“We’re almost there.” He flashed a smile. “Beautiful country, isn’t it? Florida’s best-kept secret.” He’d taken off his jacket and tie before they left the marina, and now with his cuffs rolled back and wind blowing through his thinning hair, he hardly resembled the conservative, fortysomething attorney she’d first met at the marina.
When she’d talked to him on the phone the day before, he’d tried to discourage her visit to Cape Diablo, but Carrie had remained adamant. Without his cooperation, she would simply find her own way to the island because she wasn’t going back to Miami until she’d seen for herself that Tia was okay. It had been nearly two weeks since she’d received her letter, and Carrie had grown more and more worried with each passing day.
And then there’d been that strange phone call two nights ago. It had come just after midnight, and the connection had been so weak, the voice on the other end so garbled that Carrie couldn’t be sure the caller was Tia. But something in the woman’s voice—a note of frenzy—had instilled a deep sense of foreboding in Carrie.
Of course, she could be overreacting. A recent break-in at her apartment had left her on edge so it was entirely possible that she was letting her imagination get the better of her.
But no matter how many times she tried to convince herself there was nothing to worry about, Carrie couldn’t shake the notion that her friend was in trouble. If anything happened to Tia and she hadn’t done everything in her power to help her, she would never forgive herself. It was hard enough dealing with the old guilt.
“Have you ever been to the islands before?” Cochburn shouted over the engine noise.
Carrie nodded. “Once, when I was a kid. My father brought me here on a fishing trip.”
“Then you know enough not to wander too far off the beaten trail. Navigation is a nightmare down here. A novice could get lost and never be heard from again. Not to mention a certain unsavory element in the area.”
“I’ve read about the drug smuggling that’s so prevalent.” Just weeks ago the news had been dominated by a story about an elderly couple who’d disappeared while sailing in the area. When their bodies had washed ashore, authorities concluded they’d been murdered and their yacht hijacked by drug smugglers.
“These waters can be extremely dangerous,” Cochburn said grimly. “I’m not trying to frighten you, but I do feel the need to caution strangers to the area. If you exercise good judgment and a little common sense, you should be fine.”
Carrie felt a prickle of unease at his words. Had he given Tia the same warning? “You don’t need to worry about me. I’m a city girl at heart. Once I’ve seen that my friend is okay, I’ll be on my way back to civilization.”
Cochburn’s gaze fell on the duffel bag at her feet. She knew what he was thinking. If she’d only come for a quick visit, why had she bothered to pack a bag?
The answer was complicated. The length of her visit depended on Tia’s state of mind. She was prepared to stay for as long as she was needed, but if Tia was fine and enjoying her privacy, Carrie had every intention of turning around and heading straight back to the mainland. But judging from the tone of that letter, she very much feared the worst.
What if Tia had reverted back to her old self-destructive ways? What if Carrie was too late to save her?
What if, what if, what if? She’d told herself a long time ago that she was through playing that game, but old habits died hard.
She glanced back at Cochburn. “As I told you on the phone, I don’t want to intrude on Tia’s privacy. If she came out here to get away from it all, I intend to honor her wishes. At the same time, though…” She trailed off, her gaze moving restlessly back to the water.
“You’re concerned about her,” he said.
“It’s been nearly two weeks since I last heard from her. And you said you haven’t talked to her, either.”
“But that’s hardly cause for alarm,” Cochburn said. “I only met her briefly when she signed the lease agreement in my office. There’s no reason she would get in touch with me unless she had a problem with her accommodations.”
“But I can’t imagine why no one in Everglades City remembered seeing her,” Carrie said with a frown. “She has a very distinctive face.”
He shrugged. “I wouldn’t read too much into that, either. Pete makes a supply run out to Diablo twice a week. The tenants never have to leave the island if they don’t want to. That would explain why no one we talked to at the marina remembered your friend.”
Yes, that made sense. Tia had always been a loner and normally Carrie wouldn’t have given her absence a second thought. She would have assumed that Tia needed time to heal after calling off her marriage to Trey.
But the tone of her letter coming on the heels of the breakup…
And then that weird phone call…
Carrie shivered in the late-afternoon heat. “Tell me about Cape Diablo,” she said to Cochburn as they approached another channel and Trawick powered down the engine, making conversation a little easier. “How did it get the name?”
“Probably the handiwork of some resourceful pirate looking to frighten away looters from his treasure,” he said with a grin. “There’s always been a bit of mystery associated with the island. Strange lights, phantom ships…that sort of thing. No doubt that’s why Andres Santiago chose the place to build his home.”
“Santiago was something of a pirate himself, wasn’t he?” Tired of fighting the wind, Carrie took off her cap and rested it on her bare knee as she finger-combed her tangled hair.
“I see you’ve done some research.”
She smiled. “A little. Tia mentioned Santiago’s name in her letters. She seemed so fascinated by the family that I suppose she aroused my curiosity.”
“I’m not surprised,” Cochburn said. “Most everyone around here is a little weary of the story, but I can see why a newcomer might find it intriguing. Back in the late sixties and early seventies, Andres Santiago ran a fleet of boats to Central America, smuggling guns into the area and drugs, among other things, out. He built the house on Cape Diablo so that the authorities wouldn’t be able to keep track of his comings and goings.” He paused. “You have to wonder, though, what kept his poor wife sane, trapped on that tiny island with only small children for company.”
“What was she like?” Carrie asked curiously.
“The first Mrs. Santiago died in child-birth…that’s about all I know of her. But the second wife had a rather colorful past. She was the daughter of a Central American dictator who was overthrown by a military coup back more than thirty years ago. The father was later executed, along with most of his family and staff. The only two survivors were his eldest daughter, Medina, and Carlos Lazario, her bodyguard. Somehow Andres managed to get both of them safely out of the country and he brought them back here where he later married Medina. Carlos still lives on the island. He and Alma Garcia, who was once nanny to Andres’s children, are the only permanent residents of Cape Diablo.”
“And the Santiagos?”
Cochburn turned to stare at the spindrift behind the boat. “The whole family went missing one night. No one ever knew what happened to them. But then…you said your friend wrote to you about the island so I’m sure she must have mentioned the disappearances.”
“Yes, she did. But I’m interested in hearing the whole story.”
Carrie couldn’t tell if he was pleased or annoyed by her request. “There’s not much I can add. The entire family vanished one night while the servants were on the mainland celebrating a holiday. When Alma and Carlos returned home just after midnight, they discovered the family missing and traces