Y FIVE-THIRTY, THE tide of tourists on the streets around Captain Hodges Wharf was receding rapidly. Cruise ship passengers, carrying bags of duty-free bounty, were heading back to departing ships, and tourists staying on the island were returning to their hotels to nap before a long night of dining, gambling, and nightclubbing.

In a parked car, MacNeil phoned Gray Elliott to report again on Wyatt’s whereabouts. “Wyatt’s still hanging around the wharf,” MacNeil said. “That’s the bad news. The good news is, I just checked with our contact at the airport. He said Wyatt’s plane is on the ramp at the hangar, fueled up and ready to fly. His pilots are waiting in the lounge, drinking coffee. So he’s planning to leave soon.”

“All right, stay in touch,” Gray replied. “Interpol is on standby, prepared to conduct simultaneous searches of his apartments in Europe, but I can’t give them the go-ahead until Wyatt’s plane is in the air. Otherwise, I run the risk that some doorman or housekeeper will phone him, and he’ll figure out he’s the subject of our investigation. He has a telephone in the plane, but I don’t think he’d give that number to underlings and domestics.”

“I’ll call you as soon as he’s on the move,” MacNeil said.

As MacNeil lowered his phone, Childress raised the camera and focused on Wyatt for another quick shot. “The guy is a chick magnet,” Childress remarked a little wistfully, watching through the camera’s eye as a pretty blonde strolled into the frame.

“Excuse me,” a female voice said. “Could you tell me what time it is?”

“It’s five-thirty,” Mitchell replied without looking at his watch or the woman. He’d just checked the time, and his attention was now fastened on a new boat appearing on the horizon.

As the boat grew larger, it appeared to be about the right size and moving at about the right speed for a tourist boat. St. Maarten’s coastline was dotted with marinas and wharfs, however, and most boats coming over the horizon appeared to be headed in his general direction at first, so Mitchell kept a tight rein on his expectations. A few minutes later, the boat was still angled toward Captain Hodges Wharf, and Mitchell’s pulse began edging up, notch by notch, while his gaze fastened on the boat’s bow, willing it not to change direction.

The boat came nearer, grew larger, and Mitchell began searching for a glimpse of shining red hair among the blur of passengers on deck. A few minutes later, the Island Sun had docked and the last passenger had filed past him. Mitchell returned to his vantage point on the other side of the wharf and scanned the horizon for signs of another inbound tourist boat. Obviously the boyfriend’s flight had been delayed, and he’d arrived an hour or two late, which was delaying Kate.

Smiling a little, he marveled, yet again, that neither he nor Kate had thought to exchange cell phone numbers. In the hours before she left this morning, they’d shared a sunrise, laughter, several stories, long kisses, and the most exciting, profoundly satisfying lovemaking of his life. They had not, however, shared their phone numbers—which wasn’t all that surprising on his part, Mitchell thought wryly, because he’d lost the ability and the desire to concentrate on anything else when she was near.

After twenty minutes and another boat arrival, Mitchell was no longer smiling. The sun was beginning to set, and as darkness loomed, his mind began conjuring unbearable images of Kate cowering in a corner from her enraged boyfriend or lying alone in the villa, injured or worse.

Once those possibilities had occurred to him, he was powerless to ignore them. He pulled his cell phone out of his pocket, and after being transferred to two operators, he was finally able to get through to the Island Club. At the last moment, he remembered Maurice was away, and he asked to speak to whoever was in charge instead. A male answered, identified himself as “Mr. Orly,” and asked how he could be of service.

“This is Mitchell Wyatt,” Mitchell replied, trying to sound less frightened than he felt. “Miss Donovan, in villa six, was feeling ill earlier, and she isn’t answering her phone. Please send someone down to check on her while I hold on.”

“Miss Donovan?” Mr. Orly repeated. “Villa six? Are you certain?”

“Very certain,” Mitchell snapped. “Send someone down there immediately.”

“I’m happy to be able to allay your fears, Mr. Wyatt,” Orly said cheerfully after a moment. “The phone in villa six isn’t being answered because the villa is unoccupied.”

“What do you mean it’s unoccupied?”

“I mean that the party occupying villa six checked out at three o’clock today. Is there anything—”

Mitchell closed the cover on his cell phone, disconnecting Orly in midsentence, but his brain refused to process the obvious implications of what he’d heard. Paralyzed with disbelief, he stood where he was, gazing blindly at the horizon, his phone hanging loosely from his hand.

Not once since Kate had waved good-bye to him this morning had he ever considered that she’d leave him standing there at the wharf. She was in love with him, and he was in love with her. Their feelings for each other were deepening with every hour they spent together. They were meant to be, and Kate had realized that even before he had. Kate wanted magic, and they had it in unbelievable abundance. She didn’t have that with her boyfriend. She would never have checked out of the Island Club and gone home with him.

The obvious answer was that the boyfriend had checked out and gone home alone. Kate was probably on her way to Mitchell right now, as eager to kiss him hello as he was to return her kiss. There was a way to find out.... Slowly, Mitchell pulled his wallet out of his pocket and removed the slip of paper he’d put there yesterday with the veterinary’s address and phone number on it. Looking at it, he flipped his cell phone open again with his thumb, his heart beginning to beat with dread.

“This is Mitchell Wyatt,” he told the vet when he answered the phone. “I was wondering if Miss Donovan came by to pick up Max yet.”

“Yes, she did. She picked him up several hours ago, and he was very happy to see her. I had all the documents ready that she needed to get him into the States.”

“That’s good...” Mitchell said, his chest constricting in pained disbelief. “Did she bring someone along to help with him?”

“Yes, a nice gentleman.”

STANDING BESIDE THEIR car, Childress and MacNeil watched Wyatt’s jet taxiing away from its hangar. Minutes later, it roared down the runway; then it lifted off and vanished swiftly into the darkness, its presence in the sky marked only by tiny flashes of light.