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to see them both
    staring at her. 'Why—what is it?'
    'I said the devil was chasing you,' Cicero muttered. 'It's one of those
    Devil Delacroixes from Lucifer's own island.'
    'You—know him?' Samma asked rather dazedly.
    'Not in person, honey, but everyone round here knows the
    Delacroix name. Why, his ancestor was the greatest pirate who ever
    sailed these waters. Every time he left Grand Cay, a fleet of
    merchant ships went to the bottom, and he didn't care whether they
    were English or Spanish, or even French like himself. He'd had to
    leave France because he'd quarrelled with the King, which was a
    mighty bad thing to do in those days, and he figured the whole
    world was his enemy. So they called him Le Diable, yessir.' Cicero
    laughed softly. 'And they called his hideout Lucifer's Cay.'
    'Did they, indeed?' Samma said grimly. 'Well, I hope they caught
    him and hanged him from his own yardarm.'
    'Not on your life,' said Cicero. 'He turned respectable, got a free
    pardon, and took up sugar planting. But they say every now and
    then the breeding throws up another Devil—a chip off the old
    block, like that old pirate.'
    He paused. 'This Mr Roche Delacroix now, why, they reckon he's
    made more money than old Devil Delacroix himself. He owns the
    casino, right there on Grand Cay, and he has a boat-chartering
    business as well. He's one rich guy, all right.'
    'And he's here in this club right now?' Margot asked huskily, her full
    lips curving in a smile. 'This I have to see. Maybe when he's dried
    off, he'd like some company.'
    'Perhaps—but I think he's more interested in playing poker.' Samma
    forced a smile. 'Maybe I should have found someone else to pour a
    drink over.'
    'You sure should,' Cicero agreed sombrely. 'Why, honey, you don't
    ever want to cross anyone from Lucifer's Cay—specially someone
    by the name of Delacroix. That was one bad mistake.'
    Margot rose, pretty and sinuous as a cat. 'Then I'll have to try and
    make up for it,' she said, her lips curving in an anticipatory smile.
    'Wish me luck, now.'
    She drifted out, and Cicero followed a moment or two later, leaving
    Samma alone.
    She tore off Nina's dress and bundled it back on a hanger. Never,
    ever again would she work at the Black Grotto in any capacity,
    although Clyde was unlikely even to ask her again, after tonight's
    performance, she reminded herself wryly.
    She dragged on her T-shirt and jeans, and walked back through the
    grounds towards the small bungalow she shared with Clyde.
    She felt restless—on edge, and it was all the fault of that foul man.
    In just a few hours, he'd turned the quiet backwater of her life into
    some kind of raging torrent, she thought resentfully.
    And nothing Cicero had told her had done anything to put her mind
    at ease. It was no wonder Roche Delacroix had been annoyed at her
    sketch, she thought restively. He probably considered she knew
    who he was, and was taking a petty swipe at his family history.
    Well, let him think what he wanted. He would be leaving soon and,
    anyway, his opinions were of no concern to her. Indeed, she didn't
    know why she was wasting a second thought on the creature.
    But, at this rate, she wasn't going to sleep tonight. Some hard
    physical exercise was what she needed to calm her down, and tire
    her out. She turned down the path which led to the hotel's small
    swimming pool. She rarely got the chance to use the pool during the
    day, but that wasn't too much of a hardship when she could come
    down here at night, and have it all to herself. And there was the
    added bonus that she didn't have to bother with a costume.
    She collected a towel from one of the changing cabins, stripped and
    plunged into the water. But, as she struck out with her swift,
    practised crawl, she couldn't seem to capture her usual sense of
    wellbeing.
    Oh, it wasn't fair, she thought with a kind of desperate impatience.
    Of all the men who'd passed through Cristoforo, there had never
    been one who'd come even close to