I lifted my chin defiantly. “You’ll have to chain me up and lock me in the dungeon to keep me here.”
“Don’t tempt me,” Damian growled. His jaw hardened ominously, but he evidently knew when he was beaten, because after a moment’s bristling hesitation, he relented. “You’ll have to change into something dark-colored and warm.”
“Give me five minutes,” I said, and dashed past him into the corridor.
He caught up with me at the elevator, and we both rode it to the suite, where I swapped my elegant evening clothes for a pair of tweed trousers, a heavy, dark brown wool sweater, wool socks, and hiking boots. I grabbed a stocking cap and my rain jacket from the wardrobe, ran through the sitting room, flung the foyer door wide, and stopped short.
I’d caught Damian in the midst of pulling his black crewneck sweater over his head. He must have heard the door open, because he hurriedly yanked the sweater down to conceal his naked torso, but it was too late. I’d already seen the scars—puckering the skin above his collarbone, below his ribs, on his chest, curving like a snake over his shoulder.
I’d also seen the gun. The deadly looking automatic was tucked into a holster on his belt.
“You told me you were unarmed,” I said, trying not to think about the scars.
“I was, when you asked.” He turned away from me, put on his rain jacket and a black watch cap, and squatted to rummage through his duffel bag. When he stood, he was holding two black-handled, hooded flashlights on black lanyards, but he didn’t offer one to me. Instead he spoke quietly, urgently, as if he still thought he could persuade me to change my mind. “Peter may have twisted an ankle or broken a leg. He may simply have lost track of time. It’s not hard to imagine him perched on a boulder on one of the hills, watching the fog move in over Erinskil. But we don’t believe he’s been delayed for any of those reasons, do we, Lori?”
I shook my head.
“We believe he’s in trouble,” Damian went on. “We believe he’s been waylaid by people who will stop at nothing to protect their business ventures. We’re not going on a picnic, Lori. This is a serious affair.You’re taking a great risk by coming with me. I wish you wouldn’t.You can stay here with Andrew. No one will think less of you.”
“I will.” I took one of the flashlights from him and slung the black lanyard around my neck. “Besides, you’re my bodyguard. You’re not allowed to leave me behind.”
His lips twitched into a grudging smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes, then vanished. He gripped his own flashlight tightly, punched the elevator button, and we were on our way.
Seventeen
We stepped out of the tower’s side entrance into a world changed beyond recognition. The headland’s breathtaking views had been transformed. Shifting banks of fog blanketed the island’s central valley and mantled the ocean in a heavy shroud, deadening the surf’s thunder. The cliff path and the hills bordering it stood above the mist, like an island chain rising from a sea of cotton wool.
“Don’t use your torch,” Damian instructed. “I’d rather we didn’t advertise our movements.”
I agreed with him about the flashlights—we didn’t need them to find our way. The full moon bathed the sunken track in silver light, and the path’s waist-high banks would not allow us to totter over a cliff or wander off into the hills by accident.
There was hardly a breath of wind stirring, and the evening air was heavy and damp. As I jogged along behind Damian, clammy droplets gathered on my hands and face, clung to my trousers, and trickled like icy fingers down the back of my neck, until I thought to pull my jacket’s hood over my stocking cap. I quickly yanked it down again when I heard Damian muttering to himself up ahead.
“Fool,” he said under his breath. “Thoughtless, stupid, selfish young fool.”
“I hope you’re referring to Peter,” I murmured, catching up with him.
“Why did he go off on his own?” he demanded, keeping his voice low. “The boy’s convinced that Erinskil’s riddled with murderous thugs, but he goes off on his own regardless. When I think of the state Cassie’s in . . . of the danger Peter may be in . . . of the rules I’ve broken by allowing you to come with me . . .” Damian ground his teeth. “If the islanders haven’t wrung his neck already, I may do it for them.”
“I know you’re worried about him, Damian,” I said. “I am, too, but I’m not really sure why we should be. Peter shared his suspicions with us, but I’m certain he didn’t share them with anyone else on Erinskil. How do you think the islanders found out?”
“Mrs. Muggoch,” Damian replied shortly. “She’s his landlady, and it’s a landlady’s duty to listen at keyholes. If she overheard his conversations with Cassie, you can be sure that she wouldn’t keep the information to herself.”