of footsteps or even the rustle of foliage, but as she spoke, a man appeared.
He had emerged from an overgrown trail through one of the thick hummocks of pines and palms that grew so profusely on the island.
It was that elemental landscape that brought real boat people here, the lack of all the things that came with the real world.
So why did his arrival feel so threatening?
Trying to be rational with herself, she decided that he looked just right for the type of person who should be here. He had sandy hair and was deeply tanned. No, not just tanned but bronzed, with the kind of dyed-in-deep coloring that true boat people frequently seemed to acquire. He was in good shape, but not heavily muscled. He was in wellworn denim cutoffs, and his feet were clad in deck shoes, no socks. His feet were as bronze as his body, so he must have spent plenty of time barefoot.
Like a guy who belonged on a boat, cruising the out islands. One who knew what he was doing. One who would camp where there were no amenities.
He also wore shades.
Anyone would, she told herself. She had on sunglasses, as did the girls. So why did his seem suspicious, dark and secretive.
She needed to be reasonable, she told herself. She was only feeling this sudden wariness because she had just found a skull, and instinctive panic was setting in. It was odd how the psyche worked. Any other time, if she had run into someone else on the island, she would have been friendly.
But she had just found a skull, and he reminded her of the unknown fate of Ted and Molly Monoco, who had been here, and then…
Sailed into the sunset?
An old friend had reported them missing when they hadn’t radioed in, as they usually did.
And she had just found a skull at their last known location.
So she froze, just staring at the man.
Amber, at fourteen, hadn’t yet begun to think of personal danger in the current situation. Her father was a boat person, so she was accustomed to other boat people, and she was friendly when she met them. She wasn’t stupid or naive, and she had been taught street smarts—she went to school in downtown Miami, for one thing. She could be careful when she knew she should.
Apparently that didn’t seem to be now.
Amber smiled at the stranger and said, “Hi.”
“Hi,” he returned.
“Hi,” Kim said.
Amber nudged Beth. “Um—hi.”
“Keith Henson,” the man said, and though she couldn’t see his eyes, his shades were directed toward her. His face had good solid lines. Strong chin, high-set cheekbones. The voice was rich and deep.
He should have been doing voice-overs for commercials or modeling.
Hey, she mocked herself. Maybe that was what he did do.
“I’m Amber Anderson,” her niece volunteered. “This is Kim Smith, and that’s my aunt Beth.” She was obviously intrigued and went on to say, “We’re camping here.”
“Maybe,” Beth said quickly.
Amber frowned. “Oh, come on! Just because—”
“How do you do, Mr. Henson,” Beth said, cutting off her niece’s words. She stepped forward quickly, away from their find. “Nice to meet you. Down here on vacation? Where are you from?”
Oh, good, that was casual. A complete third degree in ten seconds or less.
“Recent transplant, actually a bit of a roamer,” he told her, smiling, offering her his hand. It was a fine hand. Long fingered, as bronzed as the rest of him, nails clipped and clean. Palm callused. He used his hands for work. He was a real sailor, definitely, or did some other kind of manual labor.
She had the most bizarre thought that when she accepted his handshake, he would wrench her forward, and then his fingers would wind around her neck. The fear became so palpable that she almost screamed aloud to the girls to run.
He took her hand briefly in a firm but not too powerful grip, then released it. “Amber, Kim,” he said, and shook their hands as he spoke.
“So are you folks are from the area?” he asked, and looked at the girls, smiling. Apparently he’d already written Beth off as a total flake.
She slipped between the two girls, feeling her bulldog attitude coming on and setting an arm around each girl’s shoulders.
“Yep!” Amber said.
“Well, kind of,” Kim said.
“I mean, we’re not from the island we’re standing on, but nearby,” Amber said.
Henson’s smile deepened.
Beth tried to breathe normally and told herself that she was watching far too many forensics shows on television. There was no reason to believe she had to protect the girls from this man.
But no reason to trust him on sight, either.
“Are you planning on camping on the island?” Beth asked.
He waved a hand toward the sea. “I’m not sure yet. I’m with some friends…we’re doing some diving, some fishing. We haven’t decided whether we’re in a camping mood or not.”
“Where are your friends?” Beth asked. A little sharply? she wondered. So much for being casual, able to easily escape a bad situation, if it should prove to be one.
“At the moment I’m on my own.”
“I didn’t see your dinghy,” Beth said. “In fact, I didn’t even notice another boat in the area.”
“It’s there,” he said, “the Sea Serpent.” He cocked his head wryly. “My friend, Lee, who owns her, likes to think of himself as the brave, adventurous type. Did you sail out here on your own?”
It might have been an innocent question, but not to Beth. Not at this moment.
She had been swearing for years that she was going to take kung fu classes or karate, but as yet, she hadn’t quite done so.
She always carried pepper spray in her purse. But, of course, she had been wandering inland with the girls, just walking, and she wasn’t carrying her purse. She wasn’t carrying anything. She had on sandals and a bathing suit. Like the girls.
“Are you alone?” Keith Henson repeated politely.
Politely? Or menacingly?
“Oh, no. We’re with my brother. And a whole crowd.”
“A whole crowd—” Amber began.
Beth pinched her shoulder.
“Ow!” Amber gasped.
“Lots
