Dark Light (35 page)

She thought her past had prepared her for any eventuality, including the possibility that the only man she had ever trusted might someday turn on her. She had been mistaken. Nothing could blunt the pain of this betrayal.

Martin emerged from the cabin. The dazzling Caribbean sunlight glinted off his mirrored glasses. He saw her and gave her his familiar charismatic smile.

“There you are,” he said, coming forward to take the computer case from her. “You're late.” He glanced at the man in the white shirt and dark blue trousers coming up the gangway with her suitcase. “Weather problems?”

“No, sir.” Eric Schafer set down the small suitcase. “We landed on time. But there's some kind of local holiday going on. The streets were jammed. You know how it is here on the island. Only one road from the airport, and it goes straight through town. No way to avoid the traffic.”

Eric straightened and wiped the sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand. His shirt, embroidered with the discreet logo of Crocker World, had been military-crisp this morning when he had climbed into the cockpit of the small corporate jet in Miami. It was now badly wilted from the island heat.

“The Night and Day Festival,” Martin said. “I forgot about it. Big event down here. A combination of Mardi Gras and Halloween.”

He was lying, she thought. She watched the strange dark energy flash in his aura. It was all part of the plan to kill her. The festival would provide excellent cover for a murder. With so many strangers on the island, the local authorities would be too busy to notice if Mr. Crocker returned from his private island alone.

“Will there be anything else, sir?” Eric asked.

“Where's Banner?”

“Left him back at the airport. He's keeping an eye on the plane.”

“You two can take the jet back to Miami. No point both of you cooling your heels on this rock for an entire week. You've got wives and kids who will probably be very happy to see you. I've been keeping you guys busy these past few months.”

“Yes, sir. Thanks.”

Eric's gratitude was real. Martin knew how to bind his people to him with a combination of generous salaries and benefits and his own natural charisma. She had often thought that he could have been a very successful cult leader. Instead, he had chosen a different career path.

He went up the short flight of teak steps to take the helm.

“Get the lines for me,” he called down to Eric.

“Sure thing, Mr. Crocker.” Eric crouched to uncoil the ropes that secured the powerful boat to the dock.

She wondered what he and the others on the staff would think when she disappeared. Martin had probably already prepared a convincing story for them. Something to do with falling overboard, perhaps. The currents around the island were notoriously tricky.

She felt the vibration beneath her feet as the boat's engines started to churn. Eric gave her a friendly wave and dashed more sweat off his forehead.

There was no veiled look of masculine speculation in his expression, no sly wink or grin. When he got back to the airport, he and his copilot, John Banner, would not make any comments about the boss going off with one of his girlfriends. No one on Martin's staff had ever mistaken her for one of Martin's many lovers. His women tended to be tall, willowy, and blonde. She was none of those things. She was just the hired help.

Officially she was Martin's butler, the one person who traveled with him everywhere. She kept his life organized and oversaw the operation of his many residences. Most important, she supervised the entertaining of his friends and business associates, and the occasional visiting politician, lobbyist, or head of state.

She raised her hand in farewell to Eric and squeezed back tears. Regardless of what happened today, she knew that she would never see him again.

The boat slipped gracefully away from the dock, headed toward the entrance to the small harbor.

Like many who moved in the stratospheric circles inhabited by those of great wealth, Martin owned several houses and kept a number of apartments in various locales around the world. The Miami mansion was his main residence but the place he considered home was the small island he had purchased a few years ago. The only way to get to it was by boat. There was no landing strip, just a single dock.

Unlike his other residences, which were always maintained in a state of readiness, Martin kept no staff on the island. The house was much smaller and far more modest than his other dwellings. He considered the place his private retreat.

Once past the stone pillars that marked the harbor entrance, Martin revved the engines. The boat picked up speed, slicing eagerly through the turquoise water. He was busy at the wheel, not paying any attention to her as he concentrated on piloting the craft. She heightened her other senses and took another look at his aura. The dark energy was stronger now. He was getting jacked up.

The boat felt very small around her. There was nowhere to hide, nowhere to run.

She had known for days—weeks, if she was brutally honest with herself—that Martin was planning to get rid of her. She was even sure she knew why. Nevertheless, some small part of her had clung to the slender thread of denial, even as it unraveled. Maybe there was some logical explanation for the disturbing changes in his aura. Maybe the new darkness was the result of mental illness. As dreadful as that possibility would be, at least it would allow her the comfort of knowing that he was no longer in his right mind; that the real Martin would never plot her death.

But her own finely honed survival instincts had refused to let her deceive herself any longer. Martin might have had some affection for her at one time, but deep down she had always known that their relationship had been rooted in her usefulness to him. Now he had concluded that she had become a liability so he was going to get rid of her. In his mind the situation was not complicated.

She stood at the stern and watched the harbor and the small town grow smaller and smaller. When they became tiny, indistinct blobs, she turned around. Martin's private island was very close now. She could make out the house perched on the hillside.

Martin slowed the boat and brought it neatly alongside the wooden dock.

“Get the lines,” Martin said sharply, his attention on maneuvering the boat.

That did it. For some inexplicable reason the simple, routine order flipped the last switch somewhere in her head. The unholy brew of pain, sadness, disbelief, and mind-numbing fear that had been swirling through her in alternating currents for days was suddenly swept away by icy cold rage. Her other senses leaped violently in reaction to the adrenaline rush.

The son-of-a-bitch was planning to murder her. Now. Today.

“Sure thing, Martin,” she said, amazed by how cool and controlled she sounded. But, then, she'd had a lot of practice concealing her emotions and reactions behind a gracious, exquisitely polite facade. She could have given a geisha lessons. But she was no geisha.

She grabbed the stern line, then stepped lightly out of the boat and onto the narrow dock. It didn't take long to tie up. She had done it countless times in the past.

Martin left the wheel and came back down the steps.

“Here, take this,” he said, handing her the computer. “I'll get your suitcase and the supplies.”

She took the computer from him and waited while he swung the suitcase and the two bags of groceries up onto the dock. He glanced around, making sure he had everything he wanted out of the boat. Then he stepped onto the dock.

“Ready?” he said.

Not waiting for a reply, he scooped up the bags of groceries with an easy motion and tucked one into the crook of each arm. His aura flashed with impatience and a really scary excitement. The pulses of dark energy were becoming increasingly agitated. This wasn't just business, she realized. He was actually looking forward to murdering her. Her own fury flared higher.

“Of course.” She gave him her best professional smile, the one she used to greet his guests and business associates. She thought of it as her stage smile. “But just out of curiosity, when do you plan to do it?”

“Do what?” he said. He was already turning away from her, heading toward the small SUV parked at the end of the dock.

“Kill me.”

He froze in midstride. She watched the torrent of shock crash through his aura. The indescribable colors flashed across the spectrum. She really had taken him by surprise, she realized. Had he actually believed that he could plot her death without her sensing it? Evidently the answer to that question was a resounding yes. Then again, she had never told him all of her secrets.

When he turned to face her, his expression was a mix of anger and impatience.

“What the hell are you talking about?” he said. “Is this is your idea of a bad joke?”

She folded her arms, hugging herself a little.

“We both know it isn't a joke,” she said quietly. “You brought me here with the intention of murdering me.”

“I haven't got time for this. I've got work to do.”

“I assume I'm going to be the victim of a tragic drowning accident?” She smiled bleakly. “So sad. The butler went swimming and went under. Happens all the time.”

He searched her face as though wondering if she had a high fever and then shook his head. “I don't believe this.”

“I didn't, either. But in hindsight I saw it coming weeks ago.”

“All right, let's play this out,” he said with the air of a man who has begun to suspect that he is dealing with a crazy person. “You and I have been a team for a long time. Twelve years. Why would I want to kill you now?”

“I think there are a couple of reasons. The first, of course, is that I recently discovered that for the past few months you've been allowing some very nasty people to use the resources of Crocker World as a cover for illegal arms dealing. All that agricultural equipment you so generously donated to various developing countries? Turns out those tractors and plows fire real bullets. Imagine my surprise.”

For an instant she thought he was going to continue the charade a little longer. But this was Martin. He could get to the bottom line faster than anyone else she had ever met. That was part of his talent.

He smiled with just the right touch of genuine regret. “I knew you would have problems with my little sideline. That's why I didn't bring you on board at the start of the project.”

“It isn't just what you're dealing, although that's bad enough. It's the people you're working for.”

Fury sparked in his eyes and in his aura.

“I don't work for anyone else,” he said through his teeth. “Crocker World is mine. I built the company, damn it. I am Crocker World.”

“You
were
Crocker World. But you've handed the company you built, that I
helped
you build, to some sort of criminal organization.”

“You had nothing to do with my success. You should be down on your knees thanking me for what I did for you. If I hadn't come along, you'd still be working in that low-rent flower shop, living all by yourself with a couple of cats because you scare off every man you meet. Hell, sometimes you even scare me.”

That shook her. “What?”

“The way you take one look at a person and figure out what makes him tick. What he'd kill for. What scares the shit out of him. His strengths and weaknesses. It's damned spooky. Why do you think I'm getting rid of you?”

“You're forgetting something, Martin. If you hadn't offered me a job twelve years ago you'd still be operating a cheap, way-off-the-strip casino in Binge, Nevada. I'm the one who identified the cheats who were robbing you blind. I'm the one who helped you pay off that mob boss. If it hadn't been for me, you'd have been buried in some shallow grave out in the desert by now.”

“That's a lie.”

“And I'm the one who identified those first investors for you, the venture capitalists who backed you when you decided to sell the casino and start building condo towers.”

Martin's aura was an inferno now.

“I would have found the investors on my own,” he shouted.

“That's not true. You're a midrange strategy talent, Martin. You can sense opportunities and put together a plan with a skill few can match because you're psychic in that way. But you're no good when it comes to reading people.”

“Shut up, you stupid woman.”

“Without that talent, all the business insight in the world is useless. Building a financial empire isn't just about numbers and the bottom line. It's about identifying and exploiting your opponent's strengths and weaknesses.”

He gave her a sharklike smile. “You think I need a lecture on the art of the deal from you?”

“For twelve years I've been your personal profiler. I'm the one who tells you when a business associate is in trouble, either financially or in his personal life. I warn you when someone is trying to con you. I identify the strengths and weaknesses of your opponents and your partners. I tell you exactly what you need to offer someone in order to close the deal, and I'm the one who tells you when your best option is to walk away from the table.”

“You had your uses, I'll grant you that. But I don't need you anymore. Before we finish this, though, I'd really like to know how you stumbled onto my little arms dealing sideline.”

“As far as your guests and business associates are concerned, I'm just a trusted member of the staff. No one looks twice at me. No one notices me. But I take a good look at them. That's what you pay me to do, after all. Sometimes I see things and sometimes I hear things. And I am very, very good when it comes to research, remember?”