Free Patricia Potter by Island of Dreams Page B

than he’d ever expected. One man had talked about the increased production of his steel company, another about a new navigational device his firm had developed. His mind quickly absorbed these pieces of information, part of him amazed at how quickly America was able to energize its war machinery, another knowing, as part of him always had, that once again Germany had taken on more than it could handle. He also realized how very important this mission was, regardless of how little he liked it.
    The disappearance of these men could throw war production into chaos for months, if not years. There would be battles for control, holds on loans, and confusion.
    He answered questions automatically, aware that Cal Connor had urged his son to go play and that Cal himself had moved away and was speaking to two other men who had just arrived. One did not seem to fit the common denominator of wealth and power. The newcomer was tall and compactly built and wore a less than tailored suit. But there was also an alertness about him as he appeared to study each guest, resting a moment on Michael, and it was an inspection that gave Michael pause. It was a policeman’s gaze, one he had learned to recognize the world over.
    He debated with himself whether to approach the men, finally surrendering to curiosity. Better to know a threat. He made excuses to his companions and moved toward Cal, pausing briefly to take a glass of champagne from the tray of a circulating waiter. The smell of cooking pork permeated the air, and laughter and talk were growing louder.
    “Commander,” Cal Connor called, and Michael tensed briefly before willing a smile to his face.
    Michael nodded and threaded his way to Connor’s side. “Two more guests I would like you to meet. John Graves and Sanders Evans. They’re also staying in the clubhouse. Gentlemen, this is Commander Michael Fielding, British Navy.”
    “You’re a long way from home, Commander,” the taller man observed, his brown eyes inquisitive. There was a quiet air of friendliness, even gentleness, as the man glanced at Michael’s favored leg. The unexpected softness jolted Michael far more than instant suspicion would. That friendliness, he sensed, was deceptive, a tool used easily and naturally but a tool, nonetheless.
    “I’m Canadian,” he answered with an equally friendly, equally deceptive smile.
    “You’re still a long way from home.”
    “A lot of people are now,” Michael said dryly. “The warmth of your island is a strong lure after the Atlantic in winter.”
    “You were stationed in the Atlantic then?”
    “Sub hunting,” Michael confirmed.
    “Any luck?”
    “Two, before we became the hare.”
    “Going back?”
    “I hope. I received a medical discharge, but I hope to convince them I’m well enough to sail again.”
    “I would like to hear about it.”
    Michael hesitated. There was something about Sanders Evans that rang any number of bells, all of which warned him to stay away from the man.
    “Not much to tell. A lot of waiting, searching, a lot of lonely hours, a lot of fear. Like any other soldier or sailor, I think.” He decided to turn the tables. “And you, Mr. Evans?”
    “I’m with the government,” Evans said uninformatively. “John is with the Defense Department. We’re just here for a few days of vacation.”
    Michael nodded, not believing a word of it. His eyes went to Graves. Not a policeman. Graves was older, a bit pudgy. His eyes were intelligent but not wary, not like Evans’s vigilant ones.
    “Perhaps we can have a drink later,” Evans persisted.
    Michael nodded. “Perhaps, but I think right now I have a previous engagement with young Mr. Connor.” Michael’s gaze went to Peter, who was beaming up at him.
    Evans surrendered temporarily. “Until later, then,” he said.
    “Later,” Michael agreed and, after several moments of conversation with Peter and a pledge to teach him how to shoot on the range later, he made his way over to Meara.