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Grant bent and scooped up the rod holder, determined to re-rig his pole and get it back into the water. Winston’s incessant screeching moved closer, and Grant looked over his shoulder to see the monkey loping towards him. When Winston saw that he’d gotten Grant’s attention, he immediately switched directions, hurrying back down the beach, calling for Grant to followhim.
Waving him off, he shook his head and headed toward the pole-barn styled cabin he’d built just outside the tree line. It was only one room, but it had four walls, a roof, and a covered porch. With an added outdoor shower he’d rigged to the back, which was fed fresh, cold water by an old artesian well, it was all heneeded.
Ignoring Winston’s incessant protests, he leaned his pole against one of the front porch support beams and reached for his tackle box. He didn’t have time for monkey business if he was going to get his bait rigged and get his roof shored up beforenightfall.
A fresh spool of fishing line in hand, he turned back toward his pole and caught a glimpse of Winston from the corner of his eye. Grant paused as he watched his reluctant pet, jumping up and down and slapping at the surf as it rolled gently onshore. Shielding his eyes against the glare of the sun, he squinted toward the far end of the beach to see what had captured Winston’s attention. His tackle forgotten, his feet moved with increasing speed as the object came into focus and took on an ominousform.
Grant’s pulse picked up as he sprinted closer.What the hell?A familiar, cold calm rushed over his skin as he pushed Winston back from the pale, limp body lying face down, still half in the water. A thick curtain of black hair covered the woman’s face, shielding all but a swatch of pale dead skin from hisview.
It wasn’t the first time he’d seen a dead body. It surely wouldn’t be his last, but damn if he’d ever expected to see one here. Swiftly, Grant mentally inventoried his surroundings. He’d seen no boats milling around the island or the nearby cove lately. No one was on the island but he and Winston and a few stray vermin. Of that he was certain. Without his binoculars, he couldn’t see the other nearby scrub islands well enough to scout anything out. By the waterlogged skin, he judged the body must have washed up sometime overnight. Any threat would be long gone by now.If they had half a brain.Of course, there could have been some sort of boatingaccident.
Gently he gathered the long strands of ebony hair, revealing the feminine outline of the woman’s face. Preparing himself for the stench that usually came from rotting flesh, and the gore he might see from the meal the ocean’s parasites had probably made of her slender form, he gingerly rolled the woman over in the sand. Letting out a sigh when the body appeared to be intact, Grant took in a cautious breath. He was relieved again to only smell the earthy scents of sea water and sand. Knowing it was futile, he placed his finger over the vein in her neck.D.O.A. and definitely not a boatingaccident.
Crouched on one knee, Grant rested his forearm across his other knee as he ran through his options. He could dig a grave and call it a day. He studied the lifeless woman before him.Mid to late twenties. It was difficult to tell with the swollen skin around her injuries. Her tattered shirt did nothing to hide the one inch stab wound below her left breast, or the modeled black and blue skin across her firm torso. He also recognized the bloodstains on her cargo pants as they clung to her thighs like a second skin. Someone had done a real number onher.
She had strong bone lines and manicured nails at the tips of her long, slender fingers. He gently maneuvered her arms from her sides and inspected the thin, pale skin.No track marks.She wore no rings or other notable jewelry. He fingered the single shock of neon blue that ran through her otherwise jet black hair as he studied her complexion. Other than the bruising and the stab wounds, she seemed too well cared for to be a homeless junkie.Fuck!
He’d have to call it in. Surely someone was looking for her. He had a satellite phone, but he sure as hell didn’t want his tiny island crawling with local law enforcement idiots. He’d have to load her up in his boat and take her to the mainland. Tell them he fished her out of the water twenty miles or so east of his island. But not today. There was no time to secure his place and make the trip before the storms rolledin.
Resigned, Grant stood to his feet. Focused on his next task, he reached for the woman’s wrist, ready to haul her over his shoulder, when he found himself staring into the ice-blue eyes of aghost.
Three
Howlingwind whipped relentlessly against the bare walls of the cabin as Grant focused on the stitch he was making. It had been a long time since he’d had to tie one off. The amount of light that was cast by the two gas lamps aided little in his efforts to keep the sutures as small as possible. The entrance wound at her ribs hadn’t been as deep as he thought, and it was clean compared to the jagged edges of skin he was all but cobbling together on herthigh.
Having been the recipient of a few himself, he knew a knife wound when he saw one. Someone had done a damn good job at slicing her up. In some ways it wouldn’t have been so bad if whoever her assailant was had kept a sharp blade. He wouldn’t be dealing with such a mess, but then she would most likely be dead. If the blade had been sharp, it would have sliced right through her artery instead of only nicking it. Tying it off had surely saved her life. That and the cold oceanwater.
While removing her clothes, he’d also seen the scars on her back. Long, white lash marks baring the signature of a slave master’s whip marred her delicate flesh. She was a slave, or had been at some time in her life. The raised white lines on her ankles bore the proof of her shackles. It didn’t happen to all, but most slaves were tied or shackled until they were broken enough not to attempt to flee their captors. Some remained that way indefinitely. Others were caged like animals and only brought out when their owner had use for them. A select, expensive few were actually branded like cattle. Even if they were to escape their bonds, they would always bear their tormentor’smark.
It seemed odd to him at first, that he was again ensnared into the sick world of human trafficking. He shrugged it off. Slave trade was as common in this part of the world as fast food was in the States. While the powers that be sat on their thrones and passed sweeping, meaningless legislation, then congratulated themselves on being great humanitarians, women and children were being bought and sold like horses. He would bet his favorite HK .45 that most of the slimy cocksuckers owned a few. It was all about what lookedgood.
Few people besides their families actually cared what happened to the thousands of women and children who were snatched from their lives and thrown into third world sex brothels every year. Hell, some mothers and fathers willingly sold their daughters into the sex trade to pay off debts, returning month after month to collect herearnings.It wouldn’t end any time soon. There seemed to be plenty of rich men lined up to pop a child virgin, believing it would cure them of AIDS or some sick shit.Twistedbastards.
It was a sick mentality very few thought twice about. If they did, they’d focus more of their time and money on finding the assholes who ran the trafficking rings and cutting off their dicks, instead of spending billions of dollars on robotic squirrels and plans to control bovine flatulence. He was sure those things were important to some people, but when slapped up against this, it looked pretty damn ridiculous to him. Again he was reminded of his reasons for leaving that shitty world behind. Obviously he hadn’t run farenough.
“Dammit!” Missing the loop, he carefully laid the tweezers on a roll of gauze at his knee and wiped a sterile pad across the seeping wound. Thankfully he’d re-stocked his tactical first aid kit before he’d headed out to serve his self-imposed sentence of isolation. Unconscious or not, this would hurt like a sonofabitch if he hadn’t had the Lidocaine to giveher.
Picking up the tweezers, his hands remained rock-steady despite his frayed nerves. He’d nearly had a heart attack when he looked down and saw her glacial eyes staring back at him from the grave. Her pulse had been so weak it was undetectable. Given the amount of blood she must have lost from her wounds, he should be sleeping next to a corpse instead of trying to patch her up like a damnquilt.
Nearly two hours later he snipped the last thread. Squeezing the tension from his aching neck, Grant leaned back and took a look at his work. He had to admit, she had a pair of legs on her. Perfectly toned, they seemed every inch of a mile long. Even in her injured state, the red-blooded male in him couldn’t help but stand up andsalute.
He shook off his carnal thoughts. If she survived, he was going to send her as far away from him and his island as he could get her. Knowing his luck lately, she would probably sue him instead of thanking him for saving her damn life. Not that he would expect a roll in the sheets for doing so. He looked at the swollen five inches of jagged flesh and shook his head. God only knew how many stitches he’d sewn into her perfect alabaster skin. He’d stopped counting at thirty an hourago.
Ignoring the rivulets of water streaming in from the unfinished roof, Grant stepped around the nearly full bucket he’d placed to catch the runoff and then reached into a sack for a clean cloth. “The least you could do is empty the damn bucket,” he growled as he walked past Winston and crouched back down at the woman’s side. “It’s your fault we’re in this mess to begin with.” The indifferent monkey huddled in the corner of the small hut, perched on Grant’s cot, seemingly unfazed by his master’s ill temper as he preened hisfur.
The severe wounds tended to, Grant soaked the cloth with sterilized water and began cleaning the sand and debris from the cuts on her face. Despite looking as if she’d been hit with a battering ram, he couldn’t help but notice how unusual her features were. She certainly wasn’t Indian or of Middle Eastern descent. American or maybe Russian? She had high cheekbones like a runway model, accentuating her almond-shaped eyes. Deep black eyelashes feathered across her cheeks, flirting with one small freckle sitting below the corner of her right eye. Her sassy little nose looked a bit small for her face, but appeared to have escaped any damage. Her swollen upper lip drew his attention. Dabbing at the crusted blood, he was careful not to pull at the seams of the cut.Damn, what amess.
His eyes roamed over her delicate chin and followed the line of her long neck to the V of her bare collarbone. His hand followed the path his eyes were gazing over, swabbing her fevered skin with the cool damp cloth. Crimson streams of water ran between his fingers as he wrung out the cloth and began again, taking notice of a few more cuts and an unusual scar at the top of herarm.
It didn’t take long for him to feel his shorts tighten against his rapidly swelling cock as his gaze followed the path of her long, slender arms and then lingered on her bare breasts. He was a bastard for even thinking about her that way, but any male with blood flow to his dick would have a hell of a time keeping his mind from wandering down that path. Despite her injuries, she was strikinglybeautiful.
Cursing the ache in his groin, Grant set the cloth aside and then carefully cradled her battered body against his chest. He stood and paced to his cot, laying her gently on the thin mattress, wishing he had somewhere more comfortable for her to rest. Winston scurried off to the other side of the room as Grant pulled the sheet over her naked form, careful not to snag it against herstitches.
He turned to take in the disheveled state of his once comfortable living quarters. After dumping the now overflowing bucket of rainwater, it was going to be a long night. Shrugging, he picked up the bucket and paced to the door. It had been a while since he’d slept on a hard wet floor, but it beat a hard wet rock anyday.
Four
Asuffocating weightpressed against Thalia’s chest as she fought against the sinking feeling in her stomach. Something was terribly wrong. Sucking in a strangled breath, a hot, aching pain tore through her leg as she twisted against whatever was holding her down. Sheer panic laced her veins when she felt the bindings around her wrists tighten. No! She pulled at the ropes above her head, unable to escape the torture that was being inflicted. She could smell her burning flesh as the embers seared through her skin. Her screams were trapped in her chest, compressing the air from her lungs as she was torn in two by the demon monster that hovered aboveher.
