Only one way to find out.
Taking a deep breath, Carrie pushed open the door and stepped inside the gloomy apartment.
COCHBURN GLANCED WARILY over his shoulder as he walked up the steps to the old servants’ quarters located on the south end of the island near the swamp. He’d spotted Nick Draco on the roof of the main house when he and Carrie were in the courtyard so he thought this might be an excellent time to have a look around.
He didn’t know why, but he was starting to get nervous about bringing Draco to Cape Diablo. In hindsight, he should have been a little more careful in screening the applicants who’d responded to his ad, but there hadn’t been that many. And no wonder. Who in their right mind would want to spend a summer working on this godforsaken island?
Nick Draco had seemed the most capable of the lot, and when he hadn’t balked over the miniscule wages being offered, Cochburn had hired him on the spot.
But he’d been second-guessing his decision ever since. For one thing, the background information Draco had provided on the application seemed a little sketchy, and for another, the guy’s cold, relentless stare was the most unnerving thing Cochburn had ever experienced.
Draco had the look of a man who’d as soon slit your throat as not, and Cochburn was a coward at heart. Always had been. But he also had a vested interest in Cape Diablo—and what might be hidden here. According to local legend, Andres had left a fortune buried somewhere on the island. If Draco had come here to look for that money, Cochburn wasn’t about to get caught unaware. It wouldn’t be the first time a fortune hunter had wormed his way onto the island.
The outbuildings were even more dilapidated than the main house, and as Cochburn crossed the rickety porch, he glanced around in distaste. He supposed some might find the overgrown island quaint and primitive, but he detested coming out here. He preferred the yacht clubs and the exclusive condo communities in Naples.
Cape Diablo was an albatross around his neck, and he couldn’t wait to unload it. Unfortunately, because of Andres Santiago’s trust, that wasn’t going to happen until Alma Garcia was either dead or committed. A missing tenant, however, might go a long way in convincing the authorities that the old girl needed to be institutionalized. Especially—God forbid—if evidence of foul play turned up.
With Alma finally out of the way, Cochburn would have free rein of the place. If the money was here, he’d find it before he put the place on the market, but in the meantime, he had more pressing worries.
Taking out a handkerchief, he mopped the sweat off his brow as he knocked on the door, even though he already knew the carpenter was still up at the villa. Still, he was wary enough of Draco to take precautions.
Throwing another look over his shoulder, Cochburn took out a key and slipped it into the keyhole. When the door refused to budge, he realized that Draco must have changed the lock. Cochburn gave the knob a frustrated rattle, then withdrew the worthless key and walked over to peer into one of the windows.
“Looking for something?”
Cochburn froze. He hadn’t heard so much as a twig snap in warning, and now the deep timbre of Draco’s voice sent a chill up his spine. Sweat trickled down his temples and he swore under his breath. He was no damn good at this. He should have sent a professional to investigate Draco. But the fewer people who knew about the island’s secrets, the better.
He gave himself a split second to recover before he turned. Whatever nerve he’d managed to recover fled at the sight of Nicholas Draco.
The younger man had taken off his shirt in the heat, and the sheen of sweat along sinewy muscles made Cochburn uncomfortably aware of the spare tire around his middle. He hadn’t worked out in years, and in a fair fight against Draco, he’d be a dead man. In a dirty fight…he’d still be a dead man.
Draco propped both arms against the newel posts, but the relaxed pose didn’t fool Cochburn. His muscles were bunched, as if ready to spring like a cat, and his gaze—that relentless stare—never left Cochburn’s face.
“You didn’t answer my question,” he said softly. “Are you looking for something?”
Cochburn cleared his throat. “Yes, as a matter of fact, I was looking for you. I wanted to ask how you’re progressing on the repairs.”
One brow lifted. “That’s funny because I could have sworn you saw me on the roof a few minutes ago.”
Cochburn assumed what he hoped was a look of mild surprise. “You were on the roof? Sorry I missed you. I guess I was a little preoccupied.”
“So I noticed.”
Cochburn smiled in a knowing way. “She’s a real looker, isn’t she?”
Draco shrugged. “If you like blondes. Who is she?”
“Her name is Carrie Bishop. Actually, she’s the other reason I came down here to find you. She’s a friend of one of the tenants…Tia Falcon, the brunette who lives in the pool house. I’m sure you’ve seen her around.” When Draco didn’t respond, Cochburn said hurriedly, “Anyway, she seems to think that something may have happened to her friend.”
“Why?”
Cochburn hesitated. “Something about a letter she received, I gather.”
“And what does any of this have to do with me?” When Draco placed a foot on the porch, it was all Cochburn could do not to back away. Unfortunately, he had no place to retreat.
He moistened his lips. “I wondered if you’d seen her lately…say, in the last day or two.”
Draco gave him a quizzical look. “I thought you were paying me to fix the roof, not keep tabs on your tenants.”
“Yes, of course. But it did occur to me that your paths might have crossed. It’s a small island. Not much in the way of distractions.”
Draco’s gaze narrowed. “What are you getting at, Cochburn?”
Sensing he was treading on dangerous ground, Cochburn immediately backpedaled. “Nothing. Nothing at all. I just thought I’d alert you to the fact that we have company on the island. If Carrie Bishop doesn’t find her friend, she may come down here looking for her.”
“Then maybe you’d better pass on a friendly piece of advice.”
The edge in Draco’s voice chilled Cochburn’s blood. “What’s that?”
If possible, the gray eyes went even colder. “You go poking your nose in places it doesn’t belong, what you might find is trouble.”
“TIA? ARE YOU IN HERE? It’s me…Carrie.” She paused just inside the door of the apartment to allow her eyes time to adjust to the dimness.
Slowly the room came into focus, and Carrie glanced around with interest. To the right of the French doors was a small sitting room furnished with wicker chairs and gauzy white curtains and to the left was a kitchenette. Straight ahead an arched doorway led to a shadowy hallway and presumably a bedroom and bath.
It was cool inside the apartment, which meant that the stucco walls were thick enough to keep out the heat. And sound, Carrie realized. Inside, she could no longer hear the generator.
Her gaze moved back to the sitting room. A tiny niche in one wall provided just enough space for an old ebony desk. The surface had been neatly cleared, but the chair had been shoved back and left askew, as if someone had risen abruptly. Carrie frowned when she spotted it.
The misplaced chair was the kind of detail no one else would even have noticed, but she knew her friend too well. Tia was a stickler when it came to her personal space. Everything had to be orderly. Throw rugs positioned precisely. Pillows arranged on the sofa just so. Her tidiness was the one thing she could always