Free Eyes of Fire by Heather Graham Page A

responsibilities overwhelming. Jem’s younger cousin, Matt, had taken a job with them during the last year, as well, acting as lifeguard, scuba instructor and jack-of-all-trades, but he only came over on weekends, when his college schedule allowed.
    Yancy managed the main house, the reservations, the kitchen and the household staff. Sam was dive mistress, scuba instructor, social director and official hostess. It all fell together well. Yancy had always loved the house, which worked out well, because now she usually had the baby at her side, no matter what task she was up to.
    â€œWere you afraid somebody might be after the baby?” Yancy asked her.
    â€œI guess not. I’m just…unnerved,” Sam told her. “Is dinner all set up?”
    â€œAll set and ready to go,” Yancy said. “Jacques has everything in control.”
    Jacques Roustand was the only other live-in employee on the island. He’d been their chef since Yancy’s mother had passed away eight years ago. He’d found himself in a sad position at first, of course, but he’d been so different and so entirely unique that Yancy herself had been the first to fully accept him. He was in his mid-thirties now, and appeared almost a caricature of the typical French chef, down to a slim, twirling mustache he had worn continuously ever since his arrival. He wasn’t exactly French, for though he had attended school in Paris, he had been born and bred a Louisiana Creole. Sam was convinced that it was more his mother’s influence than the French school that had made him a great chef. He never ran out of different ways to prepare crawfish, shrimp, Florida lobster or any creature they pulled from the sea. His dishes were colorful, exotic and could always be prepared for each individual guest in either a spicy or mild manner. She, Jem and Yancy all considered him invaluable—and any one of them was customarily willing to drop anything he or she was about to do when Jacques called. If he wanted garlic chopped, they chopped. Glasses filled, they filled them. Silver polished, they polished. Sam had once told Jem that she might own the island, but Jacques indisputably ruled it.
    â€œGood evening, ladies!”
    They both jumped up, turning to greet their first arrival for the evening.
    It was Avery Smith, an elderly gentleman visiting the island on his own. He was tall and very slim, with a full head of iron-gray hair and iron-gray eyes to match. He was intelligent and charming. And wealthy, Sam assumed, judging by his impeccable clothing. He was very fond of Versace, elegant gold cuff links and silver-handled canes. He never appeared for dinner in less than a complete tux.
    â€œMr. Smith,” Yancy said. “Good evening to you. Would you like your customary brandy, sir?”
    â€œI would indeed, my dear young woman.”
    As Yancy went to get his drink, he smiled at Sam. “I wish I were just a few years younger. I would love to join one of your dive parties. I could hear the children laughing—so excited!—when they returned this afternoon.”
    â€œI hope they didn’t disturb you,” Yancy said, giving him a snifter of brandy. “I tried to make sure I gave you and the Walkers cottages far enough apart.”
    He sipped his brandy, waving a hand her way. “I like the sound of laughter.” He smiled again at Sam. “They say you are very, very good, like a fish in the water and charming with your tales atop it.”
    â€œThank you. I enjoy the water very much.”
    â€œEvery day?”
    â€œEvery day.”
    Brad and Darlene Walker chose that moment to come scampering in, both asking Yancy politely for soda.
    â€œPlay you in backgammon, Sam?” Brad queried hopefully.
    â€œLater, okay? Play your sister for now.”
    Darlene groaned. “He cheats.”
    â€œI do not!”
    â€œWhere are the parents of these little hellions?” demanded Liam