Risky Business (17 page)

“I watched my gauge.” She drew air in and let it out slowly. “I should have had another ten minutes.”

“You rent diving equipment, for God's sake! How can you be negligent with your own? You might've died.”

The insult to her competence went a long way toward smothering the fear. “I'm never careless,” she snapped at him. “Not with rental equipment or my own.” She dragged the mask from her head and tossed it on the bench. “Look at my gauge. I should have had ten minutes left.”

He looked, but it didn't relieve his anger. “Your equipment should be checked. If you go down with a faulty gauge you're inviting an accident.”

“My equipment has been checked. I check it myself after
every dive, and it was fine before I stored it. I filled those tanks myself.” The alternative came to her even as she finished speaking. Her face, already pale, went white. “God, Jonas, I filled them myself. I checked every piece of equipment the last time I went down.”

He closed a hand over hers hard enough to make her wince. “You keep it in the shop, in that closet.”

“I lock it up.”

“How many keys?”

“Mine—and an extra set in the drawer. They're rarely used because I always leave mine there when I go out on the boats.”

“But the extra set would have been used when we were away?”

The shaking was starting again. This time it wasn't as simple to control it. “Yes.”

“And someone used the key to the closet to get in and tamper with your equipment.”

She moistened her lips. “Yes.”

The rage ripped inside him until he was nearly blind with it. Hadn't he just promised to watch out for her, to keep her safe? With intensely controlled movements, he pulled off his flippers and discarded his mask. “You're going back. You're going to pack, then I'm putting you on a plane. You can stay with my family until this is over.”

“No.”

“You're going to do exactly what I say.”

“No,” she said again and managed to draw the strength to stand. “I'm not going anywhere. This is the second time someone's threatened my life.”

“And they're not going to have a chance to do it again.”

“I'm not leaving my home.”

“Don't be a fool.” He rose. Knowing he couldn't touch her,
he unzipped his wet suit and began to strip it off. “Your business isn't going to fall apart. You can come back when it's safe.”

“I'm not leaving.” She took a step toward him. “You came here looking for revenge. When you have it, you can leave and be satisfied. Now I'm looking for answers. I can't leave because they're here.”

Struggling to keep his hands gentle, he took her face between them. “I'll find them for you.”

“You know better than that, don't you, Jonas? Answers don't mean anything unless you find them yourself. I want my daughter to be able to come home. Until I find those answers, until it's safe, she can't.” She lifted her hands to his face so that they stood as a unit. “We both have reasons to look now.”

He sat, took his pack of cigarettes and spoke flatly. “Erika's dead.”

The anger that had given her the strength to stand wavered. “What?”

“Murdered.” His voice was cold again, hard again. “A few days ago I met her, paid her for a name.”

Liz braced herself against the rail. “The name you gave to the captain.”

Jonas lit his cigarette, telling himself he was justified to put fear back into her eyes. “That's right. She asked some questions, got some answers. She told me this Pablo Manchez was bad, a professional killer. Jerry was killed by a pro. So, it appears, was Erika.”

“She was shot?”

“Stabbed,” Jonas corrected and watched Liz's hand reach involuntarily for her own neck. “That's right.” He drew violently on the cigarette then hurled it overboard before he rose. “You're going back to the States until this is all over.”

She turned her back on him a moment, needing to be
certain she could be strong. “I'm not leaving, Jonas. We have the same problem.”

“Liz—”

“No.” When she turned back her chin was up and her eyes were clear. “You see, I've run from problems before, and it doesn't work.”

“This isn't a matter of running, it's a matter of being sensible.”

“You're staying.”

“I don't have a choice.”

“Then neither do I.”

“Liz, I don't want you hurt.”

She tilted her head as she studied him. She could believe that, she realized, and take comfort in it. “Will you go?”

“I can't. You know I can't.”

“Neither can I.” She wrapped her arms around him, pressed her cheek to his shoulder in a first spontaneous show of need or affection. “Let's go home,” she murmured. “Let's just go home.”

E
very morning when Liz awoke she was certain Captain Moralas would call to tell her it was all over. Every night when she closed her eyes, she was certain it was only a matter of one more day. Time went on.

Every morning when Liz awoke she was certain Jonas would tell her he had to leave. Every night when she slept in his arms, she was certain it was the last time. He stayed.

For over ten years her life had had a certain purpose. Success. She'd started the struggle toward it in order to survive and to provide for her child. Somewhere along the way she'd learned the satisfaction of being on her own and making it work. In over ten years, Liz had gone steadily forward without detours. A detour could mean failure and the loss of independence. It had been barely a month since Jonas had walked into her house and her life. Since that time the straight road she had followed had forked. Ignoring the changes hadn't helped, fighting them hadn't worked. Now it no longer seemed she had the choice of which path to follow.

Because she had to hold on to something, she worked every day, keeping stubbornly to her old routine. It was the only aspect of her life that she could be certain she could control.
Though it brought some semblance of order to her life, it didn't keep Liz's mind at rest. She found herself studying her customers with suspicion. Business thrived as the summer season drew closer. It didn't seem as important as it had even weeks before, but she kept the shop open seven days a week.

Jonas had taken the fabric of her life, plucked at a few threads and changed everything. Liz had come to the point that she could admit nothing would ever be quite the same again, but she had yet to come to the point that she knew what to do about it. When he left, as she knew he would, she would have to learn all over again how to suppress longings and black out dreams.

They would find Jerry Sharpe's killer. They would find the man with the knife. If she hadn't believed that, Liz would never have gone on day after day. But after the danger was over, after all questions were answered, her life would never be as it had been. Jonas had woven himself into it. When he went away, he'd leave a hole behind that would take all her will to mend.

Her life had been torn before. Liz could comfort herself that she had put it together again. The shape had been different, the texture had changed, but she had put it together. She could do so again. She would have to.

There were times when she lay in bed in the dark, in the early hours of the morning, restless, afraid she would have to begin those repairs before she was strong enough.

Jonas could feel her shift beside him. He'd come to understand she rarely slept peacefully. Or she no longer slept peacefully. He wished she would lean on him, but knew she never would. Her independence was too vital, and opposingly, her insecurity was too deep to allow her to admit a need for another. Even the sharing of a burden was difficult for her. He wanted to soothe. Through his adult life, Jonas had carefully
chosen companions who had no problems, required no advice, no comfort, no support. A woman who required such things required an emotional attachment he had never been willing to make. He wasn't a selfish man, simply a cautious one. Throughout his youth, and through most of his adult life, he'd picked up the pieces his brother had scattered. Consciously or unconsciously, Jonas had promised himself he'd never be put in the position of having to do so for anyone else.

Now he was drawing closer and closer to a woman who elicited pure emotion, then tried to deflect it. He was falling in love with a woman who needed him but refused to admit it. She was strong and had both the intelligence and the will to take care of herself. And she had eyes so soft, so haunted, that a man would risk anything to protect her from any more pain.

She had completely changed his life. She had altered the simple, tidy pattern he'd been weaving for himself. He
needed
to soothe, to protect, to share. There was nothing he could do to change that. Whenever he touched her, he came closer to admitting there was nothing he would do.

The bed was warm and the room smelled of the flowers that grew wild outside the open window. Their scent mixed with the bowl of potpourri on Liz's dresser. Now and then the breeze ruffled through palm fronds so that the sound whispered but didn't disturb. Beside him was a woman whose body was slim and restless. Her hair spread over her pillow and onto his, carrying no more fragrance than wind over water. The moonlight trickled in, dipping into corners, filtering over the bed so he could trace her silhouette. As she tossed in sleep, he drew her closer. Her muscles were tense, as though she were prepared to reject the gift of comfort even before it was offered. Slowly, as her breath whispered at his throat, he began to massage her shoulders. Strong shoulders, soft skin. He found the combina
tion irresistible. She murmured, shifting toward him, but he didn't know if it was acceptance or request. It didn't matter.

She felt so good there; she felt right there. All questions, all doubts could wait for the sunrise. Before dawn they would share the need that was in both of them. In the moonlight, in the quiet hours, each would have what the other could offer. He touched his mouth lightly, ever so lightly, to hers.

She sighed, but it was only a whisper of a sound—a sigh in sleep as her body relaxed against his. If she dreamed now, she dreamed of easy things, calm water, soft grass. He trailed a hand down her back, exploring the shape of her. Long, lean, slender and strong. He felt his own body warm and pulse. Passion, still sleepy, began to stir.

She seemed to wake in stages. First her skin, then her blood, then muscle by muscle. Her body was alert and throbbing before her mind raced to join it. She found herself wrapped around Jonas, already aroused, already hungry. When his mouth came to hers again, she answered him.

There was no hesitation in her this time, no moment of doubt before desire overwhelmed reason. She wanted to give herself to him as fully as it was possible to give. It wouldn't be wise to speak her feelings out loud. It couldn't be safe to tell him with words that her heart was stripped of defenses and open for him. But she could show him, and by doing so give them both the pleasure of love without restrictions.

Her arms tightened around him as her mouth roamed madly over his. She drew his bottom lip inside the heat, inside the moistness of her mouth and nibbled, sucked until his breath came fast and erratic. She felt the abrupt tension as his body pressed against hers and realized he, too, could be seduced. He, too, could be aroused beyond reason. And she realized with a heady sort of wonder that she could be the seducer, she could arouse.

She shifted her body under his, tentatively, but with a slow rhythm that had him murmuring her name and grasping for control. Instinctively she sought out vulnerabilities, finding them one by one, learning from them, taking from them. Her tongue flicked over his throat, seeking then enjoying the subtle, distinct taste of man. His pulse was wild there, as wild as hers. She shifted again until she lay across him and his body was hers for the taking.

Her hands were inexperienced so that her stroking was soft and hesitant. It drove him mad. No one had ever been so sweetly determined to bring him pleasure. She pressed kisses over his chest, slowly, experimentally, then rubbed her cheek over his skin so that the touch both soothed and excited.

His body was on fire, yet it seemed to float free so that he could feel the passage of air breathe cool over his flesh. She touched, and the heat spread like brushfire. She tasted and the moistness from her lips was like the whisper of a night breeze, cooling, calming.

“Tell me what you want.” She looked up and her eyes were luminous in the moonlight, dark and beautiful. “Tell me what to do.”

It was almost more than he could bear, the purity of the request, the willingness to give. He reached up so that his hands were lost in her hair. He could have kept her there forever, arched above him with her skin glowing gold in the thin light, her hair falling pale over her shoulders, her eyes shimmering with need. He drew her down until their lips met again. Hunger exploded between them. She didn't need to be told, she didn't need to be taught. Her body took over so that her own desire drove them both.

Jonas let reason go, let control be damned. Gripping her hips, he drew her up, then brought her to him, brought himself into
her with a force that had her gasping in astonished pleasure. As she shuddered again, then again, he reached for her hands. Their fingers linked as she arched back and let her need set the pace. Frantic. Desperate. Uncontrollable. Pleasure, pain, delight, terror all whipped through her, driving her on, thrusting her higher.

He couldn't think, but he could feel. Until that moment, he wouldn't have believed it possible to feel so much so intensely. Sensations racked him, building and building and threatening to explode until the only sound he could hear was the roar of his own heart inside his head. With his eyes half open he could see her above him, naked and glorious in the moonlight. And when she plunged him beyond sensation, beyond sight and reason, he could still see her. He always would.

 

It didn't seem possible. It didn't, Liz thought, seem reasonable that she could be managing the shop, dealing with customers, stacking equipment when her system was still soaking up every delicious sensation she'd experienced just before dawn. Yet she was there, filling out forms, giving advice, quoting prices and making change. Still it was all mechanical. She'd been wise to delegate the diving tours and remain on shore.

She greeted her customers, some old and some new, and tried not to think too deeply about the list she'd been forced to give Moralas. How many of them would come to the Black Coral for equipment or lessons if they knew that by doing only that they were under police investigation? Jerry Sharpe's murder, and her involvement in it, could endanger her business far more than a slow season or a rogue hurricane.

Over and above her compassion, her sympathy and her hopes that Jonas could put his mind and heart at rest was a desperate need to protect her own, to guard what she'd built
from nothing for her daughter. No matter how she tried to bury it, she couldn't completely block out the resentment she felt for being pulled into a situation that had been none of her making.

Yet there was a tug-of-war waging inside of her. Resentment for the disruption of her life battled against the longing to have Jonas remain in it. Without the disruption, he never would have come to her. No matter how much she tried, she could never regret the weeks they'd had together. She promised herself that she never would. It was time to admit that she had a great scope of love that had been trapped inside her. Rejected once, it had refused to risk again. But Jonas had released it, or perhaps she'd released it herself. Whatever happened, however it ended, she'd been able to love again.

“You're a hard lady to pin down.”

Startled out of her own thoughts, Liz looked up. It took her a moment to remember the face, and a moment still to link a name with it. “Mr. Trydent.” She rose from her desk to go to the counter. “I didn't realize you were still on the island.”

“I only take one vacation a year, so I like to make the most of it.” He set a tall paper cup that bounced with ice on the counter. “I figured this was the only way to get you to have a drink with me.”

Liz glanced at the cup and wondered if she'd been businesslike or rude. At the moment she would have liked nothing better than to be alone with her own thoughts, but a customer was a customer. “That's nice of you. I've been pretty tied up.”

“No kidding.” He gave her a quick smile that showed straight teeth and easy charm. “You're either out of town or out on a boat. So I thought about the mountain and Mohammed.” He glanced around. “Things are pretty quiet now.”

“Lunchtime,” Liz told him. “Everyone who's going out is already out. Everyone else is grabbing some food or a siesta before they decide how to spend the afternoon.”

“Island living.”

She smiled back. “Exactly. Tried any more diving?”

He made a face. “I let myself get talked into a night dive with Mr. Ambuckle before he headed back to Texas. I'm planning on sticking to the pool for the rest of my vacation.”

“Diving's not for everyone.”

“You can say that again.” He drank from the second cup he'd brought, then leaned on the counter. “How about dinner? Dinner's for everyone.”

She lifted a brow, a little surprised, a little flattered that he seemed bent on a pursuit. “I rarely eat out.”

“I like home cooking.”

“Mr. Trydent—”

“Scott,” he corrected.

“Scott, I appreciate the offer, but I'm…” How did she put it? Liz wondered. “I'm seeing someone.”

He laid a hand on hers. “Serious?”

Not sure whether she was embarrassed or amused, Liz drew her hand away. “I'm a serious sort of person.”

“Well.” Scott lifted his cup, watching her over the rim as he drank. “I guess we'd better stick to business then. How about explaining the snorkeling equipment to me?”

With a shrug, Liz glanced over her shoulder. “If you can swim, you can snorkel.”

“Let's just say I'm cautious. Mind if I come in and take a look?”

She'd been ungracious enough for one day, Liz decided. She sent him a smile. “Sure, look all you want.” When he'd skirted around the counter and through the door, she walked with him to the back shelves. “The snorkel's just a hollow tube with a
mouthpiece,” she began as she took one down to offer it. “You put this lip between your teeth and breathe normally through your mouth. With the tube attached to a face mask, you can paddle around on the surface indefinitely.”

“Okay. How about all the times I see these little tubes disappear under the water?”

“When you want to go down, you hold your breath and let out a bit of air to help you descend. The trick is to blow out and clear the tube of water when you surface. Once you get the knack, you can go down and up dozens of times without ever taking your face out of the water.”