Donovans 01 - Amber Beach

interrupted.
    “Yes.”
    “Don’t sneak up on me,” he said simply. “We’d both regret it. Okay?”
    “No, but I’ll stay on the boat anyway,” Honor said. “Unless you or Kyle is hurt and needs me. Then I’ll do what I think is best, up to and including going ashore.”
    It wasn’t quite the answer Jake wanted but it was better than an outright refusal. He went over the stern gunwale onto the swim step. The twenty feet to land wasn’t worth the trouble of putting on swim fins to cover. He lowered himself into the water and scissor-kicked until he could stand. When he got to the rocky shore, the reef shoes he wore were better than no protection at all, but they weren’t climbing boots.
    Cursing, scrambling over slippery stones, he pushed among the prickly, flexible young firs. It didn’t take him long to find the dive tank shoved back into the greenery. There was a name etched onto the cylinder: “Kyle Donovan.”
    Without moving, Jake examined the dense growth of firs beyond the air tank. There was no sign of breakage, no path battered through the stubborn growth, no primitive camp concealed beneath the boughs.
    No corpse, either.
    Mentally he reviewed the shoreline for places where an inflated Zodiac could be hidden. Zero. As for the island itself, he hadn’t noticed many places where a man could hide himself, much less set up a concealed camp.
    Jake backed out of the firs and headed uphill, using the shallow crease of a ravine as a trail. The ravine went all the way to the top of the island, which was about two hundred feet at its highest. He didn’t go that far. After a short, sharp scramble he pulled himself up to another row of wind-stunted trees.
    And found himself looking right into the barrel of Kyle Donovan’s twenty-two pistol.
    “If you shoot me,” Jake said harshly, “don’t shoot the next one up the hill. That would be your sister Honor.”
    Kyle’s eyes narrowed as he tried to see the man outlined against the bright sky. “Jay? What the hell are you doing here?”
    “Looking for you.”
    A sweeping, predatory glance cataloged Kyle’s gaunt face, hollow eyes, and trembling hand holding the gun. His dark blond hair was streaked with dust and his green-gold eyes burned with fever. There was a tear in the shoulder of his dive suit that could have come from a fall, a knife, or a bullet.
    “What’s this about Honor?” Kyle asked hoarsely.
    “Honor is with me.”
    “Get her out of here.”
    “Why?”
    “It’s dangerous!”
    “You’re the only one I see holding a gun. Are you planning on shooting her?”
    “Hell, no.”
    “How about me? You planning on shooting me?”
    Kyle gave him a blank, disbelieving look. “Why would I do that? The only one I’m aiming for is the Russian who shot up my Zodiac after I put my elbow in his buddy’s throat.”
    “Was that about a week ago?”
    “I guess. The days kind of run together . . . .” Kyle’s eyelids lowered wearily. Adrenaline began to fade into the fatigue brought on by hunger and thirst and lack of sleep. “Do you have any water?”
    Jake glided closer, waiting for exhaustion to make Kyle careless. “I can get some water, but not with you holding that pistol on me.”
    Kyle looked at the gun as though surprised to see it was still in his hand.
    And then it wasn’t. It was in Jake’s hand and Jake’s arm was barred against Kyle’s throat, slamming him down against the rocks. Kyle thrashed once, then stopped struggling.
    “It’s a good thing I promised Honor not to hurt you,” Jake said through his teeth. “I don’t like having a gun held on me.”
    Abruptly he straightened, freeing Kyle, who struggled into a half-sitting position.
    “I didn’t know it was you,” Kyle said, shaking his head.
    Jake grunted.
    With a sigh Kyle slumped back into the rocky crevice where he had been hiding.
    Swiftly Jake finished his inventory of Kyle Donovan. In addition to the bloody gash high on the left shoulder, his dive suit was dirty all over and torn at one knee. The reef walkers he had on his big feet were ragged. His long-limbed, muscular body wasn’t up to its usual level of effort; obviously just sitting up taxed his strength. His hands were scraped and bruised, his color was bad, he looked haggard and pretty well used up, but he didn’t seem to be in danger of dying right away.
    Jake let out a silent breath. He really hadn’t wanted to face Honor over Kyle’s dead body.
    “About that water . . .” Kyle