She thrust back her head. “We?”
“Army—I mean Lockheed.”
“I thought you had left them.”
“I did, but they needed an experienced test pilot.”
“Wait a minute, you’re a test pilot, too?”
He saw the strain on her face. “She needed a more powerful aircraft.”
“Why? To take that film we watched?” Did he think she was dumb? Harry was right; maybe Vincent had pulled the strings on Earhart’s spy mission.
“I don’t know who took that film, but she could have.” He brushed his hand across his brow. “Some screw-up got her lost.”
“I don’t think you believe she’s dead.”
“I should have gone with her.”
His eyes told her the rest of the story. “I didn’t realize until now, how much you loved her.”
“I just remember, that’s all.” He looked out the window.
Amelia twisted a lock of hair between her fingers. “I wonder . . .” She picked up another book. “It’s AE and Fred Noonan.”
Vincent peered at the picture. “Lae, New Guinea. Just before their last takeoff.”
“They look drained, yet kind of happy. Think they were in love?”
“Would he be that dumb, too?”
“Love isn’t dumb.” She tried to read him.
He turned. “Hey, I just remembered. Those photos we found in the library, they’re still on board the boat.”
Vincent returned later, clutching the notebook containing the photocopies. He found Amelia asleep on his bed, an open album across her chest. So peaceful, so beautiful. Should he let her sleep? Should he lie beside her? He gazed at her beauty. No, they better do a little work. He shook the bed.
“Oh!” She bolted upright. “I was having this fantastic dream.”
“About AE?” Vincent pulled the copies from a pocket inside the notebook, lit another kerosene lamp on the table.
“About us.”
He adjusted his big microscope on a photo. “Us?”
“Don’t you want to know?” She sat on the side of the bed.
He enlarged the picture ten times. “Still looks like a dark blob.”
So much for the dream. “Here, let me see.” Amelia moved to the table. “Sometimes younger eyes help.”
“Sure, sure, rub it in.” He stepped aside.
“How do you make this clearer?” She fiddled with the focus knob. “It’s kind of dark in here.”
“There’ll be better light in the morning. I was sure I spotted another plane, a small plane.”
Amelia pointed to a mark on the photo. “I can see it. It’s like a fighter.”
“Couldn’t be a Zero. They were still in the experimental stage—unless this was a test. A fast plane, in and out, just like in war.”
“I remember you saying something about that in the library,” she said. “It could have followed her. That must be how they knew where she went down.”
“Maybe, the Japanese will never tell. We’ll have to find out for ourselves.”
She liked the ‘we’ll’. She was a real part of it all, now. “How? Who has the answer?”
“Washington... Tokyo.” He loved looking at her dark eyes.
“Why would they still hold back?” She caught his stare.
Vincent wondered how much to tell her. “Somehow, AE was involved with the end of the war.”
“Then you knew she was alive.”
He avoided her eyes. “I didn’t say that.”
That was a short connection. A few seconds locked together. “Well, what did you say?” Why did they go back and forth all the time? “You and Harry—everything’s such a big secret.”
“Maybe he knows.”
“He doesn’t know, but his father might.”
“Yeah, his father... I’d like to meet him.”
“Well, we can’t question him unless we go to Saipan.” She stretched. “Right now, I’m tired. I’m going to bed.”
In the dim light, Amelia sat on the bed’s edge and rummaged through one of Vincent’s drawers. She turned her back to him, unbuttoned her shirt, let it slide off her shoulders. She slipped a large T-shirt over her head, felt it run down her body.
Across the larger room, Vincent swallowed hard, pretended to adjust the lamp on his table. Pleasant agony. Such a tantalizing woman.
Folding back the thin blanket, Amelia slid into bed, pulled up the cover, and slipped off her panties. “Good night.” Her eyes locked with his. “I feel bad, stealing your bed again.” She eased onto the small pillow.
“No problem.” He turned up the lamp, worked through his papers. God, it was going to be a long night.
Awakening from a restless sleep later in the night, Amelia rose and saw Vincent slumped over his chart table. “Vincent.” She brushed matted hair away from his eyes.
“Huh?” He shook his head, eyes still half-closed.
She touched the back of his head. “It’s me.”
He wiped a hand across his sweaty forehead. Amelia pulled up the bottom of her t-shirt and patted the dampness off his face. He wrapped his arms around her bare waist, nuzzled his head to her breasts. Her softness closed on his cheeks. His legs wilted, like quicksand tugging him down. Easing back, he kissed her breasts, first lightly with his lips, then wetter with his tongue, until her nipples extended to rigid peaks in his mouth.
She breathed a soft sigh; thought of the last time she’d made love to Steven before he shipped out for Nam. Should she stop? Vincent’s mouth was much more experienced. Her small breasts wet all over. One, then the other, engulfed by his warm mouth.
A slice of moonlight cut across the room, reflected over them from the cracked mirror. Amelia tightened her arms around his head, pressed her breasts farther into his mouth. Her breaths became quick, moist gasps. Her legs weakened; she pushed her stomach against his open shirt.
The mound of hair between her legs rubbed his chest hair, sent waves of desire through him. Vincent slid up her body with his mouth until his lips met hers and her stomach felt the hardness in his shorts. Their lips parted, both tasting the sweetness of hungry tongues. She stretched on her toes, almost riding him between her legs. They swayed together, slowly at first, then faster when he pulled off her shirt.
“You’re so beautiful.” He ran his fingers over her shoulders, down her sides, over her hips to her toes. “I’ll never be able to get enough of you...”
Amelia threw her head back, arched her body forward. God, those hands. Such a touch, even her toes tingled. And he talked. Would he tell her how it was at the height of their pleasure? Would he take her beyond the clumsiness of young men to a new passionate conclusion?
His face, now at her mound, nuzzled close. Again her legs quivered; he closed his arms around her smooth thighs to quiet her. His mouth opened and his tongue sought her moistness that became even wetter.
She shook just a little when he touched her. She wanted to explode like she never had—to not hold back. “Vincent! Vincent!” She breathed his name like rushing waters shattering a dam.
His tongue twirled inside her, stimulated her soft tissue to hardness beyond her endurance. She froze for a moment, and then her whole body shook with the satisfaction he delivered. Her head pitched forward. She grabbed his hair until her frenzy subsided.
He inched back, kissed the insides of her thighs, and smeared the moisture on his lips in small circles.
She kissed the top of his head, stroked his hair. “Oh, Vincent . . .”
“Don’t say anything.” He touched her lips. “Just being here is enough.” He lifted her into his arms and carried her to bed.
She lay next to him in a loose embrace caressing him between his legs. “I want you inside me.”
They closed together, hips oscillating in a slow, intense motion.
“Such nectar I have never tasted.” He kissed her ear, kissed her lips.
She squeezed him tighter, rolled on top of him, quickened her thrusts. Moisture dripped o
ff their foreheads.
Vincent rolled his eyes then closed them. The room whirled about him. The heat swallowed him. “Amelia! Amelia!”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Morning's delicate light spilled through small cracks in the hut and awakened Amelia. She touched Vincent curled next to her. Sensations of the night still stirred her. They had reached new pinnacles, a degree of sexual exhaustion she never imagined. Was that what love was? Or was it animal attraction hidden inside her? Vincent was different from any man she had known. “Hey, sleepyhead.” She ran her hands over his bare shoulders.
He stirred, drew her close. Caressing her face, he kissed her before fully awakening.
“Did you sleep well?” she asked.
His eyes opened wider. “Like a baby.”
“You certainly weren't a baby last night.”
“Neither were you. Such a woman I've never known.”
She snuggled closer in his arms. “I didn't know her either. Everything was so natural, I didn't want to stop.”
“I couldn't stop.” He gave her a squeeze. “A little quick, wouldn't you say, the first time.”
“So was I, but we kinda got the knack of it.” She grinned.
His eyes connected with hers. He drew her tight, skimmed her naked body with fingers like feathers. “Your skin is so smooth, I could touch you for hours.”
She squirmed, pressed her legs on his. “Ooohh...”
After an hour, they parted. Amelia lay on her back, listened to Vincent’s breaths coming in even beats. Were they that contented so soon? She turned her head, caught his return stare. Was he thinking the same thing?
“Nice,” he said.
She touched his chest. “Yes, very nice, but why am I so hungry?”
“I’m starved, too, but I can wait if you want—”
“We won’t get going that way.” She covered his eyes with her hands.
“What better breakfast could there be?”
She laughed. “I can see we have a motivational problem here.”
“Okay, okay, I’ll go out into the cold world and gather some food.”
“Yeah, it’s so cold here in the tropics.”
“Want to join me?”
“No, I’ll stay here and clean up this place.”
“Don’t worry too much about it. There’s time.” He stopped at the door.
“Time, eh. I’ve got a feeling we’re going to be kind of busy.”
“At least we’re thinking alike now.” He opened the door.
“Don’t you think you should put on your shorts?”
Vincent looked down. “Oh... yeah. You don’t rattle me much, do you?”
“I love it.” She laughed.
He backed out the doorway and stumbled on the steps. Grabbing his fishing gear and a basket underneath the shack, he walked down to the water.
Amelia watched him until he was out of sight then shook her head. Last night the man, now the little boy.
Vincent returned with a basket stuffed full of papayas, mangoes, and bananas. Three spotted lingcod dangled from a line in his hand. “I’m back.” He poked his head inside the door.
“About time,” Amelia said.
“The fish were quicker than I was.” He looked around the room. “This place looks great.”
“Thanks.”
He kissed her on the mouth. She gave him a little hug, then pulled away, picked out a papaya, and broke the skin with her teeth. Juice ran down her chin. She grinned, wiped it with the back of her hand.
Vincent cocked his head, peeled a banana. “I’m going to add on this hut so we’ll have a bigger bedroom.”
“That would be nice.” She took another bite of the papaya.
He smoothed the juice on her cheek. She drew his hand to her mouth, inserted his fingertips inside, and twirled her tongue around them.
His desire peaked again. Last night was for real for her too. Only one other person had moved him so and they hadn’t ever been intimate. “This is going to be a great day.”
She took a breath. “It does have possibilities.”
After dinner that night, Amelia sat at the table flipping through an old leather volume. “Vincent, look, a picture like we found at the library.”
He bent over her. “Tad sent me this years ago. Where did you find it?”
“Under the bed when I was cleaning.”
“So that’s where it went.” He scanned the picture, focused on a dark blob in the background. “It’s the same place as the other photo.”
Amelia picked up the first photo from the tray under the magnifier. “Looks the same to me.” She pointed to a cluster of palms in the foreground, surrounded by a dome of white birds.
“Yeah, but I don’t see the other plane in this picture.” He placed it under the scope. “It’s airplane wreckage.”
“Hers?”
“Not Japanese. Not U.S. military, either. Look at that wing.”
“There’s a dark area right on the tip.”
“The Electra was painted orange there.”
“Orange would photograph black.”
“Right,” he said, “too bad we can’t see the I.D. number.”
“That would be too easy.”
Vincent scanned the photo again, saw a shadow in the front right-hand corner. He placed the other picture beside it, looked once more at the other plane’s wing. “Curved same way as the shadow.”
“This was definitely taken from the same place, just shot from a bit different angle,” Amelia said. “The other plane’s not in this picture, but its shadow is.”
“That fighter followed her down, maybe even shot her down. Truk was a big base then.”
“The movie film, remember? The submarine base. Do you think the plane came from Truk and intercepted AE and Noonan?”
“Could be,” he said, “but this has to be Hull Island. No other island has so damn many gulls.”
“I thought you said AE would’ve ditched in the Marshalls.”
“That’s what I thought, because she ended up on Saipan. These photos have me stumped.” He scratched his beard.
Amelia saw his puzzlement. “Dad’s notes are on Saipan. They could help us.”
Vincent peered out the open window at the calm lagoon. “I always thought Saipan held the answer.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
For the next two weeks, Vincent and Amelia intensified their research into Amelia Earhart’s disappearance. Each time they opened a new door, a blank wall stared back at them.
“How many days can we be lost like this?” Amelia asked. “We must be overlooking some details right in front of us.”
“You’ll have to dig deeper,” Vincent said.
She gave him a stinging look. “I thought that’s what I was doing.”
“You’re too impatient.” He did not look up. “It’s taken me years to get this far.”
“Well, pardon me for just starting, but I’m much younger.”
“Yes, sometimes it shows.”
“What do you mean by that?”
He looked up. “I owe her all the time it takes. I told you, I should have gone with her.”
“Sure, Vincent, you could have changed history.”
“She didn’t need to go down.”
“What do you know you’re not telling me?”
He did not answer.
“That’s just great,” she said. “I guess it’s always going to be you and her.”
“As long as there’s still a chance.”
“What chance? She’s still alive?”
“Maybe.” Vincent picked up another book.
“No wonder I go around in circles. We’re on this beautiful island searching for her all day. At night, when we make love, I think you’re with me, but you’re not. You still hope to turn a corner somewhere and bump into Amelia Earhart.”
He thumbed through the pages of his book faster; his eye pinned to the words but his mind bouncing between the two Amelias.
Amelia glared at
the top of his head. “I need a break. I’m going to the lava pool.” She snatched a towel from the back of a chair and slammed out the door.
Vincent stared after her.
Reaching the pool at the base of a small waterfall, Amelia tossed her towel and clothes on the ground and waded into the cool water. She dipped her head under, then squeezed the excess water from her long hair onto her breasts. After a few minutes, she closed her hands around the wet mounds and touched the taut nipples with her fingertips.
Sunlight glistened off the water onto her bronze skin while she continued her bath. The frustration she felt toward Vincent soon disappeared. A new freshness took over. He couldn’t run her, always telling her what to do. What if he did love AE a long time ago or still loved her? Dad loved AE, too. Wait till they got to Saipan. She’d find out what really happened. Her mother knew... .
Amelia swam to the pool’s center, dove under several times, then returned to the shallow end and stepped out. In the soft grass, she spread her towel and lay on it. Her dad’s notes, they were the answer. Why else would they have killed him? Was Vincent really involved? Harry told her Vincent was the killer. That rat, Harry, once her friend, her lover. If he’d gone back to Saipan, she’d use him. After all, Vincent was using her to find AE. All those lost years... .
What if she’d been Amelia Earhart? The Japanese weren’t kind to their enemies, she knew that much. A famous woman alone, infringing on their territory.
God, the sun felt so good, covered her like a warm blanket. She’d just close her eyes a moment . . . .
“Yes, Miss Earhart, we know who you are.” The words had cut through a ring of smoke from behind a large wooden desk.
She had shifted on the hard-backed chair. The burning tobacco nauseated her.
How did she get there? She remembered the island pool—then a Japanese destroyer picked up the life raft. She looked around the room. Two guards stood at the door. Light filtered through venetian blinds and made shadowed bars on the floor. Once again, smoke from the desk crossed her nostrils. She focused on the short, round-faced officer smiling at her.
“A little off course, wouldn’t you say?” He leaned forward.
Why was he saying this to her?
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