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accent.
    “Yes…”
    He grinned. “In Jamaica we say yeahmon. It mean yes in Patois.”
    She remembered from her last trip that islanders were extremely friendly and very proud of their country.
    “I be George Green. I will take you to de Pleasure Island plane.”
    “Thank you.”
    “No problem. Just follow me.”
    It didn’t take long to reach the private airstrip, Million Air, where the expensive-looking twin-engine plane Eddie Markham, one of the partners in Treasure Limited, had sent sat waiting to pick her up. Hope waved good-bye to George, who stood on the asphalt, still grinning as she strapped herself into the deep gray leather seat.
    “Welcome, everyone,” said the pilot, an American in a spotless white uniform. “We’ll be getting under way in just a few minutes. Just relax and enjoy the flight.”
    Now there was an oxymoron. There was no such thing as an enjoyable flight.
    Hope glanced around the luxurious cabin. There were two other passengers aboard, a newly married couple with eyes only for each other. She didn’t think they realized that the plane had left the ground until it was flying out over the water, winging its way toward Pleasure Island.
    Interesting name, Hope thought. She wondered what the place would be like and couldn’t resist an image of nude sunbathers, late-night bars, and reggae music.
    As the plane flew over the coast, she saw that it was a small volcanic island, half-moon shaped with mountains sticking up in the middle. There was a long, private landing strip. The plane circled to make the approach, touched down gently, then rolled to a stop in front of a newly constructed white plaster building that appeared to be a mini-terminal of sorts.
    A man in a cream-colored suit walked toward her, olive complexioned, medium height and build, slicked-back, jet-black hair. He looked a little like a Columbian drug dealer, but then, half the population of Florida looked that way.
    “Ms. Sinclair?”
    “Yes, that’s right.”
    “I’m Eddie Markham. Welcome to Pleasure Island.”
    She hadn’t expected to be met by the owner himself, but it was a very nice touch. “Thank you. Do you greet all your guests personally, Mr. Markham?”
    “It’s Eddie, and only the more important ones. Come. I’ll help you get settled in.”
    “Thank you, but I don’t expect to be here that long. I need to get out to the boat.”
    “All in good time. Meanwhile, I’ve arranged for you to have the use of one of the private villas whenever you’re on the island. We can go there now. You’ll have time to shower and change out of your traveling clothes before you leave for the Conquest. ”
    A shower sounded heavenly. And God knew what sort of accommodations waited for her onboard a salvage ship.
    She smiled. “Well, I can certainly make time for that.” She reached for her wheeled carry-on, but a young black man raced over from a few feet away and grabbed the handle, along with the briefcase she was carrying.
    “That’s Gerald Chalko. Everyone just calls him Chalko. If there’s anything you need while you’re here, he’s the man who’ll get it for you.”
    Chalko smiled and nodded, and Hope smiled back. Like a lot of the islanders, his skin was very dark, his features refined and attractive. Jamaicans of both sexes, she had discovered, were extremely handsome people.
    There was a pair of green-and-white, fringe-topped Jeeps waiting on the tarmac. The newlyweds and their driver climbed into one, and Hope, Eddie, and Chalko climbed into the other. Chalko fired up the engine and they zipped across the asphalt onto a road lined with palm trees and ferns. Huge-leafed philodendrons snaked up the sides of the palms, and the ground bloomed with flowers—yellow hibiscus, wild white orchids, orange bird-of-paradise.
    It wasn’t far to a gate marked by a sign overhead reading PLEASURE ISLAND VILLAS. The Jeep zipped through, and she saw that a dozen villas had already been constructed; it was obvious Eddie