Dana Mentink - Force of Nature

Relief and embarrassment tumbled inside her. Wrong about the watch, Antonia. Plenty of guys have gold watches, and she couldn’t see it clearly from this distance. She was truly paranoid. After having a drug runner for a brother-in-law and her sister thrown in jail for attempted murder, maybe it wasn’t such an unexpected turn of events.

She dug her toes into the sand, drawing comfort from the sensation that there was ground under her feet, even if she couldn’t see it through the agitated water. With a sigh that was caught up by the spiraling wind, she headed back toward the dock, stopping suddenly when the man appeared on the beach, his leather shoes out of place, scuffling through the sand.

Her pulse skipped faster as he put himself between her and the dock. She looked for someone else, anyone else, but the beach was quiet except for the slapping of the waves.

Antonia, take control. The solution was easy. No need for panic. She would swim a mile or so down the coast to another perfect cove that was much more popular, storms notwithstanding. She’d come back later for her art supplies. She was wearing a tank top and shorts instead of a swimsuit, but no matter. This man in his leather loafers and blazer was not about to follow her into the ocean. Problem solved.

She sloshed out to deeper water and paddled past the sheltered cove. The pull of the tide was strong, but so was she. Ignoring the spray tossed by the wind that stung her eyes, she kept a steady pace until she was a good fifteen feet in. In the distance the swaying cabbage palms that dotted Isla Marsopa bent under the increasing pressure of the storm. The familiar twinge twisted her gut as she thought about her past with Reuben Sandoval, exploring that tiny paradise.

Keep swimming, she told herself fiercely. Paralleling the shore, she fought the tumbling waves, making her arduous way up the coast, intermittently treading water to preserve her strength. In the distance she caught sight of the dock where Reuben kept his beloved boat and, for a painful moment, she wondered if he had painted over the name on the stern, Black-Eyed Beauty, his nickname for her.

Her black-eyed beauty was not enough to help him see the truth about his brother. Even when Hector Sandoval tried to kill her sister and Mia acted in self-defense, Reuben took his brother’s side and turned his back on Antonia and Mia, insisting to the police Hector had left the drug trade behind when their father died five years prior. She had to admit Hector had been convincing; both she and her sister believed he was on the straight and narrow, too, for a time. How wrong they’d been. Every one of them. The mistake had cost Mia everything, and Antonia the man she had loved more than anyone else on earth. Black-Eyed Beauty—now the name stung like salt in a fresh wound.

She didn’t have time to wallow in any more painful memories as she heard an unexpected sound, the throb of a Jet Ski engine. Swimming in little circles, she tried to locate the source, but the waves made it difficult. Over the cresting foam, she caught a glimpse of a Jet Ski moving slowly, the driver twisting his head around as if he were looking for something.

Not something. Her nerves sizzled.

Someone.

Her.

She suddenly realized this person was somehow connected to the gold watch man on the beach. Either that or she was completely crazy.

But the man on the Jet Ski was not out for a relaxing evening jaunt.

Her plan to swim up the coast was in serious jeopardy unless she could outwait him, outlast his game of cat and mouse. Tucking her chin low, she began to tread water, waiting for the cat to lose interest.

* * *

Reuben Sandoval tried again to sew a patch on the canvas awning that protected his boat from the elements. The material frayed, giving way like sand through his fingers until he threw the patch down in disgust. The thing was beyond repair, a feeling he’d begun to have lately about everything in his life.

The Isla Marsopa Hotel was deteriorating faster than he could patch it together. Ironic, since his brother, Hector, had enough money—the riches left behind by their father—to transform Isla into a place that would rival the finest hotels in Florida. But Hector would not touch Isla because it had been their mother’s, and Reuben would not ask for the same reason. And others. Their family had fractured neatly down the middle the night their mother snatched the boys from their father, Arlo, to pull them away from the drug trade, only to die less than a year later in a car accident. It had taken Reuben many years to understand her decision to leave, and his brother never had. One thing he knew with absolute clarity: he would not touch one penny of their tainted inheritance.

Reuben meant to restore the three-story Victorian jewel on his own, with whatever money he could earn from his struggling citrus grove. How could he not? Yes, the hotel was ramshackle and the guest bungalows outdated, but the grounds looked out on an ocean panorama that was unparalleled, and the rest of the island was a nature preserve, which ensured its wild beauty would remain unspoiled. Accessible only by boat, the island curved gently, embracing—it seemed to Reuben—the mangrove islands and lagoon in its sandy arms. With its old-world charm, Isla was the perfect getaway, and he knew it was the reason his mother had clung so desperately to this one asset left to her by her father. It was, quite simply, breathtaking.

Something bumped against his leg, and he bent to give the aged tabby a scratch. “Hey, Charley. Didn’t go fishing today, so I don’t have a treat for you. Weather’s not good, buddy.”

Charley pushed against Reuben’s hand, poking at him with a sandpapery nose. The cat ought to understand about bad weather. His mother found the half-drowned kitten shivering under an overturned boat in the wake of Hurricane Charley that blasted down on the island. Reuben cast an uneasy glance at the sky.

“Going to blow into a hurricane,” a gravelly voice said.

Reuben wasn’t surprised he hadn’t heard Silvio approach. The grizzled old man seemed sometimes to be part of the sand and surf and wind—always there, always had been. Behind him trailed a black man with an affable grin.

“Is that your vote or from the National Hurricane Center?” Reuben said.

“Don’t need anyone to tell me. Know it.”

Reuben nodded to the younger man. “You think so, too, Gav?”

Gavin scooped up the cat, which purred in delight. “Dunno. I’m from San Diego, remember? This hurricane stuff is your department. I’m just here to collect the meager pittance you provide me. Once I earn my master’s, I’m settling permanently in the Golden State. It’s safe there.”

“Yeah, those earthquakes are a piece of cake,” Reuben said.

Gavin waved a hand. “They’ll clean up from that last one eventually. It’ll cost a chunk of change, though, and speaking of change...”

Reuben laughed. “Yeah, I remember.” He fished a crumpled check from his pocket. “It’s payday.”

“Muchas gracias, Señor Sandoval,” Gavin said.

“De nada, Señor Campbell, and your Spanish is horrendous, by the way.”

With a smile, Gavin turned to go. Reuben wanted to let him. There was so much to do on the island, and there would be significant damage to repair after the storm receded, his mind added grimly, but he could not risk any lives. “Gav, take the extra boat and get back to the mainland. I’ll contact you after the storm passes.”

Gavin squinted. “I’m okay. I can hunker down in a bungalow until it’s over.”

Reuben shook his head. “This isn’t a run-of-the-mill storm. I’ll send Silvio and Paula with you.”

“Ain’t going,” Silvio said. “Haven’t secured all the windows. We’ve got a day or two yet anyway.”