if they chose.
Whether she’d seen a skull or a conch shell, she was absolutely certain that people were behaving strangely.
The feeling of being in the middle of something she didn’t understand sat heavily over her. The rest of them were acting like the world was a great place and everyone just loved everyone. Well, except Ben. Her brother seemed to be brooding, for some reason.
And Keith.
He had managed to hang back and avoid conversation.
He was watching, she thought. Watching everyone.
The thought gave her chills. And yet…despite his strange behavior, she was still drawn to him. She should have been wary, but, ridiculously, she sensed in him a kind of strength, an…ethic. Was she crazy? Was it only because she couldn’t remember when she had met someone who so attracted her? But if he’d wanted to hurt her, he’d certainly had the opportunity, and he hadn’t. Instead, he’d protected her.
She decided that she wasn’t going to say anything more to Ben or anyone else about the skull or her sense of uneasiness. But when she got home, she was definitely going to start finding out more about the Monocos.
On the other hand, maybe the need to know that seemed to fill her every waking minute now would ebb once they returned to real life. She would see Amanda and Hank again, and Roger and Gerald. But there was no reason to believe she would ever cross paths again with Sandy and Brad, or the independently wealthy Lee, Matt—or Keith Henson.
The group split up late. Beth tried to act nonchalant as she made her way back to their site, but when she was curled up in her own tent, she realized that she still felt uneasy.
If he hadn’t had any idea what Brad and Sandy were up to, why had Keith been so determined not to reveal their own presence?
She felt a hot flush rise within her when she remembered the way they had stood, listening, for what had seemed like aeons.
She lay awake, just listening, for a long, long time.
Then, just when she was finally relaxing into sleep, she heard something. A rustling. The wind in the trees? She strained to hear.
Great weekend. She should have been suntanned and relaxed. Instead she was a nervous wreck, more tired than when they’d started out.
In the night, she imagined that she was hearing all kinds of things.
At last, with a sigh, she untangled herself from her sleeping bag and carefully stuck her head out through the opening of her tent.
There was nothing around. No one to see. The night was silent.
She crawled out of the tent to stretch, then froze.
She wasn’t alone.
Looking down the beach, she realized that what had appeared to be a shadow against a tree was a man.
The realization sent a flurry of fear snaking along her spine. She stood still, staring.
The shadow lifted a hand. Said, “Hey.”
“Hey,” she responded automatically.
It was Keith.
Barefoot, in her oversize T-shirt, she walked down the length of the beach to him. The night wasn’t especially dark. In fact, it was beautiful. The moon was out, along with dozens of stars. The breeze was gentle, and it wasn’t too humid.
“Enjoying the weather?” she asked.
“It is nice, isn’t it?” he asked. He sat down and patted the sand by his side. “Join me?”
She hesitated, then sat. “What are you doing?” she asked him.
“Enjoying the weather, just like you said.”
“It’s the middle of the night.”
“I have strange sleeping habits.”
“I’ll bet you do,” she murmured.
He smiled, handsome face rueful. “Is there a hidden meaning behind that?” he asked.
She shook her head and looked away.
“You just don’t trust me.”
“No, I don’t.” She let out a sigh.
He laughed. “By the way, what happened to your brother’s friends?”
“Pardon?”
“The guys who were supposed to be joining you. You know, the great big lugs who can open beer bottles with their teeth.”
She stared at him with a deep frown, having no idea what he was talking about at first. Then she remembered what she’d said when they met.
“I guess they got…sidetracked. They’re not coming.”
“And they never were.”
“Okay, so I don’t trust you much now and I certainly didn’t trust you at all when we first met.”
He looked forward again and spoke softly. “Well, we’re not pirates, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
“I didn’t suggest you were pirates. Pirates belong in ghost stories.”
He shook his head, looking her way again. “No. Modern-day pirates are very real. Ask your brother. Sail in the wrong direction and you’re asking for trouble. Think about it—the sea is vast. You can be close to civilization, but on the water, far, far from help. Don’t ever think of pirates as being something from the past!”
She frowned, surprised that he had spoken with such passion.
“Pirates, because of the drug trade?” she asked him.
He shrugged. “Pirates because some men will always covet what other men have.” He watched her intently, then turned away again. “And pirates because sometimes what another man has is knowledge that’s worth its weight in gold.”
The way he spoke sent shivers down her spine. She was sitting close to him, not touching, and she wasn’t sure if she wanted to stumble quickly to her feet and say good-night, or move closer into the aura of his warmth. He was definitely a compelling man, built like rock and steel, with his strange easy smile and chiseled features. And chemistry.
She knew she should be drawing back just because she wanted to move so close. She realized in shock that she was envisioning sex with the man.
Not a good thing when she didn’t trust him at all, much less what was happening here on the island.
He seemed to be warning her again.
“Go back to your life tomorrow. Forget anything you might have thought while you were here. And for God’s sake, don’t talk about it,” he said softly.
She shook her head. “You’re very scary,
