Dragon's Eden Read Online Free PDF Page A

poured a glass of water and took a long
swallow to cool himself down. His limbs were still weak, and he
wondered what the woman would have done if she’d known he was
holding on to her as much to keep himself from falling back onto
the bed as to keep her from running away.
    He didn’t wonder long. She would have run.
He’d seen it in her eyes. Then she would have come back. He’d seen
that, too, right at the end when her gaze had lowered and her
expression had softened.
    He finished his water and set the glass
down. He had work to do. He had to locate Jen. The Chinaman was
old, seventy if he was a day, but he was wily, and cunning, and
skilled with his swords.
    Moonlight slanted through windows and marked
his path as he walked silently through the bungalow’s rush-matted
hallway, tucking his shirttail into the pants she’d left for him.
The verandah that lay beyond an arched door led him past
green-shuttered windows and scattered pots filled with cacti and
flowers. At one end of the covered porch lay the heart of the
island enclave, the courtyard.
    He stood barefoot on the timeworn wooden
decking, looking across the cleared area at a small cottage with a
connecting cabana. A light was on inside the cottage, revealing a
stove, table, and a rack of cooking utensils—Sugar’s kitchen. He’d
wondered where it was. The bungalow had only bedrooms in it. At the
other end of the verandah was the outhouse, distinguished by its
size and the cluster of falling stars cut out of the top of the
door. Following his body’s demands, he turned toward the
outhouse.
    The first thing he found inside was the
flashlight hanging from the ceiling that bumped him on the head.
The plumbing was archaic, as she’d said, but not rustic. When he
was finished, he performed his ablutions with the water he found
running out of a bamboo pipe attached to the small building. There
was also a shelf holding a dish of soap, and a clean towel hanging
from a hook by the door.
    The wind had picked up, coming in off the
water and cooling him through the thin cotton clothes. The
drawstring construction of the pants left a lot to be desired, like
a fly, but he was past complaining about his wardrobe. The clothes
were clean and soft and they smelled good. They were also his
favorite color for nighttime—black.
    He walked back along the length of the
verandah and stood quietly under the thatched roof. Moonlight
glittered on the tops of the waves, illuminating the eternal ocean.
Behind him, inland, was like a bottomless, formless abyss. He
peered into the darkness, trying to discern the landscape. There
were trees and another smaller building made of stone, but he
couldn’t find the horizon.
    Fighting an uneasy sensation, he stepped off
the verandah. His gaze automatically moved upward, higher and
higher, searching for the sky. He found it so far above him, it
made his blood run cold.
    He was trapped. A towering cliff wall sealed
off any hope of escape from the island. A natural stone arch loomed
across the top of the cliffs, framing southern stars. Maybe she was
right.
    Maybe they were at the edge of the
world.
    Nothing but the sea sounded at his back, the
waves breaking against the rocks tumbled from the cliffs above;
nothing but the moon and the stars shone across the black velvet
dome of the sky. There was nothing else to be seen or heard,
nothing beyond the sea and the sky and the small hold of her home—a
fine prison indeed. His only chance might be the water, swimming in
a strange ocean at night, and that didn’t seem like much of a
chance at anything except getting himself killed.
    He started to move forward, when the sound
of singing and laughter arrested his steps. Silently, he dropped
into a crouch. It had not been a woman’s laughter, and Jen never
laughed.
    Sugar halted her actions in the kitchen’s
cabana, not quite believing her eyes. A half-wrung-out T-shirt
dripped water from her hand and onto her bare feet, but she hardly
noticed. Her