§ § § -- January 11, 1999
Roarke arranged for room service at the bungalow, and he and Paola spent a leisurely meal savoring the excellent food and wine, occasionally making conversation. But there seemed now to be a quiet languor marked by withdrawal on Paola's part. He watched her with some anxiety.
"Are you all right, my dear?" he asked, in the end unable to tolerate the unsettled mien in the air. She seemed surprised that he was there and looked oddly at him.
"It seems more humid this night," Paola said and shrugged. "Is this common?"
"No, actually," Roarke said slowly, a bit confused by the desultory turn in the sparse conversation. He let the subject drop right there, instead regarding her with something akin to alarm. "You are being reticent again, Paola."
She sighed. "I dare not make this request of you…you have much to do as it is, and I fear I have caused you to neglect your duties."
"Leslie has handled it well enough," Roarke said dismissively, pushing his plate away, not registering the millisecond flicker in Paola's expression at his mention of his daughter. "There is no need to worry. I am at your service as long as you need me."
Paola studied him for all of sixty seconds; Roarke steadily returned the gaze, waiting as patiently as ever. Then she arose and drifted to his end of the table, settling one hand on each of his shoulders and leaning almost close enough to kiss him. "I need you this night, my Roarke," she said quietly. "I need you to banish the nightmares."
Roarke caressed her face, without ever taking his eyes off hers. It was as if she had trapped him in her gaze, and he let himself fall. "As you will," he whispered.
They left the dishes on the table and moved gradually towards the bedroom, still locked in each other's stares, until Paola stopped him just short of the doorway and pulled his head down to hers. By now Roarke was so lost that he put up no resistance at all; in fact he docilely trailed her into the bedroom. As soon as she had closed the door, his demeanor shifted abruptly and he dragged her into his embrace, becoming the aggressor and taking charge with an almost rough kiss. But Paola seemed to revel in it and encouraged him in excited whispers; she inflamed him, and he gave in for one of the very rare times in recent memory. All thought, all reason, all sense fled his mind and he let himself drown in her. So engrossed was he in her that even the semi-supernatural senses that so often befuddled his guests and his daughter were buried in the tide of sensation: he only felt.
Hours later Paola woke, fully and abruptly, totally alert at once. She slid easily from Roarke's embrace and checked the time. There was still at least three hours of darkness remaining to her, but she didn't want to waste the time she had. She pulled on a dark jumpsuit, gathered a small bag from her suitcase, and started to leave through the glass door in the bedroom's wall of windows.
A soft breeze stirred the gauzy curtain hanging there and she paused for a few seconds, turning to gaze at Roarke, who lay deeply asleep. For the first time in his presence, her smile was touched with a hint of cruelty. "Sleep well, my Roarke," she whispered, "for you'll surely need it." She released a mirthless breath of a laugh and vanished.
The demons that had plagued Paola since the day she was born had served to shape her personality to some extent. She was more than willing to give in to their commands, especially since what they wanted from her coincided with what she wanted for herself. She now had Roarke completely under her control; actually, it had been very easy. That mortal girl he called his daughter was another matter altogether. From the first, Paola had read the suspicious, wary look in Leslie Hamilton's eyes, and had decided very early on that she needed to be disposed of. Once the Hamilton girl was out of the way, she would concentrate entirely on Roarke, and see to it that he either never noticed her absence, or wouldn't care if he did. Eventually she would dispatch him as well; but right now, the girl took precedence. Paola used the moonlight to make her way to the darkened main house in short order, then employed a mental technique she had filched from Roarke during their contact the day before to unlock the French shutters and slip inside and upstairs. This part of the house was unfamiliar to her, and she had to glance into doorways before spotting the sleeping Leslie.
Smiling a very feral little smile, Paola eased into the room and, working by the moonlight gleaming through the window, withdrew from her bag a squat, wide-mouthed jar and a syringe. Silently she uncapped the jar, filled the syringe with some of its contents, and recapped it once more. Leslie shifted in her sleep as Paola slid the jar back into her bag, and Paola went stock-still till Leslie's movements ceased. In fact, it was advantageous to Paola; Leslie had thrown one arm out over the edge of the bed, and it was simplicity defined to steady that arm with one hand while she pushed the needle into the skin with the other.
The sting of the needle woke Leslie almost instantly and she tried to yank her arm away; but Paola's grip became viselike, and Leslie was forced to endure the entire contents of the syringe being injected into her bloodstream. "What the hell are you doing?" Leslie demanded, her tone frightened and angry all at once.
"You'll know in due time, little girl. Right now, I just want you compliant and agreeable," Paola told her calmly, withdrawing the needle and tucking it back into her bag. She rose smoothly to a standing position and watched patiently, a tiny satisfied smile on her features, waiting for the substance to take hold.
Paola almost had to admire the girl; she fought the drug like a tigress, forcing her eyes open, violently shaking her head to stay awake. But it was all to no avail, and within two minutes she slumped, unconscious. Paola dragged Leslie out of bed and easily hefted her limp body over her shoulder, then descended the stairs and exited the house through the shutters that she'd left open. After about five minutes' walk down a trail, she emerged onto the lane where the bungalows were grouped; there was a jeep parked there, which had been at the disposal of a guest during the weekend. Paola dumped Leslie's inert body into the passenger seat and buckled her in, letting her head loll; then she narrowed her eyes and glared at the ignition assembly on the steering column. Nothing happened, and she growled low in her throat, concentrating all her focus on the keyhole. It took some thirty seconds for the engine to make a couple of halfhearted coughs. Gritting her teeth, Paola summoned still more will. Reluctantly the engine whined, sputtered, then at last turned over.
Sweating from the effort and cursing herself that she hadn't taken even more knowledge from Roarke's open mind the day before, Paola got into the driver's seat and turned the jeep around in the narrow lane. A few minutes later she was speeding down the Ring Road, with a specific destination in mind. All the way there, she was grinning.
§ § § -- January 12, 1999
It was the sun shining into the bedroom that woke Roarke. Disoriented at first, he reached instinctively for the other side of the bed and found that he was alone in the room. Memory came back in a flood and he frowned, then sat up. Apparently Paola was an early riser; he himself usually didn't sleep this late. Then he remembered exactly why he had, and a small smile flickered over his handsome features. Undoubtedly he would see her later on. He rose from the bed, dressed swiftly and took a brisk walk back to the main house.
His amiable mood dissolved when he stepped into the foyer and spotted the open shutters. The study was deserted, and a light was blinking on the answering machine. He glanced at it, cast a quizzical look down the hallway where he could hear the echoes of voices from the kitchen, then shook his head and crossed the study to fully open the shutters. Roarke then headed upstairs to change clothes and roust Leslie out of bed; he accomplished the former objective in no time, but was foiled in the latter when he found his daughter's room as deserted as the study. She had even left the bed unmade, which was utterly unlike her.
Roarke frowned, annoyed. Leslie had been quite confrontational all weekend, and he suspected this was her way of rebelling. Shaking his head in disgust, he descended the stairs again and surveyed the desk. Since he was here, he might as well try to tend to business. He took his place behind the desk, gathered up the stack of phone messages in Leslie's handwriting and began to return phone calls.
Mariki came in within minutes and brightened. "Good morning, Mr. Roarke!" she exclaimed when he hung up from the first call. "Breakfast?"
Roarke nodded curtly, barely looking up. "A bowl of fruit, please, Mariki, and quickly. There is quite a bit to do here. I'll merely eat here in the study."
Mariki stared at him in amazement. "Not on the veranda, sir?"
"There's no reason to," said Roarke flatly. "Leslie has apparently gone AWOL and left me with a great deal of work to handle. Just bring the bowl in here."
Mariki nodded slowly. "Very well, sir," she said and left. When she returned in about five minutes with the bowl, she simply left it on the desk without a word to him and returned to the kitchen. It would have mattered little if she had spoken; Roarke didn't even acknowledge her with a glance.
He had worked his way through about half the telephone messages when the foyer door opened and Paola came in. She gave him a slow, seductive smile; he returned it, half his attention already on her. Somehow he wound up the current call while she strolled behind his chair and began to massage his shoulders. Once he'd hung up, he let his head fall back and smiled faintly, closing his eyes. The remaining work was instantly forgotten.
Paola leaned over the back of the chair, lowered her head and kissed him, giggling at the sensation of meeting his lips with hers upside down. Roarke smiled when she pulled away, and she dipped around the side of the chair and beamed at him. "Such a drudge you are, my Roarke!" she teased. "Why sit in here and work, when the entire island awaits?"
Roarke gave her a regretful little smile. "I am afraid it's necessary, my dear," he said. "There is an impressive backlog here, and Leslie has disappeared somewhere."
Paola rolled her eyes. "Impudent child," she clucked with disapproval. "Surely she's jealous of the attention and care you've given me these past several days. She will simply have to be brought to her senses and punished." She straightened up while Roarke watched her, faintly surprised at her words. "Come, my Roarke, there is so much of this place that you have yet to show me."
"Show you?" echoed Roarke, vastly amused. "In the past three days we have explored nearly every inch of jungle on the island! I don't think there is anything left for me to show you. Perhaps you have it in mind to search for Leslie? It's true that we should track her down and bring her back here…"
"Bah…that child," Paola spat with enough venom to startle him. "Let her find her way back on her own, and you can punish her then. Come with me." Her tone turned wheedling. "You are the only one who can banish my demons, and I must have you by my side."
"Then you might remain here," said Roarke, with only a hint of a smile now. "I've taken enough time from business matters. If it weren't for Leslie's disappearance, it would be different, since I could leave her here to handle them. However, that's not the case. If you wish my company, then stay here with me." He winked at her to soften the words, then plucked the next message slip off the stack and dialed another telephone number.
Looking thwarted, Paola stood near the shutters pouting, watching in a sulky silence while Roarke made his way through several more messages, eating fruit from the bowl when he had a chance. He smiled frequently at her, but she didn't respond except for childishly resentful glares. Eventually he ignored her and continued working; a vague impatience with her had come to life somewhere deep in his mind, one of which he wasn't yet consciously aware, but which began to have some influence on his actions. When she finally stalked out in a huff, he didn't even see her go.