Crash Site (Fiona Carver), page 5
She was committed now. She’d be spending the next six weeks in paradise with Dean and Dylan Slater, and she’d signed a release that allowed the producers to use any footage of her taken in relation to the project. Included in that broad description was the black-tie party Jude was hosting in a few days’ time for the uber-rich yacht set that included Fortune 500 CEOs, celebrities, and politicians who enjoyed vacationing on big donors’ yachts when they couldn’t afford their own.
Odds were, some of the guests would have read the stories about Chiksook and would be eager to hear details that hadn’t made the news, offering up another motive for Jude to bring her, Dean, and Dylan together.
Jude was big in shipping circles, but he was trying to make inroads in the entertainment industry with his new streaming travel channel. Dean had connections in Hollywood and deep respect in the travel industry, as his photos accompanied articles that were free advertising for remote and beautiful places.
Jude could be playing an especially long game as he attempted to impress his billionaire cronies with the scintillating opportunity to pump her and the Slater brothers for details about Chiksook.
FIVE
Dean leaned against the closed door of his suite. It was as luxurious as any five-star hotel room he’d ever stayed in, which, come to think of it, was a sample of . . . one? More often than not, when he was on assignment, accommodations were more in line with the tents they’d had on Chiksook, but without the electricity.
He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, keeping his back pressed to the door. He still had dinner to get through, and between jet lag and a near-death experience, his body was ready to shut down. But the moment his lids closed, he was assaulted by memories of the crash.
With the safety of having survived and knowing the others were all relatively unscathed—Jenni would be in a sling for a bit, and Philip had fresh stitches on a cut they hadn’t known about when they assessed triage by the fort—there was an added but not entirely unpleasant adrenaline rush that came with the memory.
That he felt a buzz from it was probably a bad sign.
But still, it was there. The shock of realizing they were in danger. The dip of the copter as it plunged and tilted toward the earth. The millisecond between the pilot telling them to bail and hitting the release on the safety harness.
Watching the others slam to the ground followed by the helicopter careening into a centuries-old stone fort.
His heart raced with the memory. Should it scare him that he got a little thrill from it?
Yeah. Probably.
He wasn’t about to go seeking out more near-death crashes, but the rush was still there. His reaction reminded him of the first years after Violet died, when he actively sought dangerous assignments and situations, anything that would make him feel.
Dylan had reminded him that he wasn’t alone in the world and urged him to dial back his recklessness. He’d made a promise to his twin before boarding the plane to Tanzania the day after Violet’s funeral: he would return in one piece.
And he’d repeated that promise with every expedition until it no longer needed to be said.
His gaze landed on the stack of clothes and toiletries on the dresser, generic tropical wear that would suffice until Dylan arrived with Dean’s clothing and photography equipment. He wouldn’t be surprised if these were hand-me-downs from the billionaire himself, as they had a similar height and build, but more likely they were clothing provided to house staff, as he’d noticed that they generally wore Hawaiʻian-style shirts and cotton slacks. It didn’t matter. He was just glad he’d had something to change into before cocktail hour on the beach. Fiona had been traumatized enough without seeing him in his torn shirt and pants again.
He pushed off the hallway door and crossed the room to the second-floor balcony, which faced the water. The sky was clear of clouds, and the blazing orange disk of the sun hovered an inch above the dark-blue water on the horizon.
He pulled the door inward and stepped onto the balcony, the salty evening breeze washing over him with a calming touch. Down below on the sandy beach, next to the long dock that extended into the sheltered bay, a cluster of people had gathered for the nightly show of the sun descending into the sea.
He’d be down there too, continuing to enjoy his first sunset cocktail hour on Ruby Island with the rest of the team, but he didn’t want to watch Jude Reynolds follow Fiona with his eyes one minute longer.
The billionaire had a thing for her. He was smooth, but anyone who was watching for it would pick up on the subtle differences in his behavior when Fiona was around.
It wasn’t like Dean could blame the guy—Fiona was, without a doubt, exceptional—but that didn’t mean he wanted front-row seats to watching Reynolds make his case with her.
It was going to be a long-ass six weeks.
Thank goodness Dylan would be here in a few days. Dean would have his brother and photography to focus on. Fiona wouldn’t—and couldn’t—be central to his every waking moment.
The sound of a door on the far end of the balcony turned his attention away from the setting sun. And there she was, twenty feet away. Her hair was loose around her shoulders, and she wore the airy sundress she’d donned for cocktail hour. The breeze whipped her hair and skirt, and she appeared utterly at ease in the tropical environment. She held a glass of red wine in one hand as she stepped forward and leaned on the railing, her gaze on the setting sun.
He considered slipping back inside and letting her have the long wraparound deck all to herself, but he wasn’t a coward. Instead, he crossed the distance between them.
Alerted by the sound of his steps, she turned and faced him. She hesitated a moment, and then her face broke into a wide, warm smile, the one she couldn’t give him in front of the others. She set her glass on the railing and opened her arms.
He pulled her to his chest, wrapping his arms around her. Her tall form fit against him perfectly, just the right height for him to bury his face in her neck. Her body molded to his, and he remembered so many moments on Chiksook when holding her had been the only thing that kept him sane.
She smelled of seawater and sunshine. The scent of paradise. And holding her was the most natural, wonderful thing in the world.
The sun was halfway below the horizon before he raised his head. He tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear and brushed his lips over hers in the kiss hello he hadn’t gotten hours ago on the mountainside. “It’s good to see you, Fi.”
She stroked his cheek, her forefinger touching a scar—a souvenir from Chiksook—as her other fingers threaded through the bristles of his beard. Her eyes were warm. Calm. “It’s good to see you too, Dean.”
He could lower his mouth and kiss her again. She would probably let him spread her lips with his tongue and invite him to explore. From there, he could lift her over his shoulder and march through the door and drop her on what was certain to be a king-size bed with a luxury mattress. There, he could make love to her for hours.
It was a fantasy he’d replayed in his mind a thousand times in the last nine months, and that’s where it needed to stay. In his fantasies. Only in his mind. Because in reality, he could never give Fiona what she deserved.
And after the way he’d ghosted her since Chiksook, it was entirely possible she wouldn’t welcome his kisses or want him in her bed.
“You okay?” he asked softly.
Her mouth twisted in a smile that was also a grimace. “I am now. It’s . . . been a day.”
His hold on her loosened so they could both face the sunset. He draped his arm around her waist and watched the sun disappear into the Caribbean, feeling calm and content in a way that had eluded him for months. Possibly even years.
And the feeling terrified him as much as it had that last time he saw her in Anchorage.
Jude backed up the video again and watched the moment Fiona ran across the field and dropped to her knees in front of Dean Slater. It was natural for her emotions to run high after the crash, but the look on her face when Dean tilted her head back to kiss her revealed something deeper Jude hadn’t counted on.
He’d been assured she hadn’t been in touch with the guy since Chiksook. He’d assumed that meant there was nothing between them. When photos of the photographer and yet another supermodel showed up on the gossip sites in the spring, he’d figured that sealed it. Dean Slater and Fiona Carver had shared an experience on Chiksook, but no lasting friendship or bond had formed.
He’d thought it would make interesting fodder for the documentary to bring the Slater brothers on board, but that was all. Hell, if anything, he’d figured it was the twin, Dylan Slater, who was the bigger threat. Fiona had worked with him in the field for weeks, and Jude was well aware how appealing she was in a field situation. Plus, she and Dylan had remained in touch. Jude had hesitated to hire him, but when Dean offered him up, it was too good an opportunity to let pass by.
Today, that gamble had paid off. Fiona would have quit if not for Dylan’s job hanging in the balance.
Fiona. It would be so much simpler if he could let the fantasy of her go. If he could cherish those field-school memories for what they were and move on. But fifteen years of believing—knowing—he’d made the biggest mistake of his life when he left field school without telling her how he felt made it impossible for him to give up now.
He’d come this far. He’d gotten her to his island. He’d given her the project of her dreams—his dreams, their dreams—and had the perfect opportunity to gently woo her as he should have done when he blew his shot four years ago.
He’d nearly blown it again when he threatened to sue her tonight, but he’d been desperate to keep her here. It had been a massive screwup to let Chad convince him to bring Slater on board as a surprise to spice up the documentary.
Was she in love with the photographer?
He rewound the video and watched the embrace and almost-kiss for the nth time. He paused and studied her mouth as her eyelids lowered in anticipation of a kiss.
He’d give anything to see that look on Fiona’s face when she was in his arms.
He covered Slater’s head with a hand.
He should be glad Slater didn’t die in the crash—after all, Fiona would have been so distraught, she’d probably have quit the project—but it was hard to muster joy at having brought a rival to his paradise.
He backed up the video again and this time watched Slater drop from the helicopter and slam into the ground, followed by the other three survivors.
It would be a hell of an opening for the documentary. He supposed that made Slater’s presence on the island worth it.
He reached the almost-kiss again. How could she like a prick like that? The guy had a different woman on his arm every week. And hadn’t there been some kind of scandal with the most recent model?
His fingers drummed the table. How would Fiona feel about Slater when faced with the womanizer he really was?
He remembered the model’s name. Paige Vance. He searched his memory. He knew people in the industry. He must know someone who knew the beautiful cover girl.
Fiona knocked on the interior hallway door to Sadie and Chad’s quarters. The couple had been given the corner suite on the second floor, with a view of both the water and the gardens. The room was two doors down from Fiona’s suite and closest to the exterior staircase that led from the ground floor to the wraparound balcony.
She heard the soft pad of footsteps on the hardwood floor, and the door swung wide to reveal Sadie, a petite woman with dark ebony skin. Sadie was stunning, with an elegant beauty that literally stopped people in their tracks when they saw her. Fiona had witnessed it more than once when she’d visited her friend in Southern California, where Sadie’s mother lived. They would be in a restaurant or simply walking down a street, and another pedestrian would pause, do a double take, then ask if Sadie had been in one movie or another or a perfume or cosmetics commercial. They were always certain they’d seen her somewhere before, and it was LA, where people expected to run into famous people on the street.
She wore her long black hair in hundreds of thin braids. Tonight, the braids were piled on top of her head with a hair tie. The style highlighted the long slope of her neck and her elegant cheekbones and did nothing to hide the puffiness around her wide, brown, and, tonight, bloodshot eyes. She’d been crying.
She grimaced as she pulled the door open wider, inviting Fiona in. “Shit, Fi. I am so damn sorry.”
Before she entered, Fiona scanned the room. “Is Chad here?”
“No. I told him to sleep on the boat tonight.”
That explained the crying. She stepped into the room and followed Sadie to the couch and easy chair in the corner. Sadie sat in the chair, so Fiona settled on the couch. “I take that to mean he definitely knew Dean was coming.”
Sadie nodded. “He lied at first, got pissed when I didn’t believe him, then when I told him I found his emails—he sent Jude info on Dean from the company account, which we both have full access to—he couldn’t deny it any longer.” Another tear spilled, and she swiped at it. “I think I’m just as pissed that he hoped to lie his way out of it as I am for the scheming. He said some nasty things to me when I told him I knew he was lying.”
She took a deep breath. “We’ve been . . . having problems. Financially at first, but it’s bled over into the relationship. Overspent on new equipment, and there was a big balloon payment. I thought this project might fix everything—Jude gave us a hefty advance that covered the balloon with money leftover—and once we got the business on track, the relationship would follow.”
Sadie’s slight Jamaican accent was more pronounced than usual. She’d been born on the island, but grew up in LA, having moved there with her mother after her father died when she was four years old. She’d retained a slight accent over the years due to her mother’s influence, but it always grew more pronounced when she was in the Caribbean, and it was even heavier tonight after her fight with Chad.
“Is that why Chad is so eager for the documentary? He thinks it will make him a star and solve all the money issues?”
Sadie nodded. “He has dreams of being the host of a nautical archaeology reality TV show and thinks this is his big break.”
Of the two of them, Sadie was far more suited to have her own show. She had a PhD in archaeology specializing in lidar and remote sensing and was almost certainly a descendant of an enslaved woman who’d escaped, then turned to piracy to free her fellow captives.
Sadie’s life goal was to find one of Ruby Hawthorne’s ships. Some believed Ruby Island was named for the woman pirate who’d rescued enslaved African, Taíno, and Kalinago people, then brought them to this very island for refuge. But no one was certain if that’s where the name came from.
If anyone should be the star of a documentary about this archaeological project, it was Sadie, which made Chad’s actions all the more baffling.
SIX
They took a speedboat to Fort Domingo for their second visit. The boat was the fastest route, and they were behind schedule with the interviews because they hadn’t recorded any after the crash. Gordon needed to return to Dominica that night, but Keili and Isaac had both agreed to stay an extra day.
Dean captained the boat as Nico recorded Fiona interviewing Keili, Gordon, and Isaac, as they pointed out features along the eastern coastline, including the littoral caves that were accessible only at low tide.
On the east side of the promontory where the fort was situated, there was a sheltered cove with a long dock. The dock was the only modern construction that was permitted in the vicinity of the fort, and it was a lengthy boat ride almost exactly halfway around the island from the estate. Dean piloted the boat into the cove and reduced the speed as they eased up to the dock.
A gentle, but noticeable, reserve had settled between Fiona and Dean. It was necessary for them to work together, as they were mindful of Nico’s camera, which made her glad they’d had a few minutes alone last night to be themselves.
She dropped the bumper, then reached for the piling as Nico tied on to a cleat. Within minutes, they had their gear and were climbing the wooden stairs—also permitted construction—up to the fort.
They reached the top, bringing them to the opposite side of the fort from where the helicopter had struck the day before. This side of the fort was heavy with vegetation all around the bastion that pointed toward the sea, but there was a wide, clear path that led to the top of the crenelated walls of the structure.
As they neared the top, Fiona noted both Dean and Nico paused and took deep breaths, and was reminded they were not far from the flat where they could have died yesterday.
It hadn’t even been twenty-four hours.
The wall where the helicopter had struck was on the far side, not within their line of sight, and they weren’t here to relive the crash, so they got straight to work, walking upslope to the heart of the fort, treading on stone pavement that had been hewn from this very island 375 years ago.
Isaac gave a brief history of the fort’s construction and the role it played in the ever-shifting claims of ownership made by France, Spain, the Netherlands, and Great Britain in the 1600s, before the island became a refuge for African, Taíno, and Kalinago people who’d escaped from their enslavers in the early 1700s.
Sadie really should be here. Fiona found it frustrating that Jude insisted she be the one to conduct these interviews, but at least Sadie would be on camera with Keili and Isaac tomorrow, when she would do a lidar demonstration and then they’d discuss what secrets the island interior may hold.
Today, Keili and Gordon gave the Indigenous history of the relationship the Kalinago had with the European invaders. After Spanish colonizers abandoned Fort Domingo and the local population claimed the island, the fort had become the first line of defense for the island’s refugee population to repel Europeans who sought to recapture the formerly enslaved residents.
Fiona checked her list of questions, which she’d composed with feedback from Isaac via email in the days leading up to their visit to the island. One item they’d agreed not to address were the vile claims of cannibalism that had been applied to the Kalinago by colonizers in an effort to justify mass slaughter of all Indigenous people.
