The Seventh Night Page 4

  “There are a lot of things I find a bit…odd.”

  Anger heated my cheeks at his tone. “I can see you don’t believe a word I’ve said.”

  “You have to admit, it’s an incredible story.”

  “No, it isn’t. I read recently that violence in Columbé has increased considerably since the coup, especially against Americans.”

  A strange sort of interest sparked in his eyes. “You’ve been reading about Columbé recently?”

  “Why should that surprise you?”

  “It doesn’t. But it certainly supports my theory.”

  “Which is?”

  He turned and walked toward me again. Beneath the covers, my legs began to tremble. Hunger, I assured myself. I hadn’t eaten in a long time. Yes, that was it…that was why I was feeling so faint and desperate.

  “Is it possible you might have been dreaming?”

  “Dreaming? Then how do you explain these?” I shoved up my nightgown sleeve and held out my right arm where deep red scratches ran from the wrist to the inner elbow. “This is where one of the men scratched me with that claw thing. And that’s when everything started spinning, when I lost consciousness.”

  He took my arm and examined it, holding my elbow with one hand while the other hand closed around my fingers. The action drew my gaze, fascinated me, as I concentrated on our linked hands. A dusting of dark hair showed beneath the snowy cuff of his shirt, and the deep tan of his skin contrasted sharply with my own pale hand. Our eyes met as I tried to pull my hand away. He resisted for a moment, held me as if to prove he could.

  “You could have gotten these scratches when the car hit you. That’s what Dr. LeClerc thinks.”

  “I told you how I got them,” I said stubbornly.

  “Dreams often seem more real than reality. Dr. LeClerc said you appeared to be under a great deal of stress last night.”

  “I should think so! I’d been abandoned in the middle of nowhere, attacked by three goons dressed up for an early Halloween, and almost run down by a car. Don’t you think you’d be just a bit stressful after an evening like that?”

  My sarcastic tone at last brought a trace of emotion to his face. He scowled in disapproval. “All right, try to stay calm. Dr. LeClerc said you needed to rest quietly for a day or two—”

  “And just where is this doctor?” I cut in. “I’d like to meet him face-to-face. I have a few questions of my own. And then I want to talk to the police.”

  “The police?”

  My statement seemed to catch him off guard, and I nodded in satisfaction, but the victory was short-lived. He stepped closer to the bed, and I could do little but watch in fascination. He moved with a kind of animal grace that belied his obvious strength, and once again I felt my stomach contract nervously at the proximity of so much power. Even my toes were tingling with awareness.

  “Is there some reason I shouldn’t call the police?” I asked in a voice that wasn’t quite as strong as I would have liked.

  He replied tightly, his gaze never leaving mine. “No. As a matter of fact, I think you’re right. It may be time to call them in.”

  “Then you believe me?”

  He towered over me, gazing down at me with those deep, piercing eyes. I had a sudden mental vision of myself, hair all mussed, makeup long since gone. But as he stood staring at me, I had the most ungratifying impression that he wasn’t seeing me at all.

  “How long have you been planning this trip to Columbé, Christine?”

  His use of my name startled me for a moment. He made it sound so prim…so maidenly. “My father and I talked about it for a couple of weeks, but I only made the decision to come a few days ago. Why?”

  His expression changed, tensed. The eyes deepened even more. “Why now? Why, after all these years?” There was a definite charge in his tone now, and the blue eyes were frosted with distrust.

  “Why don’t you ask my father that question?”

  “Perhaps I should.” He lifted a finger to his chin as if in deep contemplation. And then he said softly, in a voice that sent shivers down my spine, “Who made the first call, Christine?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, did you get in touch with Christopher first, or did he contact you? Who made the first move?”

  “He did. But I don’t see what that has—”

  “Exactly what did he say?”

  “What does it matter?” I asked in a burst of temper. “What business is it of yours?” The covers slipped from my arms as I gestured wildly with my hand. Like sighting a target, his gaze leveled on the bare skin at my throat and then dropped almost imperceptibly to the thin cotton concealing my breasts.

  Excitement spiraled through me, frightening me with its intensity. I pulled the covers back up and clutched them to me. The merest hint of amusement flashed in his eyes.

  “Don’t you think it’s odd,” Reid said slowly, “that he didn’t happen to mention to me you were coming? He didn’t tell anyone.”

  A warning bell sounded somewhere in the back of my mind. “No one?”

  “Not that I know of. I can’t imagine why he’d keep your visit a secret. Can you?”

  “Just what are you implying?”

  If possible, the eyes grew even colder, even more remote. His gaze was like an icy blast of scorn. “I want to know what the hell you’re doing here, Christine,” he said, the calmness of his tone somehow making the menace in both his words and his eyes seem more deadly. “I want to know why you’ve come here, after all this time. If you think you can take advantage of an unfortunate situation, think again. I’ve got too much at stake, and I warn you, you’ll be in for the fight of your life.”

  The venom in his voice stunned me. What had I done to deserve such animosity from him, such contempt? It was almost as though he hated me, and the notion left me feeling peculiarly bereft.

  “What unfortunate situation? I have no idea what you’re talking about, nor do I care. Why a visit with my father should threaten you is beyond me, but that’s your problem.”

  I swung my legs over the side of the bed and stood up, trying to lessen his advantage over me, but, too late, I realized he still towered above me by a good eight inches or so. I swayed slightly on unstable legs, and his arm shot out to steady me.

  Beneath his fingers, my skin burned with fiery awareness, like flesh that had been singed with a branding iron. Our gazes met and held in challenge, and I saw something deep and dark and mysterious in those fathomless pools of blue.

  I took a deliberate step away from him, and his hand dropped immediately from my arm.

  “I don’t care what problems you might have with my being here, Reid. You can’t keep me from my father. I want to see him, and I want to see him now.”

  Again that strange hesitation. “I’m afraid that’s impossible.”

  I knew then with certainty what I had been trying to deny ever since arriving in Columbé. But I couldn’t help asking the question anyway, my voice hardly more than a whisper. “Why?”

  “Your father has disappeared. No one has seen or heard from him since yesterday morning.”

  * * *

  “Your father has disappeared. No one has seen or heard from him since yesterday morning.”

  Like a drumbeat the litany played over and over in my mind long after Reid had gone. And the calm way he had announced the news made it seem even more frightening somehow, as though disappearances were an everyday occurrence here on the island. And for all I knew, they were.

  Never had I felt so alone, so helpless.

  I was thousands of miles from home, on a strange, primitive island. Anything could happen. It already had. I’d been attacked and my father had disappeared.

  Keep calm, I commanded myself. Stay rational and don’t jump to conclusions. But it was a difficult order to follow in view of everything that had happened to me since arriving in Columbé, the most frustrating of which had been Reid’s obvious disbelief of my story. For a moment, he’d had me d
oubting myself, but now that he’d left the room, I felt myself grow stronger, more certain than ever that I had been attacked.

  A short while after his visit, however, Reid returned to my room, accompanied by another man. He was almost as tall as Reid, but thin and wiry. He wore a brown military uniform with red trim, and a row of medals flashed and sparked on his chest.

  I was glad I’d taken the time to dress and do my hair while Reid was gone. Under their accusatory scrutiny, I needed all the confidence I could muster.

  “Christine, I’d like you to meet Captain Baptiste. He’s with the Port Royale Police.”

  The policeman’s coal eyes darted around the room, surveying, appraising and detailing before finally coming to rest on me. A dark green beret with a silver badge covered his head, and he didn’t bother removing the cap for my benefit. Instead, he made a production of pulling a notebook and a gold pen from from his shirt pocket as he continued to eye me with that curious, unblinking stare.

  “Miss Greggory. You’ve had a bit of trouble, I understand, since you arrived in our country.”

  My gaze shifted very briefly to Reid, who had crossed the room to the window. He was staring outside again, as though, having delivered the police as promised, he’d washed his hands of the whole affair.

  I cleared my throat and met the captain’s gaze once more. “I don’t know how much Reid—Monsieur St. Pierre—has told you, but I was attacked last night on the way from the airport to his hotel.”

  The black eyes did not waver. “Your driver ran out of gas. I’ve spoken to him.”

  “Then I assume you know all about the window.”

  “Ah, yes, the broken window that is no longer broken.” His smile was anything but reassuring. “Why don’t you give me your own accounting of the…incident?”

  In an economy of words, I related everything—at least, as much as I remembered—to Captain Baptiste. He listened attentively, but I noticed he didn’t make one single note. I had the distinct impression that I was merely being humored.

  “And now to learn that my father’s disappeared,” I finished. “You can see why I’m more than a little concerned.”

  “It’s only been a little over twenty-four hours since the housekeeper spoke with Mr. Greggory. That’s not all that long, Miss Greggory. In Columbé, schedules are relaxed, the pace slower than in your country. I understand your father kept impromptu hours at the hotel. Is that right?” This he addressed to Reid.

  “That’s right,” Reid agreed, giving the captain a brief glance. He didn’t even look at me. “Christopher kept his own hours, and I never knew what they would be. Sometimes he didn’t come in for days.” Just as earlier, I sensed a hint of bitterness in Reid’s voice, which made me wonder if there’d been problems between him and my father.

  “There’s one thing you both seem to have forgotten,” I said angrily. “He knew I was coming. He invited me. I don’t care about his hours or his schedule. I can’t believe he would have gone away when he knew I was coming.”

  “You and your father were close then?”

  Captain Baptiste knew the answer before he’d asked the question. I could tell by the triumphant look in his cold eyes. “No,” I admitted. “But I don’t see how that matters. I spoke to him a few nights ago. He was excited about my coming here.”

  “Excited?”

  “Well, anxious,” I amended. “He sounded urgent. I can’t help wondering if even then he knew he was in trouble.”

  I couldn’t help myself. I looked at Reid then, and found those fathomless blue eyes glaring back at me. “What kind of trouble?” he asked.

  Captain Baptiste tossed him an impatient look. “I’ll ask the questions, if you don’t mind.”

  Reid said nothing, merely turned back to the window, but I had the feeling he was listening intently to us now.

  “I just want to know what you plan to do about finding my father,” I said with my own growing impatience. “I can’t understand why no one seems concerned.”

  As if to prove my point, Captain Baptiste shrugged and slipped the notebook and pen back into his pocket. “There is nothing official that can be done at this point, Miss Greggory. Until he’s been missing for forty-eight hours, I can’t even file a report.”

  “But that’s ridiculous. Especially in view of what happened to me. Have you considered the two incidents might be related?”

  “In what way?”

  “I don’t know. You’re the cop. You tell me. Are innocent people attacked on your roads every day? Is this the norm around here?”

  Captain Baptiste locked his hands behind his back as he paced back and forth in front of the bed where I sat. I had the uncomfortable notion that I was suddenly on trial, and that my crime was simply that I was here, in a place I didn’t belong.

  He stopped in front of me, and again he pulled a black book from his pocket, but this time I noticed in alarm that it was my passport he held. He slapped it lightly against his palm, making sure he had my attention as he continued to talk. “There are a lot of things about this situation that aren’t quite…normal. For instance, who is Dr. Layton, Miss Greggory?”

  I gaped at him. “Dr. Layton? How did you know—?”

  Again that mysterious, satisfied smile. “He’s your doctor in Chicago, am I right? The hospital staff found his number in your purse last evening and gave him a call, hoping he could supply Dr. LeClerc with any necessary medical requirements. He’s a psychologist, I understand.”

  So they’d rifled through my belongings, taken my passport. What else had they taken? “What does my seeing a psychologist have to do with anything?” I folded my arms across my breast. A defensive posture, Dr. Layton would say. With an effort, I unfolded them and let them rest loosely by my sides.

  “Would you mind telling me why you have been seeing him?”

  “Of course I would. That’s confidential and completely irrelevant to this conversation.”

  His gaze swept over me, chilling me. “Is it?”

  I could feel Reid’s eyes on me again, and for some reason, I felt an odd sense of betrayal.

  “Have you ever sought treatment for sleepwalking, Miss Greggory?”

  “He told you that?”

  “He told Dr. LeClerc because he felt it was pertinent to your treatment.”

  “I wasn’t sleepwalking last night,” I said coldly. “But I can see you’ve already made up your mind not to believe me.”

  “Rest assured the incident will be fully investigated,” Captain Baptiste said, but the look on his face left me wondering whether I would be considered the victim or the perpetrator.

  As if reading my thoughts, he smiled. “You do realize, Miss Greggory, that Columbé has no official relations with the United States. There are no American embassies here, no diplomatic representation in the event of…trouble.”

  “I didn’t cause the ‘incident,’ Captain Baptiste. Believe me, I don’t want trouble any more than you do.”

  He smiled again. “But trouble sometimes follows us, whether we wish it or not. N’est-ce pas?”

  He held out my passport to me then, and for the first time, I saw his ring. Somehow the symbol of the snake seemed even more chilling on him, even more sinister.

  And I couldn’t help remembering that once, when I’d first met him ten years ago, Reid St. Pierre had worn a ring exactly like that.

  * * *

  “Dr. LeClerc told me he’s released you. You can go home today,” Reid said.

  Home? And where might that be? I thought dryly as I snapped the lid closed on my suitcase. Reid had walked Captain Baptiste out and had just returned a few minutes earlier. He reached around me now and lifted the suitcase with ease from the chair.

  “I’ll give you a ride,” he offered. “I hadn’t planned on going back to the office, anyway.”

  “Thanks. I don’t think I’m up for another cab ride just yet. Though I would like to talk to Jean Marc.”

  Reid’s gaze brushed mine briefly as he head
ed for the door. “I can arrange that. But why not leave it till morning? You’ve had a rough day. I’ll drive you home and get you settled in. Tomorrow we can try to sort through everything.”

  Home. There it was again. Did he mean his home? I’d assumed he’d booked me a room at the St. Pierre. To be frank, I wasn’t even clear as to what my father’s plans had been for me. He’d been sort of vague on the phone about the arrangements. He’d been sort of vague about a lot of things. His main concern had been my getting here as quickly as possible. I couldn’t shake the notion now that he’d known he was in some kind of trouble. That was why his calls had sounded so desperate. Perhaps that was even why I’d been having the dreams.

  “Are you ready to go?” Reid asked.

  “Yes, but I don’t see why I can’t stay at the hotel. I don’t want to put anybody out.”

  “You won’t be. Besides, you’ve had a bad shock. I’d rather you stay where we can keep an eye on you.”

  Was it my imagination or had there been the slightest inflection of suspicion in his tone? It was foolish of me, of course, and I had no reason to feel ashamed, but for some reason I hated Reid knowing about Dr. Layton, hated him thinking that I might have a weakness, might somehow be inferior.

  It was a feeling that made me defensive, especially when I felt his gaze raking over me, taking in the oversize, lightweight cotton sweater I wore, the modest hemline of the matching chiffon skirt that all but obscured my legs and the sensible little ballet slippers, donned for their comfort more than their grace.

  His eyes lifted and once again met mine. The barest knowing smile curved his lips as he turned back toward the door. I felt myself blushing furiously. My heart bumped once, twice, against my chest before settling into its regular rhythm.

  Then I picked up my purse and hurried after Reid St. Pierre.

  CHAPTER THREE

  “Stop! Pull over. Hurry!”

  Reid swung off the road and braked the car so suddenly my head snapped back, then forward. “What’s the matter, are you sick?”

  He reached across me to open my door and I scrambled out. I heard his own door open, then slam, but I didn’t turn around, even when I sensed his presence behind me.