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  Maddy rolled her eyes, then stiffened a moment later as she heard a grunting sound from behind the closed door. Other noises followed, noises she could unfortunately interpret quite accurately, and she felt her face flame.

  She was embarrassed for the woman in there. And embarrassed for herself—at being forced to endure the intimate sounds coming from behind the door. Once, she’d been in a hotel where the couple next door were having a very vigorous bout of sex. At least that time, they hadn’t necessarily known that someone in the next room could hear them. Now, there was an airplane full of people very aware of what was going on behind the closed bathroom door.

  When she felt Jack’s hand cover hers, she kept her eyes averted. But she turned her palm up and knit her fingers with his, gripping hard, as if he could rescue her from the helpless chagrin she shouldn’t be feeling.

  Lord, what kind of people had she gotten mixed up with on this trip?

  Stupid question. She’d gotten mixed up with a planeload of gangsters who didn’t subscribe to the normal rules of society, and all of them eager to get to Orchid Island, where there were no rules—except those made by Oliver Reynard.

  She slid Jack a glance and saw by the tenseness of his body and the slight flush of his cheeks that he wasn’t having quite the same reaction as she. The jerk was turned on!

  Men!

  The door opened, and she kept her eyes cast downward as the guy sauntered out with a smug grin on his face and headed back to his seat. It was five minutes before the woman followed, her head down and her hands pressed to her sides. Maddy knew she was dying inside at having everyone on the plane knowing what she’d been doing.

  She shot Jack a scathing look.

  He gave a little shrug.

  “We are turning down the cabin lights so that you can enjoy some of our fine selection of movies on your individual television screens,” one of the attendants announced. “But if you prefer to read, the controls for the reading lights are on the arms of your chairs.”

  Maddy didn’t think she could concentrate on the written word. Jack must have agreed. Leaning forward, he reached for an arm that pulled a small television set in front of them—positioned so that the screen could not be viewed from the aisle.

  “Let’s see what’s on,” he suggested. Without waiting for an answer, he pulled out the wired remote control cradled in the seat arm, then handed her a set of earphones, which she put on. When the menu appeared, Maddy stared at the titles, none of which she recognized.

  Jack found a show, and she stared at the image that flicked to life on the screen. A man and woman were in a stark, modern bedroom, done in shades of gray and mauve. But the focus was on the couple standing in the middle of the thick carpet. She was wearing a filmy gown that did nothing to hide the dark crests of her nipples or the triangle of hair at the juncture of her legs. He was naked and seen from the back, all powerful muscles, tight buttocks, tanned skin.

  As Maddy watched, he stepped toward the woman, took her in his arms, the camera angle shifting so the viewer could see him kissing her mouth, her neck, her shoulder. Then, with purposeful hands, he slipped down the straps of her gown, trapping her arms as he exposed her breasts.

  It was all done artfully, erotically. Her breasts were perfect, not too large or too small. He lifted their weight in his hands, squeezed and kneaded, then circled her nipples, wringing a moan of pleasure from her—and a strangled sound from Maddy.

  She didn’t dare look at Jack, or anybody else who might catch the stunned expression on her face. Instead she kept her eyes glued to the screen.

  The woman was obviously turned on by the attention because her nipples puckered. Her hand moved restlessly up and down the man’s back, finding his buttocks and kneading with her fingers.

  That questing hand sent a skitter of sensation along Maddy’s nerve endings. And when the man bent to suck one of the woman’s distended nipples into his mouth, Maddy felt the reaction in her own breasts. In her sex.

  Beside her, Jack had gone very still, his gaze riveted to the screen, his lips slightly parted.

  She could hear his quick intake of breath. And her own.

  There had been love scenes in movies that had turned her on. But none of them had been like this. Not this vivid or erotic.

  It took almost no effort to put herself and Jack in the places of the man and woman making love on the small screen—because that was what she’d longed for since that first and only time.

  She closed her eyes for a moment, scrambling for a sense of calm. But calm was beyond her. Maybe it was simply the permissive atmosphere all around her. Or perhaps it was easier to let the erotic images of the movie carry her along rather than to let her mind dwell on this planeload of ruffians and their women—or on what awaited her at Orchid Island.

  Her eyes blinked open again to see that the actor on the screen had removed the woman’s gown. And when his body turned slightly, Maddy saw that he was fully aroused, his penis standing out from his body, hard and firm.

  The movie love scenes she’d seen before had all been simulated sex. She’d known that the Hollywood actors weren’t really doing it. This was completely beyond her experience—a movie where the man was definitely not faking his arousal. Her first porn flick.

  All she could do was goggle as she watched the woman take his erection in her hand, her fingers moving and caressing in ways that wrung a gasp from his lips.

  Drops of liquid formed on the tip, and she caught them, massaging them into his distended flesh.

  Then she knelt in front of him, took him into her mouth while her hands played with her own breasts, fondling them the way he had done, plucking at her nipples while she pleasured him.

  It was unbearably crude. And unbearably stimulating.

  What was going to happen now? Was the woman going to bring him to climax like that? Or were they going to have intercourse?

  She never got a chance to find out, because the screen went blank, and she was left sucking in air, left with a throbbing sensation between her legs.

  “I think we’ve had enough television,” Jack growled, pulling off his earphones.

  She gave a tight nod as she removed her own earphones. More than enough, actually.

  She looked down at Jack’s hand. The fingers were curled slightly as they rested on the arm of his chair. And she could imagine reaching for his hand and moving it six inches to the right and downward to her thigh.

  She told herself to stop it. But she couldn’t shut out the imagined sensation of his fingers pressed to her flesh. To her thigh and then over four more inches, to the juncture of her legs, to the part of her that pulsed and throbbed and radiated heat.

  She squeezed her eyes shut again, angry with herself. Angry that she was behaving like a…a woman who was ruled by her passions, not her brain. Lord, she was no better than that couple who had slipped into the bathroom.

  She sat there—thinking that if she could just focus on something else, the need to feel Jack’s touch would go away. But it was impossible to turn off the sensations. Not when Jack was so close. Not when that hand of his would feel so good against her pulsing flesh.

  Stop it. Just stop it!

  “What?” Jack questioned, his voice husky.

  “I didn’t say anything.”

  “Didn’t you?”

  She turned her head so that she was facing him. Her lips parted, but she couldn’t force any more words out. For a long moment, they stared at each other as though they’d just been caught doing something they shouldn’t.

  Then she decided she had nothing to lose by revealing at least part of what she was feeling. “I’m having a little problem coping with that film.”

  “Yeah. I should have turned it off faster.”

  “Why didn’t you?”

  He laughed. “It was…um…interesting.”

  She blew out a stream of air, as if that might clear her head. “Yes. I’ve never seen anything quite like it.”

  “You lead a sh
eltered life.”

  “Maybe.” Needing to break the intensity of the moment, she looked around the dimly lit cabin. Several other couples were watching TV, and from the looks on their faces, she was pretty sure they were watching the same or a similar show.

  “You could try and get some sleep,” Jack murmured. “Rest your head on my shoulder.”

  Could she manage that, she wondered. Gingerly she lowered her head to the wide, firm surface, feeling strangely comforted by the contact. When his hand came up to stroke through her hair, she closed her eyes.

  He made her feel calmer, safer. But she knew it was only the illusion of safety. And, at any rate, she was too keyed up to sleep. Keyed up from the film, and keyed up from the knowledge that they were drawing closer to Orchid Island. And since they didn’t have to detour around Cuba, the way a U.S. carrier would, the flight would be less than two hours.

  Some time later, the attendants turned on dim lights and served a sumptuous lunch of lemon pepper chicken, wild rice, and baby green beans. After the trays were cleared away, Maddy felt the plane begin its descent.

  She watched out the window as they approached the island, an irregular rectangle of green, like an uncut jewel laid on turquoise velvet.

  It was beautiful, yet the beauty of the place only accentuated the feeling of danger.

  Enter at your own risk, she thought as they skimmed along the last stretch of open space before the runway. Leaning back in her seat, she worked at finding the sense of calm that she could invariably muster up when she was in the middle of an assignment.

  She’d always done it before. But this was different. Her nerves were screeching, and she couldn’t make them settle.

  She tensed as she felt the plane come to a halt on a stretch of tarmac in front of a low, white building.

  There was a sense of anticipation in the cabin now. A suppressed excitement.

  Some of the men were talking to their women, touching them. Others were craning their heads out the windows, intent on getting a preview of their destination.

  The door opened, flooding the previously sealed interior with instant heat and rich scents—tropical flowers and an underlying layer of rotting vegetation.

  The air was almost too thick to breathe, or perhaps it was only the tight feeling in her chest that was giving her problems.

  Minutes later, they stepped into white-hot sunlight and descended a flight of stairs.

  But it wasn’t the heat that had Maddy’s skin breaking out with a thin layer of perspiration. It was the gun emplacements manned by uniformed guards at the corners of the low metal buildings facing them.

  4

  AS THEY CROSSED fifty yards of oven-hot tarmac, Jack was cataloguing details and impressions. The heat. The guards. The people around him.

  But most of all he was aware of the woman at his side. He knew her nerves were stretched taut. Unfortunately, he had something to do with that. He should have turned off that porno movie on the plane as soon as he’d seen what it was. But something had stayed his hand. He’d wanted to catch Maddy’s reaction. Wanted to find out if she was operating on sexual overdrive, the way he was.

  He’d gotten his answer—in spades. And it had given him a rush to know she was as hot and needy as he was. Then he’d silently conceded that his mind had gotten pretty off track from what he was supposed to be doing.

  But then he’d known the danger all along. Known that working with Maddy was going to be a considerable distraction. That was one of the reasons he’d tried to get her to stay home. None of his arguments had been persuasive. He’d been left with a feeling of failure mixed with anticipation, and with the knowledge that he was responsible for her safety, which meant that he had to keep his head screwed on straight.

  His hand clenched around the strap of his carry-on bag. Deliberately he switched his attention to the guards who manned the gun emplacements at the corners of the building’s roof. An interesting show of force from a man who was welcoming a group of friends to a house party.

  Well, probably not friends. He doubted if Oliver Reynard had any bosom buddies. But the gunners did make a statement about security on the island.

  He was amused to note the varying reactions of the people around him as they closed the distance between themselves and the over-equipped guards. The men stood up straighter. Most of the women—including Maddy—moved closer to their guys, as if hard male bodies could protect them from machine-gun bullets.

  One of Reynard’s private army was standing at the entrance to the building where they were headed. Jack had studied their insignia, and he knew that the guy was a lieutenant. Kind of a high rank to be playing doorman, which meant that he was there for more than ceremonial purposes. He was taking a good look at the deplaning passengers—and he’d be asked for his opinion later.

  As the first of the guests drew near, the man clicked his heels. A nice touch, Jack thought. Kind of like a storm trooper.

  The lieutenant opened a heavy metal door that said Passport Control/Customs and held it deferentially as the passengers filed past.

  Jack looked around at Passport Control and Customs. What he saw was a stark, low-ceilinged room with a bare cement floor and corrugated metal walls that might have been constructed and maintained in any third-world country.

  Quite a different setting from the luxury of the waiting room in New York. Lord, what had Dawn Winston thought when she passed through this grim space?

  Probably that it was an anteroom to hell. If she’d been in any shape to observe her surroundings, which she might not have been. According to his information, she’d been drugged when she’d arrived on the island.

  For him, it was reminiscent of a prison intake area. Or the perfect shooting gallery. With Reynard’s guests as the targets. If the guy wanted to wipe out a whole planeload of passengers in one swift barrage, he had the perfect venue. For a sick moment, Jack couldn’t let go of that image. Reynard had invited these gangsters here to eliminate the competition.

  Maybe the notion had invaded Maddy’s mind, too, because he felt her press her shoulder against his.

  He schooled his features into a cocky smile. “We’ll get to the good part soon. Our host just wants to make a point.”

  “Which is?”

  “That he means business—when he wants to.”

  “Um,” she answered, raising her gaze to look at one of the video cameras recording the whole scene.

  He studied the fine sheen of perspiration on her cheeks. “You’re probably hot,” he murmured. “Why don’t you take off your jacket and get comfortable.”

  “Yes. Right.”

  As she took the jacket off and folded it over her arm, a disembodied voice issued from a loudspeaker. “Have your passports ready. You may line up double file with your companions, facing the counter at the end of the room.”

  The passengers dutifully shuffled two by two into line like animals headed for the Ark. Letting others go ahead of them, Jack made sure that he and Maddy ended up in about the middle of the group where he could observe the procedure before it was their turn. He watched with interest as Don Fowler and his honey were asked a series of questions by a uniformed official. Then their carry-on luggage was opened and examined. Finally, they were ushered toward a duo of guards—one male and one female who went over their bodies with hand-held metal detectors. As the machines beeped, Fowler was relieved of his cell phone and pager.

  Did the jerk really think he was going to carry communications equipment into this place, Jack wondered as he saw the drug lord ask for his property back.

  “I’m sorry, sir,” the attendant answered. “If you wish to make a call to the mainland, we have excellent facilities that can be placed at your disposal.”

  I’ll bet, Jack thought. Excellent and monitored.

  Finally, Fowler gave up the argument and hustled his woman through a door beyond the customs barrier.

  The jerk who’d pulled the stunt in the rest room and his girlfriend were next. As Jack wa
tched Mr. Sexy’s body language, he could tell the guy was nervous. It turned out there was a good reason. They passed the question and answer session, but when it came time for the metal detector, the guards found something a little more significant than a cell phone or a pager. The lunkhead was wearing an ankle holster, with a small-caliber pistol that apparently hadn’t been detected back in New York. Perhaps that had been on purpose, Jack mused. Maybe Reynard wanted to assert his authority on his own turf.

  And the inspector didn’t simply take it away. He pushed a button that activated an alarm. As a deep, clanging noise filled the room, more armed guards materialized from a door at the side of the enclosure.

  Again Mr. Sexy and his honey became the center of attention, although this time the guy wasn’t swaggering. A burly guard took him by the arm and hustled him swiftly out of the area. His honey was marched off behind him. She tried to resist, but the guards kept her moving, and the last thing Jack saw was her pink-clad shoulders begin to shake with reaction.

  Too bad for her, Jack thought. She’d hooked up with the wrong scumball.

  The small drama took less than a minute and left the group standing in the customs area in stunned silence.

  “Next,” the uniformed official called out.

  Jormo Kardofski and his lady stepped smartly up to the barrier. They were both acting like they had nothing in the world to worry about. Indeed, Jormo was absolutely clean. Not even one of those computerized date books. Maybe he’d been here before. Or maybe he was smart enough to know that electronic devices and weapons were not duty-free items on Orchid Island.

  Jack and Maddy were next, and he strove to project the same sense of nonchalance that Kardofski had exhibited. He’d known enough to leave his toys back in New York, even if it did make him feel naked going unarmed into this hostile environment. But that didn’t mean they were home free. The real worry was Maddy’s makeup case with its hidden transmitter.

  He saw her fingers tighten on the handle. But she kept her expression carefully neutral as she turned the box over to the guards.

  Jack reminded himself to breathe as the man snapped the latch and lifted the lid, but the contents had the intended effect. After a quick check through the tubes of lipstick and bottles of foundation, the man turned it back to her.