Chapter One
Dane Erikson stood on the weather-beaten docks of St.
Barts harbor, where mourners had gathered in clusters.
With them, he listened to the tributes to twenty-one men
delivered from a makeshift podium. Every few minutes, his
gaze returned to the ebony-haired beauty in the back,
drinking in her uncanny resemblance to Marco. There could
only be one reason for Ava Santori to attend the memorial
service for the victims of Paradisio.
Money.
So, not one reason. One million reasons.
Why else, after years of estrangement, would she join the
mothers, wives, and island children who gathered at the
edge of a bloodred sunset to mourn the men who perished in
the wreck of his ship?
In a simple black dress, she stood out among the colorful
islanders who honored the dead by donning the brilliant
hues of the Caribbean.
He had no doubt of her identity, although she had
apparently spoken to no one. Smaller and paler than her
brother, she had the same unruly curls and enormous eyes
the color of ripe black olives. The amazing likeness
unnerved Dane and remorse rolled through him.
The mourners closed their eyes in prayer or moaned in
grief. A small child called out for his mother, who
scooped him up with one hand and slung him into a natural
curve on her hip. More than a few glanced his way.
These island people understood the capriciousness of the
sea that fed and nurtured them. But how many, like Ava
Santori, would want retribution and vengeance and
mountains of money? How many needed a villain to blame for
the deaths of the young men who tried to sail the ship to
safety? The orange swirl on a map that became known as
Hurricane Carlos was too intangible to take the blame for
their loss. Someone must pay. Someone must be held
accountable. That someone was him.
Beyond the docks, two of Utopia Adventures' majestic
sailing ships rested in the harbor of St. Barthélemy, a
row of matching masts against an indigo sky, listing
leeward in the tropical breeze. But no familiar sense of
pride filled Dane at the sight. He'd been numb for the
last three weeks since his favorite ship -- his first
ship -- had thrashed and sunk under the deadly rogue waves
that few sailors live to describe.
He'd arrived from the search site last night, ill prepared
to make a poignant address. Exhausted, frustrated, and as
stunned as everyone else, he'd planned to keep a typically
low profile among his employees. But Cassie had begged him
to speak about Marco, and he couldn't stand for her heart
to break any further.
So he agreed to give the eulogy for the Paradisio's second
mate. He certainly never expected a Santori in the
audience. But, then, there was never such a compelling
reason for any of them to show up. Money: the great
reconciler.
He kept his eyes on the ships as he strode across the wide
planks of the dock, purposely avoiding eye contact with
the unexpected guest from Boston. He placed a set of index
cards etched with furious notes on the top of the
temporary pulpit created for the event and inhaled the
scent of frangipani mixed with salt water.
"I consider Marco Santori my brother."
At the edge of the crowd, he saw her sway at his opening
line, closing her eyes for a moment.
He shifted his focus to the familiar faces that watched
him. He knew every employee, spouse, child, and parent in
the crowd. Knew their troubles and their family secrets.
Knew their children's ailments, their marital problems and
their superstitions. That's who he needed to worry about
right now.
After his three-week sojourn to the rescue site fifty
miles east of Grenada, he'd returned to find suspicion.
Doubt. And greed. He smelled it all around him.
He flipped the cards facedown, abandoning the prepared
words of sympathy and grief. He'd better speak from the
heart.
"Many of you know the story of how I met Marco. It's
Utopia folklore by now." The murmur of a response rolled
through the crowd, some chuckled softly.
"The folklore is true. I saved Marco's backside in a
barroom brawl on St. John. I felt sorry for the kid. No
family, in exile from someplace called New England, and he
couldn't fight worth a damn."
Her eyes narrowed. Piercing, reproachful.
"But he wanted to sail." Dane thought of the hotheaded,
emotional kid with boundless energy who came to Utopia and
touched everyone with his humor and enthusiasm. "Even
though we all just wanted him to cook." Knowing laughter
lifted the crowd as many nodded with their own memory.
Dane smiled with them. At first, Marco had been such a
passionate brat, but despite that and their disparate
backgrounds -- one with a boiling Mediterranean temper,
the other shaped by cool and controlled Scandinavian
values -- they quickly found common ground. Sailing. Their
mentor-student relationship developed into what both
expected to be a lifelong friendship, but in Marco's case,
life hadn't been long enough.
"He loved the sea as much as I do -- as much as you all
do -- and watching Marco develop into a fine sailor, well
on his way to being a captain, was a great pleasure. A
very great pleasure."
Ava plucked at the silk of her dress, assaulted by the
relentless humidity and the canned speech. Then why did
you send him to his death, you bastard? A band of sweat
formed under her chest, and she could feel the weight of
her unrestrained hair threatening to spring into a mass of
damp ringlets.
None of it mattered, she told herself. She was here, years
too late, but here nonetheless.
Dominic would not let go of his stubborn pride. He wanted
no part of a memorial service. He would have nothing to do
with a lawsuit. He would burn the money from a settlement.
He wouldn't hear of some southern lawyer's trumped-up
claims that his son's ship was sent directly into the
storm by the cruise company's owner. He wouldn't even talk
about it.
The fire in Dominic's black eyes had burned hotter than
ever, his own bitter regret consuming him. And Mama had
just locked herself upstairs and cried.
But Grayson Boyd was one persistent lawyer. Every day, he
faxed his legal briefs, sent articles from the newspapers,
and E-mailed schedules of filings. And, by God, he'd
convinced her. Not just to come to the island for the
service. Ava needed to do that with every fiber of her
being.
No, the lawyer had convinced her that Dane Erikson stood
under a black cloud of suspicion. He had so very much to
gain. A forty-million-dollar insurance settlement. The
payoff from a slight navigational error.
She studied the man and tried to reconcile what she
observed with the little she knew of him. He exuded a
powerful self-assuredness that Ava would never, ever
possess under any circumstances. She always envied it in
people. Marco, for all his charm and exuberance, had it
too.
Dane Erikson's arresting good looks had startled her at
first. The strong lines of his Nordic heritage were
obvious in his square jaw and a sculpted mouth. The
handsome hollows of his cheeks and the knowledge in his
piercing gaze made him look every one of his thirty-seven
years, somehow both a prince and a rebel. She stared at
him, trying to quell the dizzying effect it had on her.
She'd been prepared for someone dark and menacing and
evil. She'd expected her stomach to turn at the sight of
him. Instead, her heart raced every time a smile broke
across the chiseled angles of his face.
The face of an angel with the heart of a devil, her father
would say.
"Marco Santori commanded respect and encouraged esprit de
corps among his fellow crewmen. He touched us with his
unexpected sensitivity, his dry sense of humor, and his
heartfelt passion for living."
The twin sisters of regret and guilt choked Ava as she
listened to the man who claimed brotherhood with the
brother she had lost.
"It is impossible to imagine how many lives were touched
and changed by these men." Erikson paused, the epitome of
a grieving chief executive officer, displaying an
appropriate amount of mourning but completely in control
of his emotions. A towering figure with broad shoulders
and taut muscles straining his shirt, he looked as though
he could easily bear the weight of this disaster. His
ramrod straight posture oozed confidence, as though
through sheer strength and force, he could keep his
accusers at bay. Then he smiled, and Ava imagined if all
else failed, he could charm his way out of a courtroom.
His gaze locked on her, and she held her breath, like a
thief caught red-handed as she stared at him. When his
attention moved on, she exhaled.
"The Paradisio was a beautiful ship," he
continued. "Graceful, elegant, majestic. Like all of our
ships, her name means heaven, and it is certainly a
fitting and poignant reminder of where our crew is today."
Marone! Ava didn't want to listen to the hypnotic words of
Dane Erikson, talking of the history of the sea, ancient
sailing customs, and thousands of brothers and sisters
resting quietly on the ocean floor. One of them was hers.
Blessedly, he finished. In the sudden silence, she heard
someone stifle a sob, another person moan. Heartache hung
over the docks as palpable as the late summer humidity and
just as uncomfortable. Suddenly, a fluttering whoosh
startled the crowd as twenty-one white doves were released
from up front, flapping their way to freedom. At the same
moment, dozens of white sails unfurled on the masts of the
matching tall ships in the harbor, a symphony of crackling
canvas against the wind.
A woman cried out to God in French, a young man sobbed.
Ava looked up at the doves, picking one at random and
watching it disappear into the golden sky. Good-bye,
Marco. I loved you, I really did. I'm so sorry. She dug
the heel of her sandal into the soft wood of the dock and
felt it make a slight indentation. Don't second-guess,
Santori. Blessed are those who don't look back.
Suddenly, a six-foot shadow darkened her view. She knew
before she even looked at him, that Dane Erikson stood
next to her. The auburn sunset backlit him, denying her
the chance to read his expression.
"Ava Santori." His voice was low, the whisper of an
English accent hidden in the syllables. "What a complete
surprise."
Unnerved, she stumbled on an uneven plank. He recognized
her? He reached out to steady her, and she flinched away
from his touch.
"This is a memorial service for my brother." She
repositioned her feet and squared her shoulders. "I have
every right to be here."
"Of course you do." He held out a hand. "Dane Erikson."
Finally, the remaining sunlight fell on his face and lit
the golden streaks of his hair that flipped arrogantly
over the collar of a loose linen shirt. His aquamarine
eyes matched the color of the sea behind him, fringed with
thick lashes and touched by fine lines etched by the sun
and salt air. Everything about him was bright and bold.
And breathtaking, Ava grudgingly admitted.
She briefly touched his hand. Cool and dry. Just like the
rest of him. "I know who you are."
"Marco would have been -- happy you're here."
She raised a dubious eyebrow. "I doubt he would have
enjoyed any aspect of his own funeral, Mr. Erikson."
A half smile crossed his face, revealing more perfection.
Straight, white teeth. "How true."
She wasn't prepared to talk to him. Drawn by pain and
curiosity to the service, she'd thought she could mingle
anonymously with the crowd, then leave unnoticed. Then
she'd go back to the tiny hotel on the hillside where she
could wait to meet with the lawyer.
At her silence, he continued. "I'm sorry it took a tragedy
to finally bring a member of Marco's family to his side."
The impulse to strike back tore at her, but a lifetime of
controlling her temper kept her voice low and calm. "It's
entirely possible that we wouldn't be standing here if it
weren't for you, sir."
His own voice dropped to a menacing whisper. "I suppose I
can thank the bottom-feeding attorney Grayson Boyd for
your visit."
"That's correct," she hissed in response. "He makes some
very compelling arguments about who is really responsible
for the suicide mission that ship was sent on."
"I'm afraid you have no idea what you're talking about."
Taking another step back, she tried to regroup. Why had
she come here alone? She should have insisted that Boyd
accompany her. But he might have tried to talk her out of
coming at all. Now she didn't know what to say, how much
to give away. Don't say too much, Santori. For once, be
cool, girl.
She took a deep breath and flipped her bag over her
shoulder, hoping he'd let her escape. "The service was
lovely."
He glanced around the milling crowd. "I hope it helped a
little. How long are you staying?"
He's scared, she thought with a spark of power. He's
guilty and he's scared.
"A few days, a few weeks. Long enough." She refused to let
him draw her into the fight here, on this dock. He'd
figure out soon enough what her mission was. He was smart
enough to realize that Marco's sister, estranged or not,
could easily persuade the confused and uneducated families
of the crewmen to join the suit. "I'd like to know...what
kind of person he had become."
His eyes narrowed in challenge. "Then you should have come
sooner. It would have been a hell of a lot easier to
figure it out when he was still breathing."
Her temper sizzled at a slow burn.
"Perhaps you are unaware of the situation with my family,
Mr. Erikson -- "
"It's Dane, and I know enough about the situation. Marco
was my closest friend." The aquamarine eyes closed for a
moment. "He's mentioned you."
It hit like a sucker punch. "I didn't come here to discuss
Marco with you. Just to pay my last respects to my
brother." The wind lifted a strand of hair across her
face, and she flipped it back. "I had no intention of
speaking to you."
"If you want to find out about your brother, you should
talk to me." The same breeze took a pass at his
sunstreaked hair, but he made no effort to move a fallen
strand from his brow. "I could tell you a great deal about
Marco. His zest for life and his passion for taking risks -
- "
"Oh, he liked to take risks, all right." She spat the
words. "But he wasn't stupid and neither am I." Stop now,
Santori. Don't taunt the devil. But the damning paragraphs
of Grayson Boyd's legal brief flashed in her mind. "You
were the last person to communicate with that ship and its
captain. You sent them straight into that hurricane, and
there are satellite phone recordings to prove it."
He leaned closer, a blue-eyed wolf ready to bite. "You
really have just enough information to be dangerous."
She straightened to every inch that her five-foot-five
frame could offer.
"I am dangerous." She stabbed a finger ineffectively at
his solid chest. "You're the one with forty more million
dollars and I'm the one who has no brother."
"That, Miss Ava Santori, has been the case for many years.
And whose fault is that?"
The low hum of voices nearby brought Ava back to her
senses. She looked over his shoulder to avoid those
piercing eyes and regain the self-control she needed. She
might have had a hand in Marco's leaving, but she had
nothing to do with his death. He could not turn the tables
and make it her fault.
"If you think that you can get away with this and not have
to pay -- "
"Ah." He nodded with an air of inevitability. "It all
comes down to money. Why else would you be here?"
Ava took a sudden sharp breath. "Now you have no idea what
you're talking about." She nipped his upper arm with her
fingers, unable to resist emphasizing her certainty.
Dane dropped a distasteful glance at the spot where her
fingers had touched him. His eyes turned the color of ice
cold steel and just as sharp.
"When you calm down and decide you have time to hear
facts, and not some lawyer's self-serving account of what
happened, I'll be happy to provide them. And I can tell
you a lot about your brother that might interest you."
"No, thank you. Save your side of the story for the
courtroom and spare me your insights on Marco. I don't
want them."
"Then perhaps you want mine."
A lilting foreign accent floated toward Ava, and she
turned and looked straight into one of the sweetest faces
she'd ever seen. Sparkling green eyes fringed with reddish
lashes, a spray of soft freckles, and a halo of autumn
gold waves greeted her.
"I'm Cassie Sebring. Marco's fiancée."
Marco's fiancée?
Ava could only stare at her.
"You look so much like Marco," the girl commented with a
tilted head, making her own intense assessment of
Ava. "The resemblance is truly remarkable. Don't you
think, Dane?"
Ava felt like a horse being appraised by traders.
"She certainly has his temper." Dane smiled, a sudden,
break-your-heart smile that almost took away the sting of
his words.
Ava turned away from him to study the will-o'-the-wisp imp
in a pale peach sundress. Should she shake hands with the
person who would have been her sister-in-law? "Hello, I'm
Ava." She extended a hand in greeting.
No such discomfort seemed to confuse Cassie. She took
Ava's hand in both of hers and gave it a squeeze. "Marco
told me about you."
Ava recognized the musical tone of an Australian accent
and thought how perfectly it suited the natural beauty of
this young girl, barely in her twenties. But then, at
almost five years younger than Ava, Marco would have been
nearly twenty-five. They must have made a striking couple.
"I -- I had no idea that Marco was engaged." God, she'd
missed so much of his life.
"Then it seems we've got a lot to talk about." Cassie kept
her eyes on Ava but addressed Dane. "Do you mind if I
steal Ava for a few moments?"
Ava longed to get away from Dane Erikson, but would
Marco's fiancée be any more forgiving?
"No, Cass, your timing's perfect." He leaned closer to
Ava, assaulting her senses with his proximity. "My offer's
open. I'd be happy to talk to you about Marco. He really
was like a brother to me."
The heat of his breath fired her response. "He wasn't like
a brother to me. He was a brother."
"Then you should have treated him like one." A direct hit,
shot with burning blue eyes before he turned and left.
"Where are you staying while you're in St. Barts?" Cassie
broke the awkward silence as they walked toward the pastel
buildings of Gustavia, leaving the remaining groups of
mourners on the docks.
"I'm at a small hotel in town." Grayson Boyd had made the
arrangements and promised to pay all the exorbitant hotel
expenses if she'd help his cause. At four hundred dollars
a night, she might have to swallow her pride and let him.
"Why don't you stay with me?"
"Oh, no, thank you, I couldn't."
"Why not?" Cassie asked. "Unless you like to throw
thousands away on a hotel. I know what they charge here.
We -- I have plenty of room."
Ava stopped and regarded Cassie closely, her nymphlike
features contrasting with a daring butterfly tattoo just
above her left breast.
"Are you serious?"
The younger girl laughed, a lovely, innocent sound. "I
wouldn't ask if I weren't. You're Marco's sister. It's his
home too. He'd want you there."
Ava suddenly thought of the lawsuit and tried to remember
seeing Cassie's name on a list of family members. Maybe
she wasn't considered family. She said she was engaged to
Marco, not married. Maybe Cassie saw Ava as a threat to
take her portion of any money earned from the lawsuit.
Either way, Grayson Boyd wouldn't like it.
Cassie smiled as Ava weighed her options. "Never mind. I
didn't mean to make you think so hard."
"I appreciate the offer. I'll see how things go." Ava
really had no idea how long Boyd would want her to stay or
what he had in mind while she was here. The decision to
come had been made so quickly, so emotionally, that she
hadn't thought it all through.
"Do you have a car, or can I drive you to Dane's house?"
Ava froze midstep. "Dane's house?"
"Utopia is having a private gathering after the service.
His house is the only place that can hold everyone. It
won't be festive, but it won't be formal, either. Didn't
he mention it to you?"
"No. I'll just go back to the hotel." Her unofficial host
would surely frown on a trip to the defendant's house.
"That's ridiculous. All of the Utopians will be there."
Ava considered that. It could be a good way to meet the
family members, to talk privately without Boyd
around. "Even the families who are suing the company?"
"Yes," Cassie answered quickly, the smile evaporating from
her pretty face, replaced by a furrowed brow and
questioning eyes. "But today, most of us are thinking
about twenty-one friends we lost. Not how much money can
be made on their deaths. Is that why you're finally here?
For your piece of the legal pie that some ambulance-
chasing lawyer dreamed up?"
The accusation echoed and Ava said nothing.
"Is that what you're all about, Ava?" The Australian
accent deepened in anger. "I thought maybe you were
different. I thought maybe you realized that you lost a
brother when Marco died, and you were here to -- I don't
know -- make amends for what happened."
So she knew too. Cassie didn't rile her as Dane did,
however. For some reason, Cassie's accusations seemed
justified.
"It's very confusing, Cassie. My family is complicated and
my reasons are...well, they are mine." Ava knew she
sounded weak and vague. "Yes, I came here at the urging of
Grayson Boyd. But that's not the only reason."
How could she describe the war that raged in her heart?
How could she tell this stranger that regret was her
motive and that she longed for forgiveness from a dead
man?
"I'm just here to figure out what happened and say good-
bye to my brother."
They reached a set of stone steps that led toward the main
street of Gustavia.
"Americans love closure," Cassie said softly, her smile
returning. "You're so much like him, Ava. Did you know
that?"
Unbidden tears surprised Ava. She shrugged gently, hoping
to keep them at bay. "Well, he was my brother. We always
looked a little alike. But, really, I guess I don't know
anything about him anymore."
Cassie gently put her arms around Ava. Surrounded by the
warmth and comfort of this young woman whom Marco had
loved, Ava closed her eyes and tentatively returned the
embrace. Balmy sea breezes mixed with the honeysuckle
scent of her would-be sister. A sob caught in her throat
and choked her.
"I guess you better tell me what I've missed, Cassie."
From his vantage point at the edge of the harbor, Dane
watched the two women comfort each other, the impact of
his encounter with Ava still clinging to his senses. He
could still see the black, fiery eyes in contrast with the
pale skin of someone who rarely saw the sun. Her sultry
voice, tinged with the edge of a Boston accent, but so
ready to attack with venom. She even had a telltale single
dimple in her left cheek, poised just above her full
mouth. A Santori trademark.
Hotheaded and impetuous. Like her brother. And just as
vulnerable.
His gut level response to her made no sense. When he first
saw his own reflection in the eyes so dark they were all
pupil, he'd wanted to hold her. To comfort her and beg her
forgiveness.
But there would be no forgiveness. Hot-tempered little Ava
was on a mission to destroy. Of all the weapons Grayson
Boyd had in his arsenal, this tempest of a sister was the
most dangerous.