Chapter 6
SIX
Clearly, he’d been more shaken by the near diving death than Tia had been, because she presented the needs at Hope House like a pro. Not a hint of wavering in her voice, the woman had boardroom poise, despite the trauma six hours before.
They hosted the formal event in the dining room of Declan’s magnificent home, and Doyle watched the entire thing sort of stunned.
And sure, Declan had a pad that seemed straight out of a magazine for the rich and famous, with white travertine flooring, beautiful walnut cabinetry, a sunken living room with an aquarium center table, a theater, and some twenty bedrooms scattered about the mansion, but really...
Doyle only had eyes for Tia, beautiful in a floral summer dress.
And then she walked over to Ethan after the event, and all he could think was... oh no.
She was up to something. And he’d lay bets it had to do with Ethan’s quest for the pirate gold.
Oh, Tia. Please no. But he couldn’t exactly confront her in front of a roomful of guests.
Now, she held a glass of vinho verde that seemed untouched and mingled with the guests on Declan’s expansive veranda that overlooked the town of Esperanza.
In the distance, Hope House sat on a cliff above the town, soft lights glowing thanks to the twinkle lights the children begged them not to remove from the yard. They did cast an ethereal glow upon the place.
Moving here had been an escape, a desperate act, but it had brought a surprising balm to his soul.
“Bro. You good?” Stein had come up to him, holding a glass of ice water with lemon. He’d parked himself not far from Declan all day. Even now, the billionaire stood not far away, wearing linen pants and flip-flops, a white linen shirt. He stood with his hands in his pockets as he talked with a couple donors.
Stein wore a pair of dress pants, a short-sleeve shirt, and running shoes, ready, clearly, for anything.
“Yeah. Just...” Doyle blew out a breath. “Close call today. Thanks for saving Tia’s life. You nearly died doing it.”
The entire thing had his heart fisting, hammering, his mouth a little dry.
Stein clamped a hand on his shoulder. “You were there. I wasn’t worried.” He winked.
Whatever. Doyle took a sip of his lemonade. “Declan’s estate seems like something out of a Bond movie. Except Declan is the good guy.”
“Yeah, it’s nice,” Stein said, glancing past him, his eyes on the horizon, the crowd. “Lots to cover.”
Right. Stein saw the dangers, not the opulence.
The three-story estate sprawled across a hillside, with a patio that jutted out over the side of the hill, bordered with glass railings, a pool set in the middle, now bright with firelight on the glassy water. Above them extended another patio, just enough to offer a covered seating area below, with two long sofas and a low granite fire table between them. The tile extended over the entire ground-level patio, and palm trees in planters sat in the corners, rustling in the breeze.
The second story looked just as fantastic, with floor-to-ceiling windows for a panoramic view. And he guessed another patio might be on the top of the building, given the rooftop walkway.
Elegant. Expensive. Yet Declan seemed a man easy with himself, not pretentious.
Doyle spotted Austen in the group talking with Declan. The red highlights in her auburn hair gleamed in the flicker of the tiki torches around the pool.
She’d nearly drowned today, and that thought punched a hole through him. If he hadn’t surfaced when he did—and if he hadn’t had that shallow dive—he wouldn’t have been ready to dive again. His gear would have been stripped off, his BCD hanging on an empty tank.
Timing. His words before the dive about God’s will issued back to him. “Now I don’t know what the destination is, and frankly, I’m not sure I want one.”
Maybe it wasn’t so much not wanting one but putting his heart into something only to see it shattered in a moment.
As he watched, Austen smiled up at Declan, a laugh in her eyes. “Is there something going on between Declan and Austen?”
Stein glanced at Declan, frowned. “Don’t think so. They met at Boo’s wedding, and he invited her to guide. That’s all.”
Breathe.
“Listen, Doyle. We lived, and it’s a gorgeous evening. Enjoy.” Stein winked and followed Declan as the man moved away.
Gorgeous was right. Not a cloud to mar the overhead sprinkle of stars, the breeze warm off the ocean, and the smell of Wagyu-beef shish kebabs sizzling on the grill. An armada of chefs cooked the accompanying seafood paella, saffron spicing the air, prawns and clams simmering in the juices. Glistening plantain fried in another pot.
“Shrimp?”
Doyle’s attention jolted to a server holding a tray of hors d’oeuvres. He helped himself to a grilled shrimp in some tangy sauce on a cucumber.
Fancy.
“That was amazing today,” said a female voice, and he turned to see Elise Jameson standing there, her dark hair down, pushed back with a floral headband, wearing a pink dress and fancy sandals. “Such quick thinking.”
Her husband came up behind her, extended a hand. “Indeed. I’ve never seen someone change out a tank so fast.”
“We got...” Not lucky—he knew that, deep in his soul. “Blessed. There’s no doubt that the timing was right, and I’m just thankful I was able to be in the right place at the right time.”
“We call that God’s providence,” Hunter said. “There’s no such thing as a coincidence.”
Doyle lifted his glass. “Right.”
“People often ask why bad things happen,” Hunter said, looking past him, his gaze landing on something, then back at Doyle. “But I always wonder about the tragedies that miss us. What we’ve been protected from.”
“And why God chooses to let some things through.” Doyle took a drink. “My sister says He has a plan. I just don’t always know what it is.”
Hunter gave a warm chuckle. “What if it’s not a destination but a position of the heart?” He put his hand on his wife’s shoulder. “Looks like dinner is nearly ready. But we did want to talk to you about Jamal.”
“And Kemar,” added Elise.
“Kemar. I’m not sure?—”
“We’re not either.” Hunter gave him a grim look. “We already love Jamal. And we... we don’t want to split up a family. But Kemar seems... a handful.”
“When authorities found Kemar, he was living in their abandoned home, taking care of Jamal on his own. He was eleven, and Jamal was three. He’s always been very protective of him.”
“We don’t like separating families. But we’re not sure Kemar... We don’t want to get in over our heads.” Hunter’s mouth made a grim line. “But we need to think about this.”
“Right.” Doyle sighed. “I understand.” He didn’t want to mention that Kemar might not be returning to the orphanage. Not when he still had hope that the kid would come to his senses.
“But we will provide support for both of them, and all of their education costs.”
That was something. “Thank you.”
“Especially knowing they’re in such good hands,” said Elise, and squeezed his arm.
They were. Especially with Tia at the helm.
After the near accident, he’d gone back to Hope House and sat on his bed shaking, realizing?—
He liked Tia more than he should.
Even now, as Declan stepped up and announced that the food was ready for consumption, his gaze found his codirector.
She wore her brown hair down and an orange-and-teal-patterned dress that tied around the neck, with a gathered waistline and a drop to her ankles. Firelight flickered against her arms, tanned and muscular (although she wore a gauze bandage over yesterday’s burn), and the wind played with her hair. A different fire flickered in those hazel-green eyes, and had she not been standing next to—of course—Ethan Pine, Doyle might have walked over to her, drawn her away from the crowd and...
What? Kissed her? No, but maybe pulled her against him and let the rest of the pooled adrenaline from today’s near tragedy flush out.
Codirectors. Partners . He needed to keep that forefront in his mind, thank you.
The guests loaded up plates, then sat at the round tables, the tablecloths rippling just slightly with the breeze. He found a chair at the table of Dr. Greg and Heather Scott. Greg couldn’t stop talking about his son, playing hockey in the juniors, and how he was heading off to hockey camp in Minnesota because “King Con, center for the Minnesota Blue Ox” was teaching this year.
Doyle refrained from mentioning that he, uh , knew him. However, “I’ve heard Conrad is an amazing coach.” His brother had spent too many years avoiding one of his greatest callings. Nice to see that he’d stepped out of his past too.
Too? Maybe. Save for the recent memory, Doyle hadn’t dreamed of Juliet in weeks, and even his daytime thoughts didn’t land on her quite as often as they used to.
He wasn’t forgetting, just... taking a new path.
“Are these fried bananas?” Heather turned over the plantains glistening with butter on her plate.
“Plantains. You’ll love them,” Doyle said. Across the patio, he saw Tia, still with Ethan, frown, shake her head, and get up from the table. Ethan turned to catch her, but she walked away.
Doyle recognized Angry Tia when he saw her. And he must have turned into some kind of emotional support dog, because he couldn’t stop himself.
She had gone around the side of the patio, toward the stairs that led down to the parking area, and stood in the shadows, staring out at Hope House, the wind playing with her hair.
“Tia?”
She startled, then looked over at him. “Oh, it’s you.”
That hurt. “Yes. Are you okay?”
She nodded. “I just... I might have gotten in over my head.” Deep sigh. “Again.”
He stood beside her. A slight fragrance of citrus drifted from her, probably shampoo. He didn’t hate it.
“Okay.” She looked up at him. “Truth is, Ethan Pine asked me to help him look for the lost Trident treasure. He thinks it’s in a sulfur tunnel on or near Hope House property. And he wants us to go hunting for it.”
“I figured.”
“You did?”
Now he sighed. “Why is... why are you doing this?”
“So I can have leverage over Sebold. So he’ll give us Kemar and the equipment back?—”
“No. It’s more than that, Tia.”
The words just issued out of him, more impulse than fact. But it stripped a layer of confidence from her face. And then she winced and turned away.
“I’m—” he started.
“Right.”
Oh.
She sighed. “Okay, so, yes, I know I’m stubborn. And I know this is pride, and maybe even fury, but... I just can’t let Sebold win.” Her voice dropped. “I can’t let fear win. Again.”
“Again?”
She gripped the railing, and he squelched the terrible urge to cover her hand with his.
“Fear has... it’s made too many decisions for me.”
He stayed silent.
“Fear made me say yes to my fiancé, and even got him killed.”
What? The words landed, took root. Did she say fiancé ?
“My fiancé was murdered three years ago.” She turned to Doyle, arms folded across her body. “I only found out recently, although, to be honest, I had a gut feeling about it, even though I didn’t tell anyone.”
“How—”
“He was in a house fire. But he was dead before the fire. Shot. Which was frankly a relief because the idea of him dying in a house fire...” She swallowed, shook her head. Then, “Anyway, he was killed because of something I advised him to do. Because I was afraid that he’d fail and... I just couldn’t let that happen.”
He stuck his hands in his pockets, mostly for his own protection against the urge to take her into his arms.
So easily give away his heart.
“Edward had created this AI program that allowed cars to self-drive, along with other applications that could be applied to drones and a host of military innovations, and he wanted to sell it. So I sent him to my father, who was on the board of a tech company. My father said no—and Edward went to his competitor. What I didn’t know was that conversation was overheard by someone who had invested heavily in my father’s tech company... and he murdered Edward so that he could keep Edward’s program from the competition.”
Wow. “Is this what your sister’s podcast was about?”
She nodded.
“I haven’t listened to it, but, Tia—that doesn’t sound like your fault.”
“If I hadn’t sent him to my father?—”
“Seriously. You can’t cause and effect everything that happens. It completely takes out the God factor?—”
“Are you saying God’s plan was for Edward to be murdered ?”
He looked at her, suddenly unable to speak. “No. God never causes evil. That happens because we live in a fallen world. But He did... He did know.”
And that meant He also knew that Juliet would careen off the road on the morning of their wedding....
Doyle hung his hand on the back of his neck. “We can’t control everything that happens to us. At some point, I think we just have to figure out how to move forward. And most of all, we can’t look back to our choices and let them hold us hostage.” From the patio, music began to play. “What did you mean back when you told Jamal that you’d believed something about yourself that wasn’t true?”
She stared at him, then gritted her jaw and turned away.
“Tia—”
“That I matter.”
He blinked, trying to let the words land.
She sighed. “The fact is, I think I was trying to make Edward love me. I mean, he loved me, but he loved my sister more. And I thought, if we could be partners, if I could help him get his program off the ground... Silly, I know. But I just couldn’t admit that I’d said yes to marrying a man just because I didn’t want to be the forgotten older sister.”
“The forgotten?—”
“Never mind.” She turned to face him. “I realized tonight that I was doing it again. Getting in over my head. Maybe I was just numb after today’s... well, after today. But it hit me, sitting at dinner, when Ethan suggested we go into the mines that... I don’t want to find gold and face Sebold and...” Her expression broke. “I don’t want to put anyone else’s life in danger because I’m listening to my fears and trying to be in charge.”
“You are sort of in charge. I was impressed with your presentation.”
She touched his chest, let the silence of the night slip between them. “Thank you for saving me today.”
Oh. And suddenly her hand on his chest heated through him, and she lifted her face to meet his.
His gaze fell on her lips, slightly parted, a question in her eyes.
The rush of desire crested over him, the night stirring the breezes, the shadows luring him to?—
He put his hand over hers and blew out a breath. Coworkers . And there was too much riding on this job for her for something to go south between them.
Maybe too much for him too, if he was honest. So he slid her hand off, then squeezed and let go. “Please stop trying so hard, Tia. It’ll all work out.”
She gave him a tight smile, but the warmth in her gaze, the question, was replaced by something he couldn’t name. Sadness? Relief?
“So, that was your sister today? Our scuba guide?”
He frowned at her question. “Yeah. She’s a professional guide in Key West. I think Declan met her at my sister’s wedding. Why?”
She shook her head, wearing a sort of wry smile. “No reason.”
Hmm. Then, speaking of diving —“What if we were able to get shipments in without Sebold knowing?”
Life sparked in her expression. “Really?”
“I found something today that might work. I’m going to hike the mountain tomorrow and see if I can find some answers.”
Music spilled out nearby, dinner clearly over, and this time oldies floating in the breeze. Dean Martin, “You’re nobody ’til somebody loves you...” The lyrics reached out, tugged at him, and maybe her too, because she smiled. Nodded. “Okay, partner. I’m in.”
And as he followed her back to the patio, all he heard were his words to Austen. “I’m not a good candidate for happily ever after.”
Maybe not. But somewhere deep inside him nudged the forbidden desire to try.
* * *
Why was this man always a problem? Everywhere Emberly went lately—okay, just three times now, but seriously—Steinbeck Kingston haunted her.
Like a ghost. Or like an old injury that refused to heal.
An old injury that seemed more handsome every time she saw him— sheesh, that tan against his dark hair, those blue eyes?—
Stop.
But what kind of crazy bad luck was it that of all the close-body protection in all the world, the one man who could muck this up was the only man Declan trusted?
Fate. It drove her crazy with it’s terrible retribution.
She smiled, held out her tray of shrimp on cucumbers to another guest, her face turned away from Stein, who stood not far from Declan, looking too spiffed up in his dark suit and sunglasses.
The man didn’t have a hope of blending into the crowd. Not with those shoulders, his somber demeanor, even when he stopped to talk to his brother. And sister.
She remembered them from the wedding. What a small world to see them all here. Not that they’d remember a redheaded server from their youngest sister’s prewedding dinner. Or the woman who’d danced with Stein—yeah, that was a moment she would never forget—at the reception.
It seemed that Stein hadn’t seen her. Because if he had, he’d what—chase her down, demand answers?
Maybe. Or perhaps he’d be trickier, wait until he could get her alone.
What if he’d simply forgotten about her? It could be that she’d never been more than a blip on his radar, a person he’d met during an op that went bad.
So terribly bad it had derailed his entire career. Yeah, trauma might have wiped her right out of his brain. And she needed to keep it that way.
It helped that she’d added contacts and a dark long-haired wig, but frankly, every time her gaze landed on Stein, then moved away, her skin prickled.
She couldn’t see those blue eyes through the shades, but in her heart, her soul, even, she just knew he could see right through her.
On the other hand, everyone else simply didn’t see her, the way they didn’t see the other waitstaff.
She lifted the tray for another person to grab their treat, then moved to the next group. Sometimes this part felt too easy.
She eased away from the door, then set down her tray of grilled-shrimp appetizers and hustled across the living room to the back stairs.
A week of surveillance, including drone coverage and a hunt through the building plans down at Mariposa town hall (no online files for them), had netted her a floor plan and a fairly accurate time-stamped grid of Declan’s security force. Five guys, including Stein. They all lived in a wing of the main floor, in staff quarters, along with a number of housekeepers, local chefs, and a valet. Not a small entourage to keep the place running.
Large enough that she wouldn’t be noticed if they suddenly added to the staff, thank you .
She’d already hacked into the visual-security feed and replaced the shots with still coverage—okay, not her, but?—
“You should be near the back elevator, if you sent me the right specs.” Nim, her sister, waiting patiently in her earpiece.
“Mm-hmm,” Emberly hummed just above a whisper.
“Let me know if the key card doesn’t work.”
Footsteps sounded on the travertine, and she slipped into a nearby bathroom. A chandelier dripped from the ceiling, and a marble countertop held a raised bowl. But it was the image in the mirror that caught her attention.
She looked gaunt. The two-plus months since the accident in Barcelona, the lack of sleep, still weighed in her face. And despite her ten days on the island, she hadn’t seen much of the sun, most of her surveillance happening at night.
More, she still favored her arm, holding it close to her body even now. And if she looked closely, the scrape still showed in the tender skin on her chin.
Nim’s voice interrupted: “You okay?”
“In the bathroom.” She opened the door, peeked out. No one. “Here goes nothing.” Walking up to the elevator, she pulled out the key card she’d stolen via RFID from Declan on the boat. That had been a risk—valeting the scuba equipment to the boat to get close to Declan. Stein had been carrying his own gear and hadn’t even noticed the blonde with the long hair in a baseball cap and sunglasses, wearing the Outriggers Dive Shop T-shirt. She hadn’t stayed long enough for him to put it together, however.
Nim had programmed the chip, and Emberly produced the card, and please, please ?—
The lift arrived and the doors opened.
She got in, hit the button for the bottom floor, and stripped off the server’s dress. Underneath she wore a pair of shorts and a short-sleeve dive shirt, along with a small thigh pack. This shouldn’t take long. She just needed a shot of the keypad, the bio-lock technology. If she was right, it wouldn’t be too different from the secure digital vault in Montelena. That technology used a retinal-identification scanner as well as a thumbprint and the bio code, so this would simply need the current eight-digit code along with the bio key and—mission accomplished. She’d get in, download the AI program that Declan had developed—Axiom—and deliver it to the people who could put the kibosh on his Evil Plans to Destroy the World.
Okay, that might be overstating it, but?—
Silence on the other end. As she descended, the walls thickened, and maybe cell phone reception could be affected. “Nim, you still with me?”
“Stop shouting. Yes.”
She let out a breath. “They must have an extender down here. Cut the feed.” A moment later, the doors opened to a bare room lined with concrete, with reinforced steel walls, a metal door facing the elevator.
Beneath this platform, water ran through an underground cavern, one that led all the way to the sea. And at any attempt to breach the vault, the outside channel door would close and she’d be trapped.
But if she did her work right today, it would be her escape.
She waited a moment.
“Confirmed.”
She stepped out, glancing at the cameras mounted on all four corners and above the door.
“Just get the specs and leave,” said Nim. “I don’t like this.”
Emberly stepped up to the pad and pulled out her camera. “He’s here at the party.”
“No, really?”
“Yes. I thought it might be him the other night when he stepped onto the patio, but I wasn’t sure—too dark. But it’s definitely him.”
“Did he recognize you?”
“I’m here, right? My guess is that if he recognized Phoenix, I’d be in cuffs, maybe in a locked room answering questions, or at least?—”
“He would not hurt you.”
She sent the pictures to Nim. “Coming your way. And maybe, maybe not. Depends on what he remembers.”
“Like the kiss?”
She opened up her scanner app and ran it around the edges of the door, searching for motion detection or infrared tripwires. Nothing. “I was thinking more about what happened after that—as in the explosion.”
“That wasn’t on you.”
“The part where I took his asset and left him is.”
“You had a job to do. Still do. And it’s just as important as his—more, now. You’re not protecting a terrorist inventor trying to destroy the world.”
“No radio frequency here.” She pulled out a waterproof cell-phone case. “Frankly, seeing Declan over the past few days... I don’t know, Nim. He seems... not like the guy the Swans say he is.”
“That’s not your job. Oh no. They found my hack. You need to exfil, right now.”
“How much time?” She glanced at the lift. The light had dinged—someone calling it up.
“One minute—go. Call me when you’re out.” Nim clicked off.
Emberly sealed the case and shoved the phone into the thigh pocket of her swim shorts and pulled out a small tank the size of an energy drink can, fitted with an oxygen mouthpiece.
Then she walked over to the elevator and lowered herself into the open space of the lift chamber. The level below opened right above the mechanicals on the floor of the lift. The right turn of the right key in the lift panel would move the lift to this lower escape chamber.
Declan Stone wasn’t the only millionaire to have installed a secret getaway chamber in his house.
The right conversation with the designer over vermouth and patatas bravas in Barcelona had given her the specs she needed.
She landed on the passageway below, the shadows beyond dark. She knelt for a moment, then pulled out a dive light and flashed it on the secure door.
“Can you open the door with the key card?” She’d leaned over her drink, turning the stir stick, listening to the older man. A week of surveillance and he’d shown up, an easy mark in comparison to Declan.
“Oh no. If the electricity is cut, we need to go old school. Just a key.”
“A key. What kind of key?”
“A simple skeleton key.”
“So, it’s a warded lock?”
He’d seemed pleased with her knowledge. But she’d been filing down the wards in the lock in her mind.
“Yes. But don’t forget the false wards. Or the secondary locks.” He’d winked.
She’d bring her lock kit. And maybe, pray.
Not that she expected any help.
Now, she pulled out a slim, metallic key and worked it into the lock, feeling for the telltale give of the wards aligning, the tumblers falling into place. Behind her, the lift motor hummed.
Faster.
Don’t look.
Down here, the ocean thundered against the cavern walls.
The lock clicked and she heaved open the door. It groaned on its unused hinges. Oops. She’d have to move fast.
Her light cast down steps hewn into the rock and leading down to a cavern, clammy and scented with brine and age.
She closed the door— too hard —and it slammed. Again, oops. But she started down the stairs, pulling out the pin in her oxygen tank.
A half-mile swim to the entrance. She’d already mapped it, already discovered the spillway. Already swum the length of it, all the way to the door, just to make sure it could be navigated.
Did Declan even know that he’d built his house on an ancient smugglers’ river, carved out by the lava tubes that perforated this island?
Probably.
The river fed deeper into the mountain, the darkness consuming. Her mag light brightened the edge of the water, and she affixed the mag onto a Velcro pocket in her shirt.
Above her, the door heaved. What ? —
She turned.
No .
In the gap stood a man, dark suit, staring down into the abyss. He had no flashlight.
She put a hand over hers, cutting off the light.
“I know you’re down there!”
She slipped into the water and doused her light.
Then she took a breath, stuck the mouthpiece in, and sank into the dark. Wan light fell from the opening above, just a dent in the shadow, but as she kicked away, a hand on the lava wall, she spotted him standing on the water’s edge.
Staring down into the darkness.
Her heart thundered, her breath tight as she hugged the wall.
She couldn’t see his face, just his outline, the way his shoulders rose and fell. But she could imagine the tight fists, the clench of his jaw, the fierceness of his blue eyes dissecting the shadows.
And deep in her memory, she heard his voice: “What are you doing to me, Phoenix?”
Oh no. Because in her heart, she knew.
Steinbeck Kingston hadn’t forgotten her. Not at all.
* * *
She’d put way too much hope in Doyle’s idea.
Or maybe Tia had simply put way too much hope in Doyle. Not that he didn’t deserve it.
No, if anyone deserved for her to throw her trust, her hope, directly into his arms, it was Doyle Kingston, who just couldn’t help but show up.
And look good doing it.
He wore a pair of cargo shorts, hiking boots, and a short-sleeve t-shirt with the words Iron Will on it, some dogsledding race he’d attended in Minnesota.
Sometimes she forgot he lived in the same state, probably less than sixty miles from her. Funny that they’d had to travel a thousand miles into the depths of the Caribbean to meet.
Although, she might have never fully appreciated his quick thinking and optimistic demeanor if they hadn’t been here, facing off with trouble. The man had a quiet determination about him, even as he led the way along a trail into the jungle that wound around the base of the volcano. He kept looking back at her, checking on her, but she’d recovered better than she’d expected to from her near-death dive.
In fact, last night, for the first time in a long time, she’d slept without dreaming. No nightmares of Edward or even the ones that lingered, deeper, from further back. Probably because she’d gone to bed thinking of the way Doyle pulled her into his arms on the dance-floor-slash-patio of Declan’s estate during a Dean Martin song. “You’re nobody ’til somebody loves you...” Just one song, but the man had moves.
The kind of moves that had made her put her arms around his neck and, for just a second, wish that he’d act on the look in his eyes.
Unless she’d imagined it.
The dance had ended too soon, and then he’d danced with his sister and some of the other female guests, and maybe he’d smiled at everyone like they were someone special.
The bright sunlight and the early-morning air had put reality back in its place. They were here to do a job, and Doyle had met her in the kitchen with a backpack and a water bottle, along with a map.
They’d headed up along the back of the property to an old hiking trail that should lead them on a short trek around the mountain to where he’d marked an X on the map. Apparently his best guess at the location of the tunnel he’d seen.
Now, ten minutes up the trail, he turned and looked back, huffing a little at the steep climb. “Gorgeous.”
The town of Esperanza lay in a pocket, the houses scattered along the hillside, dropping into the valley, the sea a deep variegated blue stretching out under a gorgeous sky tufted with cotton. The jungle rose around them, dense with coconut palms and royal poinciana with their big red blossoms, and thick mahogany, and fragrant cedar trees, with wild orchids, and hibiscus, and aloe vera plants stirring up a sweet haze of scents. Humidity clung to the air, settled on her bare arms and legs.
But somehow, up here, she could breathe.
Even if a sweat had started to trickle down her spine.
Her gaze went to Hope House, to where the stone monastery sat on the hill, with the old clay-tile roof, the gardens, the wall around the grounds. It looked like something out of a Spanish tour book, with the bell tower rising from the front entrance, the arched doorways in the back leading to the refectory turned medical clinic. Sunlight shone against the rose window in the church that Doyle had repaired and turned into an art gallery.
“There’s so much potential there,” he said quietly. “If we can just figure out how to keep it safe.” He looked at her then, those blue eyes on hers, and she wondered if maybe he meant something else.
“I think this trail leads to the old airport, but the sulfur mine is on the way.” He kept walking.
“I didn’t know there was an airport on this island.”
“Back when it was an enclave for the wealthy. On the other side of the island—near Sebold’s resort—is a village of abandoned, destroyed homes. It took the hit from the hurricane that simply ravaged the town. That’s where most of our kids are from. A few of the wealthier homes also got destroyed.”
His footfalls landed softly on the loamy soil. “My guess is that without the community to support them and with the infrastructure destroyed, the wealthy on the island cut their losses and moved to St. Kitts, just down the sea, so to speak.”
“My family has a home on St. Kitts,” she said, not sure why.
He looked over at her. “Really?”
“Yeah. We don’t visit it often.”
He nodded.
“I know you’re thinking, What is a rich girl like me doing on this island, scrubbing for cash? And the answer is, I would have preferred if you didn’t know I came with money.”
He glanced back at her, eyebrow up. “Why?”
“Because it complicates things. I thought Edward was the only guy who saw me for me because he grew up with our family. Now, I’m not sure, but... it’s just hard for me to trust people when I know they know.... Anyway, apparently you knew all along.”
“I did,” he said. “Although when you first showed up, that was the last thing on my mind.”
“What was the first thing?”
He said nothing.
“Doyle.”
“I don’t want to say.”
Oh. “Because you thought I was bossy.”
Another beat.
“No. Because I thought you were pretty.”
Oh, and her heart thumped.
“ And bossy.”
She laughed. “I might have thought I could whip this place into shape. But it’s starting to feel like it’s trying to whip me into shape.”
They came around a curve in the trail and looked over a cliff, the ocean spitting against the rock, creating thunder, spray.
“Is the tunnel down there?”
“Somewhere, yes. Maybe.”
“What’s your big plan, then? We import our supplies to the tunnel and bring them through the cave?”
“I know it sounds crazy, but yes. Although right now, I don’t see the lava tube.”
“It could be under water. Tide is high. Let’s keep going.”
The wind stirred the ocean breezes, lifted the heat from the morning. The trail widened, the jungle dropping away, giving over to flatter, more rocky land.
“So, this Edward,” Doyle said suddenly. “He was a childhood friend?”
“His mother was our chef. My dad took an interest in him, put him through college. He was at MIT when I was.”
“You were at MIT? Studying what?”
“Economics. I wanted to be a financial adviser and take over my father’s investments.”
“Hence the charity work.” He stopped. They’d come to a rocky hillside, the area cleaned off, the rocks whitened. She turned and spotted Hope House less than a half mile away, down the mountain.
When she turned back, he had pulled binoculars from his pack.
“What are you doing?”
He scanned the horizon, then the cliffs. “I think the opening is below us. But there’s a fire on the other side of the island.” He pointed to a tuft of white-gray smoke curling in the distance. He handed her the binoculars. “It’s near the airport, but a little farther on. Looks like they’re doing construction.”
She found the activity, made out an excavator and a truck.
“It’s not Sebold’s camp—he’s on the east side of the island.”
“I’ll ask Declan about it. Maybe some organization has come in to rebuild the village. There’s our sulfur cave, by the way.” He pointed to a yawning mouth up the hill. A dirt road, now crumbled and jutted with weeds, led to the opening of the cave.
Her gut tightened as they walked up to it. Calm down . But if this worked, she could tell Ethan that no, she wasn’t going to damage the monastery for the sake of the gold. Their conversation from last night stirred inside her. Ethan’s proposal— “I have new technology that can send a laser into the rock and crumble it. We can break through the cave-in and...”
And that’s when she’d held up her hand, suddenly seeing the destruction of their entire refuge. “You can’t be serious. You don’t know what unsettling that rock could do ? —”
“Some things are more important ? —”
And right then, she’d gotten up, unable to listen to more.
Seeing her own desperate actions in his words.
Now, as she came up to the cave entrance, the stench of rotten egg seeped out from the dark opening. “You want to go in there?”
Doyle pulled off his backpack and opened it. Handed her a headlamp and took one for himself. “We’ll be fine.”
She fitted on the headlamp. “I don’t love small places.” In fact, her heart had lodged in her throat. She could do this. Really.
“If my guess is correct, they’ve widened this enough for workers and even a car to pass through.”
Indeed, as she neared, the opening seemed wide enough for their Ford, and as they ventured into the mine— he might have thought to bring nose plugs —the space turned cavernous. They walked into a large area carved out, maybe for delivery purposes, and from it led five different tunnels.
“Which one, Magellan?”
He glanced at her, grinned, gave a small chuckle.
It thrummed under her skin, into her bones. Okay, calm down . She was in good hands.
“I think this one feels most logical.” He pointed to the tunnel nearest the ocean and held out his hand.
Oh. Okay then. She grabbed it and let him lead her down the tunnel, the ground uneven beneath her KEENs. Crystalline sulfur, bright yellow under her beam, covered the ground. The toxic rotten-egg smell seemed to grow thicker, and she put her hand to her nose.
“I know. Usually miners wore masks. And most of this was chipped out by hand.”
“You’re a sulfur-mine expert?”
“Did some late-night reading.” Their headlamps hit on the walls, which were wet and bleeding with amber. They passed an old, rusty metal mine cart set into an alcove.
“This mine was owned by the largest landowner and merchant on the island—way back in 1865. There are actually three mines in this mountain, and a pit nearly a thousand feet deep in which they found sulfur.”
“Please let this tunnel not end at that pit.”
He laughed. “I think, given my study of the map, the pit is farther north. But there are miles and miles of tunnels, some of them natural, others man-made. It was mined for nearly a hundred years. The mine rights were separated and passed down to family members over the years and finally were sold to the city of Esperanza in 1964. It’s been virtually abandoned since then. There, look—stairs.”
His light fell on a set of steps cut into the rock. She turned, looked back, but couldn’t see the great room. Breathe. You’re fine.
She braced her hand on the wall as they descended, her other hand on his shoulder.
“Smell that? It’s the ocean.”
Indeed, the sulfur scent seemed to dissipate, and they finally landed on even ground. Here the tunnel had closed in, but they could still stand, the walls eight feet wide, maybe ten feet tall. And light emerged from up ahead.
Still, she gripped Doyle’s hand as they ventured toward the light. The mouth of the tunnel opened to a view of the sea. She stepped up to the edge.
It dropped some fifty feet down to a ledge that protruded into the water.
“It’s the tunnel,” Doyle said, pointing to the lava rock. “I’d hoped that it connected to the mountain. But it does look like they used this for offloading sulfur.” He pointed to a cable that extended to the bottom. “Maybe this was a lift of sorts.”
“The tide has gone down—you can see the tide line.” She pointed to a protruding rock thirty feet from the cliff. “When the tide was in, ships could reach the top of the tunnel and pick up the sulfur supply.”
“Easier than hiking it down to the village.”
“Maybe, but it seems this way is harder. And that cable looks early 1900s.” Rusty and fraying, part of it grew into the rock, secured by vines and brush.
He sighed. “So maybe this won’t work.”
There was so much disappointment on his face, she wanted to disagree. In fact, “What if this isn’t the only outlet? We haven’t checked the other tunnels.” Aw, why did she say that? Because now he smiled, and shoot, she’d sealed her fate.
He took her hand again until they got to the stairs, then they climbed back up, out to the cavern area. He gestured to the next tunnel. “What do you think?”
“I think someone’s following us.” She pointed into the yellow mist. Tire tracks—bicycle tracks. They led to the tunnel near the entrance...
Maybe leading back to Hope House.
Wait...
“I’ll bet it’s Ethan. He’s found the sulfur mine and is trying to find the gold.”
Doyle looked down at her, frowning. “What?”
“Long story. C’mon.”
She headed toward the opening, her gut roiling. “He wanted to blast open the cave-in under the monastery, where he thinks the treasure is buried. I told him no?—”
“Good for you.”
“Except, clearly he’s found another way in.” She ducked, this tunnel not as developed but still carved out, the walls six feet wide, and under her feet, tire marks.
It twisted south, descending gradually, the walls weeping, the darkness fighting the light.
“You think this tunnel goes all the way back to Hope House?” Doyle walked behind her, ducking now and again. The sulfur smell thickened, and she tucked her nose into the top of her shirt.
“I’m not sure this is safe,” said Doyle. “Sulfur is toxic—I didn’t realize how thick it would be until now. I think we need masks. And there are probably still pockets of gases. It could be flammable?—”
A rumble deep inside the body of the volcano, as if it might be snoring, or rousing from slumber. The walls shivered, and amber dust fell, sifting into the air.
Doyle reached out and grabbed her, pulled her back, leaning over her as if protecting her from the falling dust.
In a moment, it subsided, and he let her go. But he turned her, shaking his head. “This is dangerous.”
“We need to stop him?—”
“Yes. But not by being buried with him.”
Yes, Doyle was right. She nodded.
Then the mountain shook again, this time with a grumble that echoed through the chambers.
Doyle grabbed her hand and shouted, “Run!”