“That’s what you want, isn’t it?” She swallowed. “The best thing for both of us.”
His gaze hardened, and she knew what was coming. “Where’s Gracie?”
“I don’t know.”
“Yes, you do. You’re helping your sister break the law. Ironic, since that’s what you accused my brother of doing.”
“She asked me to help her do what she had to do because Gracie’s life is more important than your brother’s selfishness.”
“It’s not selfish to want to see your child. He loves Gracie.”
“He put her in danger by getting back into the business. He attacked her mother.”
“He didn’t...” Reuben broke off, the muscles around his jaw working. “There’s no point getting into it now.” He exhaled. “You will probably never believe this, but he misses Gracie, and so do I. More than I can say.”
Without another word he opened the door and walked into the night.
She watched him from the window, standing behind the curtain in case he might turn around again and catch her there. He stopped at the bend in the path, looking not back at the bungalow, but straight ahead at the delicate peaked roof of the main house, wondering perhaps how it would escape the storm without damage. It struck her that she’d never considered how Reuben might have felt about losing Gracie. She should have known. In happier times she’d seen him spend hours on the floor stacking blocks or clomping around on his hands and knees pretending to be Gracie’s trusty palomino. Her throat tightened and tears pricked her eyes.
But Mia was right. Hector was dangerous, and she could not allow him back into her life. And that meant Reuben, too.
All around, the island twisted and bent under the increasing threat. It seemed to her that nothing on Isla Marsopa escaped unscathed. His mother died on her way to the island. Reuben was chained to a disastrously expensive repair. And Antonia herself would never be able to picture Isla without remembering what she had most treasured...and lost.
Her vision blurred and she blinked hard as the darkness swallowed Reuben up. Tomorrow she would choose to face the wrath of the storm, no matter how strong, rather than revisit the tattered wreck of her past with Reuben. It would be kinder for both of them.
THREE
Reuben was prowling the hotel grounds long before sunup, and the massive cloud wall illuminated by the moon didn’t bode well for the coming day. The scenario was all too grimly familiar. He and everyone else from Jamaica to the eastern seaboard had been tracking the progress of the monstrous storm, which started as a tropical wave that ballooned over the west coast of Africa before strengthening into a depression. From there it burgeoned into a tropical storm that parked for a while over the Caribbean Sea, taunting almost, before launching itself into what the National Hurricane Center had officially deemed a bona fide hurricane. It would strike land in less than forty-eight hours.
He swallowed a sick feeling. Hurricane Charley had been a Category 4 with wind speeds of 130 miles per hour. The hotel had barely survived. This approaching menace, which had now been named Hurricane Tony, was projected to equal or surpass that rating.
He arrived in the kitchen and grabbed a piece of the succulent green banana and pork patties left over from Paula’s delectable meal the night before. She’d been cooking all his favorites lately. The worse things got, the more Paula cooked. As he savored each bite, he decided to make a renewed effort to get her and Silvio off the island. And, of course, Antonia. His thoughts wandered to the tiny bungalow.
He wondered if she had been warm enough. Perhaps he should have lit a fire or brought her a snack.... He mentally chided himself. Over and done. She’s not yours to worry about. As he wrestled the front door open to round up boards and nails, he stopped short. A boat was moored next to his. An expensive cabin cruiser that looked out of place against the rickety dock. He froze, thinking whoever had been after Antonia the night before had come to finish the job.
He’d sprinted a yard down the path toward the bungalow when a voice stopped him.
“Slow down before you hurt yourself.”
His brother stood at the side entrance to the hotel, a cigarette held between his slender fingers. He flashed a lazy smile. “We need to talk, brother.”
Reuben sighed in relief and joined Hector on the veranda, where he got a better look at the bruise darkening his cheekbone. “What happened?”
Hector shrugged and shot a look at the roiling sea. “Inside. No need to stand in the rain.”
“Lose the cigarette,” Reuben said.
Hector did so without the usual flippant comment.
Reuben followed his younger brother inside, suddenly colder than he had been moments before. The hotel lobby was gloomy, quiet, as though the old building itself was waiting for the storm to land.
Hector paced in front of the bay window, and Reuben let him do so without interruption. You couldn’t hurry Hector, no matter how hard you tried.
When he’d gazed out at the wind-lashed palms for a while, and then seemingly studied every inch of the pine molding and floors, he turned around. “There’s trouble coming. I tried to keep it from you, but it’s bigger than me.”
Reuben braced himself. That his brother would admit to weakness was the most telling thing. He was not talking about the storm. “Who?”
Hector broke off, eyes narrowing as the floorboards creaked. “Who’s that?”
Gavin came into the room, his expression sheepish. “Sorry. Didn’t want to interrupt.” He held up his pack. “Thought the boat was leaving.”
Reuben introduced Gavin to his brother.
“A pleasure,” Hector said in a voice that indicated it was anything but.
“I’ll just go back upstairs. Call me when you’re ready to go.” He left.
Hector waited a long moment before he resumed. “It’s Garza. He wants Isla.”
Reuben steeled himself. “He’s always wanted it.” It was the perfect hub for him to get his drugs into Florida. The Garza family, led by Frank Garza, was in tight with the Colombian drug lords who flew their products to the Bahamas, using a number of ingenious methods to get it to prearranged spots in the ocean where speedboats would pick it up. What Garza needed was a piece of land with few people to interfere, within close proximity to the mainland, from which he could set loose his fleet of speedboats for any given operation, so many that the coast guard could not possibly nab the one vessel that held the illicit cargo.
“He’s decided it’s time to acquire it. Now.”
Reuben groaned inwardly. Plenty of dark shallow shoals around Isla where boats could lead authorities on a goose chase if it came down to it. Isla was perfect. Garza had sent people before with offers to buy. When he’d declined, one of Reuben’s bungalows had mysteriously burned down and his best boat had been scuttled. “I told him to his face that Isla was mine and I won’t sell it at any price, and he’s not going to bully me into handing it over.”
“And he believed you,” Hector said with a wry smile. “That is why he means to take it without your permission.”
Reuben studied his brother. “So he’s asked you to persuade me?”
“I refused, of course. My guy, Benny, arrived before they got too far into trying to convince me, but he knows we are close and so he asked me to tell you as a courtesy. I guess he thinks since we were in the same business together once, I will understand the urgency of his request. I do. He’s dead serious, Reuben.”
“I can’t believe this. I’ll go to the cops.”
“If you wish, but you and I both know that’s