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“Romantic, my eye. Since when have you, the investigative reporter, the champion of the underdog, the girl who fought every damned liberal crusade, been romantic? Don’t tell me he’s one of those long-haired left-wing idiots who chains himself to nuclear reactors or sets spikes in old-growth timber to keep loggers from cutting the stuff.”
“I don’t think so, Dad,” Nikki said, smiling to herself as she watched Trent lean against the railing, his broad shoulders straining the seams of his jacket. She couldn’t imagine him in a protest march.
“Good.” He sounded a little less wounded, as if the news had finally sunk in. “I just don’t understand why you didn’t bring up his name or have the guts to introduce me to him.”
“It’s…it’s complicated. I’ll explain everything when I get back.”
There was a slight hesitation on the other end of the line, then a quiet swearword muttered under her father’s breath. “There isn’t something more I should know, is there?”
She felt sweat collect between her shoulder blades.
“I mean, if there was a…problem…you’d come to me, wouldn’t you?”
She bit down on her lip. What was he saying?
“If you’re in any kind of trouble…”
Oh, Dad, if you only knew.
“These days you don’t have to get married. There are all sorts of options….” His voice trailed off, and she realized what he was implying.
“I’m not pregnant, Dad.”
A sigh of relief escaped him. “Well, I guess we can thank God for small favors.”
“I’ll call when I get home.”
“You’d better. Now, wait a minute. Let me get my calendar. Where is the damned thing?” he asked himself, his voice suddenly muffled. “Okay, here we go. So when will you be back home? I’m supposed to take off for Tokyo next week.”
“We’ll be back as soon as we can catch a flight. There’s a problem with the airline we flew on.”
“I read about it. But there are other flights. Try and make it home before I leave.”
“I will,” she promised. They talked a few minutes more and she finally hung up feeling more desperate than ever. She had wanted to confide in her father, tell him that she wasn’t sure of her past, couldn’t remember the man who’d become her self-appointed guardian—her husband for God’s sake—and yet she’d held her tongue. She was an adult now and responsible for herself, and she realized that the animosity she’d felt over the phone only scratched the surface of the rifts in her family.
Slowly, she pushed herself up from the bed and made her way to the veranda. The breeze, warm and smelling of the sea, lifted her hair and brushed against her bruised face. Thick vines crawled up the whitewashed walls of the hotel and fragrant blossoms moved with the wind. Poised on a hillside, the hotel offered a commanding view of the island. From the veranda, Nikki looked over red roofs and lush foliage toward the bay. Fishing vessels and pleasure craft dotted the horizon, and as she cast a glance northward, she saw the sharp cliffs rising from the ocean, the rugged terrain that wound upward to the highest point on Salvaje and the crumbling white walls of the mission tower.
Her heart seemed to stop for a minute and her teeth dug into her lower lip. Fear, like a black, faceless monster, curled her soul in its clawlike grasp, and suddenly she could barely breathe. She held on to the rail in a death grip and her knees threatened to buckle.
Trent had slid a pair of aviator glasses over his eyes and his expression was guarded. “Memory flash?” he asked, his jaw tense.
She shook her head. “Not really.”
“Your father shake you up?”
She snorted and blinked against a sudden wash of tears. “A little. He’s not too keen on the fact that he didn’t meet you.”
“He’ll get over it.”
“I wonder,” she said. Leaning forward on her elbows, she ignored the cliffs and forced her gaze to the sea, where sunlight glittered against the smooth waves.
“Look. I know you don’t remember me or trust me. That’s all right. I can be incredibly patient when I have to be.” That much she believed. Like a tiger stalking prey, Trent McKenzie knew when to wait and when to strike. That particular thought wasn’t the least bit comforting. His lips grew into a deep line. “But I want you to know that I’ll keep you safe.”
She wanted to believe him. Oh, God, if only she could trust him, but she remembered the girl in the hospital, Mrs. Martínez’s friend, and once again she doubted him. Her gaze flew to his and she trembled slightly. “I think I was the kind of person who took care of herself.”
A cynical smile slashed his jaw. “Then I’ll help.”
Her heart cracked a little, and she noticed the handsome lines of his face disguised by the scruffy beard and dark glasses. It would be too easy to fall for him, to trust him because she didn’t have much of a choice. But she was still her own woman, and though she’d grown to depend on him, she had to
