The Trouble With Paradise (19 page)

“He went overboard,” Denny admitted. “Sometime during the storm. We don’t know how it happened, if he fell, or . . .”

Ethan was shaking his head. “He wouldn’t have just fallen on his own.”

The silence filled with dread and horror, especially for Dorie, who was beginning to suspect she hadn’t imagined the two figures on the deck, the ones who’d disappeared.

“Let me get this straight,” Brandy said to Ethan, her voice shaking. “You think one of us . . . pushed him?”

Dorie replayed the scene in her mind. Not hugging, but fighting. But as much as she tried, she couldn’t place the figures as any of the people standing before her, no more than she’d been able to at the time of the fight.

“Ohmigod.” Cadence staggered back a step.

“Let’s not panic,” Denny said. “Let’s talk this out. Who saw him last?” He looked at Brandy. “You were with him last night.”

“No.” She shook her head. “You called him away—”

“I did, but he never showed up.” Denny jerked his chin toward Cadence. “And she can attest to that, because she was with me—”

“Oh, no,” Cadence said quickly. “I was only with you for a short time, and then I played cards with Andy in the salon—”

“For an hour,” Andy agreed. “And when you left, I helped Ethan for the rest of the night wherever I could.”

“Because I went to bed,” Cadence said slowly. “I was tired.”

“That’s true,” Ethan said. “Because you called for some crackers for your upset stomach, and I saw you in your room. But I didn’t see Dorie or Brandy—”

“Hey,” Brandy interrupted. “I told you—” She stuttered to a halt at a piercing whistle.

Christian’s piercing whistle.

He lowered his fingers from his mouth and leveled them all with that icy gaze. “Arguing about your various alibis, isn’t going to help. We have bigger problems—”

“Alibis? None of us need alibis,” Andy said.

“We have bigger problems,” Christian repeated, turning to the east, where the sun had fully risen, blinding them with its brilliance as if the storm never happened. “We need protection from the elements, especially for tonight.”

When it would get dark.

Very dark.

“Maybe we’ll be rescued by then,” Cadence said in a small voice.

The look on Christian’s face spoke volumes about what he thought of that. “No way of knowing how long it’ll take. We can’t count on anything.”

Dorie thought of the TV show
Lost
, and how they were still waiting for rescue after multiple seasons and counting . . . She staggered back a few feet with the intention of sitting down on the nice flat rock behind her, only the flat rock moved. Just walked off. “A turtle,” she murmured in surprise, holding out her hand to see if it would let her touch. “Look how ador—”

The turtle stuck out his neck and nearly snapped her finger off.

“Snapper.” Christian moved toward the turtle aggressively, waving his hands, until the thing turned and slowly meandered off.

Christian turned to face her. “Just one of the services we offer. You know, along with luring you all into the South Pacific, then terrorizing everyone with unexpected hurricanes and uncharted snapper-filled islands.”

“Christian,” Denny said in a warning voice.

“Uncharted?” Andy shifted uneasily. “So we’re truly alone here then?”

“The island’s huge,” Denny allowed. “We’ll have to search it before we know what’s here. For all we know, we’re only a hike away from getting the Coast Guard out there for Bobby, and a good vodka tonic, straight up, for the rest of us.”

Andy narrowed his eyes. “You really have no idea where we are.”

“Unfortunately, no,” Ethan said, accepting a quelling look from Denny. “Hell, Den, they might as well know it.”

Cadence let out another low sob, and Denny slipped a hand into hers, his voice low, hoarse. “Listen, no bullshit-ting, okay? We’re stuck here for now.”

“And Bobby’s gone,” Brandy whispered.

“And Bobby’s gone,” Denny agreed. “And we’re all looking at each other differently. We can’t call the cops. We can’t call anyone. It’s just us. We have to rely on each other.”

“It’s more than that,” Christian said.

“Christian, don’t,” Denny said tightly.

“No, tell us.” Andy looked at them. “I want to know all of it.”

“The storm knocked out our instruments,” Christian said. “And along with it, all communications. If we made it as far as the outskirts of the Cook Islands, we need to lay low and not advertise our helplessness.”

“Why?” Andy asked.

“In case of pirates,” Ethan said.

Cadence abruptly sat on the sand. “Pirates.”

Christian shook his head at Ethan. “We just have to stay calm and smart.”

“We’ll get you out of this.” Denny looked at Cadence. “I promise.”

“Yeah, did you make that promise to Bobby as well?” Andy asked.

Denny’s jaw tightened. “For now, I’ll ask that you stay put and let us figure things out.” With that, he nodded to Christian and Ethan to follow him back to the
Sun Song,
where they began to secure the boat to the shore.

Shortly afterward, Denny and Christian hauled out the luggage for everyone to go through their things. Cadence, Brandy, and Andy jumped right on that, opening their suitcases and hanging their belongings to dry in the sun, talking quietly amongst themselves as they did. There was a spot for Dorie to join them, and she almost did, but instead headed in the opposite direction toward the
Sun Song
.

Christian had appeared, and leaned against the hull, head bowed, shoulders tight and stressed. He’d put on his baseball cap but not a shirt. He was barefoot.

With absolutely no expression on his face.

“Hey,” she said.

He looked up. “Do you need anything?”

“Other than a plane? No.”

He nodded, then straightened. She realized he was holding a small backpack. “Where are you going?”

“Scouting. To see what there is on the island.”

Oh, God.
He was going to go exploring. She’d already seen Christian’s work ethic in action. She knew he was damn good at both sailing and being a doctor, but now she was struck by his sense of responsibility. They’d been shipwrecked, which really pretty much derailed his job and responsibility to any of them. Out here, he was just like her, a survivor. Each man for himself.

And yet he hadn’t stopped working, or shucked a duty. Maybe he wasn’t sweet and kind, at least in the traditional sense, but he had loyalty down to a science, and carried more responsibility on his shoulders than she could even imagine, managing with a grace and dignity she could only dream of.

She tried to picture him in her world, walking the aisles of Shop-Mart, dealing with a boss like Mr. Stryowski, and it was almost laughable.

He’d never fit into her world, because he’d never let his life live him. He lived his life, doing whatever it took, and more. Even now, surrounded by tragedy and destruction, he was prepared to do what had to be done, no matter that a coworker had gone missing, or that maybe he was hungry, or hot. He stood there, all lean and muscled and tough, gorgeous enough to be on a movie set waiting for the director to yell “action,” and yet he was no actor.

And this was all too real.

“You don’t think someone’s looking for us, or that we’ll be rescued today then?” she asked.

“All I know is that it’s too hot for us to be okay out here for days. We need to know what our options are.”

That he’d neatly avoided her question didn’t escape her, and she wondered how he did it: how did he keep the emotions in check? And who was there for him when he needed someone? She had the feeling she knew the answer to that—no one.

But she wanted to be. In a way that made no sense, she wanted to be there for him.

He adjusted the hat low on his face, so that all she could see was his jaw, covered in two days’ worth of beard. His torso was damp with sweat and tight with tension as he walked away from her.

She glanced at the others. Andy had pulled out some chewing tobacco and was showing Brandy and Cadence how to spit. Cadence looked to be surprisingly good at it. She should join them and leave Christian alone. Instead, she followed her heart.

After a few feet, Christian stopped. Sighed. “Dorie, go back. It’s safest for you on the beach with the others.”

The no shirt thing turned out to be hugely distracting. Without her permission, her gaze lowered to her favorite spot on a man—his belly. It was flat, ridged by his six-pack, and . . . well, quite fantasy-inducing. “How about you?” she asked. “What’s safest for you?”

He let out a harsh laugh and rubbed at his jaw. Then he turned and kept walking, not stopping, not even when they came to a huge outcropping of rocks that prevented them from going any farther on the beach. Nope, he simply turned and began climbing the rocks, movements steady and sure, his skin practically steaming, his muscles bunching and releasing with each step.

Huffing and puffing behind him, not nearly as graceful, she grappled to keep up with him. “Could we slow down?”

“Go back, Dorie.”

“Sorry. I’m done doing what I’m told.”

He let out a sound that managed to perfectly convey his frustration.

“You do realize you never answer my questions, right?”

Blessedly, he stopped. Swiping his arm over his forehead, he looked at her. “You asked me what’s safe for me. But trust me, you don’t want to hear that I’m safer anywhere far, far away from you.”

Her stomach plummeted. “You think
I
hurt Bobby?”

With a huge sigh, he scrubbed a hand over his face. “No, I don’t think you hurt him. I don’t think you could hurt a fly. That’s the problem, I want you safe. Safer than I can get you.”

Sometimes when he spoke, she found herself caught up in the accent, with the meaning behind his words following seconds later. This was one of those times. She blinked as what he’d said sunk in. “What does that mean?”

“Forget it.” He went back to climbing.

Her thoughts raced. He thought he was safer away from her. Because . . . because maybe he was attached to her. Maybe so much that it scared him. She scrambled to keep up. “Christian—”

“Look, I’m still on the crew. Which makes me in charge, for better or worse.” Towering over her, face tense, sweat streaking over his chest, he pointed down.

He was afraid for her. He cared about her.

“Go back to the beach.”

“First ask me again how I am.”

“I already know the answer.”

“Ask me, Christian.”

He sighed, and took a good look at her, probably seeing the emotion spilling all over her face, because he stepped over the rock between them, coming toe-to-toe with her.

She resisted the urge to put her hands on his damp chest. She had no idea why it was so unattractive when a woman perspired, but just the opposite when a man did.

Focus.
“Ask me.”

“Fine.” A muscle in his jaw twitched. “How are you?”

“Bad.”

He grimaced. “Look, you’ve been through a lot. You’ve probably never dealt with anything like this before, much less worried about the threat of possible physical violence, but—”

“You don’t know that.”

He arched a brow.

“Okay,” she caved. “I’ve never been in this type of situation before. Nothing even close, but that doesn’t mean I can’t handle it. But it’s you I’m worried about—”

“Me?” He looked incredulous. “I can handle it. I can handle anything.”

And probably had. “You know Bobby personally. It’s different for you.”

He folded his arms over his chest, so close yet still so closed off to her. “So you’ve decided that I didn’t kill him then?”

“Will it go to your head if I say yes?”

He gave her another of those long, penetrating looks that had her wishing she’d managed to do something more about her bedraggled appearance.

As if reading her mind, his gaze slid slowly down her body and then back up, but before she could read his expression, he turned his back on her and once again began climbing. “Go back to the beach,” he repeated.

She eyed the sleek sinew of his back, the way his muscles bunched and stretched, his entire body working like a well-oiled machine, recognizing the steady, unwavering motions for what they were—suppressed grief.

He’d helped her earlier, helped her deal, and now she wanted to do the same for him. Hurrying to keep up, she reached out to touch him.

“Don’t,” he said, those muscles jerking beneath her fingers.

“It’s a lot to deal with alone—”

“Goddamnit. At least I
can
deal.” Belying that cool, unfathomable voice, he whirled away from her. “Bobby can no longer deal at all. I should be counting my blessings.” He glanced at her. “And you should be counting yours, too.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means if someone offed Bobby for being annoying, you might consider yourself in mortal danger.”