§ § § -- November 8, 2003

In fact, Kane Mattson had also just finished lunch at his bungalow and was trying to figure out how he might make a better success of robbing the jewelry store. He'd promised his parents and his wife and children that he'd send postcards, and he supposed this was as good an excuse as any to get two things done at once. So he changed clothes, putting on a pair of shorts and a decidedly loud faux-Hawaiian shirt that fairly screamed American tourist, then stepped into a pair of flip-flops and stuck his wallet in his back pocket. He then laid out the entire disguise on the bed before departing the bungalow and strolling into the town square once more. This time he took note of the building on the eastern side of the square once the Ring Road brought him into the area; it housed only two businesses, the jeweler's (ironically, standing at right angles to the bank: the getaway path he'd seen earlier would still serve as an escape route, if he could just remember to use it this time) and an old-fashioned theater complete with large marquee announcing the appearance of a popular comedian that night. At the moment the theater was closed, but he stopped on the pretext of checking the show schedule posted in the ticket-taker's window, just to try to avoid looking as if he were zeroing in on the jeweler. Kane made a face at the schedule: he didn't like this particular comedian anyway. Shrugging to himself, he wandered on, pausing in front of the display window in the jewelry shop and nodding faintly at the elegant rings, necklaces and bracelets glittering in the sunlight. Who needed cash anyway? After all, he still planned to return anything he stole to Roarke. Then he thought again: maybe he'd keep that one diamond cocktail ring he could see winking at him on the top tier of the display. His wife had always wanted one like that…

Mattson, you jerk, what're you thinking? That's something Gage would've done in his hellion days! It's a fantasy, stupid! Having thus roundly chastised himself for his wayward thoughts, he sighed gently and left the jeweler's behind, crossing the square toward the post office and making certain to give the bank a good berth. He also took care to avoid the computer-service place; the guy he'd seen in the window might recognize him and get suspicious. Instead he went straight to the gift shop, found a couple of postcards, picked out a T-shirt and bought the lot; then he wrote out the cards and mailed them at the post office.

All of a sudden an idea hit him and he returned to the jeweler's. This time he went inside, glancing curiously around. A youngish native man behind the counter immediately asked, "May I help you, sir?"

Kane nodded and paused at the window display, pointing out the ring he'd seen earlier. "Okay if I take a look at that ring?" he asked. "I'm thinking I might get it as a present for my wife."

"Right away, sir," the man said, and Kane watched him pull out some keys and unlock the display before removing the ring and handing it to him. Kane pretended to examine it, nodded thoughtfully a couple times and handed it back.

"Do you have something like this set with rubies?" he asked experimentally.

To his relief, the hunch worked. "We may have something in the back, sir. Let me check for you." The salesman replaced the ring in the display, locked it, then went to the back room, leaving Kane alone out front. He took the chance to make a quick inspection of the interior and noticed that the glass cases all had standard locks in the back where only the employees here could get to them. It wasn't a big shop at all, perhaps fifteen by twenty-five feet altogether, so it probably wouldn't be too difficult to keep any other occupants subdued while he was carrying out his robbery. And it helped that, despite all the people still running around the square, there seemed to be little traffic in here. This should have a better chance of success.

The salesman returned and Kane pretended to peruse the selections he had; then he thanked the salesman on the pretext of checking his available funds and departed. He was so lost in thought that he didn't see the two native men, one stocky and the other far too thin, loitering sullenly near the ticket booth at the theater, watching him go by.

"He was casing the joint," Joey said. "Saw him through the window. I think he's gonna rob it. Should we help him out?"

"Are you kidding?" Bert demanded. "I told you the same thing when the bank got held up this morning: we're not doing some rinky-dink little heist. Give this guy a chance to do whatever he's gonna do. If he pulls it off—or even if he doesn't—either way, Roarke'll come out here with the cops, once he hears there's been a second robbery attempt, and we could make our move then. Just cool it, all right?" Joey shrugged, and they fell silent, watching people in the square.

Kane returned to his bungalow, changed clothes once more and wrestled with the mask, beard and mustache for fifteen minutes. He peered at his reflection in the bathroom mirror, wondered idly if he should have bought a hat of some sort, then shrugged. It hardly mattered; if he succeeded this time, the disappearance of the mask and nondescript clothes should be enough protection. He picked up the gun, stuffed it back into his belt as far as it would go, and left the bungalow once more, his stomach churning but his head full of determination.

Just short of the square he slowed his gait and moved as much like an old man as he could, hoping it looked reasonably authentic. Preoccupied with his mission and distracted again by the hot, sweaty mask, he once more missed Bert and Joey hanging around the ticket booth. They watched him go by, and this time moved out into the square itself to see what would happen.

Kane pushed into the jeweler's and saw that this time there was a couple inside, obviously newlyweds on their honeymoon from the way they hung all over each other and traded constant kisses and caresses. Not wanting to ruin their blissful event, he pretended to examine men's jewelry on the other side of the shop while the salesman showed the two some rings and finally managed to sell them a small emerald one. As soon as they had left, Kane crossed the store and faced the same native salesman he'd spoken with before.

"This is a holdup," he snarled, whipping out the gun and pointing it in the startled man's face. "Clean out these cases here and put it all in a bag. Now."

The salesman nodded quickly and began unlocking the nearest glass case with shaking hands. Kane watched, his stomach fairly dancing. He felt queasy, but he was in too far to retreat now. Might as well finish the job. The salesman's hands shook so much that he was having trouble fitting the key into the lock, and Kane's nervousness made him impatient to get it over with and get out. "For cryin' out loud," he barked, brandishing the gun wildly, "hurry it up!"

Then, to his shock, the gun flew out of his slippery palm and sailed toward the back of the room, crashing into a display case there and shattering the glass. Kane barely had time to even think up a good curse before whooping alarms filled the building. This time he cursed out loud and took to his heels, already seeing the cops bursting out of the police station on the western side of the square. Kane fled down the path he'd noticed earlier, as if running for his life, furious with himself.

Bert and Joey watched him go, blended back into the crowd as the local constabulary barreled into the jewelry shop. They looked at each other then; each gave one slow nod, and at leisure they ambled down the path Kane Mattson had taken moments before.

In the bungalow Kane ripped off the beard, mustache and mask, scrambled out of the T-shirt and jeans, and then wet a washcloth with cold water and mopped his face, shaking from adrenaline and anger. Some fantasy! he thought disgustedly. Blew it twice, and now I don't even know what to do! I oughta talk to Roarke again. He dropped the washcloth, ran both hands through his hair and blew out his breath, hoping he could get by unrecognized by anyone who'd been in the square. About to head for the door, he was surprised by a sudden knock. Curious, he went to answer it, expecting Roarke; but to his surprise he found himself facing a distinctly overweight man and a rail-thin one, perhaps a bit younger, both clearly of Polynesian extraction. "Can I help you?"

"I think maybe we can help you, friend," the heavyset one remarked with a slow grin. "Mind if we come in?"

"I suppose not," Kane mumbled, stepping aside and letting the pair in. "What is it you think you can help me with?"

"First, my name's Bert," the heavy one said, "and this here's Joey."

"Kane," said Kane cautiously and shook hands.

"Now," said Bert, "we saw you tryin' to rob the jewelry store a few minutes ago…"

Kane reared back, panic coming to full life. "Hey, now, hold it a minute—"

Bert raised his hands. "Calm down, buddy, calm down," he said soothingly. "We're not here to turn you in. Matter of fact, we were thinkin' the three of us, you, me and Joey here, could form a partnership."

"What're you guys, professional cat burglars or something?" Kane asked.

"Actually, no," Joey said. "We used to work at the pineapple plantation down the other end of the island, see. It was a decent job, good pay, no questions asked. Then some morons went and set fire to the overseer's house this summer, and Roarke stepped in and had the whole place cleaned out. Jailed half the local field workers, deported all the rest of 'em, and closed down operations for a month and a half. Me and Bert lost our jobs when he did that, and the new overseer won't hire us back. Says he wants long-term, stable workers. Like Bert wasn't, and I was there two whole months!" Joey scowled.

"Anyway," said Bert with a warning glance at Joey, "we have a plan, but we need a little help. And it looks like you're tryin' to start a life of crime here…" He grinned. "…so if you want to do it right, then whyn'tcha team up with us?"

Kane stared at them. "Well, that all depends," he hedged. "What've you got in mind?"

"Kidnapping," Joey said with relish. "A good old-fashioned kidnapping."

Kane burst out laughing and scoffed, "Aw, c'mon, who the heck would be worth kidnapping around here? I don't think you'd dare kidnap Mr. Roarke. I hear he's got powers. You'd never be able to hold him."

Bert and Joey looked at each other, and Joey said as if Kane weren't there, "Are you sure this was such a good idea, Bert, bringing this guy in? Cripes, he couldn't even pull off a simple little heist. All he'll do is get in the way. We shoulda just gone in while the cops were chasin' him and Roarke was over there, like we planned."

"Have a little patience," Bert said. "Woulda been too risky goin' in after he messed up stealin' some rocks. This way, we have a chance to make a better plan." He turned back to a bewildered Kane. "Robberies are small potatoes. The real money's in kidnappin', and no, it ain't Roarke we're takin', it's his daughter."

"Right," said Joey. "We can just ask for more money—three mil—and split it so each one of us gets a third."

Kane's startled eyes bounced back and forth between Bert and Joey. "I don't know," he demurred nervously. "It'd be like, I don't know, betraying my host…"

"Oh, for crud's sake," Joey muttered.

Bert elbowed him, none too gently. "Look, pal…what's your name, Kane? It ain't gonna be all that serious. We're not killers, we just want fair compensation for losin' our jobs down at the plantation. Soon's we get the ransom, we let Roarke's daughter go and the two of us get off this island and find us someplace better. You can do whatever you want, but if I was you I'd make tracks pretty quick too. We're willin' to split the ransom with ya, fair 'n' square, everybody gets an equal share. Nobody gets hurt, and me and Joey and you all get a little richer off it. They'll never miss it."

Kane frowned. "Are you really sure? I mean, I know three million doesn't stretch as far as it used to, but it's still pretty significant money."

"That's why we decided on Leslie," Bert said smoothly. "Not only is she the daughter of Roarke, a rich man, but she's the wife of a guy who used to be a prince. Princes are rich just because they're princes. Not only that, but this prince has a helluva successful computer business, and he ain't hurtin' for dough. Between him and Roarke, they oughta have no problem coughin' up the full ransom."

"Yeah," Kane mumbled, beginning to see the possibilities. Real money, for a change. Not only that, but he'd finally succeed in his objective. No one would be even hurt, much less killed. And after all, it was just a fantasy, wasn't it? He looked up and stuck out a hand at Bert. "Okay, fellas, you've got yourself an accomplice. Whaddaya want me to do?"

‡ ‡ ‡

"If you dare say 'I told you so'…" Leslie muttered at Roarke, settling herself very gingerly into one of the chairs in front of his desk. "I tell you what, I'll never forgive you if you do. Why do I always have to get sick on a weekend?"

Roarke chuckled. "You don't 'always' get sick on weekends at all, my dear Leslie, and I would never dream of saying 'I told you so'. But it seems quite plain to me that you overestimated your abilities at dinner, and now you've paid a price. I don't want you to argue with me, Leslie. I'm going to notify Christian and have him take you home with him tonight. There should be no difficulties handling things on my own, and if need be, I'll call Julie in. I simply want to be sure you don't intensify your illness. And incidentally, I think you'd do well to see Dr. Lambert—Monday if not tomorrow." He studied her for a moment, his face unreadable, then reached for the phone receiver.

Leslie sighed and watched him pick it up. She knew there was no point in saying anything; when Roarke made a decision, protesting it was a supreme waste of time and energy. In any case, her stomach was very touchy, and she was beginning to find the prospect of curling up in bed very appealing. She sat in resigned silence and wrapped her arms around her abdomen.

"Oh, I see," Roarke said after a moment or two. "How late do you expect to remain open, then?" He paused, nodded and said, "Very well…I think she will be fine for a short time, but I think it best if you come for her as soon as you can. Yes, thank you, Christian." He hung up. "I seem to recall Christian having mentioned heavy foot traffic at his office during the day, and he has just informed me that he's extended today's hours for himself and Anton and Julianne so that they can finish projects they have on hand. He will close at six and come for you then."

"Okay, I imagine I'll last that long," Leslie said wryly. "After all, everything I ate at both meals today came up all at the same time, so there's nothing left."

Roarke shook his head and smiled, but before he could speak the phone rang and he picked it up. "Yes?" A few seconds later he frowned. "Have you tried sending them to the pond restaurant?…Then did you explain that Chef Miyamoto is ill with—" His frown deepened and he looked faintly alarmed. "Why did you not say so? I'll be right there." He hung up and smiled apologetically at Leslie. "Our visiting diva has decided to register a very large complaint, and I am afraid I must see to it personally."

"Visiting diva?" echoed Leslie blankly.

"Ah, yes, you didn't know. The British actress, Katie MacDiarmid. She is visiting the island this weekend and has been…quite a trial, if I may be so bold. If you would kindly remain here and take care of any telephone calls that may come in, I would be grateful," said Roarke and arose.

Leslie shook her head wryly. "Good luck, Father." She knew about the twenty-seven-year-old star; she had been a child actress on British television before hitting the big time in an early Toni Karlsen film, and since then had grown up to be quite successful—and quite the demanding diva. "That's one actress whose autograph I don't care if I ever get." Roarke laughed softly and left; Leslie took his place in the chair, moving carefully and hoping things would stay quiet to accommodate her highly irritated stomach. She leaned back in the chair and closed her eyes, sitting still, hoping it wouldn't be too long before Christian could get away and take her home. She felt bad enough that she was more than ready to go. Ever so gently she rubbed her stomach, slowly and with great care.

"Uh…excuse me…Mrs. Enstad? I hope I'm not bothering you," said a diffident male voice, and Leslie opened her eyes to find Kane Mattson standing in front of the desk, peering at her with a strange look on his face.

"Oh, Mr. Mattson," Leslie said. "No, that's okay, do you need help with something?"

"Well…I'm kind of having a problem," Kane said, clearing his throat. "I, uh…" He paused and stared at her. "Are you all right? You look…well, kind of sick."

"I've been having stomach trouble all day," Leslie said dismissively. "Go ahead, tell me what the problem is, and I'll try to help."

"Why don't we, uh…go outside," Kane suggested. "I think you could stand some fresh air, and, uh…I think better when I walk."

She nodded and slowly arose, wondering idly why he seemed so nervous. "Maybe a little fresh air would be good for me, at that," she mused, leading the way out of the study and onto the veranda. It was nearly dark, and she squinted beyond the porch, trying to see into the lane and barely making out the fountain. Moving carefully toward the steps, she prodded, "So what's the trouble?"

"Let's, um…go out by the fountain here," Kane said. Leslie glanced bewilderedly back at him but acquiesced, taking each step with some hesitance and looking down at her own feet as she did so. Thus she never saw what was coming.

It happened so fast she could hardly make any sense of it. Two pairs of hands grabbed her and began wrestling her away from the steps; Leslie let out a startled shriek, and a bony hand slapped itself over her mouth. "You idiot," growled a low male voice, "you forgot the knockout juice!"

There was a curse and a snapped, "Then you do it, know-it-all!" Leslie's fear momentarily drowned out her nausea. She began to struggle hard in her assailants' grip, trying desperately to break away. When the hand over her mouth disappeared, she screamed into the dusk, "Christian!!"

"No help there, princess," the first male voice sneered, and another hand plastered itself to her face—this one large and meaty and armed with a handkerchief that had been saturated with some very strong, sweet-smelling substance. She tried not to breathe it in, fought to twist her head away, but her captors were too strong for her. Inevitably she had to take a breath, and almost instantly her head began to swim and she lost most of her strength. With a helpless little moan she made one last feeble attempt to draw back, but the hand and its soaked cloth easily followed her. "That's it, princess, breathe nice and deep," the voice said with a chuckle, and in spite of herself she drew breath again. "Good girl. A little more and you can have a nice, long nap."

A nap, Leslie thought hazily, that sounds nice… She let her eyes drift shut, breathed in once more, and knew nothing else from that moment.