Echoes in the Dark. Gayle Wilson

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      “Ms. Evans?” he asked, unfolding his long body from the leather chair. He had been reading a newspaper, comfortably invading someone else’s office with a tall, cool-looking drink within arm’s reach. A tropical-weight tan jacket draped broad shoulders and fell loosely to his narrow hips. The lean length of the legs below was emphasized by the skintight and well-worn jeans he wore. His hair was darkly curling and long by current standards. It fell below the collar of the jacket, but on him it looked right, finished the picture of a man who was perfectly at ease with the persona he had chosen, perfectly suited for the tropics. He was, of course, deeply tanned, the contrast as sharp between the crystal blue of his eyes and the dark gold of his skin as it was between the flash of white, even teeth in the smile he gave her.

      “You are Caroline Evans?” he said. “My reputation won’t stand an attempt to pick up some strange woman at the airport.”

      I’ll just bet it won’t, she thought, but she smiled, extending her hand to reassure him. “I’m Caroline Evans.”

      “Andre Gerrard,” he said. His handshake was pleasantly firm and brief. “My sister asked me to meet you. Our transportation arrangements can be a little confusing for someone not born to boating everywhere. She asked me to take you to the island. I have my boat and can have you there, resting from your journey, much quicker than if you wait for the ferry. I hope that’s all right. I have identification,” he said, perhaps seeing the hesitation in her face.

      “Since Madame Rochette didn’t mention her brother’s name, I don’t suppose that would help. Besides, it seems that everyone here knows who you are. The cooperation of the airport staff should be recommendation enough of your credentials. I don’t think they’d contrive to help you kidnap ‘some strange woman.’”

      The laugh that broke from him was rich and full, and its ease touched a chord somewhere deep inside. She liked men who were unselfconscious enough to laugh like that. She found herself studying the laugh lines around the blue eyes and realized that he was now simply smiling at her scrutiny.

      He’s probably used to having that effect on women, she thought. He certainly has the right equipment. And knows it. And knows how to use it. And I am a cynic, she chided herself, smiling, but he took the smile caused by that admission as an answer to his own. By that time, her bags had arrived, and there was no more time for conversation.

      When he handed her into a Porsche, she wasn’t surprised. It wasn’t new, but classic, lovingly cared for, and he drove it well. They didn’t talk against the force of the wind. Eventually she took the pins from her hair and let it whip in tangling strands around her face. Not very businesslike, but what the hell. He’d been sent to pick her up, and she’d had no choice in her means of transportation. She’d attempt repairs once they reached the island.

      The boat, too, fitted her image of the man at her side. It was sleek and fast, not new, but again classically styled, wood with brass fittings. She knew nothing of boats, but recognized the money and time it would take to care for something like this.

      He controlled the boat with the same unthinking competence he had used to handle the convertible while the salt air finished the disorder of her careful hairdo. He had handed her in and out with that strong brown hand, and as she walked up the steep steps from the landing, she could still feel the strength in those steadying fingers tingling against her palm.

      He had held her hand a fraction of a second too long, and she tried to ignore the long-forgotten messages such a gesture evoked, but she was attracted. She was honest enough, with herself at least, to admit it. She couldn’t remember when she had been so attracted to a man, and the irony of that thought wasn’t lost on her.

      She took a deep breath as they neared the top of the stairs and the beginnings of the flagstones of the patio that stretched behind the modern house that commanded the summit of the island. It was nothing like the ancient family estate she had imagined. Instead it was sleek glass and cypress, but it was as imposing in its size as her imaginary mansion.

      She shivered involuntarily, wondering where the sudden chill had come from in the warmth of the tropic sun. She must have paused because she felt his hand in the small of her back, a gentle movement of its thumb against her spine.

      “It’s all right. Don’t be nervous. We’re very informal around here. It’s the ambience of the tropics, I suppose. All this lushness,” he reassured. When he laughed, she glanced up into that beautifully masculine face to find a look of real compassion for her nervousness. “No one’s going to eat you. I promise. No big bad wolf.”

      She smiled at her foolishness and, unconsciously straightening her shoulders, started across the wide expanse of the patio. He followed, easily carrying both her bags, which he set down just inside the room they entered through the French doors. They waited a moment for their eyes to adjust to the pleasant dimness, so she missed the rise of the figure from the long coral couch across the room. The woman was halfway across the gleaming quarry tile, her hands extended, before she was clearly visible.

      “Caroline? Of course. I was quite specific in my instructions. I wanted someone young and attractive and fun. I really do need help with those endless letters. God knows, I’m weeks behind, but that wasn’t my prime motivation. I just wanted someone to be friends with. I hope we will be. I’m Suzanne Rochette.”

      By that time she was there, but instead of taking Caroline’s outstretched hand, she pulled her into a quick hug and then held both her shoulders to study her features.

      Caroline’s first impressions were jumbled by the unexpectedness of the greeting. Nothing was as she had anticipated. The figure before her wore jeans as aged as her brother’s, a faded T-shirt and was barefoot.

      Even given the ambience of the tropics her brother had talked about, the attire seemed strange for such wealth. Of course, she knew nothing about that. Who was she to judge? She realized that something was expected of her, so she smiled into the friendly blue eyes and was rewarded with a quick squeeze of those small, almost tomboyish hands on her shoulders.

      “I’m so glad you’re finally here,” Suzanne said, smiling.

      “I’m very glad to be here and very grateful that you chose me. I’m looking forward to helping you.”

      “Well, I didn’t really choose. Paul did that, but I already feel that he made the perfect selection. Has Andre treated you nicely? I have to warn you. He is much sought after and far too sure of his attractions. He’s really a nice boy, but take everything he says with a grain of salt. It’s all too practiced. That’s not his fault, of course, but regrettably true.”

      During the monologue on her brother’s character, she was guiding Caroline to the couch she’d been occupying when they arrived. Caroline glimpsed the genuine amusement on her brother’s face and was relieved that this, apparently, was an old joke between them, not something directed at her attraction to him, which she hoped hadn’t been that obvious.

      “I’ll remember that,” she said, smiling. She glanced at Andre who winked at her and gently swatted his sister’s bottom.

      “How am I going to succeed in luring young lovelies if you persist in warning them off? You’re supposed to be on my side.” He dropped a swift kiss on the blue-veined temple exposed by the dark gamin cut of his sister’s hair. “Why don’t you let me show Caroline upstairs for a rest. She’s had a long journey and would probably like to change and lie down before dinner. You can finish destroying my character later tonight.”

      Suzanne released her hand СКАЧАТЬ