There had to be
a way off, and until she revealed it to him, she was the enemy, she
and Jen.
That still left the drunk, Henry.
The thought no sooner formed than it
catapulted him into action. He lengthened his stride and took the
stairs two at a time all the way to the top. The old man had had
all night to sleep off his rum. It was time to question him again.
He only had to make sure he didn’t alert Jen. Without a weapon, he
was at the Chinaman’s mercy.
* * *
Sugar wiped at a stubborn tear with the back
of her hand, turning just in time to see Jackson clear the top step
and break into a run for the kitchen cottage.
“Damn,” she muttered, and took off after
him, her tears forgotten in the burst of panic she felt. She knew
what he was up to. Henry.
Minutes later she cleared the cabana
threshold and came to a skidding stop. It was empty. The blanket
she’d given Henry was wadded up into a ball on a caned chair. The
rucksack he always kept with him wasn’t anywhere in sight.
The smell of coffee brought her head around
toward the kitchen, the aroma making her swear under her breath.
Jackson hadn’t had time to make coffee. He hadn’t been that far
ahead of her. Henry must have awakened and made the coffee, and the
two of them were probably in the kitchen talking up a storm. The
old sailor was as garrulous as he was guileless.
Her body tense, she strode into the kitchen,
ready to break up the party. There was no party, though. There was
only one dragon man holding a cup of steaming brew, staring out the
window at the sea with his back to the rest of the room.
“You lied to me again,” he said, not
bothering to turn around.
She scanned the kitchen on her way to check
the pantry. Henry had a sweet tooth. More than once she’d found him
rustling through her grocery supplies, looking for candy or
cane.
The small room was empty.
“He’s gone,” Jackson said as she crossed
behind him, heading for the porch.
“Don’t bother,” Jackson called after her.
“I’ve already checked the whole damn place, and all I found was
Jen.”
She looked anyway, then came back to stand
in the doorway.
“He could he wandering around outside,” she
said “Henry likes to wander.”
“No. Jen got rid of him.”
A shiver of fear rippled down her spine.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean everybody here seems to know how to
leave except me.” He turned and leveled her with an angry gaze.
“I’ve been all over this place tonight. It’s like a damn fortress
with those cliffs, and I haven’t seen so much as a raft for
transportation. How did Henry get away? Fly? Swim? Beam up?”
She wasn’t going to answer his question.
There was only one way out of Cocorico, and Jen had made his camp
in the icehouse that concealed the old pirate’s door.
Jackson swore at her silence and turned back
toward the window. She walked over to the stove and poured herself
a cup of the still-hot coffee. The fragrant steam tickled her nose
as she took her first sip. There were few luxuries in her life.
Jamaican Blue Mountain coffee was one of them.
She looked up at him over the rim of her
mug. He hadn’t moved from in front of the window. Within the
quarter-paned glass—it was the only window that still had glass—the
sun was climbing up into the arch, rimming it with brilliant
light.
“God, you don’t even have a phone or a
radio.” He shook his head in disgust, and his hair swayed in a long
sinuous line from his shoulders to his hips, ebony silk against the
black cotton shirt. “There are no clothes in the laundry except
yours, no clothes in your bedroom except yours. You have one rain
slicker hanging in the cabana and one toothbrush in a cup by the
sink. As far as I can tell, you don’t get mail or pay bills. You
don’t have a canceled check or an invoice anywhere in the
house.”
“You have no right to go through my things,”
she said.
He glanced at her over his shoulder. “Yeah,
well, we’re all pretty damn short of
a way off, and until she revealed it to him, she was the enemy, she
and Jen.
That still left the drunk, Henry.
The thought no sooner formed than it
catapulted him into action. He lengthened his stride and took the
stairs two at a time all the way to the top. The old man had had
all night to sleep off his rum. It was time to question him again.
He only had to make sure he didn’t alert Jen. Without a weapon, he
was at the Chinaman’s mercy.
* * *
Sugar wiped at a stubborn tear with the back
of her hand, turning just in time to see Jackson clear the top step
and break into a run for the kitchen cottage.
“Damn,” she muttered, and took off after
him, her tears forgotten in the burst of panic she felt. She knew
what he was up to. Henry.
Minutes later she cleared the cabana
threshold and came to a skidding stop. It was empty. The blanket
she’d given Henry was wadded up into a ball on a caned chair. The
rucksack he always kept with him wasn’t anywhere in sight.
The smell of coffee brought her head around
toward the kitchen, the aroma making her swear under her breath.
Jackson hadn’t had time to make coffee. He hadn’t been that far
ahead of her. Henry must have awakened and made the coffee, and the
two of them were probably in the kitchen talking up a storm. The
old sailor was as garrulous as he was guileless.
Her body tense, she strode into the kitchen,
ready to break up the party. There was no party, though. There was
only one dragon man holding a cup of steaming brew, staring out the
window at the sea with his back to the rest of the room.
“You lied to me again,” he said, not
bothering to turn around.
She scanned the kitchen on her way to check
the pantry. Henry had a sweet tooth. More than once she’d found him
rustling through her grocery supplies, looking for candy or
cane.
The small room was empty.
“He’s gone,” Jackson said as she crossed
behind him, heading for the porch.
“Don’t bother,” Jackson called after her.
“I’ve already checked the whole damn place, and all I found was
Jen.”
She looked anyway, then came back to stand
in the doorway.
“He could he wandering around outside,” she
said “Henry likes to wander.”
“No. Jen got rid of him.”
A shiver of fear rippled down her spine.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean everybody here seems to know how to
leave except me.” He turned and leveled her with an angry gaze.
“I’ve been all over this place tonight. It’s like a damn fortress
with those cliffs, and I haven’t seen so much as a raft for
transportation. How did Henry get away? Fly? Swim? Beam up?”
She wasn’t going to answer his question.
There was only one way out of Cocorico, and Jen had made his camp
in the icehouse that concealed the old pirate’s door.
Jackson swore at her silence and turned back
toward the window. She walked over to the stove and poured herself
a cup of the still-hot coffee. The fragrant steam tickled her nose
as she took her first sip. There were few luxuries in her life.
Jamaican Blue Mountain coffee was one of them.
She looked up at him over the rim of her
mug. He hadn’t moved from in front of the window. Within the
quarter-paned glass—it was the only window that still had glass—the
sun was climbing up into the arch, rimming it with brilliant
light.
“God, you don’t even have a phone or a
radio.” He shook his head in disgust, and his hair swayed in a long
sinuous line from his shoulders to his hips, ebony silk against the
black cotton shirt. “There are no clothes in the laundry except
yours, no clothes in your bedroom except yours. You have one rain
slicker hanging in the cabana and one toothbrush in a cup by the
sink. As far as I can tell, you don’t get mail or pay bills. You
don’t have a canceled check or an invoice anywhere in the
house.”
“You have no right to go through my things,”
she said.
He glanced at her over his shoulder. “Yeah,
well, we’re all pretty damn short of
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