He dialed Hector’s number.
“Where are you?” Hector said.
“Near the lagoon. Skimmer’s docked here. Are you still at the house?”
“Yes. Silvio is working to get the generator up. The thing is ancient.” He paused. “You won’t find Garza’s man if he doesn’t want to be found. He’s too well trained for that. Come here, I have a weapon. I can protect you.” There was a definite strain in his voice.
Hector could protect him? It felt strange, stacked against all the years Reuben had struggled to shield his brother from his wrong choices. Strange, and comforting that Hector would risk his own life for his older brother, in spite of their past. “I’m the target. Better off not drawing him there.”
“He won’t know that you’re playing the hero. He’d think you’d have the good sense to hunker down inside. Think it through. He’s coming here anyway, sooner or later.”
Yes, he would be. On the island there were very few places to search. The main building, the boathouse on the far side of the island, a half-ruined lighthouse. His stomach constricted. And the bungalows.
He’d made an error sending Antonia out there on her own. He prayed it wasn’t a fatal one.
“I’m going to get Antonia. I’ll bring her there.”
Hector sighed. “Don’t do it. She is your enemy, brother.”
He didn’t reply. After stowing his cell phone, he sprinted up the path that curved away from the lagoon, slipping on the wet gravel. He’d seen tourists jogging on this path and considered it ridiculous. His own job tending the oranges was exhausting physically and mentally. The last thing he’d want to do on vacation was exercise, but it was not the laborers like himself who came to Isla. They were wealthy people who liked to experience roughing it without sacrificing too many luxuries, people like Frank Garza, who ran an empire using a cell phone and probably never left his comfortable chair.
He gritted his teeth. Garza would steal Isla over his dead body.
Just what Garza intended.
His mind followed their reasoning. Break Reuben, and the island would be passed to Hector, who was in no position to argue because he knew what they would do next.
Find Mia. Or Gracie.
Thinking about his niece with her wide grin and big belly chuckle warmed a spot deep inside. “Uncle Booben,” she called him and it reduced him to jelly every time. If that little girl asked for a slice of the moon, he’d build a rocket ship to try and get it for her. Maybe someday Antonia could see how much both he and his brother loved Gracie, how much her absence was hurting them.
He sprinted up over the path and down into the hollow that served as some protection for the bungalow. There was no sign of life from the little place, but then, he assured himself, there shouldn’t be. The hurricane shutters would make it hard to see any….
Shock reverberated through his body.
The clouds played strange shadows over the tiny front porch. His eyes playing tricks?
No. The door of the bungalow was open, banging in the wind, rain blowing in through the opening.
Reuben felt as if his feet were rooted into the mucky ground. He forced them to move slowly forward until he crept to the front porch, loosening his knife from its sheath. Rain collected in his hair and slithered down the back of his neck, cold, intrusive.
He did not let his brain play out the scenario. If Garza’s man had found her…she would have fought. Two summers before, she and Mia were shopping in Miami when Mia’s purse was snatched. Her arm was caught in the strap and she went down. He came to find out later that Antonia had chased the man for six blocks and even tripped him once before he got away.
That was the Antonia that Garza’s guy would have found.
She would have fought.
But she wouldn’t have won.
Not against a mobster.
He wedged his foot against the door and listened. Not a sound came from inside. Knife ready, he sprang through the doorway into the darkened room. No movement, nothing but shadows that confused his senses and made his nerves twitch. He fumbled for the shelf where he knew the lantern was kept and switched it to life.
The tiny place was neat and tidy, no sign of disturbance except for the coverlet, which was flipped askew. A quick look revealed that no one was under the bed. He trained the light downward to the pine floor. A trail of wet patches marked out the passage of wet feet. Man or woman’s he couldn’t tell. The footprints led to the closet.
Heart thudding, he followed.
Antonia would have hidden in the shelter like he’d told her. There was only one bolt to fasten the hatch from underneath. Easy to kick through. Once inside, there was no exit. She’d trapped herself at his direction.
To his surprise, the hatch was not bolted, nor did it show signs that someone had tried to force it from the outside. He found himself mumbling desperate prayers as he pulled it open.
Something sparkled at him, something dark and viscous, pooling on the floor under the lantern light.
SIX
Antonia held the edges of the wound together to try to stop the bleeding. Her breath came in rasping gasps. There was no pain, not yet, only the sick, strong feeling of terror as she pressed herself against the rough bark of a tree. Rain blurred her vision, and the sudden movement on the porch made her realize someone else was there. She did not recognize the figure until he stumbled out, scanning wildly in all directions.
She scrambled from her hiding place and ran to Reuben.
His face went slack with surprise, and then myriad emotions that were too swift for her to track flitted across his face. Instead of speaking, he sheathed his knife and clutched her to his chest. She felt the mad hammering of his heart. For one inexplicable moment she savored his embrace and breathed in the scent of him.
“I saw blood,” he gasped in her ear. “I thought it was yours.”
She wriggled loose, sucking in a breath, and held up her hand. “It was.”
His face hardened. “Tell me what happened.”
She wished he would not look at her face with such laser intensity as she told him. “I heard someone talking, on a radio maybe or a cell phone. I knew it wasn’t you because the voice was higher pitched. After a while, he tried the door handle, which didn’t open, but he must have had a lock pick because it did after a few minutes.” Fear circled her mind again as she recounted it. “I had only enough time to open the closet and prop open the trapdoor to the shelter before I hid under the bed. When the guy came in, I hit him with a lamp, which is how I cut myself. Then I ran.”
Reuben seemed to be in the grip of alternating emotions ranging from amusement to horror. “Nee,” he said. “Did it occur to you that you might be doing something dangerous? He could have killed you.”
“Not with a lamp crashed over his head. I figured it would give me time to get away.”
He took a deep breath. “And so it did.”
“I hid in the bushes until he came out just a few minutes before you arrived. He talked on the phone again and headed off.”
“Toward the main house?”
“No. That way.” She pointed toward the far side of the island.
Reuben frowned. “What did he look like, this guy?”
“I only saw him from the back, but he had a slight build and longish hair, I think, down to his shoulders.” She broke off. “You look like you know who I’m talking about.”
Reuben sighed. “I wish I didn’t. His name is Leland. He works for Garza. Some say he’s the next in line to run the empire. I think he’s the one who came here on the skimmer. Garza wants Isla, so he sent Leland to convince me to sign it over…or kill me if I won’t.”
Razor-edged fear kicked up inside her. “But this is not the Dark Ages, Reuben. There are laws, even if…even if he did succeed in killing you, he can’t just take Isla for himself.”
“No, Hector will inherit, and Garza will go after him.”
“Hector got himself into that mess,” she snapped. �
�He was Garza’s competitor and now he’s brought all this trouble to you. He can take care of himself, as far as I’m concerned.”
Reuben turned on her, his eyes glowing with anger. “That’s not how it works. They go after everyone. That’s why you’re not safe here, either. Hector refused to pressure me, and Garza knew the best way to get Isla is to come after me and the property will pass to my brother.”
“And then I suppose Hector will just hand it over? Why?” she demanded. “For a hefty slice of the pie? Because he’s a mobster even though you refuse to see it.”
Reuben looked at the building wall of storm hanging low over the ocean. “Because he’ll have no choice.”
“Of course he…” The truth struck her silent for a moment. “Gracie,” she whispered. “They’ll find Gracie.” She turned her face to the storm, willing the rippling wind to wash the realization away, but it would not go. Gracie, sweet Gracie caught in the middle. The Sandoval family had sown the seeds of violence for so long and now they had taken root, growing and feeding on greed and power until it threatened to strangle a sweet little girl. Her heart constricted.
“Come on.” Reuben took her good hand and guided her along the path. “Let’s get you to the house.”
She stopped. “And then you’re going after Leland. That’s a ridiculous idea, Reuben, and you know it.”
“I’m not looking to be a hero. I’m going to keep trying the police. Now that we have a name, maybe they’ll take it more seriously.”
“You can do that from the house.”
“I need to know his plans.” Reuben shifted. “We’re more than likely on our own for days. We’ll need some information if we’re going to survive that long.”
Antonia tried to catch the strands of hair that whipped at her face, but her wounded hand made it too difficult. “It’s a bad plan.”
“This from the lamp-crashing girl.”
She allowed him a smile.
“It’s the only idea I can come up with. As you said, I grow oranges for a living. I don’t get much opportunity to practice my cloak-and-dagger routine.” His expression softened for the briefest of moments. “I’ll call again after I make it to the Anchor and see if he’s alone.”
“I’m coming.”
“No. It’s safest in the main house. Silvio will know how to secure the place and Hector…”
“Hector?” Her body stiffened.
He nodded wearily. “I know you hate him, but he can protect you, at least until the police get here or the storm passes, whichever comes first.”
“I’ll stay with you.”
His eyes flared. “You’ll slow me down,” he said, an edge in his voice. “You’re hurt.”
She grabbed an edge of the pink T-shirt and ripped off a strip with which she bound her hand, using her teeth to hold the length of the makeshift bandage. “Good to go. Let’s get on with it.”
His chin went up, rain speckling his forehead. “Antonia, would you listen to reason? Leland is here to hurt or kill me, and standing next to me is the wrong place to be, don’t you understand that? You can’t help me. You can’t make me any safer by forcing yourself into this.”
“I’m not helping you. I’m in it because of Gracie. I have to look out for her and my sister, thanks to the Sandovals.” She fueled the words with all the darkness that had lived inside her for far too long. They were barbed with anger and tipped with pain, and they found their mark. She saw it in his face, and for the tiniest moment, she felt shame. “Reuben…” she started, but he had already turned and pushed into the undulating waves of nut grass. She heard him talking into his cell phone, relaying to Silvio all that had happened.
“He’ll come there. Soon,” Reuben said by way of signing off.
Soon.
She zipped her jacket further against the chill that swept through her body.
*
Reuben tried to rein in his emotions as he shouldered away the wet branches that hung low over the path to the Anchor. He was breathing hard. Antonia’s words echoing through his mind. It seemed she was right. They had landed squarely in the middle of this mess because Garza both wanted Isla and hated his brother. Their rancor went deep and wide, circling back to the time some years before when Hector took up their father’s mantle and expanded the business, making himself Garza’s direct competitor. He might as well have painted a target on his own chest.
One evening, long before Hector met Mia, Reuben had arrived to visit their ailing father, a man who no longer even recognized his sons, and found Hector beaten, lying on the patio, his blood dribbling in rivulets into the chlorinated water. If timing had been otherwise, Hector would have bled to death. God spared his brother’s life, and Hector quit the business.
It had taken nearly dying to make him give it up, this lifestyle that awakened a craving in Hector just as strong as the lust for cocaine that fueled the enormous drug trade. It was not the money, the expensive boats and homes. It was the power. Potent and heady, it gripped Hector so strongly it took nearly dying to free him from it. The beating knocked more sense into him than any of Reuben’s arguments and downright begging had. And it opened up a new life with room for love and family, the kind he’d found with Mia. God answered Reuben’s prayers, and Hector’s, too.
Until it all went wrong.
He hadn’t noticed anything severe at first—mild depression in his brother, a heightened anxiety maybe. Reuben knew it was in part the difficulty of being purposeless, being unable to find a legitimate business that kept his attention. Hector held to the notion that a man’s job was to pay bills and maintain the family, and though Hector had plenty of money, he did not have power or purpose anymore, and it rankled him.
They kept to the path both Reuben and Antonia knew well. It rose in a looping irregular fashion along a route that sloped upward. It would take them to the side of the island where the land met the wide Atlantic, rather than the much quieter stretch that enjoyed protection, sandwiched as it was between Isla and the mainland. It wasn’t the most direct route to the lighthouse, but the heavy screen of oak and red bay trees would keep them hidden from Leland, he hoped.
Antonia kept pace behind him. “Is it possible Leland left?” she called. “He doesn’t have the element of surprise anymore.”
Reuben ducked under a dripping branch, holding it aside for her. “Skimmer’s still here. Leland is, too. He’s probably got a really bad headache now, though.”
She laughed and it thrilled something inside him.
“He deserved a lamp over the head, don’t you think?”
“At least.”
They emerged from the wood and began a quicker descent down a sandy path. The going was treacherous. Enormous puddles covered the narrow trail, leaving them to slog through as best they could. Antonia lost her sandal in the muck until she was able to fish it out. Reuben felt more acutely the power of the approaching storm, the naked vulnerability of this exposed island. Or perhaps it was their own vulnerability that pricked him.
Something was not right.
Leland had not made much of an effort to pursue Antonia after she bashed him.
Bigger fish to fry, Reuben thought. You’re the primary target, remember?
Still, he did not imagine Leland was the type to leave a witness unharmed. He stopped again, training a small pair of binoculars along the billowing masses of grass.
“See anything?” Antonia said, closer to him than he’d realized, near enough to feel her hair brush his cheek.
He moved away a pace and pocketed the binoculars. “No, nothing. But something’s off.”
She sighed. “We’re marching up to a ruined lighthouse just before a hurricane hits in search of a mobster. What could possibly be amiss?”
He laughed. “That about sums it up. Let’s go.”
They approached the fifty-foot brick tower, edging by the ruins of the innkeeper’s house, which were now nothing more than a crooked pile of wooden struts. A piece of jagged brick, knocked loose from s
omewhere above them, fell near Antonia’s feet.
“I won’t even ask if the Anchor is safe to enter,” she said, “because I think I already know the answer.”
He knew it, too. The old lighthouse had taken the brunt of violent storms and the long, slow degradation of salt water, which gradually eroded everything but the brick tower and the iron cage at the top. His mother had loved the ancient thing because her father had taken her there often, where she would imagine she was the lighthouse keeper. In turn she had taken Hector and Reuben there, and they had acted out imaginary scenarios of their own. Recently they’d had to board up the doors to keep out curious tourists who might injure themselves.
Reuben found the boards nailed across the door still performing their duty. He searched around for a makeshift tool, finding a flat metal rod that he used to pry out the nails. Antonia took a small flashlight from her back pocket to help him see.
The boards came loose with a squeal, releasing a rush of stale, fetid air. Antonia stepped through and trained her light up into the tower. Crumbling cement steps spiraled upward into darkness. She started climbing immediately and he followed.
They fell into silence, broken only by the sound of their own breathing and the ping of cement fragments grinding under their feet. Abandoned birds’ nests clung to the walls and rat droppings speckled some of the steps.
Antonia stopped halfway up. “Catch my breath.”
He was grateful as his own heart was hammering. Leaning against the cold brick, he felt the walls shudder occasionally. Would this be the storm that finally toppled the lighthouse? It would be the final irony that the sea would claim this grand lady who had done her part to protect ships from grounding on the shoals. Like his mother, who had left her husband to make a safer way for her sons.
I’m glad you can’t see us now, Mom.
He felt Antonia’s eyes on him and shook the melancholy thoughts away. “Last fifty steps to go.”
His thigh muscles were quivering when they reached the promontory where the Fresnel lens glittered, the panes of glass fracturing their flashlight beam into crazy reflected sparks.
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