The Island

by Jill Jones

  Jack. A dark thought caught Garrison unaware. Jack stood to gain if Brad met with some fatal misfortune. After Garrison’s wife had died, he had decided to add Jack to his will as a secondary beneficiary, for if Brad predeceased Garrison, there would be no one to inherit the Holstedt empire. He had told Brad at the time, and his son agreed it was a sound move. But neither had told Jack, knowing his dislike for favors. Had Brad changed his mind and let Jack know? But even if he knew, Jack would never…

  “Jack Knight is a longtime family friend,” he answered Sandringham at last. “He’s…like another son. He came here with Brad to help put a deal together.”

  “Mr. Knight would have no motive, then?”

  Garrison hesitated a moment too long before he replied an emphatic “no.” He saw the inspector make a note on the pad in front of him.

  “He had the opportunity, being on the same floor in the hotel. Do you think he would have had the means?”

  “Means?”

  “Could he have had access to the murder weapon?”

  Garrison’s pulse began to pound heavily, and he didn’t know how to reply. Jack had been a cop. Jack knew the shady side of life. Did Jack have connections here in England? Could he have obtained the gun from some underworld source? It seemed preposterous. It made no sense to think that Jack would have tried to kill Brad. The two were firm friends, closer than blood brothers.

  But then, nothing about the tragedy made any sense.

  Garrison sagged in the chair, wishing to God Jack hadn’t taken off on that wild goose chase down to Cornwall. He suddenly wanted to grill Jack himself, to prove to himself that the doubts this policeman was planting in his mind were groundless.

  “If you’re asking if Jack owned this gun,” Garrison said at last, “the answer is, no. At least, I don’t think so.”

  The rays of the sun setting in the west reflected in shades of rose and orange and purple on the clouds piled high in the east. Jack, still sequestered behind the boulders in the grove, wished he could appreciate the splendor, but his nerves were taut and his patience nearly exhausted.

  Before taking her leave, Keely had insisted he remain hidden until dark, when she would help him escape the same way she had helped Genny, by “borrowing” a boat from the harbor. “I’ll come for ye as soon as I can after dark.”

  She had assured him she was safe with her uncle, as long as Alyn Runyon did not suspect Jack was still on the island and that Keely had talked to him. “He’s never hit me before. He is a good man, and he suffers the same sorrows as I, but because he must enforce the law, he can na let his real feelings show.”

  Jack wasn’t so sure, either that Runyon was the good man his niece thought him to be, or that she was safe from his wrath. He’d seen the enraged expression on the Keeper’s face. It was the look of a domineering father whose child had dared contradict him. Or a cult leader when a member questioned his authority.

  Of one thing he was certain, however. If Runyon suspected Keely was helping Jack, she would catch hell. For that reason, and the fact that his cell phone was dead and he couldn’t try to contact Kevin Spearman again for rescue, he’d agreed to remain in hiding until dark. He just hadn’t counted on dark taking so long to arrive. It was mid-June, just past the longest day of the year. It was nine-thirty and not even twilight.

  While he waited, he paced and tried to create in his mind some scenario that would explain how Genevieve Sloan met Brad Holstedt. But there still wasn’t enough to go on.

  The SWAG that had brought him to Cornwall, to this odd little island of Keinadraig, had paid off in that he’d learned the identity of the dead girl and some of her background.

  But the answers stopped there.

  Keely claimed not to know why Genevieve Sloan had run away from the island, and Jack did not think she was hiding anything from him. She seemed simply too ingenuous to lie.

  Jack suspected that Alyn Runyon knew why the girl had left, and that the reason was deeper than a lack of respect for their laws. But having witnessed Runyon’s earlier rough treatment of Keely, Jack thought it best not to press him, at least not at the moment. He had to remind himself he was an outsider in this investigation, a foreigner at that. He did not want to antagonize Scotland Yard. He would go through channels.

  If that didn’t work, he would take matters into his own hands.

  One way or another, he would get the answers he sought.

  Darkness fell at last, and Jack waited anxiously for Keely to return. Thirty minutes passed. Forty-five. An hour. It was nearing midnight. Jack grew alarmed. Something had happened to her. His mind was overrun with all kinds of dire possibilities, most of which involved some kind of punishment from her uncle who must have somehow found out she’d spoken with him.

  Just when he thought he could take the waiting no longer, he heard the crunch of a footstep on the other side of the screen of boulders. He ducked and held very still, hoping it was Keely, but half expecting some kind of vigilante posse of “Dragoners” come to drag him to an unknown but not very nice fate.

  “Jack?” Keely’s voice whispered on the night breeze. Jack’s heart leapt. “Here. I’m still here.”

  And then she was beside him, her eyes shining, her breathing uneven. Neither spoke. Jack could feel his heartbeat thundering in his chest and knew it was not from anxiety. She was the cause. A woman he barely knew and yet wanted desperately to take into his arms. Striving for control, he held out his hand instead, and she took it, her gaze never leaving his. What was she feeling? he wondered. Her eyes were wide but unreadable. Was she afraid? Had she decided to come with him after all? He felt her tremble, and she seemed as fragile as china, as vulnerable as a child. He was consumed by an overwhelming urge to protect her, from her uncle, from her fear, from the ugly crime that had taken place.

  His control slipping a notch, he drew her toward him, slowly so as not to alarm her. She came willingly, until they were so close he could smell the lavender scent of her hair, the honey sweetness of her breath. When he dared to touch her hair, he saw her eyes close and felt her shiver slightly.

  “Keely?”

  She opened her eyes again. “Ye must leave.”

  “Come with me.”

  “I can na.”

  “I’ll keep you safe. I won’t harm you.”

  She shook her head, releasing a tear that fell across her cheek. “No, Jack. Do na tempt me.”

  But it was Jack who was tempted. He had never met a woman like Keely Cochrane, who lit within him fires of both sweet desire and fierce protection. He did not want her to remain on this island, to live in a backward world driven by superstition and fear.

  He knew she was afraid to leave, however, afraid she would meet the same fate as Genny. Her fear was unwarranted, but he didn’t know how to convince her that Genny’s death had nothing to do with the so-called dragon. That it had not been punishment for running away from the island. Genevieve Sloan, Jack fully believed, was simply at the wrong place at the wrong time.

  But until he found out what had really happened, who had wanted Brad dead, he had nothing with which to assure her.

  “Will you be all right, Keely? I mean, your uncle…”

  “I can handle my uncle. But ye must go, and do na come again. Ye do na believe in the Dragon lore, but…”

  Jack heard the fear in her voice. She was afraid that if he came back, something bad might happen to him.

  Our legends tell of strangers who died for trespassing…”

  He could not promise her he would not return. It was highly likely that he would, and that he’d bring the police with him. Unless Inspector Sandringham had come up with the killer, he would want to interrogate both Runyon and Genny’s mother. He’d probably want to talk to Keely as well.

  Jack wished he could protect her from all that. But now that he knew Genny’s identity, he would have to report it, and that would set the rest in motion.

  “I’m not afraid, Keely. Except for you. Here…” He dropped her
hand and reached for a business card and a ball point pen. On the back of the card, he hastily scribbled the number to his cellular phone. “You should be able to reach me anytime day or night. Just dial this number.” Then he remembered that the only phone in town was in Alyn Runyon’s office. “Just be careful…”

  Before he knew what he was doing, he put his arms around her, drawing her close against him, willing her to change her mind and come with him. Feeling the softness of her body as she leaned into him, Jack realized suddenly that he was afraid. Afraid for her, and afraid to leave her. He knew it made no sense. He had only met her, spoken with her just briefly. But there is was. He tried to blame his protective feelings on his background as a cop, but deep inside, he knew there was more to it than that. And he knew, regretfully, that there was little he could do about those feelings unless she chose to come with him. Which she didn’t. He kissed her hair lightly.

  “Please, please be careful, Keely.”

  Keely pointed Jack in the direction of the lights of Penzance but did not remain on the quay to watch him row out into the night. Hurrying along the deserted lanes, she returned to her cottage, creeping through the midnight shadows the same as she’d done the night she’d helped Genevieve leave the island. That night, she’d been filled with fear for her friend. Tonight, it was Jack’s safety she worried about.

  Although he had not died in the cave, he’d had a brush with death, and she was not sure what forces might have lured him toward the heart of the Dragon. Had the incident been a mere accident, or was someone was trying to frighten him, perhaps even kill him?

  If so, who? And why?

  To prove the truth of the legend?

  Or was the legend true? Had it been the force of the Dragon’s will that had nearly taken Jack’s life?

  With every step, Keely told herself that her fears were nothing more than a lifetime lived among superstition, that nothing would happen to Jack. She worked to convince herself that nothing bad would happen to her either, for she knew that she had now committed a serious crime against the Dragon. She had allowed herself to have feelings for a stranger, the outsider who said he came from a land called America.

  Feelings.

  Strange, wonderful feelings that set her on fire.

  Feelings like she had never experienced. Standing close to him in the grove, she’d thought she might die from the sensations that had coursed through her. She shivered involuntarily at the memory of his arms around her, the brush of his kiss against her hair. Oddly, she had not been afraid, except of being caught. She had wanted to linger there, to explore those feelings further.

  But she could not allow herself such feelings. They were dangerous. Mayhap even deadly. To Jack. And to her own heart. For she was a Dragoner. And he was forbidden.

  Keely slowed her pace, considering the fate that had befallen Genevieve. Objectively, it seemed preposterous to think that her death was in any way a punishment for having broken the law, and yet she’d heard Alyn tell Jack that it came as no surprise to him, that Genny’s death was one of the Dragon’s mysterious “accidents” that happened in retribution for betrayal.

  She fought that idea with her very soul. Alyn might take the Dragon literally, but she could not. She knew that no Dragon lived on Keinadraig. The only Dragon existed in the minds of the people. And yet when Jack had asked her if she believed in the Dragon, she had lied when she’d said no, because a part of her could not seem to shake the superstitious notions that had been taught to her since childhood.

  Saints in Heaven, how she wished it would all go away. She wished time could go backward, and that Genny was home, and that she’d never met Jack Knight. But she fingered his card that she’d slipped into the pocket of her cloak and knew that somehow he had changed her life forever.

  What she must do now is hide that fact from everyone. Even from herself.

  By the time she reached her back door, she had managed to suppress the fires of the unfamiliar desire that Jack had ignited within her. Jack Knight was gone, she told herself. He would not be back. She would hide her feelings, and over time, they would vanish, and life would go on as if he’d never held her…

  She switched on the kitchen light and turned to get a drink of water when she saw the man sitting at her table. She stifled a scream.

  “Alyn!”

  “Where’ve ye been, lass?” His voice was cold and heavy.

  Keely’s legs felt as if they would give way beneath her, and she covered her pounding heart with her hand. “Ye gave me a fright,” she said, steadying herself on the back of a chair. “What in the name of the Saints are ye doing here this time of night?” Did he know she’d been with the stranger?

  “What have ye been doin’ roamin’ out this time of night?”

  Suddenly Keely’s fear was replaced with anger. What business was it of his where she had been? And why was he bothering to ask? She sensed he already knew the answer. Glaring at him, she moved to the sink and took a glass from the windowsill. Willing her hands not to shake, she poured it full of sweet spring water she kept in a pitcher on the shelf and took a deep drink. “I’ve been in the grove,” she replied sharply when she finished, “praying for the soul of Genevieve, since no one else in this village seems to give a care about her.” She saw her uncle’s face darken.

  “Keely,” he said sternly, “ye must let her go. Na good will come of’t if ye keep this up.”

  “Let her go? Uncle, do ye not understand that I can na do that, na without the proper grieving? Nor can Ninian. You can na insist Genevieve never lived. ‘Tis na right!”

  Alyn did not reply but gazed at Keely with a long, level look. She felt her face grow warm, but she was determined he would not see inside of her, so she returned his stare until at last he spoke.

  “‘Tis time ye were wed.”

  “Wed?” Now her knees gave way, and she sank into the chair opposite him. It was the last thing she expected him to say. She struggled for words. “But uncle, I have na wish to wed.”

  “‘Tis na your choice, lass. Ye know that. ‘Tis your duty to th’ Dragon and th’ village t’ wed and breed th’ strong, healthy children that will come from thy line. Ye know ‘tis true, our family has th’ most favored bloodline on Keinadraig. ‘Tis thy honor t’ continue it. And thy duty. I was na blessed by children before Lilias died. ‘Tis thee who must breed th’ next Keeper.”

  Her blood chilled at the thought of what he was saying, but it did not cool her anger. “Ye talk about ‘breeding’ like I was a prize goat,” she snapped. “I will not hear such crude talk.”

  Surprise etched his face, followed by disbelief that she would dare talk back to him. “Ye’ll na cross me on this, Keely. ‘Twould grieve thy father and beloved mother, rest their souls. Besides, ye made a vow t’ th’ Dragon when ye received th’ kiss…” He touched the mark just below his left ear, the kiss of the Dragon impressed there when he, too, had taken the oath as a youth. “Ye made a vow to obey th’ laws of th’ Dragon. Touch it, Keely,” he ordered. “Touch thy own kiss. Remember thy promise and thy duty.”

  Keely began to tremble again, and she raised her fingers to the mark of the Dragon. Yes, she had pledged to live by the sacred laws. When she was only thirteen. As all Dragoners pledged when they reached that age. That day, she had received the kiss of the Dragon, a tiny burn just below her left ear, in the same place the first Healer had received it from the Dragon himself, when he sang the laws to her ancestors. It was a ceremony that called for great celebration and joy, for it brought the young person into adulthood and insured continuation of the Dragon’s protection of Keinadraig.

  No one ever dreamed of not taking the pledge.

  “‘Tis na that I scorn my pledge or my duty, Uncle,” Keely said, dropping her hand and looking directly at him. “‘Tis that I…I do na wish to wed a stranger, and ye know that is my only choice. There is na other here on Keinadraig.”

  Her uncle’s face softened. “Can ye not trust me?” he said, laying his hands fla
t on the table top. “I am th’ Keeper, but I am also thy kin. If ye will tell me th’ kind of man that would make ye happy, I promise I will search th’ moors and th’ woodlands and all th’ villages about until I find th’ right match for ye.”

  Keely hadn’t expected him to allow her to remain single, but she’d hoped he would give her more time. She had been able to avoid the issue of marriage for longer than most, since she’d been responsible for taking care of her invalid mother. Now that Sharine was gone, Keely had no excuse.

  Marriage. To some strange bumpkin from the mainland she did not love. Bearing his children. She could not stand the thought. There was only one stranger to whom she might give her heart, perhaps already had, and she knew he was not an option.

  “Please, Uncle, leave me in peace. I am not yet ready to wed. I beg you give me more time. Losing first Ma, and now Genny, I…I need…time.”

  Suddenly the burdens she had carried almost from the time she’d received the Dragon’s kiss weighed upon her like a stone cloak, and she was unable to stem a new flood of tears. She had been barely thirteen when her father had died, and as her mother’s health was frail, Keely had had to take over most of the work at the pub. She’d managed to keep up with her schooling only by studying late at night, after closing time. Then when Sharine had lost the use of her legs, Keely had become her nurse as well. Many nights she’d fallen exhausted into bed at some wee hour, after long days spent dragging from chore to chore. She was tired, and she felt old beyond her years.

  Keely looked across at her uncle and resented his insistence that she take on yet another burden…motherhood.

  “Do na do this to me, Uncle. Na now.”

  Chapter Eight

  It was past one a.m. when Jack finally made it to his room at the inn in Penzance, weary to his bones from the stress of the day. Nonetheless, he picked up the phone and dialed Garrison’s cellular number.