Fire on the Island (20 page)

Isla loved the
way his eyes crinkled at the corners as he chuckled at her. “Down girl! A man
can only take so much.” She felt a blush creep over her cheeks before she
realized he was teasing her.

Rolling her
eyes at him, she swatted him on the shoulder. “Jackass,” she muttered.

Sobering, she
turned to face him and stroked her hand over his face. "I really love you,
you know. I probably shouldn't, but I do."

Taking her
hand, he kissed each of the knuckles in turn. Then he yawned so big that his
jaw cracked. "Me too," he said sleepily as he drifted off to a
contented sleep.

Isla lay awake
for a while longer, thinking about the man asleep next to her. About how she
had come to love him so much so quickly, and how their future was more
uncertain than ever.

~~~

Hours later,
Isla awoke alone on the couch feeling deliciously sore and yet unbelievably
relaxed. She could hear the shower running from the master bathroom, and she
smiled at the thought of her man in the next room. Her man. Imagine that.

Snagging her
underwear and Jere's oversized Tulane t-shirt that was draped over the arm of
the loveseat, she dressed and headed into the kitchen to see about breakfast.
There wasn't enough in the cupboards to make a true hearty Scottish breakfast,
so she popped some toast in the toaster and set a few strips of bacon to
frying.

As she was turning
on the burner, she heard the house phone ring. Having no caller ID—people on
the island just didn't have need of such things—she picked up the cordless
handset to answer, assuming it was Callum or Jack. "Hello?" she said.

The line was
silent for a moment and she was about to end the call when the person on the
other end cleared her throat. "I…I'm sorry, I must have the wrong
number."

The woman on
the call had a southern drawl that was much thicker, but extremely similar to
Jeremiah's, so Isla knew it had to be a friend or relative from back in
Louisiana.

"It's
alright, ma'am. Who are you looking for?"

"I am
looking for Jeremiah Rousseau. I thought this was the number he gave me, but I
must have misdialed."

"Not at
all, ma'am. This is Jeremiah's vacation house. I'm a friend of his."

"A
friend?" the woman asked with an obvious smile in her voice, and Isla knew
instantly that this had to be Jeremiah's mother.

"Aye. My
name's Isla."

"You can
call me Esme. Oh and what a darlin' accent you have there, sweetie. Listen, I'd
love to talk to you more, but I really need to speak with Jere. It's very
important."

Momentarily
stunned at the woman's change from timid to bouncy southern lady, Isla shook
herself to recover and remembered what the woman had asked.

"Jeremiah
just got into the shower, actually. I'm not sure if he takes long ones or not
but it will be at least a few minutes. Shall I have him call you back?"

Again the tone
of the conversation changed, and Esme went from bouncy to worried in the blink
of an eye. Her voice shook as she said, "No, baby, I need you to go get
him...please."

It was the
please
that did it, spoken in that trembling tone one gets when
she is
struggling to hold back tears. "I'll
get him for you. Just hold a few moments, I'm going to put the phone
down."

"Thank
you," she answered, sniffling. And damn if that didn't cause Isla to tear
up herself. She had never had a normal, or even sane family life, and here is
Jeremiah's family already treating her like one of the flock just because she said
she was a "friend."

Putting the
phone down, Isla crossed the living room and went down the hall to the master
bedroom and into the bath...with the large, triple-headed shower that could fit
an entire football team inside. She swallowed convulsively at the idea of that,
at the uses they could think of for it.

Snapping
herself back into reality, she wrapped on the glass to get Jeremiah's
attention. When he turned, though, her mind momentarily blitzed out. Her man
was magnificent, from his huge shoulders that could fill a doorway, to his
washboard abs, thick thighs, and ropy calves. He looked like a golden god with
water sluicing over that beautifully tanned skin.

His unruly hair
was plastered down over his eyes, but she could see their hazel depths and their
expression hit her like a ton of bricks. He wanted her badly. Again. They had
made love three times that night, and here the man is staring at her like he
was starving and she is the last piece of bread. Her body responded instantly,
as did her mind as she remembered why she had come in the first place.

"Jeremiah,
you have to get out and dry off. Your mother's on the phone and she says it's
urgent."

"You could
have said I'd call her back."

"Oh, I
did. That was when she started fighting back the tears and I caved. She was so
sweet to me and I didn't have the heart to tell her no."

They walked
into the kitchen together, Jere rubbing himself furiously with a giant bath
towel which he then wrapped around his hips.

"Mama?
Mama, what is going on that you had to have me drug out of the shower."

"Jeremiah,
this is important. Matty's gone missin' again."

In a bid for
patience, Jeremiah pinched the bridge of his nose. His brother Matthieu had a
habit of running off when shit got critical. But he always came back—when he
was good and ready and not a moment sooner.

"What
happened this time?"

"That girl
that he was ‘engaged’ to"—Jere could practically hear the mental air
quotes—"took off with another man. Matty was devastated. Said he had to
get out of here. I'm not sure if he meant our house, Baton Rouge, Louisiana, or
the country. I have no idea where he's gone!"

Her voice
started to take on an edge of hysteria, which never failed to split his head
with a migraine. Matty was always pulling shit like this. And Esme always
bought into it.

"Mama, you
need to calm down. Matt is a grown man and he can take care of himself. He'll
come home when he's ready. Or he won't. Maybe he'll settle somewhere else and
be happy. If he does, you're gonna have to get right with that, yes?"

A deep sigh and
static followed before she answered. "Honey, I know you're right. But I
worry about y'all, Matty especially because he's still drifting..."

"Okay, how
about this. I'll make a few calls, use my limited hacking skills, such as they are,
and see if I can draw a bead on him. I'm not going to tell him to come home.
Hell, I may not even tell you where he went, but I'll make sure he's safe.
Deal?”

Esme pouted for
a moment, but she really had no choice to make. "Deal. Now who's your
Scottish lady friend there? Answering your phone already?"

"Mamaaaa,"
he warned, a growl in his voice.

"Oh relax,
Jeremiah. I just spoke with her briefly and she seems right friendly. So I hope
whatever it is works out for you."

"I hope so
too, Mama, because I'm in love with her."

"Oh...my.
Well bless her little heart, she was so sweet. I can't wait to meet her!"

"One thing
at a time. We have some work to do over here for a while, and I've got to find
Matthieu, so I'm going to be busy. We'll figure out when and if we can all get
together once we've got all our loose ends tied up.

"I gotta
go now, my little woman's in the kitchen cookin' breakfast."

"Oh go on,
you little joker. Bet you don't say that to the 'little woman's' face!"

"True
enough. Hey, Mama?"

"Hmm?"

"Don't get
your hopes up, okay? You know as well as I that if Matty doesn't want to be
found—"

"I know,
son," Esme said in a tired voice. "I know."

Jeremiah heaved
a weary sigh as he ended the call and pinched the bridge of his nose with two
fingers to stave off the threatening headache. Damn his brother for doing this
to them again. He guessed it wasn't really Matthieu's fault, but it still
pissed him off that the boy caused their mother so much worry.

Making his way
to the kitchen, he leaned against the doorjamb and just looked at Isla frying
bacon in nothing but his old college t-shirt. Damn, if she wasn't spectacular.
And didn't it just give him a surge of possessive pride to see her wearing his
clothes.

He walked up
behind her and wrapped his arms around her trim waist, resting his chin on her
shoulder and inhaling her scent. Momentarily, she let herself lean into him
before she cut off the burner.

"Have a
seat, breakfast is ready."

Slumping into
one of the kitchen chairs, Jere stared unseeing out the glass patio door. He
had so lost himself in his thoughts that he jolted when she placed a plate in
front of him.

Sliding into
the seat across from him with her own plate, she nibbled on a piece of crisp
bacon and regarded him, silently waiting.

It dawned on him
that this was what a relationship was about—being able to share your joys and
your pain with that other person, and knowing she would support you
unconditionally and without judgment, but knowing she'll love you anyway.

"It's my
brother," he started, actually feeling himself gearing up to tell her the
whole story. "He's MIA...and it's not the first time."

Matthieu
Rousseau was a wayward soul. That was really the best way Jere knew of to
describe him. His brother had a brilliant mind, but he was always too restless
to put much time into realizing its potential.

After high
school, Matt actually got a partial scholarship to LSU where he was pursuing a
double major in criminalistics and forensics. He just had a knack for working
out puzzles—he could see patterns and clues where others could not.

Ever restless,
he dropped out after two years to join the Marines. Shortly after finishing
boot camp, he was shipped out to Afghanistan, then Iraq, where he was a member
of a special ops team. Jeremiah still didn't know exactly what he did for them,
but he knew it had ruined his brother. What was left of him to ruin, anyway.

A year after he
was deployed, the G9X Ops team was blown sky high by an IED underneath their
tank. Matt lost a kidney, gained a Purple Heart and a medical discharge.

After the war,
his brother had come back broken, even more mentally than physically. He
drifted around from one contract job to another, utilizing his military
training and forensics education, first as a hired mercenary, and then as a private
investigator. He was probably still doing both, which was why Jeremiah knew
that Matthieu was perfectly capable of ghosting, and staying that way, if he
wanted.

Constantly
seeking belonging but unable to settle into any kind of routine, Matt sought to
fill the void left by their father’s passing, and the one created by the
atrocities of war, not only with dangerous living, but with unhealthy
relationships as well.

Matt was more
handsome than any one man should be, and lord, some women loved a broken man.
He attracted the clingers, the whiners, the controllers, even the gold
diggers—the mercenary business had been quite lucrative.

It was a normal
pattern for him to fall in love too quickly with the wrong woman, seeking to
fix what was broken in him, and ended up getting his heart stomped on every
time. The result was always the same, the cracks deepened and Matt went off the
grid.

Jeremiah had
long since given up trying to fix things for Matt. His help was neither effective
nor welcome. All he could do was be there when and if his brother needed him.

Blinking down
at his empty plate, Jeremiah realized that he had just spewed his family
problems out loud to Isla over breakfast and didn't give it a second thought.
She had become his solid ground, the place he could lay his burdens when he
couldn't, or shouldn't, bear them alone.

Isla had just
finished dressing in her own clothes and was getting ready to head to work,
when her cell phone rang. She brushed a swift kiss over Jeremiah's lips, went
in for a nibble when she wanted more, and then hit the send button on her phone
to answer the call.

"Hello?"

"Isla?
It's Chief Sinclair."

"Hey
Chief, how are things going?" Isla said, then clicked the phone on speaker
mode so that Jeremiah could listen in.

"Not too
good, I'm afraid. I don't really know how to say this...but we've had five more
people go missing in the last forty-eight hours."

"Dear God!
What can I do to help? Where do you need me?"

"Listen,
Isla," he started, the tension in his voice striking a chord of
anticipation in her. "I need you to come in to the station."

"Of
course, Chief. Anything we can do to help," she said, and hearing her say
"we" just caused Jere to stand up a little straighter. "Is that
going to be HQ for the search?"