Risky Business (11 page)

She found a phone in the bathroom next to a tub so wide and deep that she was almost tempted to take her dip there. The sink was a seashell done in the palest of pinks.

So this is how the rich play, she mused as she wandered to the bedroom where her overnight bag was set at the end of a bed big enough for three. The drapes of her balcony were open so that she could see the tempestuous surf of the Pacific hurl up and spray. She pulled the glass doors open, wanting the noise.

This was the sort of world Marcus had told her of so many years before. He'd made it seem like a fairy tale with gossamer edges. Liz had never seen his home, had never been permitted to, but he'd described it to her. The white pillars, the white balconies, the staircase that curved up and up. There were servants to bring you tea in the afternoons, a stable where grooms waited to saddle glossy horses. Champagne was drunk
from French crystal. It had been a fairy tale, and she hadn't wanted it for herself. She had only wanted him.

A young girl's foolishness, Liz thought now. In her naive way, she'd made a prince out of a man who was weak and selfish and spoiled. But over the years she had thought of the house he'd talked of and pictured her daughter on those wide, curving stairs. That had been her sense of justice.

The image wasn't as clear now, not now that she'd seen wealth in a long metal box and understood where it had come from. Not when she'd seen Jonas's eyes when he'd spoken of his kind of justice. That hadn't been a fairy tale with gossamer edges, but grimly real. She had some thinking to do. But before she could plan for the rest of her life, and for her daughter's, she had to get through the moment.

Jonas. She was bound to him through no choice of her own. And perhaps he was bound to her in the same way. Was that the reason she was drawn to him? Because they were trapped in the same puzzle? If she could only explain it away, maybe she could stop the needs that kept swimming through her. If she could only explain it away, maybe she would be in control again.

But how could she explain the feelings she'd experienced on the silent cab ride back to the hotel? She had had to fight the desire to put her arms around him, to offer comfort when nothing in his manner had indicated he needed or wanted it. There were no easy answers—no answers at all to the fact that she was slowly, inevitably falling in love with him.

It was time to admit that, she decided, because you could never face anything until it was admitted. You could never solve anything until it was faced. She'd lived by that rule years before during the biggest crisis of her life. It still held true.

So she loved him, or very nearly loved him. She was no
longer naive enough to believe that love was the beginning of any answer. He would hurt her. There were no ifs about that. He'd steal from her the one thing she'd managed to hold fast to for ten years. And once he'd taken her heart, what would it mean to him? She shook her head. No more than such things ever mean to those who take them.

Jonas Sharpe was a man on a mission, and she was no more to him than a map. He was ruthless in his own patient way. When he had finished what he'd come to do, he would turn away from her, go back to his life in Philadelphia and never think of her again.

Some women, Liz thought, were doomed to pick the men who could hurt them the most. Making her mind a blank, Liz stripped and changed to her bathing suit. But Jonas, thoughts of Jonas, kept slipping through the barriers.

Maybe if she talked to Faith—if she could touch her greatest link with normality, things would snap back into focus. On impulse, Liz picked up the phone beside her bed and began the process of placing the call. Faith would just be home from school, Liz calculated, growing more excited as she heard the clinks and buzzes on the receiver. When the phone began to ring, she sat on the bed. She was already smiling.

“Hello?”

“Mom?” Liz felt the twin surges of pleasure and guilt as she heard her mother's voice. “It's Liz.”

“Liz!” Rose Palmer felt identical surges. “We didn't expect to hear from you. Your last letter just came this morning. Nothing's wrong, is it?”

“No, no, nothing's wrong.” Everything's wrong. “I just wanted to talk to Faith.”

“Oh, Liz, I'm so sorry. Faith's not here. She has her piano lesson today.”

The letdown came, but she braced herself against it. “I forgot.” Tears threatened, but she forced them back. “She likes the lessons, doesn't she?”

“She loves them. You should hear her play. Remember when you were taking them?”

“I had ten thumbs.” She managed to smile. “I wanted to thank you for sending the pictures. She looks so grown up. Momma, is she…looking forward to coming back?”

Rose heard the need, felt the ache. She wished, not for the first time, that her daughter was close enough to hold. “She's marking off the days on her calendar. She bought you a present.”

Liz had to swallow. “She did?”

“It's supposed to be a surprise, so don't tell her I told you.”

“I won't.” She dashed tears away, grateful she could keep her voice even. It hurt, but was also a comfort to be able to speak to someone who knew and understood Faith as she did. “I miss her. The last few weeks always seem the hardest.”

Her voice wasn't as steady as she thought—and a mother hears what others don't. “Liz, why don't you come home? Spend the rest of the month here while she's in school?”

“No, I can't. How's Dad?”

Rose fretted impatiently at the change of subject, then subsided. She'd never known anyone as thoroughly stubborn as her daughter. Unless it was her granddaughter. “He's fine. Looking forward to coming down and doing some diving.”

“We'll take one of the boats out—just the four of us. Tell Faith I…tell her I called,” she finished lamely.

“Of course I will. Why don't I have her call you back when she gets home? The car pool drops her off at five.”

“No. No, I'm not home. I'm in Acapulco—on business.” Liz let out a long breath to steady herself. “Just tell her I miss
her and I'll be waiting at the airport. You know I appreciate everything you're doing. I just—”

“Liz.” Rose interrupted gently. “We love Faith. And we love you.”

“I know.” Liz pressed her fingers to her eyes. She did know, but was never quite sure what to do about it. “I love you, too. It's just that sometimes things get so mixed up.”

“Are you all right?”

She dropped her hand again, and her eyes were dry. “I will be when you get there. Tell Faith I'm marking off the days too.”

“I will.”

“Bye, Momma.”

She hung up and sat until the churning emptiness had run its course. If she'd had more confidence in her parents' support, more trust in their love, would she have fled the States and started a new life on her own? Liz dragged a hand through her hair. She'd never be sure of that, nor could she dwell on it. She'd burned her own bridges. The only thing that was important was Faith, and her happiness.

 

An hour later, Jonas found her at the pool. She swam laps in long, smooth strokes, her body limber. She seemed tireless, and oddly suited to the private luxury. Her suit was a flashy red, but the cut so simple that it relied strictly on the form it covered for style.

He counted twenty laps before she stopped, and wondered how many she'd completed before he'd come down. It seemed to him as if she swam to drain herself of some tension or sorrow, and that with each lap she'd come closer to succeeding. Waiting, he watched her tip her head back in the water so that her hair slicked back. The marks on her neck had faded. As she stood, water skimmed her thigh.

“I've never seen you relaxed,” Jonas commented. But even as he said the words, he could see her muscles tense again. She turned away from her contemplation of the mountains and looked at him.

He was tired, she realized, and wondered if she should have seen it before. There was a weariness around his eyes that hadn't been there that morning. He hadn't changed his clothes, and had his hands tucked into the pockets of bone-colored slacks. She wondered if he'd been up to the suite at all.

“I didn't bring a suit with me.” Liz pushed against the side of the pool and hitched herself out. Water rained from her. “I charged this one to the room.”

The thighs were cut nearly to the waist. Jonas caught himself wondering just how the skin would feel there. “It's nice.”

Liz picked up her towel. “It was expensive.”

He only lifted a brow. “I could deduct it from the rent.”

Her lips curved a little as she rubbed her hair dry. “No, you can't. But since you're a lawyer, I imagine you can find a way to deduct it from something else. I saved the receipt.”

He hadn't thought he could laugh. “I appreciate it. You know, I get the impression you don't think much of lawyers.”

Something came and went in her eyes. “I try not to think of them at all.”

Taking the towel from her, he gently dried her face. “Faith's father's a lawyer?”

Without moving, she seemed to shift away from him. “Leave it alone, Jonas.”

“You don't.”

“Actually I do, most of the time. Maybe it's been on my mind the past few weeks, but that's my concern.”

He draped the towel around her shoulders and, holding the ends, drew her closer. “I'd like you to tell me about it.”

It was his voice, she thought, so calm, so persuasive, that nearly had her opening both mind and heart. She could almost believe as she looked at him that he really wanted to know, to understand. The part of her that was already in love with him needed to believe he might care. “Why?”

“I don't know. Maybe it's that look that comes into your eyes. It makes a man want to stroke it away.”

Her chin came up a fraction. “There's no need to feel sorry for me.”

“I don't think sympathy's the right word.” Abruptly weary, he dropped his forehead to hers. He was tired of fighting demons, of trying to find answers. “Damn.”

Uncertain, she stood very still. “Are you all right?”

“No. No, I'm not.” He moved away from her to walk to the end of the path where a plot of tiny orange flowers poked up through white gravel. “A lot of things you said today were true. A lot of things you've said all along are true. I can't do anything about them.”

“I don't know what you want me to say now.”

“Nothing.” Hideously tired, he ran both hands over his face. “I'm trying to live with the fact that my brother's dead, and that he was murdered because he decided to make some easy money drug-trafficking. He had a good brain, but he always chose to use it in the wrong way. Every time I look in the mirror, I wonder why.”

Liz was beside him before she could cut off her feelings. He hurt. It was the first time she'd seen below the surface to the pain. She knew what it was like to live with pain. “He was different, Jonas. I don't think he was bad, just weak. Mourning him is one thing—blaming yourself for what he did, or for what happened to him, is another.”

He hadn't known he needed comfort, but her hand resting
on him had something inside him slowly uncurling. “I was the only one who could reach him, keep him on some kind of level. There came a point where I just got tired of running both our lives.”

“Do you really believe you could have prevented him from doing what he did?”

“Maybe. That's something else I have to live with.”

“Just a minute.” She took his shirtfront in much the same way she had that afternoon. There was no sympathy now, but annoyance on her face. He hadn't known he needed that, as well. “You were brothers, twins, but you were separate people. Jerry wasn't a child to be guided and supervised. He was a grown man who made his decisions.”

“That's the trouble. Jerry never grew up.”

“And you did,” she tossed back. “Are you going to punish yourself for it?”

He'd been doing just that, Jonas realized. He'd gone home, buried his brother, comforted his parents and blamed himself for not preventing something he knew in his heart had been inevitable. “I have to find out who killed him, Liz. I can't set the rest aside until I do.”

“We'll find them.” On impulse, she pressed her cheek to his. Sometimes the slightest human contact could wash away acres of pain. “Then it'll be over.”

He wasn't sure he wanted it to be, not all of it. He ran a hand down her arm, needing the touch of her skin. He found it chilled. “The sun's gone down.” He wrapped the towel around her in a gesture that would have been mere politeness with another woman. With Liz, it was for protection. “You'd better get out of that wet suit. We'll have dinner.”

“Here?”

“Sure. The restaurant's supposed to be one of the best.”

Liz thought of the elegance of their suite and the contents of her overnight bag. “I didn't bring anything to wear.”

He laughed and swung an arm around her. It was the first purely frivolous thing he'd heard her say. “Charge something else.”

“But—”

“Don't worry, I've got the best crooked accountant in Philadelphia.”

B
ecause she'd been certain she would never sleep away from home, in a hotel bed, Liz was surprised to wake to full sunlight. Not only had she slept, she realized, she'd slept like a rock for eight hours and was rested and ready to go. True, it was just a little past six, and she had no business to run, but her body was tuned to wake at that hour. A trip to Acapulco didn't change that.

It had changed other things, she reminded herself as she stretched out in the too-big bed. Because of it, she'd become inescapably tangled in murder and smuggling. Putting the words together made her shake her head. In a movie, she might have enjoyed watching the melodrama. In a book, she'd have turned the page to read more. But in her own life, she preferred the more mundane. Liz was too practical to delude herself into believing she could distance herself from any part of the puzzle any longer. For better or worse, she was personally involved in this melodrama. That included Jonas Sharpe. The only question now was which course of action to take.

She couldn't run. That had never been a choice. Liz had already concluded she couldn't hide behind Moralas and his men forever. Sooner or later the man with the knife would come
back, or another man more determined or more desperate. She wouldn't escape a second time. The moment she'd looked into the safe-deposit box, she'd become a full-fledged player in the game. Which brought her back full circle to Jonas. She had no choice but to put her trust in him now. If he were to give up on his brother's murder and return to Philadelphia she would be that much more alone. However much she might wish it otherwise, Liz needed him just as much as he needed her.

Other things had changed, she thought. Her feelings for him were even more undefined and confusing than they had started out to be. Seeing him as she had the evening before, hurt and vulnerable, had touched off more than impersonal sympathy or physical attraction. It had made her feel a kinship, and the kinship urged her to help him, not only for her own welfare, but for his. He suffered, for his brother's loss, but also for what his brother had done. She'd loved once, and had suffered, not only because of loss but because of disillusionment.

A lifetime ago? Liz wondered. Did we ever really escape from one lifetime to another? It seemed years could pass, circumstances could change, but we carried our baggage with us through each phase. If anything, with each phase we had to carry a bit more. There was little use in thinking, she told herself as she climbed from the bed. From this point on, she had little choice but to act.

Jonas heard her the moment she got up. He'd been awake since five, restless and prowling. For over an hour he'd been racking his brain and searching his conscience for a way to ease Liz out of a situation his brother, and he himself had locked her into. He'd already thought of several ways to draw attention away from her to himself, but that wouldn't guarantee Liz's safety. She wouldn't go to Houston, and he understood her feelings about endangering her daughter in any way.

As the days passed, he felt he was coming to understand her better and better. She was a loner, but only because she saw it as the safest route. She was a businesswoman, but only because she looked to her daughter's welfare first. Inside, he thought, she was a woman with dreams on hold and love held in bondage. She had steered both toward her child and denied herself. And, Jonas added, she'd convinced herself she was content.

That was something else he understood, because until a few weeks before he had also convinced himself he was content. It was only now, after he'd had the opportunity to look at his life from a distance that he realized he had merely been drifting. Perhaps, when the outward trimmings were stripped away, he hadn't been so different from his brother. For both of them, success had been the main target, they had simply aimed for it differently. Though Jonas had a steady job, a home of his own, there had never been an important woman. He'd put his career first. Jonas wasn't certain he'd be able to do so again. It had taken the loss of his brother to make him realize he needed something more, something solid. Exploring the law was only a job. Winning cases was only a transitory satisfaction. Perhaps he'd known it for some time. After all, he'd bought the old house in Chadd's Ford to give himself something permanent. When had he started thinking about sharing it?

Still, thinking about his own life didn't solve the problem of Liz Palmer and what he was going to do with her. She couldn't go to Houston, he thought again, but there were other places she could go until he could assure her that her life could settle back the way she wanted it. His parents were his first thought, and the quiet country home they'd retired to in Lancaster. If he could find a way to slip her out of Mexico, she would be safe there. It would even be possible to have her daughter join
her. Then his conscience would ease. Jonas had no doubt that his parents would accept them both, then dote on them.

Once he'd done what he'd come to do, he could go to Lancaster himself. He'd like to see Liz there, in surroundings he was used to. He wanted time to talk with her about simple things. He wanted to hear her laugh again, as she had only once in all the days he'd known her. Once they were there, away from the ugliness, he might understand his feelings better. Perhaps by then he'd be able to analyze what had happened inside him when she'd pressed her cheek against his and had offered unconditional support.

He'd wanted to hold on to her, to just hold on and the hell with the world. There was something about her that made him think of lazy evenings on cool porches and long Sunday afternoon walks. He couldn't say why. In Philadelphia he rarely took time for such things. Even socializing had become business. And he'd seen for himself that she never gave herself an idle hour. Why should he, a man dedicated to his work, think of lazing days away with a woman obsessed by hers?

She remained a mystery to him, and perhaps that was an answer in itself. If he thought of her too often, too deeply, it was only because while his understanding was growing, he still knew so little. If it sometimes seemed that discovering Liz Palmer was just as important as discovering his brother's killer, it was only because they were tied together. How could he take his mind off one without taking his mind off the other? Yet when he thought of her now, he thought of her stretched out on his mother's porch swing, safe, content and waiting for him.

Annoyed with himself, Jonas checked his watch. It was after nine on the East Coast. He'd call his office, he thought. A few legal problems might clear his mind. He'd no more than picked up the receiver when Liz came out from her bedroom.

“I didn't know you were up,” she said, and fiddled nervously with her belt. Odd, she felt entirely different about sharing the plush little villa with him than she did her home. After all, she reasoned, at home he was paying rent.

“I thought you'd sleep longer.” He replaced the receiver again. The office could wait.

“I never sleep much past six.” Feeling awkward, she wandered to the wide picture window. “Terrific view.”

“Yes, it is.”

“I haven't stayed in a hotel in…in years,” she finished. “When I came to Cozumel, I worked in the same hotel where I'd stayed with my parents. It was an odd feeling. So's this.”

“No urge to change the linen or stack the towels?”

When she chuckled, some of the awkwardness slipped away. “No, not even a twinge.”

“Liz, when we're finished with all this, when it's behind us, will you talk to me about that part of your life?”

She turned to him, away from the window, but they both felt the distance. “When we're finished with this, there won't be any reason to.”

He rose and came to her. In a gesture that took her completely by surprise, he took both of her hands. He lifted one, then the other, to his lips and watched her eyes cloud. “I can't be sure of that,” he murmured. “Can you?”

She couldn't be sure of anything when his voice was quiet, his hands gentle. For a moment, she simply absorbed the feeling of being a woman cared for by a man. Then she stepped back, as she knew she had to. “Jonas, you told me once we had the same problem. I didn't want to believe it then, but it was true. It is true. Once that problem is solved, there really isn't anything else between us. Your life and mine are separated by a lot more than miles.”

He thought of his house and his sudden need to share it. “They don't have to be.”

“There was a time I might have believed that.”

“You're living in the past.” He took her shoulders, but this time his hands weren't as gentle. “You're fighting ghosts.”

“I may have my ghosts, but I don't live in the past. I can't afford to.” She put her hands to his wrists, but let them lie there only a moment before she let go. “I can't afford to pretend to myself about you.”

He wanted to demand, he wanted to pull her with him to the sofa and prove to her that she was wrong. He resisted. It wasn't the first time he'd used courtroom skill, courtroom tactics, to win on a personal level. “We'll leave it your way for now,” he said easily. “But the case isn't closed. Are you hungry?”

Unsure whether she should be uneasy or relieved, Liz nodded. “A little.”

“Let's have breakfast. We've got plenty of time before the plane leaves.”

 

She didn't trust him. Though Jonas kept the conversation light and passionless throughout breakfast, Liz kept herself braced for a countermove. He was a clever man, she knew. He was a man, she was certain, who made sure he got his own way no matter how long it took. Liz considered herself a woman strong enough to keep promises made, even when they were to herself. No man, not even Jonas, was going to make her change the course she'd set ten years before. There was only room enough for two loves in her life. Faith and her work.

“I can't get used to eating something at this hour of the morning that's going to singe my stomach lining.”

Liz swallowed the mixture of peppers, onions and eggs. “Mine's flame resistant. You should try my chili.”

“Does that mean you're offering to cook for me?”

When Liz glanced up she wished he hadn't been smiling at her in just that way. “I suppose I could make enough for two as easily as enough for one. But you don't seem to have any trouble in the kitchen.”

“Oh, I can cook. It's just that once I've finished, it never seems worth the bother.” He leaned forward to run a finger down her hand from wrist to knuckle. “Tell you what—I'll buy the supplies and even clean up the mess if you handle the chili.”

Though she smiled, Liz drew her hand away. “The question is, can you handle the chili? It might burn right through a soft lawyer's stomach.”

Appreciating the challenge, he took her hand again. “Why don't we find out? Tonight.”

“All right.” She flexed her fingers, but he merely linked his with them. “I can't eat if you have my hand.”

He glanced down. “You have another one.”

He made her laugh when she'd been set to insist. “I'm entitled to two.”

“I'll give it back. Later.”

“Hey, Jerry!”

The easy smile on Jonas's face froze. Only his eyes changed, locking on to Liz's, warning and demanding. His hand remained on hers, but the grip tightened. The message was very clear—she was to do nothing, say nothing until he'd tallied the odds. He turned, flashing a new smile. Liz's stomach trembled. It was Jerry's smile, she realized. Not Jonas's.

“Why didn't you tell me you were back in town?” A tall, tanned man with sandy blond hair and a trim beard dropped a hand on Jonas's shoulder. Liz caught the glint of a diamond on his finger. He was young, she thought, determined to store ev
erything she could, barely into his thirties, and dressed with slick, trendy casualness.

“Quick trip,” Jonas said as, like Liz, he took in every detail. “Little business…” He cast a meaningful glance toward Liz. “Little pleasure.”

The man turned and stared appreciatively at Liz. “Is there any other way?”

Thinking fast, Liz offered her hand. “Hello. Since Jerry's too rude to introduce us, we'll have to do it ourselves. I'm Liz Palmer.”

“David Merriworth.” He took her hand between both of his. They were smooth and uncallused. “Jerry might have trouble with manners, but he's got great taste.”

She smiled, hoping she did it properly. “Thank you.”

“Pull up a chair, Merriworth.” Jonas took out a cigarette. “As long as you keep your hands off my lady.” He said it in the good-natured, only-kidding tone Jerry had inevitably used, but his eyes were Jonas's, warning her to tread carefully.

“Wouldn't mind a quick cup of coffee.” David pulled over a chair after he checked his watch. “Got a breakfast meeting in a few minutes. So how are things on Cozumel?” He inclined his head ever so slightly. “Getting in plenty of diving?”

Jonas allowed his lips to curve and kept his eyes steady. “Enough.”

“Glad to hear it. I was going to check in with you myself, but I've been in the States for a couple weeks. Just got back in last night.” He used two sugars after the waiter set a fresh cup of coffee beside him. “Business is good, buddy. Real good.”

“What business are you in, Mr. Merriworth?”

He gave Liz a big grin before he winked at Jonas. “Sales, sweetheart. Imports, you might say.”

“Really.” Because her throat was dry she drank more coffee. “It must be fascinating.”

“It has its moments.” He turned in his chair so that he could study her face. “So where did Jerry find you?”

“On Cozumel.” She sent Jonas a steady look. “We're partners.”

David lowered his cup. “That so?”

They were in too deep, Jonas thought, for him to contradict her. “That's so,” he agreed.