Navajo Echoes. Cassie Miles

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      “I got the message,” she said. “And I’ll bet I know who sent it. I saw the license plate. GOV 3. It’s got to be part of Governor Ramon St. George’s fleet.”

      The governor wanted to scare them off his island? Was he working with Drew Kirshner? The threat to them had to be connected to Robert. But how?

      On the road, he set a slow pace. Though he knew the moon was shining brightly, his vision hadn’t recovered enough to see details. The earth beneath his feet seemed to disappear into a dull, dark haze.

      It was only about a mile to town, and Lily talked the whole way. Mostly about how they could get even with the governor. Casually, she took his arm, and he was silently grateful for her guidance. Damn it, this was all wrong. He should be the one protecting her. Not the other way around.

      By the time they got to the well-lit hotel, he had better clarity and only stumbled once on the stairs leading up to the entrance.

      In their room, he collapsed on the red-curtained bed and closed his eyes. What he really needed was a solid eight hours of sleep. But that wasn’t likely to happen.

      The mattress bounced as Lily joined him on the bed. Though she was quiet, he could feel her eyes on him, asking silent questions that he had no intention of answering. Never before had his temporary blindness interfered with his duties at PPS and it felt like hell, like he was helpless.

      Her touch on his arm was as gentle as a nurse. He remembered the weeks after he was wounded. Lying on a hard bed in a military hospital with his head wrapped in bandages, he was completely blind. Not knowing if he would ever see again.

      He knew lots of guys who were worse off than he was. Other men in his platoon had died. But he wasn’t thinking about them. Despairing, he sank deep into an abyss of self-pity. He couldn’t stand the helplessness. John always took care of others. His family. His friends. He wasn’t meant to be disabled.

      “John?” Her sweetness irritated him. He’d rather hear her bitching about something. “What happened to you when we crashed?”

      “The plane or the bike?”

      “You know what I’m talking about. I’ve seen you on the firing range. You’re an ace marksman. Tonight, your shots went wild.”

      “I wasn’t that bad.”

      “You were,” she said emphatically. “I held my own fire because I wasn’t sure what you were trying to do.”

      “No point in gunning for a Hummer,” he bluffed. “I was trying to scare them off.”

      “I don’t believe you.” Her fingers tightened on his arm. “You can tell me what’s wrong. I’m your partner.”

      Logically, she was correct. His disability might put her life in danger, and she deserved to know. But he didn’t want to admit to his problem. Especially not here in this hotel room, which was probably bugged.

      He sat up on the bed and opened his eyes. The valentine room swam into dull focus. It might help if he had his glasses. He was pretty sure they were in the carry-on bag he’d managed to save in the crash.

      Leaving her on the bed, he went to the dresser, where they’d spread the miscellaneous items from their carry-on bags to dry out. The few clothes they’d saved were drying in the bathroom. He found his wire-frame glasses, wiped them off and put them on. His vision was better, but still not great.

      Mindful of probable bugs in the room, he turned on the television and went out on the balcony, seeking privacy.

      Lily hopped off the bed and joined him. “I didn’t know you wore glasses.”

      “You don’t need to know everything about me.”

      “Please, John. You can trust me.”

      He saw the vestiges of concern in her frown. She was still worried about him. Damn it. He didn’t need a nursemaid. And he sure as hell didn’t need to waste any more time feeling sorry for himself. He focused on the business at hand. “We need more information on Ramon St. George and the guy from Denver. Drew Kirshner.”

      “And how do we get this intel?” she asked. “We lost the computer.”

      “And the secure phone line,” he said. “There’s no way to contact Evangeline at PPS.”

      “How about through the local cops?” she suggested.

      “The governor’s men tried to run us down with a Hummer. I don’t think the Cuerva police are going to roll out the welcome mat.”

      “We’re on our own,” she said. “It’s just you and me. Stuck on a remote Caribbean island where somebody’s trying to kill us.”

      Though John loved his gadgetry and computers, there was something freeing about having to rely on old-fashioned logic and deductive reasoning. “Let’s look at the facts.”

      “Two assaults,” she said. “The sabotaged plane. And the Hummer.”

      “The methods are very different. The plane crash was sneaky, arranged by an unseen individual who probably wanted to kill us. The Hummer was an in-your-face threat, but they only delivered a warning.”

      She drew the conclusion. “Two different factions are after us. The governor and somebody else.”

      “Correct.” He appreciated her quick comprehension. “But there is a similarity in both attacks.”

      “Motive,” she said.

      “Both the governor and the unknown saboteur want the same thing: to keep us away from Robert Prescott. He’s got information or evidence that would harm both of them.”

      “What kind of evidence?”

      “I don’t know. Evangeline might have a clue.”

      “Call her,” Lily said. “Just use the hotel phone?”

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