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He tried the door. It opened. A wave of humid air scented with the earthy smells of a hothouse rolled out.
This was getting interesting, but first things first. He was here to talk to the Night Gardener.
Luke closed the door and aimed the device at the lock. The pinging started. The black crystals pulsed. There was another rumble as the bolts inside the steel door slid home.
He stood there for a few more seconds, trying to decide how to move forward.
Priorities, Rand. Priorities.
Pocketing the gadget, he made his way around the conservatory and saw the cabin on the edge of the gardens. The overgrown plants loomed around the small structure as if guarding it—or, perhaps, waiting to consume it.
Not surprisingly, the shade was pulled down in the front window. There was no Do Not Disturb sign on the door, but there might as well have been. Visitors were not welcome.
He went forward and rapped sharply on the front door. “Wake up, Ms.Finch. I need to speak to you. It’s important.”
When he got no response he tried again, pounding on the door.
“Wake up, Ms.Finch. It’s about your conservatory.”
No one came to the door. Either Pomona Finch was a very sound sleeper or else she was ignoring him.
It was time to dispense with the social niceties. He tried the door and was startled to discover that it was not locked. He opened it a scant inch or two and spoke through the opening.
“Ms.Finch? I’m Luke Rand. We met last night. I need your help. A woman’s life is in danger.”
A deep sense of emptiness whispered in the atmosphere. It was accompanied by a dank, musty smell, as if the cabin had been closed up for a long time. He eased the door open farther, allowing a shaft of gray storm light into the space. He was braced to find a body or an unconscious woman. There was neither.
The disturbing sense of emptiness grew stronger. He gave it amoment but he could not shake the growing certainty that no one had lived in the cabin for a very long time.
He walked slowly through the main room and the bath. There were no sheets or blankets on the bed. No clothes in the closet. No toiletries. No personal possessions. No signs that a meal had been eaten in the cabin. No coffee mugs in the small sink. The layer of dust told him that if Pomona Finch had ever spent time here, it was long ago.
If he had not met the Night Gardener last night he would have had a hard time believing she existed.
He closed the door and went back along the path that led to the front of the conservatory. The gadget in his trouser pocket gave another muffled ping when he went past the entrance, but he ignored it and kept going. He needed to get back to the lodge; back to Talia.
Things had gotten complicated, but a plan of action was taking shape.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Talia wasn’t awarethat her pulse was beating too fast and her anxiety level was climbing toward the red zone until Luke appeared on the covered porch in front of the lobby. Through the windows she watched him remove the plastic rain poncho and shake off the water.
Relief slammed through her. She struggled to conceal it, as well as the ridiculous impulse to fling herself into his arms and yell at him for having turned her into a nervous wreck.
She and the others were scattered around the lobby. A cheerful fire burned on the massive stone hearth. Opting not to make a fool out of herself, she got to her feet and went through the arched opening into the dining room. She poured a mug of coffee and returned to the lobby.
Luke opened the front door and moved into the room. He stopped short when he realized that Marcella, Jasper, and Oliver were staring at him with varying degrees of hopeful expectation.
“Something wrong?” he asked politely.
“I’m afraid I let the secret out,” Talia said. The energy around himand the heat in his eyes told her that he had discovered something important in the course of his explorations.
“Since when is private meditation a secret on this island?” Luke said, turning to hang his poncho on a wall hook.
He unzipped his leather jacket but he did not remove it. Talia remembered watching him tuck the pistol into the concealed holster before leaving the cabin.
“Forget the meditation story,” she said. “I knew no one would believe me if I told them you had gone out into the storm to meditate, so I said that you were searching for a cell connection.”
“Ah.” Luke ran his fingers through his damp hair. “That explains the mood of the room.”
