Wolf Island (13 page)

Devlin
waved a hand through the air. “Victor won’t go back to the dock again. He’s too
clever for that. He cut the boat loose so I would know for sure that he’s
back.”

Jake
set down his cup. “You said yourself, he’s delusional. He might forget. Then we
could trap him on the boat until backup arrived.”

“I
think it’s a waste of manpower, but I suppose it could happen.”

Jake
leaned back in his chair. “Did you get the locks changed?”

Dev
shook his head. “Not yet. Otis called, but no one can get out here until
tomorrow.

Jake
finished his coffee. “I could put a man up here tonight, if you want; might
make you feel better.

“No,
I think the bastard will lie low tonight. Between the boat and pushing Abby
into the street, he’s done enough to rattle my cage today.” Dev pursed his lips
and looked at Jake. “He wants me dead, for sure, but not without a little
cat-and-mouse first.”

Jake
rose from his chair. He walked to the back door, shrugged into his jacket, and
placed his uniform cap, covered in protective plastic, on his head. “My deputy
is going over the boat now. I’ll let you know what we find.”

Devlin
stood up and faced Jake. “We both know who’s been camping out on my boat,
Jake.”

Jake
reached for the doorknob, then turned and looked at Devlin. “I know. We just need
to confirm it, that’s all.”

* * * * *

The
next day, Abby lay on the bed in the room next to Devlin’s. Devlin and Otis had
fussed over her and insisted she stay off her feet even though the doctor had
told them all she needed was a good night’s rest. Rest she’d had. This morning,
when she’d tried to come downstairs, Otis had sent her back to her room.
Devlin’s orders, he’d told her.

A
light knock sounded at the door. “Come in.”

Otis
walked in with a tray cradled in his hands. His black gaze skimmed over her
before his mouth curved briefly in a half smile. “Got your color back. That’s
good.”

He
walked to the bedside table and laid down the tray. Abby glanced at the pot of
tea and plate of cookies. “Thank you for the tea.”

Otis
nodded. Abby turned her head and gazed out the window at the bright sunlight.
All she needed was a walk around the grounds and a breath or two of fresh air.

“I
know what you’re thinking.”

She
swiveled her head and looked at Otis. When he said no more, she raised her
brows in question, waiting for him to continue.

“You’re
thinking you want to go outside for a walk and soak up some o’ that sunshine.”

Abby
sighed. “Yes. And that’s exactly what I intend to do.”

Otis
shook his head. “Not today, you won’t. Maybe tomorrow. Mr. Dev said to keep you
here for a while.”

“Do
you do everything Mr. Dev tells you?”

Otis
glanced at her while he prepared a cup of tea. His face grew serious. After
adding a dollop of milk and a spoonful of sugar, he handed the teacup to her.
“I have a good life here. It’s because of Mr. Dev that I have this life. So
when he asks me to do something, I do it. Nothing wrong with that.”

After
she took the cup, he lowered himself to a chair. “You need to understand
something. Mr. Dev is a good, decent man. He’s had his share of troubles, but
most people do, at one time or another.”

Otis
leaned forward and rested his elbows on the knees of his worn jeans. “Mr. Dev
was real upset about what happened to you yesterday. I could see it on his face
when he brought you back here. But I saw something else, too.” Otis paused as
if gathering his thoughts. He lifted his head and stared directly into her
eyes. “He’s easing into caring about you. That worries me some, ’cause I don’t
know you very well and neither does he. Just one thing I want to make clear:
Mr. Dev gave me a home when nobody else would, and I ain’t gonna stand by and
let him get hurt -- by you or anybody else.”

Everyone
on this island was loyal to Devlin Morgan. Except her. Abby sipped her tea.
“I’m just here to find my sister, not to hurt Dev.”

Otis
rose from the chair and headed for the door. When he reached it and grasped the
doorknob, he looked at Abby over his shoulder. “That’s good to hear. I’ll come
by later and get the tray. The man who almost ran you over last night is here
to see you. Should I send him up?”

Abby
nodded. “Please do.”

In
a few moments, she heard a knock at the door. Abby slid from the bed and padded
over to the door. When she opened it and peeped out, the man she remembered
from the night before stared back at her.

“I’m
Luke Carstairs.” A guilty expression blanketed his face. He wore khaki slacks,
a white shirt, and a worn, leather jacket. Luke stuck out his hand, which
clutched a bunch of daisies nestled in a clear glass vase. “I’m really sorry
about what happened. My wife and I want to wish you a speedy recovery.” The
slight lowering of his head emphasized his sincere apology.

Compassion
filled her heart. Abby smiled and took the vase from his hand. “Thank you, Mr.
Carstairs. But you have nothing to be sorry about. It was an accident and not
at all your fault. You just happened to be driving down the road at the time I
was pushed into the street.” A look of relief washed over his face. He smiled
briefly and nodded. Abby opened the door wider. “Please, come in. I’m bored
silly and would really love some company.” What she would really love was to
find out if he knew anything about Miranda.

Luke
cleared his throat and stepped gingerly through the doorway. Abby closed the
door with her toe. She walked over to the small coffee table that sat before
the fireplace and set down the vase of flowers. She sat in one of the chairs
and motioned for him to take the other one. “Tell me about yourself. How long
have you lived on Wolf Island?” She hoped her casual question would engage him
in conversation.

Luke
told her a bit about himself, and when Abby was sure he was relaxed, she
thought it the perfect time to ask some more probing questions. “I understand
there was a ghost hunter here before me. Do you remember seeing her?”

He
threw her a furtive glance, then gazed at his hands as he turned his hat around
and around. “Ayah, I remember her.”

“What
do you remember?”

Luke
cleared his throat and shrugged. “Not a whole lot. The wife and I only saw her
once with --” He threw her an anxious glance, then rose to his feet. “I
need to be going, Ms. Chapel. My wife is expecting me.”

He knows something
.
She couldn’t just let him walk out. Abby sprang from her chair and laid her
hand on his arm as she looked up into his dark eyes. “Please, Mr. Carstairs, if
you know something about my sister, you must tell me. I’m terribly worried
about her.”

Discomfort
flitted across his face, and his fingers worried the brim of his hat. He looked
toward the door as if he wanted to make his escape. “I saw her with a man.”

“Did
you know the man?”

Luke
frowned and pressed his lips together. He shook his head and wouldn’t look at
her. “I -- I’m not sure.”

Abby
felt certain he knew who Miranda had been with. But if she pushed too hard, he
might not tell her any more. “All right. Do you know when she left?”

“Well,
let’s see.” He turned and walked toward the door. “I believe she left right
before you got here.” He slipped on his hat. “That’s all I know.” He wouldn’t
meet her gaze.

Abby
stopped him with a touch on his arm. “How did she leave? Was she alone? Did she
go back to the mainland on the ferry?”

“Look,
I gotta go.” The words spilled out quickly as he gripped the doorknob in his
hand.

“You
must tell me what you know.” She couldn’t let him walk out the door without
answering her question.

He
stopped, glanced down at his feet and then back up at her. “My wife and I live
a ways up the hill from the village. We can see this place better than the rest
of the folks.”

He
paused, and Abby waited, hoping with everything in her that he would give her
some news about her sister.

“We
were watching television one night when we saw a helicopter land right out
there.” He gestured toward the window in Abby’s room. “We saw a man and your
sister board the helicopter ... then it took off.”

Helicopter?
She couldn’t believe it. Devlin had known all along and hadn’t told her! “What
man? Did you know him? Do you know where they went?” Abby summoned her calmest voice
despite the anger she felt at Devlin’s deception.

He
turned and looked at her with worry clouding his eyes. “I don’t know where they
went, Ms. Chapel.” He opened the door and stepped out into the hall.

Abby
rushed out behind him and grabbed his arm. He jerked his head around and stared
at her. “Did you know the man? Tell me. Please!”

Luke
glanced nervously up and down the hall, and Abby felt sure he was about to tell
her, when he abruptly shrugged out of her hold and headed down the hallway. “I
really have to go.”

“Thank
you, Mr. Carstairs, for the flowers. Give my best to your wife.”

The
moment he left, Abby made a beeline for Devlin’s room. Frustrated to find it
empty, she headed for the stairs and Devlin’s office. He damn well had some
explaining to do.

The
door of Devlin’s office stood slightly ajar when Abby arrived on the threshold
with a full head of steam. She saw the deceitful jerk sitting at his desk,
leaning comfortably back in his chair, chatting on the phone. His comfort was
about to end. She didn’t bother to knock, just pushed the door open and barged
in.

The
lying weasel glanced up at her, ended his phone call, and hung up. “Don’t you
believe in knocking?”

She
marched up to his desk, her hands bunched into fists. “No, I don’t. Not when I
just found out my sister left this castle in a helicopter!” Abby didn’t bother
to temper her voice. She’d never been so mad in her life.

Devlin
put the tips of his fingers together and rested them under his chin. “Who told
you that?” How could he sound so calm?

“Luke
Carstairs. Why didn’t you tell me?”

He
sighed heavily, rose from his chair, and walked around the desk until he stood
next to her. He rested his hands on her upper arms. “Look, I know you’re upset,
but --”

Abby
shrugged his hands away and threw her arms out to the side. “You bet I’m bloody
upset.” She never cursed. Ever. It was all Devlin’s fault. “Mr. Carstairs said
the chopper landed right outside the window of my room. He saw a man and my
sister get on the helicopter. Where did she go? Who was the man?”

Devlin
shoved his hands into his jeans pockets and studied her for a moment. “She’s
with my brother. He got hurt and needed to go to a hospital on the mainland.
She went with him.”

Abby
sighed. Great. Miranda had been searching for that special someone through a
series of boyfriends who were needy in some way. She loaned them money they
never paid back, gave them a roof over their heads. She wanted to save them all
because she couldn’t save their mum from her self-destructive behavior. Abby
kept her gaze on Devlin. “How did he get hurt?” She’d managed to soften the
edge of anger in her voice even though fury still churned through her.

Devlin
stepped closer until his scent and body heat surrounded her like an aura. He
held her chin in his big, warm hand. “That’s not important. I know you’re
worried about Miranda, but she’s okay. I swear it. I need you to trust me about
this.” He used his soft voice again, the one that urged her to believe him. He
was getting to her. Between his touch, scent, and smooth, sexy voice, how could
she resist?

Abby
lifted her chin from his hand. “Trust you?” No, she refused to let him get to
her. “I don’t trust you any farther than I could pitch you into the
dustbin -- and that isn’t very far, considering your size. Why should I?”

Devlin
laid his hands on her shoulders and looked deeply into her eyes. The warmth of
his fingers seeped into her skin. “Because I’m telling you the truth.”

She
shrugged out of his hold. “I don’t believe you. Why didn’t you tell me this
sooner?”

“What
do I have to lie about?” Nice segue to ignoring her question.

Abby
slid her hand inside the pocket of her jeans, pulled out the crumpled copy
she’d made of J.D. Tate’s address and phone number, and waved it under Devlin’s
nose. “This, for instance.”

He
jerked it out of her hand, unfolded the paper, looked at it and then back at
her. “So, you dug it out of my trash can.”

“Miranda
mentioned she was seeing a man named J.D., and I wanted to talk to him to see
if he knew anything. But when I dialed that number, there was a recording
telling me that the line was no longer in service.”

Devlin
tossed the paper behind him onto his desk, then turned back to Abby. “J.D. Tate
is my brother.” He waved a hand toward the pictures on the wall of his office.
“The chopper is mine. It was the fastest way to get him to a hospital.”