home.’’
‘‘We don’t do dishes while we’re on vacation,’’ he returned with a grin. His sharp glance rested a moment on the shade covering the window. No one would mistake his silhouette for hers.
Annmarie pondered Ian’s statement a moment. ‘‘We can’t just leave the dishes dirty.’’
‘‘We could let the dog lick them,’’ he suggested.
She giggled. ‘‘You’re so silly. There would be germs.’’
‘‘Are you sure?’’ He held the plate up as if to inspect it. ‘‘I don’t see any germs,’’
‘‘That’s ’cause you need a mic…’’ She puckered her brow. ‘‘What’s the name of that thing Mama uses at work?’’
‘‘Microscope?’’ he offered.
She brightened. ‘‘That’s right.’’
‘‘I’ll wash the dishes,’’ Rosie said, picking up the plates and carrying them to the counter. ‘‘I bet there’s a movie on the TV.’’ The den was the one room in the house where there were thick drapes. The first winter Rosie had spent here, it was the only room in the house where she had felt truly safe.
‘‘I think she’s trying to get rid of us,’’ he said, scooping Annmarie into his arms.
‘‘You’ll come watch with us, won’t you?’’ she called as Ian carried her out of the kitchen.
‘‘Just as soon as I get my chores done.’’
As Rosie cleaned up the dishes, she listened to their muffled laughter coming from the den. She both envied and admired the easy rapport between them. She had only herself to blame that she didn’t know Annmarie as she now desperately wanted to.
She turned off the light in the kitchen and quietly let herself out of the house, Sly following her. He padded into the yard as he usually did, and she felt a moment’s relief from the day’s tension. Sly didn’t seem to smell anything unusual. She went to the edge of the porch and peered up the hillside where Ian had said someone had watched the house. From down here, Sly would probably never pick up a scent unless the wind came off the mountains at the center of the island instead of off the water.
Her relief vanished. Who did she think she was kidding with all her carefully made plans? The totem in the middle of her yard might be great for scaring away evil spirits, but would be useless against the men after Annmarie.
When Sly joined her back on the porch, she went into the house, carefully closing the door behind her. She heard a snicking sound and looked up in time to see Ian with the gun in his hand, putting the safety back on. Meeting her glance, he slipped the weapon in the waistband of his jeans at the small of his back.
She couldn’t decide whether to be relieved or terrified that he’d heard her and Sly go outside. Turning her back to him, she locked the door, her fingers lingering over the lock.
‘‘Everything okay out there?’’ he asked.
She nodded.
‘‘You okay?’’
She turned around to face him. ‘‘I’ve had better days.’’
‘‘But you got to see your niece on this one.’’
‘‘Yeah.’’
‘‘She’s a beauty. As innocent and sweet as her mom.’’
‘‘Yes, she is.’’
‘‘But you haven’t seen her since—’’
‘‘Eighteen months ago,’’ Rosie finished. The last time Lily and Annmarie had been to the island. Then Rosie had imagined being the favorite aunt who shared secrets and special times. She hated knowing she was more stranger to Annmarie than this man. She lifted her gaze to Ian’s, unwilling to let him see her regret. ‘‘I don’t imagine you’re too sleepy, since you slept the day away, but we ought to be going to bed soon.’’
His gaze sharpened, and she swallowed, once again caught within a delicate web of attraction, too aware of him, too aware of herself, disliking herself and him because of it.
‘‘Tomorrow’s going to be a long day,’’ she added. The pang of regret that he’d be going his way, she’d be going hers, surprised her.
He nodded.
‘‘Well, then…’’ Relieved that he didn’t say a word about beds or what to do there if a person wasn’t sleepy, she turned off the light in the kitchen and made her way toward the den.
An instant later someone rapped loudly on the glass of the kitchen door, and a man called, ‘‘Open the door, Rosie. I can’t believe you’ve locked me out.’’
Chapter 5
The doorknob rattled again. ‘‘C’mon, Rosie. I know you’re in there.’’
Ian glanced at Rosie. ‘‘Who the hell is that?’’
The dog stood in front of the door lazily wagging his tail. Ian would bet his new SUV that whoever stood on the other side of the door was someone the dog knew. Even so, he wasn’t reassured.
‘‘It sounds like Hilda’s brother,’’ Rosie returned, her own voice in a whisper.
‘‘Josh?’’ Ian asked, coming up with a name from earlier in the day. A man who came and went. When Rosie nodded, he added, ‘‘What happens if you ignore him? Will he go away?’’
She shrugged. ‘‘I don’t know.’’
‘‘Trust him?’’
A long second passed before she shook her head. ‘‘He’s probably drunk—sometimes he comes out here to sleep it off. There’s a cot in one of the sheds—if he stays he’ll crash there.’’ She frowned. ‘‘When he’s drunk, though, he never comes to the house. He doesn’t cause any trouble—just sleeps it off.’’
The man outside knocked on the glass again. ‘‘I just want some coffee.’’ The door shook as though he’d put his shoulder against it. ‘‘She ain’t here,’’ he said, his voice muffled as though he’d turned away from the door.
The hair on the back of Ian’s neck rose.
‘‘Nobody…’’ The man continued to talk, but what he said couldn’t be understood.
Ian drew his weapon and crept toward the door. Flattening his back against the wall, he peered through the thin sliver between the gauzy curtain and the glass. At first he saw nothing. Then one of the shadows moved, and he realized there was a man on the outside wall, standing just as he was, his back to the wall by the door. The shadows outside moved again, and one more time there was pounding against the door.
Ian pulled Rosie away from the front of the door and pushed her toward the den.
‘‘Mr. Ian. Auntie Rosie, where are you?’’ Annmarie called, her high voice sounding unnaturally loud. The patter of her footsteps faltered, then her voice became even more plaintive. ‘‘Mr. Ian?’’
His muscles tensed as the ominous shadows outside shifted. From the corner of his eye, he watched Rosie silently cross the kitchen toward her niece. Without taking his attention off the shadows, he assessed his options, which were damn few.
In the next instant the window in the door shattered, and an arm reached through the window frame to unlock the door.
‘‘Rosie, get out of here,’’ Ian commanded.
He grabbed the arm and jerked hard. The bone snapped, and the man cried out.
To Rosie, the breaking glass sounded like gunfire, but no less so than a man’s howl of pain. She scooped up Annmarie and ran into the den.