Red Tide (Siren Publishing Classic) (17 page)

John had added several pictures to the south wall. Partly from curiosity, and partly to cause John more work, she walked around the dining room table and over to them. Tastefully framed, professionally matted, they could have been hanging on the wall of a photography studio for all the warmth and personality they lacked. Then one in particular caught her eye, raising gooseflesh down her arms.

It was a picture taken the same time as the one she’d noticed in John’s office. John proudly showed off a bull dolphin and stood next to a boat crewman. Only there was an important difference. This time, the angle of the picture was directly in-line with the fishing yacht’s stern and the name was legible.

Emmerand.

Mitch sucked in her breath, now recognizing the crewman standing next to John. It was Barres.

“How you doing out there? Anything I can do?”

John’s voice came from the den, but she jumped, her blood running like ice water in her veins.

Coincidence. That’s all it is,
she thought.
Just some freaky coinkydink that doesn’t mean a thing.

Caymans. Bahamas.

Large amounts of cash on hand.

She tried to speak, failed, swallowed, and tried again, praying her voice didn’t sound as shaky as it felt. “No, I’m okay,” she called back. “I’m almost ready to start loading the Bronco.”

“All right.”

Her eyes never left the photograph. It
had
to be a coincidence.

Rick Singer’s words came back to her.

It was bound for somewhere in Pasco or Hernando.

John did have working knowledge of the area. He had made a friend or two in Aripeka while their courtship was still active.

Mitch shook her head and tried to pick her stomach up off the floor. Forcing herself to take several calm, deep breaths, she made herself walk normally, as if she didn’t have adrenaline racing through her bloodstream like a test session of a supercollider.

The boxes all but filled the back of the Bronco, even with the seat down. She breathed a sigh of relief when she was down to her last chore, hitching the trailer carrying the two WaveRunners to the back of the vehicle.

She forced herself to stick her head through the door of John’s den. “I’ll be getting out of your way now. I’ve got to hook up the trailer and lights and I’ll be ready to go.”

The computer was still set up where she had installed it. It was now flanked by a sophisticated copier-scanner-fax machine. John was bent over the PC’s keyboard like a miser over a pile of gold.

A laugh fought its way to the surface through her anxiety. She stifled it, amazed at the change he’d undergone from total computer illiterate to computer geek.

He looked up. “Oh, okay. I’ll be right there.”

The picture practically called out to her when she walked through the dining room to the kitchen. Mitch forced herself not to look at it when she passed by, and she somehow succeeded.

She stepped out into the garage. Even that was spotlessly maintained and totally devoid of any type of warmth and personality. A white wire rack shelf held car-cleaning supplies, all neatly arranged. The water heater, tucked in the nook behind the kitchen door, looked spotless, totally dust-free. The lawn mower was parked in the far corner, shrouded by a muslin drop cloth. Mitch had no doubts if she looked underneath she would find it clean and ready to mow, without a single stray blade of grass caught underneath its deck.

A large drop cloth covered the trailer, and she pulled it off, rolling it up fairly haphazardly and dropping it next to the mower. She not only didn’t want to spend the time to fold it, she knew John would be refolding it later. More work for him. The drop cloth was overkill however, because the multicolored canvas covers were firmly lashed to the water bikes.

Realizing John was close on her heels, she shifted her mind into overdrive, wanting to leave as soon as possible before he suspected what she’d seen. She punched the garage door button, and it smoothly slid up on its track. Within five minutes, the trailer was hitched and she was ready to go.

John emerged from the house just in time to walk her to the driver’s door and hold it open for her. She felt his eyes boring into hers. She avoided his gaze by working the house keys off her key ring and handing them to him. He took them, his eyes never leaving her.

“I’ll get those papers back to you in the next few days, Mitch.”

“I’d appreciate that.”

He paused, obviously wanting to add something else. She felt she would scream if she had to spend another minute with him.

“Any more news on that wreck?”

Her heart froze, then broke into a thunderous gallop she felt certain he heard.

“Um, no. Haven’t heard anything else.”

He nodded, finally closing the door and stepping away from the Bronco. “Good-bye, Mitch.”

“Bye, John.” The adrenaline shakes hit her about a mile later. She pulled into a McDonald’s parking lot until she recovered. Her fingers shook when she dialed Ed’s number on the cell phone.

“Hello?”

“It’s me.”

“How’d it go?”

“Weird.” She happened to glance up and spied the garage door opener still clipped to the sun visor. “Shit.”

“What? Mitch, are you okay?”

“Huh? Oh, I’m fine. I just realized I forgot to give him back the garage door opener.” She unclipped it from the visor and stuck it in her purse so she wouldn’t forget to give it to John when she got the papers from him.

“You don’t sound fine.”

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She didn’t
feel
fine. “It’s…I don’t know. I’ll explain it when I get there. Over dinner.”

He laughed. “It’s getting close to seven now. Hurry your lovely self home and get cleaned up so I can take you out.”

“Meet me at the house?”

“Sure. See you shortly.”

She ended the call and sat in the parking lot for another minute as the last of the tremors subsided. It had to be just a coincidence, didn’t it? It had to be. By the time she pulled out of the parking lot, she convinced herself that when she told the story to Ed, he would laugh and say she’d been reading too many James Lee Burke novels.

* * * *

John watched her taillights disappear down the street. Something was wrong. She had definitely seen something that set her off, the question was, what?

Something had changed her, something upsetting to her. He could almost hear her jangled nerves screaming in the quiet of the house right before she left.

The smell of fear. The smell of prey.

John drove the Porsche inside the garage and closed the door behind him. Italian ceramic tile lined the kitchen floor, with the carpeting starting at the doorway. He saw her footprints in the plush, white pile, and at first, he didn’t see what he was looking for.

He walked out to the foyer, turning on all the lights along the way. He turned to face the kitchen and then he saw them. Footprints going into the dining room, around the far side of the table, and stopping directly in front of the picture of the
Emmerand
and Barres.

Dammit.
Sloppy work on his part. He’d forgotten about that one. He pulled the picture from the wall and replaced it with another. He removed the photo from the frame and ran it through the shredder and put the frame in a closet with the other after he removed it from his briefcase.

She had seen, but what did she suspect?

Perhaps nothing, maybe everything. It had been a calculated decision on his part to refrain from disclosing detailed business and financial matters to her when they were married. She had her own income, and he took care of all the bills and made sure she had anything she wanted. He supposed he had been fortunate that she wasn’t very materialistic, and she never brought up the subject of money since it was obvious there was plenty available and she spent very little of it.

He went into the kitchen and opened the catch-all drawer. It took him a minute of searching, but he finally found the set of keys he was looking for, one square head, one rounded, both double-cut. Ford keys. He jingled them in the palm of his hand and considered his options for a moment.

He slipped them into his pocket and turned the lights off in the kitchen before vacating it.

Back in his den, the chair in front of the computer was still warm. He sat down in front of the keyboard and brought up his contact list. He had a couple of phone calls to make on his disposable cell phone before he could vacuum the carpet.

The western horizon was still streaked with plum and copper when Mitch pulled into her driveway in Aripeka and parked under the house. Ed’s truck was parked in its usual spot, and Pete came bounding down the stairs as she climbed out of the Bronco. When she knelt down to pet him, she smelled the fresh scent of shampoo.

“What did you do to get a bath, Petey?” she asked him as she scratched his head.

“He dumped over a garbage can full of fish carcasses at the marina and rolled in them.” Ed’s voice on the stairs startled her. She laughed as she captured the dog’s head in her hands.

“Really? Did you do that?”

Pete’s apologetic stare and wagging tail started her laughing again.

“Yes, really, he did that.” Ed walked over and knelt down beside them. Mitch read the concern in his eyes when he looked at her. “What’s wrong, hon?”

She shook her head. “I don’t know. Maybe nothing. It’s a bit of a story, though. Let me get cleaned up and I’ll tell you over dinner.” She stood, gathering her purse, briefcase, and cell phone to take upstairs. Ed relieved her of the phone and briefcase, motioning for her to go up the stairs first.

She smiled. “Where
are
we going tonight, anyway?”

“How about the Outback? You deserve a nice dinner after having to be with that slime twice in one day.” The smile he wore reached the depths of his eyes. For the first time, Mitch realized exactly
how
different he was from John. Even during the good times, she realized, there was still a certain coldness about John.

No, coldness wasn’t exactly the right word. A
detachment.
She had seen John smile many times, but not once did one of those smiles ever touch his eyes.

Ever.

And she had spent many hours watching his blue eyes, her defenses melted by them.

“I think the Outback sounds wonderful.”

They went upstairs. Mitch opened the door and was promptly greeted by Margarita.

“Hello.”

She put her purse down. “Hello, Margarita.”

“Hello.”

Ed laughed. “I’ve been trying to teach her to say, ‘See ya, sucker.’”

“Oh, Ed,” she scolded, unable to control her giggles. “That’s terrible.”

He smiled. “Yes, but it’s funny. Go do what you need to and we’ll go grab some food.”

Ten minutes later, Mitch climbed out of the shower and wiped the steam off the bathroom mirror with her towel. She studied the face looking back at her. Did she really want to risk starting something with Ed? Was it worth losing his friendship if things went south? But there was still the most important question, one that had occurred to her as she drove home from Tampa—how “over” John Tyne was she? She knew she didn’t love him, but had she really dealt with the feelings caused by the
way
the marriage had ended?

Wasn’t she just a tad bit fearful of being rejected again?

* * * *

Ed watched Mitch disappear into the bedroom.

“Hello.” Margarita bobbed up and down on top of her cage, trying to entice Ed over. He went. The macaw walked over to the edge of the cage and bent her head down for him to scratch. Margarita was still a chick when Ed gave her to Mitch, and she’d had to hand raise the baby bird. As a result, the macaw was extremely affectionate, like having a “real” child around the house.

“Mommy-bird.”

He smiled. “Mommy’s in the shower.”

“Ed-bird.” The macaw reached up with her powerful beak and gently kissed him on the chin.

“Yes, I’m Ed-bird.” He sometimes wondered if the bird wasn’t smarter than most people realized. He held out his hand in front of her. “Perch.” She dutifully stepped up on his hand and he kissed her on top of the head. “Night-night, baby bird.”

“Night-night, baby biiiiirrrd.” They hadn’t taught her to slur the last word in her good-night. It was just one of the funny idiosyncrasies she picked up on her own.

He returned the bird to her cage and covered it.

Mitch emerged from the bedroom a few minutes later, wearing a pair of white cotton shorts and an aqua sleeveless shirt that complemented her dark tan. Her hair fell midway down her back, its auburn color faded almost blonde on the sides by the sun.

“I’m ready,” she announced.

So am I,
thought Ed as he fought the rising affections below his waistline. He couldn’t ignore the fact that she was beautiful.