12
The huge net was stretched from shore to shore across the entire opening of the inlet and four feet above the surface of the water.
“So what do we do now?” Alex murmured. “Cut the net?”
Morgan shook his head. “We wait.” He cut the motor of the speedboat. “You called and left a message we were coming. It's her move.”
“We may be out here awhile.” Her gaze fastened on the small stone-and-wood house hugging the shore. Christ, this was a beautiful place. Jewel-blue water, green mountains, and tropical breezes swaying the trees. It was like something from a travel brochure. “I don't see any sign of stirring. Maybe we should try shouting or making— There's someone.”
A woman had appeared from around the back of the house and was heading for the pier. Or Alex guessed she was a woman. She wore khaki shorts and a T-shirt, and her feet were bare. She was small and delicately built, with the shining fair hair usually seen in small children. But there was nothing fragile or childlike about the way she jumped into the motorboat at the pier and took off. She breathed competence, forcefulness, and vitality as she gunned the boat toward them.
She stopped fifteen yards on the other side of the net and studied them.
She was stunning, Alex realized, and no child. She was probably in her mid-twenties. Huge dark eyes and features that combined delicacy and boldness to form an extraordinary face. The boldness was definitely on the ascent in the cool glance she was giving Alex. “Alex Graham?”
Alex nodded.
“You don't look like the picture they have of you on CNN.”
“God, I hope not. You're Melis Nemid?”
The woman nodded.
“Then how do you know what I look like on CNN? I thought you told me you never watched the news.”
“I don't. But I had to make sure you were who you said you were.”
“Are you satisfied?”
“That you're Alex Graham and that you're up to your ass in trouble? Yes.” Her gaze narrowed on Morgan. “But you may be in bad company.”
Alex shook her head. “I'd be in a hell of a lot more trouble if he hadn't been around. You can trust him.”
“Ah, trust at last,” Morgan murmured.
“I don't trust either of you.” Melis Nemid was silent a moment and then shrugged. “But I don't have much choice.” She started the boat and came slowly toward the net, skimming beside it until she reached a spot a few yards from where Alex and Morgan waited. She bent over the side of the boat, and a moment later a ten-foot-wide section of wire net fell to the surface. “Start your motor and then cut it when you reach the net and coast over,” she called.
Morgan obeyed, and the moment they were on the other side of the net Melis Nemid rehooked it and drew the rope that lifted it to its former height. Then she was turning the boat and speeding back toward the shore.
“I guess that means we follow?” Morgan started the motor. “Must be. What a warm welcome. You'd think we'd come without an invitation.”
Melis Nemid had already tied up her boat and was striding toward the house when Alex and Morgan reached the pier. She glanced over her shoulder. “Come on. I can't be all day. I have things to do.”
“Sorry.” Morgan helped Alex out of the boat. “We won't be hurt if you start without us.”
She stared coldly at them. “This isn't funny. None of it.”
“We know that better than you.” Alex stared her in the eye. “And we're not going to be put off or intimidated by rudeness or bad temper. We came for a reason, and you want to supply us with that information or you wouldn't have let us come. Now, can we get on with it, Ms. Nemid?”
She blinked, and then a slight smile touched her lips. “Maybe I do trust you . . . a little. At least you don't bullshit. Call me Melis.” She turned and threw open the front door. “Come in and have an iced tea.”
“We'd rather have conversation,” Morgan said as they followed her into the house. “And Philip Lontana.”
“Then you'll be disappointed. I never told you he was here.” She went toward the kitchen and opened the refrigerator. “So take the iced tea. It's a long, hot trip back to Tobago.”
“Thank you,” Alex said. She wasn't about to turn down any peace offering, no matter how small. “If he's not here, where is he?”
“Somewhere in the Azores, I think.” She poured the tea and set the glasses down on the bar in front of Morgan and Alex. “Or maybe the Canary Islands. At any rate, you can't get in touch with him. Forget it.”
“We can't forget it,” Morgan said. “He may know something we need to know.”