Swept Away (47 page)

trash sack over the side onto the deck, thinking there was something absurdly apropos in that,
since that’s exactly what Clark Spencer thought he was—trash.

As Spencer maneuvered the boat back out of the slip, then aimed for the south Florida coast,
everyone continued spewing questions and reprimands at Kat—leaving Brock thankful. Not
that he liked seeing her harangued, but it kept him out of the spotlight in a group where he
definitely qualified as the odd man out.

Her mother still questioned her on why she’d lied about going to Vegas, and Nina was
apologizing to Debra Spencer for keeping it from her, and Ian remained angry and harped on
all the terrible things that could have happened to her on the island by herself. Brock stood at the opposite end of the boat, peering toward the mass of land that grew smaller with each
second, where his fantasies had come true.

Glancing down at the cabin cruiser’s large motor trolling through the seawater, Brock caught a
glimpse of the boat’s name—KAT'S MEOW. Apt but still odd, he thought. Kat seemed to be
everything to these people—yet they beat her down so much and probably didn’t even realize
it. Hell, no wonder she’d decided to marry Ian—she’d likely been browbeaten so long that she
couldn’t make sense of things anymore.

It was when talk turned to the wedding that Brock couldn’t stand to listen any longer, so he
quietly meandered below decks, where he stretched out on a built-in upholstered bench to wait
out the ride. He’d been in a lot of crazy situations, so this should be nothing, yet something
about it felt surreal, and he saw no reason to endure it when he could escape down here and get
his thoughts together.

As soon as they reached shore, he’d find a phone, call headquarters. Job one: getting some
agents and possibly some local lawmen back out to the island to retrieve the artifacts before
Spencer or anyone else could. Brock wasn’t sure why no one had come for them before now,
given that the Morales boys had failed to deliver five long days ago, but time remained of the
essence. Next, he’d have to launch an investigation into Clark Spencer. One part of him
delighted in that idea—How smug will you be when I bring you down, Spencer? But when he thought of Kat, the idea of putting her father behind bars wasn’t nearly so appealing.

Just then, a shadow blocked the sunlight streaming through the narrow doorway. At first, he
thought the female figure descending to join him was Kat, but it turned out to be Nina. “Hey,”
she said. “I don’t know if you remember me, but I’m—”

“Kat’s friend, Nina,” he finished for her.

She smiled that he knew, then took a seat across from him on the opposite bench. “Listen, I
know this is none of my business, but you showing up on the island, was that really just a coincidence?”

He’d actually thought so at first. But finding the artifacts had changed that. “Yep. Amazing but
true.”

Nina didn’t possess the same natural beauty as Kat, but her angular features and long blond
hair, combined with a saucy attitude he’d seen immediately, made her attractive. She leaned
back and studied him with a suspicious twinkle in her eye. “I know this is totally out of line,
but I also know you and Kat sort of had a thing way back when, so tell me, Brock Denton,
did anything happen between you two out on that island?”

She posed the question with suggestive amusement, but he felt the need to remind her of the obvious. Glancing upward, where the rest of the party remained, he said, “In case you hadn’t
noticed, she’s engaged.”

She didn’t miss a beat. “Yes, but she was way into you in high school, and even though that was a long time ago and things have changed I still can’t quite believe Kat could be alone
with you for that long without something happening.” She dropped her gaze to his left hand. “I
mean, unless things have really changed. Unless you’re married or something.”

He gave his head a short shake. “No, not married. Or something.”
She raised her eyebrows, prodding him. “So? Tell me.”

“You’ll have to ask her,” he said, but he supposed it was enough of an admission, since Nina’s
expression softened, looking pleased. “Now you tell me something. Why are you hoping your
best friend cheated on her fiancé?”

She tilted her head, pushed a lock of long blond hair behind her ear, and looked like she was
about to share a secret. “I hate him,” she said, then glanced upward.

Brock blinked. “Really?” This was getting more interesting.

Nina sighed and cast a dry expression. “Well, maybe hate is too strong a word, but he’s a drag,
and he’s so not right for Kat. I hate that she’s marrying him.”

“I’m not too wild about the idea myself,” he admitted, having unexpectedly found an ally. He
suddenly recalled Kat claiming Nina was surprisingly sensible on her good days, and now he
believed it. “She told me she doesn’t love him.”

Nina gasped. “I knew it!”

He was probably taking this too far, sticking his nose in way too deep—especially since he kept mentally harping on how everyone tried to run Kat’s life—but he felt he had no other choice. “If there’s anything you can do to stop the wedding,” he said, lowering his voice
slightly, “you should.”

Yet she shook her head. “I’ve been trying to derail it for months.”

“Ask her about the island,” he said. “Ask her what happened out there.”

Just then another shadow blocked the doorway, and Debra Spencer’s voice filtered downward.
“We’re coming in to the marina. Brock, do you need a ride someplace?”

He’d rather walk all the way to Miami on hot coals. “No—thanks, I’m good. I’ll call a friend.” A friend named the Federal Bureau of Investigation.

In a few hours, the Spencers’ private island—his and Kat’s secluded hideaway—would be crawling with cops. And Kat would be anticipating her wedding. Their lives would be separate
once more, going right on as usual, almost like they’d never even crossed paths.
More or less, that’s what he’d wanted.

So why did it leave an empty feeling in the pit of his stomach?

Late that night, Kat sat alone in her apartment, surrounded by boxes packed to move, hugging
her kitty on the sofa, and watching David Letterman. There were a million things she could be
doing—among them sleeping. She was exhausted, and tired eyes wouldn’t make for a pretty
bride.

Yet she couldn’t quite seem to close her eyes on the day.

Because when she woke up tomorrow, the island and Brock would seem so much farther
away. The next day the distance would be even greater. And before long, it would be almost as if it had never even happened.

Of course, maybe that was a good thing. Any sane person would certainly be trying to push the whole episode from her mind. But lately Kat was beginning to wonder if she fell under that
heading.

Too much. There was just too much going on.

She had the urge to go to The Kiln, right now, and throw a pot. The feel of the smooth, wet
clay beneath her hands, the mesmerizing spin of the wheel—nothing relaxed her like her art,
and right now it would be extremely welcome to concentrate on nothing more complicated than
shaping a lump of clay into something new and beautiful.

Only it was far too late. She had keys to the place, but she didn’t think Renee, the owner,
would appreciate her coming in that late—someone would probably call the cops or something.
And it wasn’t really a practical idea anyway. Tomorrow at 10:00 A.M. she was getting a
manicure. And pretty much every moment of her time from then on would be devoted to some
wedding preparation or another, and then she would be married.

Odd. Her wedding was in less than two days, and after that she’d be jetting off to a fabulous
Tahitian honeymoon—and the thing she was looking most forward to at this moment was the solace of making some new pots in a few weeks when she got home.

She hugged Vincent to her, smiling to herself as she remembered Brock’s joke about watching the cat around knives. “But you’re not a psycho, are you?” she cooed to the kitty in baby talk.
“No, of course you’re not. Your mommy’s the psycho.”

Because there were beaucoup things she should be thinking about, and instead her mind
lingered on Brock. The incredible sex. The intense intimacy.

Her mind flashed to the horrid moment today when they’d all exited the boat at the marina, and
Brock had said, “Bye, Kat.”

Simple as that. Like nothing had happened.

He didn’t have a choice, she knew—everyone had been standing there, and she was the one
who’d changed gears this afternoon—but it had seemed like the most anticlimactic instance of
her existence. “Bye, Brock,” she’d said, wondering if anyone realized that she’d had trouble getting the words out, could barely breathe in the face of knowing it was the last time she’d see
him. Probably ever.

“Take care,” he’d said, and she’d been trying to summon a You, too, but before she could get it
out, he’d turned and walked away. Surrounded by her parents, her best friend, and her
husband-to-be, she’d never felt so alone.

For some reason, the memory of that emotion made her feel guilty about Vincent. “I’m sorry,
buddy, but I have to leave again in a couple of days. Mom will look after you, though, and you
know she’s a good kitty-sitter, even if you like to act all aloof and bored with her. And when I
come home, guess what—we’re moving! To a big, brand-new place where you’ll have lots of
new stuff to explore.” And it made a hell of a lot more sense to focus on things like her cat, her
upcoming move, and her wedding than on a guy who’d flitted out of her life as quickly as he’d flitted in.

As for why she’d done an about-face and decided to marry Ian again well, there were a lot of
reasons. Ian loved her. He was smart and a good provider. Her family adored him, and she was
equally fond of his. Their similar backgrounds made them highly compatible. Wildly successful
marriages had been built on less.

And as for the love part, it was true—she wasn’t “in love” with him. But she really believed
that could grow. In India, they still had arranged marriages, and she knew just such a couple,
who owned a cafe a few blocks from the gallery, and the wife had once told her they couldn’t
be happier. Kat believed it was all about attitude—and despite her little detour on the island, she was committed to having a long, happy marriage with Ian.

The wedding was going to be beautiful, the day she’d always dreamed of, with all her friends and family around her. Then she and Ian would jet off to the South Pacific, where she would
luxuriate on the beach, soak up the rays and the serenity, and let people bring her umbrella
drinks and spray cool mists over her whenever she felt the urge. She’d planned to relax and
luxuriate on her family’s island, but turned out she needed a vacation from her vacation.