LITMIR.BIZ

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      Feeling defeated, Kira grabbed her glass of water and took a stroll along the beach. She saw more guards positioned at the dock. Though they appeared to be resting, she knew they were watching her.

      Kira continued onward, down the leeward side of the island away from the public beach, so frustrated she wanted to scream.

      Petit St. Marc was a beautiful prison, a verdant green rainforest surrounded by white sand. The turquoise sea rolled in an endless expanse toward the horizon, broken only by a passing ship that was soon out of sight. She walked around the spit of land that jutted into the froth of water and stepped into a protected cay.

      She caught a glimpse of a guard patrolling the beach before he disappeared around an outcropping. Closer to her, a Carib boy stood on the crescent of sand, staring out to sea. Kira followed his gaze.

      Not far offshore she spotted a sleek kayak, slicing through the water with apparent ease. And far out in the water she spied the unmistakable green of trees. Another island?

      Of course. The kayak must have come from there.

      A daring plan teased her mind as she stood in the protection of the rocks while the mariner rowed toward the shore. Just before the lime-green kayak reached the beach the young Carib bounded out and pulled the shallow boat the rest of the way onto the sand.

      The two boys ran up the track and disappeared into the forest. Her gaze flitted from the kayak to the other island. There’d be a telephone there—one that was not guarded.

      If she left immediately she could ring her solicitor and be back on the island before anyone missed her. She’d know what Claude had found out in her absence. But she’d have to journey there in the kayak first.

      Her stomach knotted at the thought of riding such a distance in a small watercraft. Her terror of small boats tended to paralyze her with fear. But this was her best chance to speak at length with her solicitor.

      With Claude’s aid she could get to the bottom of this deception. But first she had to overcome her phobia.

      She closed her eyes, trembling from head to toe, her stomach tossing like a storm-tossed sea. Dark memories of the boating accident darted from their shadows to taunt her. The pitch of the boat on Lake Mead. Her mother’s squeal of laughter as her newest lover drove the speedboat at a reckless speed. The sharp turn that had pitched Kira from the boat. The suffocating water that had rushed over her head, the numbing cold, the blackness that had seemed eternal.

      Kira opened her eyes on a gasp, the wedge of green lying before her a blur through her tears. She couldn’t do it. Her fear was too great.

      Yet even as she admitted it she knew she had to try.

      Kira darted an uncertain glance at the forest. The boys had yet to return. Nobody else was around. This was her chance to slip away. Now.

      Her stomach quivered and her knees trembled as she inched toward the kayak. One step. Two.

      She had to think of her child. Of convincing André she wasn’t the conniving tart he believed her to be. This was the only way.

      Yet even as she maneuvered the light vessel around and jumped in, she wondered if she could trust her solicitor with this request.

      What if he was the one who’d set her up for this fall? Kira wondered as she put to sea. Who could she trust? Nobody.

      André, her heart whispered.

      No! It was too soon to trust him. She concentrated on rowing the kayak.

      The first swell propelled the craft high on a wave and dropped it. Terror coursed through her in electrifying ripples. Her hands tightened so on the rounded handle of the paddle, fighting the waves that threatened to force her back to Petit St. Marc.

      A young boy had managed it. Surely she could as well?

      Kira focused on making the paddle work for her instead of against her. But reading about kayaking and doing it were two different things, further complicated by her numbing fear of sitting so low on the sea.

      The salt spray stung her skin. The strong lap of the waves against the fiberglass kayak kept her on edge.

      She dipped the paddle in the turquoise brine and thought of the men in her life. The promises made. Broken. The love she’d hoped to find that remained elusive.

      The soul-searing passion she’d shared with just one man. André. The precious baby they’d created.

      The past month she’d thought of coming back to him. Having lived her life embroiled in secrets, she’d grown to despise them. And now that he’d brought her back she was cloaked in more secrets that could destroy their future.

      She kept her gaze trained on the island ahead. It still seemed small and remote. How long would it take to get there?

      Hopefully not long. She needed to be back on Petit St. Marc when André returned.

      Kira longed to give her weary arms a rest from rowing, but the sudden change in the wind was whipping her off course. It took all her strength to keep the kayak headed toward her destination.

      She glanced back at Petit St. Marc. Though she was far from the island, it still loomed large and mysterious, much like its owner.

      Her stomach rolled like the sea, growing angrier by the second. So did the wall of clouds hunkering on the horizon, stretching high and ominous in a blue sky that was quickly growing black.

      A storm was approaching fast. Being out on the water in the small kayak doused her in renewed fear.

      She’d made a mistake setting to sea. The clouds boiled into a tower that looked more ominous than André’s temper. She’d never make it to shore before the squall broke.

      As if in agreement, a gust of wind hit her, lifting the kayak and sending it shooting a good ten feet in the wrong direction. Panic squeezed a scream from her. She shook so badly her knees knocked against the fiberglass hull of the craft.

      The swell crashed over her, drenching her to the skin. Then again as it tossed the kayak further off course.

      Kira forced her weary arms to work the paddle, slicing in the choppy water. Again and again. Fighting against the storm and her choking panic, knowing if she gave up she would die.

      She was close enough to see details of the island’s shoreline. Her heart sank and new fear exploded within her.

      The island was minuscule compared to Petit St. Marc—a heavily wooded dome that crashed into the sea, leaving a shoreline littered with treacherous rocks.

      Her arms shook so badly with fear and exhaustion she could barely row. But she couldn’t stop. She couldn’t put ashore here.

      It was too dangerous. She had to push on.

      Surely she’d find a village on the other side?

      Lightning streaked overhead and she jumped, nearly dropping the paddle. Her heart pounded so hard she grew light-headed.

      Kira tried to skirt the side of the island. Her arms ached, her shoulders burned, and her stomach lurched with dread. But it was her mind that taunted her the most, chiding her for making a mistake that could kill herself and her child.

      The sky opened. Rain pelted her, blinded her. Her clothes molded to her. Her long hair was plastered to her face and back. Water filled the small kayak.

      Still she fought the paddle, fought the swell of the waves, fought her panic. She couldn’t stop, couldn’t rest until she got past the last cluster of jagged rocks that had turned black and sinister in the deluge.

      The whine of a high-powered engine sliced through the rumble of a storm. Someone else was out in this weather. Coming closer. Perhaps the Carib boy’s father? Perhaps someone who could help her?

      She whimpered with exhaustion and darted past the last outcropping, knowing to stop would send the kayak crashing into the rocks. But her strength was deserting her.

      The

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