Secrets of His Own

“A falcon, most likely.” He put up a hand to shade his eyes as he searched the sky. “There it is. See it? Circling just above the treetops.”

“A falcon?” Carrie asked doubtfully. “Way out here?”

“These islands are on the migration route. Maybe this one got lost from its cast as they flew north. When I was a kid, you could come out here in the spring and fall and spot dozens flying over Cape Diablo. My father said Andres found a wounded one once and nursed it back to health. He kept it in captivity for a number of years, but I suppose it was released after his disappearance. Who knows?” He gave Carrie an enigmatic smile. “Maybe the one you just heard is a descendant.”

A wounded falcon seeking refuge on Cape Diablo.

Cochburn didn’t seem to realize the irony, but to Carrie, it was yet one more clue as to why Tia had chosen such a remote location. If she’d known Cape Diablo was on the migratory route of the falcon, she might have taken it as a sign. She seemed so…mystical these days.

As the boat thudded softly against the rubber tires hanging from the pier, Cochburn climbed out and offered a hand down to Carrie. Gathering up her bag and cap, she grabbed his hand and let him pull her up.

They left Trawick unloading the supplies as they made their way along a trail that wound through a jungle of mangroves. In spite of the insect repellant she’d sprayed on before leaving the marina, Carrie had to constantly swat mosquitoes from her face as they emerged into what had once been a landscaped yard but was now overgrown with palmettos, bromeliads and swamp grass.

The house itself was still magnificent, a Spanish-style villa that appeared untouched by time as the late-afternoon sun glinted off arched windows and turned the white facade into gleaming amber. Carrie caught her breath. She’d never seen such a beautiful place.

But almost immediately she realized the soft light had created an illusion. A closer examination revealed the overall state of disrepair. Some of the roof tiles were missing and the salt air had rusted the ornate wrought iron trim around the windows and balconies. In dreary corners, lichen and moss inched like a shadow over crumbling stucco walls.

A subtle movement drew Carrie’s gaze to one of the balconies, and as she lifted a hand to shield her eyes from the glare, she saw the outline of a woman standing at the railing looking down at them. Carrie couldn’t make out her features clearly, but she had the impression of age and frailty.

And then a strange dread gripped her. As their gazes clung for the longest moment, Carrie suddenly had an overpowering sensation that she was in the presence of evil.

Whether it was coming from the woman on the balcony or someone else on the island, she had no idea.

Chapter Two

Carrie must have made some inadvertent sound because Cochburn stopped on the path and glanced around. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m…not sure.” Her gaze was still on the balcony, but the woman had stepped back into the shadows so that Carrie could no longer see her. “I thought I saw someone up there.”

Cochburn glanced warily at the house. “It was probably Alma Garcia. Her quarters are on the third floor. She must have heard the boat.”

“It was so strange,” Carrie murmured. “For a moment, I thought…”

“What?” he asked sharply.

She shook her head. “Nothing. I got the impression she wasn’t too happy to see us, that’s all.”

He shrugged, but not before Carrie had seen something dark in his eyes. “She’s not exactly thrilled with having tenants on the property, but she’s harmless. Crazy as a bat, but harmless. You don’t need to concern yourself with her. I doubt you’ll even see her again. She keeps to herself most of the time.” He turned back to the path. “Come along. Tia’s apartment is this way.”

Crazy as a bat, but harmless.

Hardly a ringing endorsement, Carrie thought uneasily. Just what had she gotten herself into?

Not that she was in any position to judge. She’d spent more than a few hours on a therapist’s couch herself.

And Tia…

Poor Tia had her problems, as well. A precarious mental state was nothing new for her, unfortunately, which was why Carrie was so worried about her.

Tia had been emotionally fragile for years, but Carrie had hoped that she’d grown stronger since they last met. Evidently not, or she would have stayed and faced Trey herself on their wedding day.

Unless she had good reason not to.

Cochburn led Carrie around to the back of the house and through an old gate that opened into a large, central courtyard enclosed on one side by a long L-shaped wing of the main house and on the other by a freestanding, two-story pool house. At the far end was a cracked adobe wall topped with faded red tiles that matched the roof. Terra-cotta pots dotted the stone floor, but the flowers had mostly withered in the heat and the water in the pool was blackish green and opaque.

In spite of the obvious neglect, however, touches of a once-gorgeous oasis remained in the cascade of scarlet bougainvillea over the walls and in the tinkle of a nearby fountain. A lazy breeze drifted through the palm fronds, carrying the scent of jasmine and the barest hint of rain. And through an arched opening in the back wall, Carrie caught tantalizing glimpses of water undulating in the sunset like yards and yards of russet satin.

The only thing to disturb the almost total quiet was the sound of the ocean and the distant drone of a generator that supplied the island’s electricity.

Carrie wanted a moment to take it all in, but Robert Cochburn seemed in no mood to linger.

“Your friend’s apartment is just over there.” He pointed to the pool house. Like the main house, it was white stucco with a red tile roof and a curving staircase that led up to a shady loggia on the second level. “She’s on the ground floor.”

“Thank you for taking the time to come out here with me,” Carrie told him. “I’m not sure I could have found the right island without you. You never said, but…how did Tia know about this place?”

“She saw one of our newspaper ads,” Cochburn said. “The same way most of our tenants hear about the apartments.”

Carrie nodded. “I assumed it was something like that. Well, thanks again for everything.”

He smiled. “No problem. Glad I could help.”

She watched until he disappeared through the gate, then she turned to Tia’s apartment. Carrie had no idea the kind of reception that was in store for her. Tia was hard to predict. She could be warm and effusive one moment, distant and brooding the next. But Carrie understood better than anyone her friend’s mood swings.

Bracing herself for Tia’s possible irritation, Carrie walked up two stone steps and stood in front of a set of French doors that opened onto the courtyard. Shades had been pulled over the panes making it impossible to see inside. She knocked softly at first, but when she got no response, she rapped harder and called out Tia’s name.

Stepping back from the door, she scanned the other windows, her gaze rising to the loggia. No one was about and the predusk calm that settled over the courtyard seemed ominous, as if the place had been abandoned in a hurry.

Moving back to the door, Carrie knocked again, then tried the latch. It was unlocked, which could mean that if Tia had stepped out for a few minutes, she probably hadn’t gone far. Then again, maybe there was no reason to lock doors on Cape Diablo.

Carrie hesitated, not quite sure what to do. She didn’t want to intrude on Tia’s privacy, and yet she’d come this far. She couldn’t turn around and leave without making sure her friend was all right.

Another thought suddenly occurred to her. Tia had run away from Miami with barely a word to anyone. What if she’d already packed up and left Cape Diablo?

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 control, no matter what.

So what had brought her up from the desk and driven her out of the apartment so quickly that she hadn’t taken the time to straighten the chair or lock the door?

Carrie tried to convince herself she was making too much of that chair, but the premonition that had gripped her for days wouldn’t let go. Something was wrong. She could feel it.

Had Tia’s nightmares come back? Had they driven her from her own wedding and brought her here, to the almost complete isolation of Cape Diablo? Had she tried to shut them out by pulling the blinds over the windows and immersing herself in another family’s tragedy?

Or was something far more sinister at work here? Had Tia inadvertently stumbled upon the answer to a thirty-year-old mystery?

Carrie turned to search the rest of the apartment. As she made her way down the narrow corridor, she became aware of a smell. Something faint. A lingering odor of decay that turned her stomach and made her heart pound in agitation.

It was only a trace. She’d watched enough crime shows to know that the stench from a dead body would be overpowering so she tried not to panic.

Tia is fine, she told herself over and over. The apartment needed airing out, was all.

But as she stepped into the tiny bedroom, her gaze darted almost fearfully around the small space. Her first reaction to the spotless condition of the room was intense relief.

“Thank God,” she whispered, realizing that she had been bracing for the worst ever since she’d gotten off the boat.

Like the rest of the apartment, the room was immaculate. The bed was made and the floor free of discarded clothing. Tia’s things were stored in the closet and her suitcase shoved out of the way on the overhead shelf. Everything was in its proper place, just the way she would have left it.

So why did she still feel that terrible sense of doom? Carrie wondered.

Walking over to the French door, she drew back the curtain and stared out at the overgrown garden. She unlatched the door and pulled it open, allowing a fresh breeze into the room. Almost immediately the scent from the hallway faded.

Carrie started to turn away when a movement beyond the garden stopped her. Someone was coming up a path that led back into the mangrove forest, and for a moment, she thought it was Cochburn.

But as the man emerged from the trees, she saw that he was younger and taller than the attorney, with closely cropped hair and a lean, muscular body. He wore faded jeans and a shirt that hung open, revealing a bronzed chest and—Carrie would have sworn—the handle of a gun protruded from his low-riding waistband.

Nearing the house, he buttoned his shirt as he glanced over his shoulder. There was something oddly covert about his movements, and Carrie remembered her conversation earlier with Cochburn about the unsavory element in the area.

Quickly, she closed the door, then stepped back into the room before the man spotted her. He seemed to be heading directly toward her, but at the last moment, he veered off the path and disappeared back into the trees.

Who was he? Carrie wondered with a shiver. And why did he have a gun?

She watched for a moment longer, but when he didn’t appear again, she turned and walked over to examine a framed photograph Tia had left on the dresser.

The picture had been taken at summer camp the year she and Tia turned twelve. They were both beaming with arms thrown over each other’s shoulders. The two of them had been inseparable back then.

How odd that Tia had kept the photograph all these years and brought it with her to Cape Diablo. Carrie had long since put away everything that reminded her of that summer.

The knot in her chest tightened. It still hurt to see their shining faces in that snapshot and know what the future held for them. She and Tia had been so happy that day. So eager for a summer adventure.

But a week later, their lives had been changed forever. In the blink of an eye, the innocence had been lost, replaced by the kind of horror most people could hardly imagine.

The day of the abduction had started out like so many others that summer. The sun had been out. Carrie could still see the way the light dazzled off the man’s wristwatch.

He’d seemed cute and harmless at first. It was only later when she’d seen that terrible tattoo on his chest that she’d begun to have an inkling of just how evil he really was.

“Don’t leave me here, Carrie. Please, please don’t leave me….”

She squeezed her eyes closed as Tia’s desperate plea echoed through her head, followed by her own hollow promise.

“I won’t leave you, Tia. I swear I won’t….”

But she had left Tia. She’d left her all alone in that hellish place. Carrie had managed to get away, and the police had later told her that her escape had probably saved both their lives. But Carrie hadn’t seen it that way, and neither, she feared, had Tia.

In spite of everything, though, the two of them had managed to resume their friendship, but nothing was ever the same after that summer.

It had almost been a relief for Carrie when the two of them had gone off to separate colleges and eventually lost touch. Away from Tia, the nightmares and guilt had finally faded.

Then, just a few months ago, Tia had come back into Carrie’s life. She’d called out of the blue one day, shocking Carrie from the pleasant complacency her life had become.

“I’m getting married and I want you to be my maid of honor. There’s no one else I’d rather have with me than you, Carrie. We’ve been through so much. Please say yes.”

Of course, Carrie had said yes, even though she’d had some trepidation about renewing the friendship. After years of struggling to ‘find herself,’ she’d finally gotten her life on track. She had the job of her dreams with a local magazine, a great apartment, a small circle of friends. So what if she hadn’t met that special someone. So what if at times loneliness threatened to engulf her. She’d finally put the past behind her and that was all that mattered.

Or so she tried to tell herself.

But Tia’s phone call had brought it all back. The nightmares and the guilt.

Carrie had worked long and hard to exorcise her own demons, but they were always there lurking in the deepest recesses of her subconscious, waiting to undermine any intimate relationship she might have hoped to establish.

The guilt was still there, too. She’d gotten away from their abductor before he’d physically harmed her, but Tia hadn’t. What must her nightmares be like?

They’d never talked about what that monster did to her, but Carrie knew. Deep down, she knew.

The wedding was to be Tia’s exorcism. A chance to finally put the past to rest and have the kind of fairy-tale life she’d always dreamed of.

So what had happened? Carrie wondered. What had ended the dream and driven Tia away from the church that day? Had she simply gotten cold feet or had she discovered something about Trey Hollinger that had frightened her into running away?

And why had she brought the photograph—such a painful reminder of the past—with her to Cape Diablo?

A noise from the sitting room brought Carrie around with a start. Her mind flashed instantly to the man she’d seen a few minutes earlier on the path. He’d still been some distance from her so she couldn’t be sure that she’d seen a gun, but the very idea that someone might be armed and dangerous on the tiny island made her hesitate at the doorway.

“Anyone home?” Robert Cochburn called from the sitting room.

Recognizing his voice, Carrie let out a breath of relief as she replaced the frame on the dresser, then walked down the corridor and through the archway.

The attorney hovered on the threshold, giving her an apologetic smile as soon as she entered the room. “Sorry to just barge in like this, but I did knock. I guess you didn’t hear me.” His gaze darted to the hallway behind her. “I trust you found your friend?”

“Unfortunately, no.” Carrie brushed a restless hand through her hair. “I don’t know where she is.”

Something flickered in his eyes, a shadow that made Carrie wonder. “How did you get in here?”

“The door was unlocked.” Realizing what he might think, she said quickly, “I wasn’t snooping. I just wanted to make sure everything was okay. I thought Tia might have left the island for good.”

“And?”

He had the oddest expression on his face. Carrie didn’t know what to make of it. “Her clothes are still hanging in the closet so I assume she hasn’t gone far.” She glanced over her shoulder. “There’s a smell in the hallway. I think an animal might have gotten trapped in the walls and died.”