Free Children of the Storm by Dean Koontz

you have a name?” he asked, still grinning.
        “Oh, of course!” she said, embarrassed by her lapse. “You startled me so, that I sort of lost track.”
        “Sorry about that.”
        “I'm Sonya Carter.”
        “What a lovely name!” he said.
        “Thank you.”
        “Were you coming to see us?”
        His teeth were exceptionally white, strong and broad, like the teeth of a healthy animal.
        “Us?”
        “My grandparents and me,” he said. “The Blenwells? Down at Hawk House?”
        “Oh,” she said, “no. No, I was just out for a walk , getting to know the island. Am I close to Hawk House, then?”
        “Quite close, yes.”
        “I was enjoying myself so much,” she said, “that I didn't realize how far I'd come.”
        He stood before her, his bare feet planted wide apart in the warm sand, almost as if he were there to stop her from proceeding any farther. He said, “Well, this makes two disappointments in less than a week.”
        “Oh?”
        “When you came around the point in Lady Jane, with Peterson, I thought you were coming to pay us a visit then. But you went right on by, leaving me disappointed.” His grin no longer seemed as pleasant as it first had; it seemed positively threatening. Or was that her imagination? Yes, it must be that: imagination, exaggeration. He was still smiling; he seemed personable and charming.
        “That was you on the pier, with the binoculars?” she asked.
        “You know it was.”
        “I suppose I do, yes.”
        “Will you accept my invitation to visit us?” he asked, looking down on her. He was quite tall.
        “I'd like that.”
        “Now?”
        She hesitated, then said, “I don't see why not.”
        “Wonderful!”
        He stepped out of her way, walked up beside her and took her arm, as if he thought she might turn and run unless he had a good hold on her. His grip was firm; he appeared inordinately strong.
        They walked along the beach together. From a distance, they might have looked like any happy-go-lucky couple. Up close, the observer would have seen the lines of tension around the girl's eyes, would have seen something-something not quite identifiable, but unsettling, in the big man's dark face.
        “You like the island?” he asked.
        “It's beautiful,” she said.
        “It is that. Someday, I hope to own it.”
        “Oh?”
        “Unless, of course, your employer, Dougherty, refuses to sell his portion. But I'm confident that, given time, he'll come around to my offer. It's more than adequate. He could turn a neat profit with what I'm willing to go for it.”
        “But I doubt he needs the money,” she said. She didn't know why she felt like needling the man, but she couldn't resist the chance.
        “Everyone needs the money-or thinks he does. Millionaires are no different; Dougherty is no different.” As the beach turned and Hawk House came into view, he let go her arm. “What strikes you most about Distingue?”
        “Too many things to choose one,” she said. “The beaches are so pure white.”
        “That's because they're white volcanic beaches. The sand was formed at the most terrific heat- oh, ten or twenty thousand years ago, and maybe longer. Surely, longer.”
        “And the palm trees,” she said, motioning to the lovely green giants to their left where they closed in on Hawk House. “I wanted to climb one of the coconut palms for some fruit, but I was afraid that I'd fall and couldn't call for help.”
        “We'll get some coconuts later, together,” he said.
        “I like the parrots, too,” Sonya said. When she talked, she felt more at ease. “They're so pretty and bright. And when they make that cawing, trilling noise, they make me think I'm in some old movie about Africa or South America.”
        He said, “I hate the parrots.”
        “For heaven's sake, why?” she asked.
        “The