A Dangerous Engagement

Chapter 1 : A Memory With A View

MARCUS

The wind is cold and biting out on the deck of the small fishing boat where I stand watching the ocean. For a moment, I consider going inside the warm cabin, maybe get a cup of hot coffee. But there is something enthralling about the view of the waves and the early morning sky that held me in place, despite the chill.

"Looks like rain soon," Morris, one of the three fishermen observes. Her tanned, lined face has the relaxed look of a woman in her element here among the wild wind and sea. "You might want to go back inside, Mr. Ryan."

"We're almost there, right?" I ask.

"Yes, sir. Twenty minutes."

"I'll take my chances." I grin so she understands that I appreciate her advice, even if I didn't take it.

"Suit yourself."

I know what she probably thinks of me: a bored city guy roughing it on his way to a friend's private island for a weekend of parties and decadent — probably illegal — debauchery. I would actually be less uncomfortable if that were the case.

It doesn't rain before we get to the docks. An SUV is waiting for me. It's dark green, my grandfather's favorite color, with a chauffeur standing next to it.

"Good morning, Mr. Ryan," he greets me as he takes the suitcases I hand him. He eyes the ten-year-old fishing boat with barely perceptible amusement. "I hope your trip was good?"

He'd doff his uniform cap if he were wearing his uniform. Out here, apparently, he gets to wear a shirt, khakis and a fleece jacket.

"Fine, thank you," I say. "It's Sands, isn't it?"

"Yes, sir."

As he loads my two suitcases into the Cullanan, I take one last look at the fishing boat pulling away from the dock. I have to suppress the urge to call it back, ask them to take me with them. To the ocean. To anywhere but here.

"Shall we head to the house, sir?" Sands asks politely, reminding me where I am and what I'm supposed to be doing.

"Is everyone at the house?" I ask once I'm in the backseat and he's behind the wheel.

"We're expecting them before lunch."

"And grandfather?"

"Came in yesterday, sir."

It's a short drive to the main house east of the island. The green, gold and red foliage of the maple and oak trees on either side of the road seems almost out of place against the overcast skies and the blue grey of the ocean beyond.

As we round the back of the estate, I spot a lone figure on the front lawn walking toward the house. It's too far for me to make out who it is, but she's wearing a bright yellow dress. Not my cousin Cameron's style, but maybe it's her wife, Amber. Neither of my two sisters would be out this early in the morning. Besides, as far as Sands knows, none of them have even arrived yet.

"Do you know who that is?" I ask.

"I can't say, sir."

I don't miss the way he hedges his reply. He didn't say he didn't know who it was, but that he couldn't say. Grandfather invited his grandchildren, but he could have brought his own guests. Maybe it was his lawyer or accountant. His assistant, Peggy, never wore anything but red and black.

There's no sign of the woman in the yellow dress when we get to the house. The butler opens the door for us. He's relatively young, not even in his sixties. But Jaime Alonzo has the disposition of an elderly schoolmaster. Unlike Sands, he is in full uniform, down to the white gloves.