought a moment, trying to visualize the area as it had been last fall when she checked it to make sure that the gate was secure. ‘‘There’s a chain-link gate,’’ she answered. ‘‘And on the other side there are several big bushes. You can’t even see the gate unless you know where to look.’’

‘‘Any obvious path?’’

‘‘No.’’

‘‘Okay. That’s good.’’

He handed Annmarie to her. ‘‘You wait here while I check things out. If you hear anybody coming down the tunnel, hide in the bushes.’’

‘‘We’re coming with you,’’ Rosie said, taking a step after him.

‘‘Now’s not the time to argue.’’ His voice was still in a whisper, but it was filled with steely resolve. He leaned down, his face so close she could see the glitter of his eyes despite the dark. ‘‘You will wait here. That’s—’’

‘‘An order?’’ she returned.

His answer was a moment in coming. ‘‘Yes. If that’s how you want to put it.’’

She hadn’t expected him to admit he was ordering her, and no ready reply came to mind.

He brushed a hand over Annmarie’s hair, then turned away and a second later pulled open the gate. The sound of metal against metal was faint—Rosie knew what it was, but it still sounded loud to her, especially as she again saw the wavering movement of a flashlight beyond the edge of the bushes. One moment Ian’s silhouette filled the entrance of the tunnel and the next he was gone.

Darned if she was going to wait here where they were likely to be caught.

The instant he was out of sight, she thought of a retort. This isn’t the army, and I’ve been making my own decisions, thank you, and doing just fine. The man expected that she’d stay put just because he said. Not likely.

She crept to the end of the tunnel, and she stood a moment, wishing she could see beyond the bushes. She glanced at Sly, who was alert and listening. Nothing in his posture suggested anyone was near. She moved out of the tunnel, shielding Annmarie’s head from the branches of the surrounding bushes with her arm. Sly followed close on her heels.

The brush beyond was even thicker than Rosie remembered. Of course, she had never once been here at night. She moved away from the gate, wondering where Ian had gone. Her own movements sounded loud enough to awaken a hibernating bear.

The wavering light came closer, and whoever was on the other side was obviously searching, the light pattern sweeping up, then down. A nearly silent growl rumbled through Sly. Rosie pressed a hand against his muzzle, signaling him to be quiet.

‘‘Shh,’’ she whispered against Annmarie’s ear, relieved when she felt the child nod and press more tightly against her.

However noisy Rosie thought she’d been, the man carrying the flashlight was louder, his footsteps crunching against the rocky shoreline. A scant second later, the light passed within inches of their feet and someone walked past. Footsteps tromped a bit farther, then paused. Again a beam of light was aimed slowly over the brush, once again missing them by inches. Rosie’s heart pounded so hard it hurt.

Then she heard faint voices from inside the tunnel.

Quietly Rosie lifted Annmarie into her arms, then slowly moved farther away from the gate, resisting her urge to take the path of least resistance. She moved up the slope, hoping she didn’t slide, hoping nothing in her movements would give away their location. She was in the business of finding people, not hiding them. She would have given nearly anything to run to the boat, and if there had been more cover…and if she had been alone…she might have risked it.

She had carried Annmarie a scant ten feet when the voices in the tunnel became more distinct.

‘‘You out here, Sid?’’ someone called from the tunnel.

‘‘Down here.’’ The flashlight beam was aimed in their direction again, this time hitting the spot where they had been. ‘‘Only thing I’ve seen out here is a skunk.’’

‘‘They got out of the house somehow. You took care of the boat?’’

‘‘Oh, yeah. Nobody’ll be using it again.’’

An instant later the gate opened with a loud squeak, and Sid chuckled. ‘‘I would have heard that. Ain’t nobody come this way.’’

‘‘There’s no other way they could have gotten out of the house. They’ve gotta be here.’’

Another arc of light joined the first one and made a slow sweep around the tunnel entrance. ‘‘Find them.’’

The beams of light came closer and closer. The temptation to run was overwhelming. Instead she sat still, holding Annmarie more tightly, and keeping her eyes on the ground so they couldn’t possibly catch the reflection of light if it skimmed over her again. The light hit the tip of Sly’s tail, swept suddenly up and beyond them. They sat perfectly still and watched the play of light as the two men moved back toward the house.

‘‘They ain’t here,’’ Sid said. ‘‘It’s like I told you, nobody came through that gate but you.’’

‘‘Hey, fellas.’’ Josh’s voice. ‘‘I searched the house like you wanted. She’s not there. You guys didn’t find her, either?’’

‘‘Nope.’’

‘‘Well, I did what you asked. I want my money.’’

‘‘After we find her and the kid,’’ Marco said. ‘‘We’ve got bigger problems.’’

‘‘Like the guy bleeding all over the kitchen floor,’’ Josh interjected.

Bleeding? Rosie thought. She’d almost forgotten about the breaking glass and the arm that had suddenly appeared through the window.

‘‘Did I tell you my sister is a nurse?’’ he added.

‘‘She won’t be helping him.’’

Rosie pressed a hand against her mouth. Had Ian killed the man?

‘‘Suit yourself,’’ Josh returned. ‘‘I still want my money. Waiting, well, that wasn’t part of the deal. Ain’t my fault she up and disappeared.’’

‘‘Take it or leave it. Now, you know her. Where would she go?’’

‘‘Could be anyplace, I guess. Sooner or later I figure she’ll show up at my sister’s place.’’

‘‘That’s where we’re goin’ then.’’ Marco suddenly chuckled. ‘‘In fact, that’s a real good idea. We can get Bill’s arm splinted and wait for them to call or show up.’’

Relief flowed through Rosie…nobody was dead. Broken arms were enough. She peered through the brush up to her house, where every light was on. Strangers were in her house. She hated that. Since they were on their way to Hilda’s, she’d have to go somewhere else. But where?

‘‘Sid, you keep an eye out here. It would be just like that G.I. Joe to circle back.’’

Rosie listened as the men moved away, their voices growing more indistinct. She had to admit that she wouldn’t have thought about going back, but doing so was a good idea. Hide out where they’ve already looked. Except, what would she do if they came back, and since they were leaving Sid here, they would come back.

The immediate problem was getting off the island. Rosie wasn’t picky about how, so long as she found a boat with enough fuel to get them to the rendezvous point where she was meeting her cousin tomorrow. That thought in mind, she hoisted Annmarie more firmly against her hip and moved farther away from the tunnel, finally deciding to head for the shoreline. There was lots of brush for cover, and the terrain would be easier, too.