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“Carrothers here.”
“Dad?” Nikki said, her voice husky. Tears pressed hot behind her eyelids, and relief flooded through her. She felt like she might break down and sob.
“Hey, Nik, I wondered if I’d hear from you.”
“Oh, Dad.” She couldn’t keep her voice from cracking.
“Is something wrong, honey?”
“No, no, I’m fine,” she assured him, shooting Trent a grateful glance. “But I did have an accident....” She told him everything she could remember or had been told of her trip, leaving out her amnesia so that her father wouldn’t worry. As she talked, bringing up the fact that Trent McKenzie had been the man who had rescued her, she let her gaze follow Trent, who, whether to give her some privacy or to get some air, left her and walked onto the veranda. The wind had kicked up, lifting his dark hair from his face and billowing his jacket away from his lean body.
“Nikki! You could have been killed!” her father exclaimed, all sounds of sleep gone from his voice.
“But I wasn’t.”
“Thank God. I knew going to Salvaje was a bad idea. I tried to warn you not to go.”
“You did?”
“Don’t you remember? I thought that was why you hadn’t called, because you were still angry with me for trying to talk you out of the trip.”
Now wasn’t the time to mention her loss of memory. “Well, things worked out. And I got married to Trent.”
“You what?” He swore under his breath. “But I’ve never heard you mention him. Nikki, is this some kind of joke? You could give me a heart attack—”
“It’s no joke, Dad. I’m really married.” At least, that’s what everyone tells me. She heard his swift intake of breath. “It...it was a quick decision,” she said, giving him the same spotty information she’d gleaned from Trent.
“To a guy named Trent McKenzie. A man I’ve never even heard of?” Here it comes—the lecture, she thought. “Holy Mary! I can’t believe it. What about Dave?”
“Dave?” A lock clicked open her mind.
“Dave Neumann. You know, the man you’ve been dating for about three years. I know you two had a spat and that you said it was over, but hell, Nikki, that was barely six months ago. Now you’ve gone and eloped with this...this stranger?” Anger, disapproval and astonishment radiated over the phone. “I know you’ve always been impulsive, but I gotta tell you, this takes the cake!”
“You’ll meet him as soon as we get home,” Nikki assured her father, though her stomach was tying itself into painful little knots.
“I’d damned well better. You know, Nikki, for the first eighteen years of your life I got you out of scrape after scrape—either with the law or school or your friends or whatever—but ever since you turned into an adult, you’ve been on this independence kick and nothing I tell you seems to sink in. I warned you not to go to Salvaje, didn’t I? I knew that it would be trouble. Maybe if you’d told me you were going on your honeymoon, or at the very least confided that you’d found a man you were going to marry, things would have turned out differently and you wouldn’t have ended up in some run-down, two-bit hospital!”
She felt her back stiffen involuntarily. “How would your knowing change anything?”
“Hell, I don’t know. But you’ve gotten so damned bullheaded and secretive! Lord, why would you try to hide the fact that you were getting married, unless you were ashamed of the guy?”
“It...it just seemed more romantic,” she said, trying to come up with a plausible excuse.
“Romantic, my eye. Since when have you, the investigative reporter, the champion of the underdog, the girl who fought every damned liberal crusade, been romantic? Don’t tell me he’s one of those long-haired left-wing idiots who chains himself to nuclear reactors or sets spikes in old-growth timber to keep loggers from cutting the stuff.”
“I don’t think so, Dad,” Nikki said, smiling to herself as she watched Trent lean against the railing, his broad shoulders straining the seams of his jacket. She couldn’t imagine him in a protest march.
“Good.” He sounded a little less wounded, as if the news had finally sunk in. “I just don’t understand why you didn’t bring up his name or have the guts to introduce me to him.”
“It’s...it’s complicated. I’ll explain everything when I get back.”
There was a slight hesitation on the other end of the line, then a quiet swearword muttered under her father’s breath. “There isn’t something more I should know, is there?”
She felt sweat collect between her shoulder blades.
“I mean, if there was a...problem...you’d come to me, wouldn’t you?”
She bit down on her lip. What was he saying?
“If you’re in any kind of trouble...”
Oh, Dad, if you only knew.
“These days you don’t have to get married. There are all sorts of options....” His voice trailed off, and she realized what he was implying.
“I’m not pregnant, Dad.”
A sigh of relief escaped him. “Well, I guess we can thank God for small favors.”
“I’ll call when I get home.”
“You’d better. Now, wait a minute. Let me get my calendar. Where is the damned thing?” he asked himself, his voice suddenly muffled. “Okay, here we go. So when will you be back home? I’m supposed to take off for Tokyo next week.”
“We’ll be back as soon as we can catch a flight. There’s a problem with the airline we flew on.”
“I read about it. But there are other flights. Try and make it home before I leave.”
“I will,” she promised. They talked a few minutes more and she finally hung up feeling more desperate than ever. She had wanted to confide in her father, tell him that she wasn’t sure of her past, couldn’t remember the man who’d become her self-appointed guardian—her husband for God’s sake—and yet she’d held her tongue. She was an adult now and responsible for herself, and she realized that the animosity she’d felt over the phone only scratched the surface of the rifts in her family.
Slowly, she pushed herself up from the bed and made her way to the veranda. The breeze, warm and smelling of the sea, lifted her hair and brushed against her bruised face. Thick vines crawled up the whitewashed walls of the hotel and fragrant blossoms moved with the wind. Poised on a hillside, the hotel offered a commanding view of the island. From the veranda, Nikki looked over red roofs and lush foliage toward the bay. Fishing vessels and pleasure craft dotted the horizon, and as she cast a glance northward, she saw the sharp cliffs rising from the ocean, the rugged terrain that wound upward to the highest point on Salvaje and the crumbling white walls of the mission tower.
Her heart seemed to stop for a minute and her teeth dug into her lower lip. Fear, like a black, faceless monster, curled her soul in its clawlike grasp, and suddenly she could barely breathe. She held on to the rail in a death grip and her knees threatened to buckle.
Trent had slid a pair of aviator glasses over his eyes and his expression was guarded. “Memory flash?” he asked, his jaw tense.
She shook her head. “Not really.”
“Your father shake you up?”
She snorted and blinked against a sudden wash of tears. “A little. He’s not too keen on the fact that he didn’t meet you.”
“He’ll get over it.”
“I wonder,” she said. Leaning forward on her elbows, she ignored the cliffs and forced her gaze to the sea, where sunlight glittered against the smooth waves.
“Look. I know you don’t remember me or trust me. That’s all right. I can be incredibly patient when I have to be.” That much she believed. Like a tiger stalking prey, Trent McKenzie knew when to wait and when to strike. That particular thought wasn’t the least bit comforting. His lips grew into a deep line. “But I want you to know that I’ll keep you safe.”
She wanted to believe him. Oh, God, if only she could trust him, but she remembered the girl in the hospital, Mrs. Martínez’s friend, and once again she doubted him. Her gaze flew to his and she trembled slightly. “I think I was the kind of person who took care of herself.”
A cynical smile slashed his jaw. “Then I’ll help.”
Her heart cracked a little, and she noticed the handsome lines of his face disguised by the scruffy beard and dark glasses. It would be too easy to fall for him, to trust him because she didn’t have much of a choice. But she was still her own woman, and though she’d grown to depend on him, she had to trust her own instincts, make up her own mind. “My father mentioned that I was going to Salvaje. I’d told him. But I hadn’t mentioned you.”
“Your choice.”
“Why wouldn’t I tell him?”
“Because you were afraid he might try and talk you out of it,” Trent said simply, turning his face to the horizon again. “You and your dad don’t always get along, Nikki, and he didn’t like you taking off to some small island so far from what he considers civilization.”
“So I snuck behind his back?” she asked, disbelieving.
“You just didn’t mention me.”
“Why not?”
He snorted and his eyes turned frigid as he assessed her. “Because you were afraid he wouldn’t approve of me.” He leaned an insolent hip against the rail and crossed his arms over his chest. “From what little I know of your old man, you were probably right. Ted Carrothers would probably hate me on sight.”
“Why is that?”
“Because he had someone else picked out for you.”
“Dave,” she said, without thinking.
“That’s right.” The corners of his mouth pinched in irritation and he shoved his sleeves over his elbows. “Remember him?” She shook her head, and he grinned that wicked smile. “Well, he was a real Joe College type. Big, blond, shoes always polished. Went to Washington State on a football scholarship and graduated at the top of his class. Ended up going to law school and joined a firm that specializes in corporate taxes. Drives a BMW and works out at the most prestigious athletic club in the city.”
“This was a guy I dated?”
“The guy you planned to marry,” he corrected.
“You know him?”
“I know of him.”
Was it her imagination or did he flinch a little?
“How?”
“I checked him out,” he said with more than a trace of irritation.
“When?”
“Before we left Seattle.”
She wanted to argue with him, but there was something in his cocksure manner that convinced her he had his facts straight, that she had, indeed, been the fiancée of the man he described. “I assume you know why we broke up?”
He lifted a shoulder. “He was too conventional for you. Your dad loved him. Even your mother thought he was a great catch, but he wanted you to give up your career and concentrate on his. You weren’t ready for that.”
“Thank God,” she whispered, then, realizing how that sounded, quickly shut her mouth. But it was too late. Trent’s eyes gleamed devilishly, and Nikki was left with the distinct impression that he’d been conning her.
She plucked a purple bloom from the bougainvillea and twirled the blossom in her fingers. Could she trust Trent? Probably not. Was he lying to her? No doubt. But what choice did she have?
He slapped the peeling wrought iron as if he’d finally made an important decision. “I’ve got to go out for a while. Check things at the airport. You want to come?”
She shook her head. “I’d like to clean up, I think.”
“Just keep the door locked behind me.”
“Afraid I might run off?” she asked, unable to hide the sarcasm in her words.
He glanced at her still-swollen ankle. “Run off? No. But hobble off—well, maybe. Though even at that I don’t think you’d get far. Besides, there’s really nowhere to run on this island.”
Her temperature dropped several degrees at the realization that she was trapped. Her mouth suddenly turned to dust.
Trent cocked his head toward the French doors. “Come on, I’ll help you into the bathroom.”
“I can manage,” she said stiffly, and to prove her point, she stepped unevenly off the veranda, walked into the bathroom and locked the door firmly behind her. Wasting no time, she turned on the taps of the tub and began stripping. As steam began to rise from the warm water, she glanced in the mirror, scowled at her reflection and noticed the greenish tinge to the bruises on her rump and back. The scabs were working themselves off, but beneath her skin, blood had pooled at the bottom of her foot and ankle. “Miss America you’re not, Carrothers,” she told herself, then stopped when she realized her name was now Mc-Kenzie.
“Nikki McKenzie. Nicole McKenzie. Nicole Louise Carrothers McKenzie.” The name just didn’t roll easily off her tongue. She settled into the tub and let the warm water soothe her aching muscles. As best she could, she washed her hair and body, then let the water turn tepid before she climbed out of the tub and rubbed a towel carefully over her skin and hair.
Wrapping the thick terry cloth around her torso, she walked into the bedroom, but stopped short when she found Trent lying on his side of the bed, boots kicked off, ankles crossed, eyes trained on the door.
His eyelids were at half-mast and his gaze was more than interested as it climbed from her feet, past her knees, up her front and finally rested on her face.
“I—I thought you’d left,” she sputtered, clasping the towel as tightly as if she were a virgin with a stranger.
“I decided to wait.”
“Why?”
“It didn’t make sense to leave you alone in the bathroom where you could slip and hit your head, or worse.”
“I’m not an invalid!”
“I didn’t say you were.”
“And I don’t need a keeper.”
He let that one slide. “I just wanted to be handy in case you got into any trouble.”
“The only trouble I’ve gotten into is you,” she said, willing her feet to propel her toward the bureau where she snatched clean panties, bra, shorts and T-shirt from one of the drawers. It crossed her mind that he’d unpacked her clothes, touched her most intimate pieces of apparel, but she ignored the stain of embarrassment that crawled steadily up her neck. After all, if she could believe him, they’d been intimate—made love eagerly. So who cared about the damned underwear?
She started for the bathroom. “Don’t leave on my account,” he remarked, and when she turned to face him, her wet hair whipping across her face, she saw a glimmer of amusement in his cobalt eyes, as if he enjoyed her discomfiture.
“You mean I should just let the towel fall and dress at my leisure?”
“Great idea.” He stacked his hands behind his head and watched her. Waiting. Like a lion waits patiently for the gazelle to ignore the warning in the air and begin grazing peacefully again.
Just to wipe the smirk off his face she wanted to let go of the damned towel, stand in front of him stark naked and call his bluff. Would he continue to tease her, playing word games, or would he avert his eyes, or, worse yet, would he, as he’d implied earlier, be unable to control himself and sweep her into his arms and carry her to the bed? How would she respond? With heart-melting passion? Oh, for crying out loud!
