Risky Business (18 page)

Scott turned the snorkel over in his hand. “There's a lot to see down there.”

“A whole world.”

He was no longer looking at the snorkel, but at her. “I guess you know a lot about the water and the reefs in this area. Know much about Isla Mujeres?”

“Excellent snorkeling and diving.” Absently, Liz took down a mask to show him how to attach the snorkel. “We offer full-and half-day trips. If you're adventurous enough, there are caves to explore.”

“And some are fairly remote,” he said idly.

“For snorkeling you'd want to stay closer to the reefs, but an experienced diver could spend days around the caves.”

“And nights.” Scott passed the snorkel through his fingers as he watched her. “I imagine a diver could go down there at night and be completely undisturbed.”

She wasn't certain why she felt a trickle of alarm. Automatically, she glanced over his shoulder to where her police guard half dozed in the sun. Silly, she told herself with a little shrug. She'd never been one to jump at shadows. “It's a dangerous area for night diving.”

“Some people prefer danger, especially when it's profitable.”

Her mouth was dry, so she swallowed as she replaced the mask on the shelf. “Perhaps. I don't.”

This time his smile wasn't so charming or his eyes so friendly. “Don't you?”

“I don't know what you mean.”

“I think you do.” His hand closed over her arm. “I think you know exactly what I mean. What Jerry Sharpe skimmed off the top and dumped in that safe-deposit box in Acapulco was petty cash, Liz.” He leaned closer as his voice lowered. “There's a lot more to be made. Didn't he tell you?”

She had a sudden, fierce memory of a knife probing against her throat. “He didn't tell me anything. I don't know anything.” Before she could evade, he had her backed into a corner. “If I scream,” she managed in a steady voice, “there'll be a crowd of people here before you can take a breath.”

“No need to scream.” He held up both hands as if to show her he meant no harm. “This is a business discussion. All I want to know is how much Jerry told you before he made the mistake of offending the wrong people.”

When she discovered she was trembling, Liz forced herself to stop. He wouldn't intimidate her. What weapon could he hide in a pair of bathing trunks and an open shirt? She straightened her shoulders and looked him directly in the eye. “Jerry didn't tell me anything. I said the same thing to your friend when he had the knife at my throat. It didn't satisfy him, so he put a damaged gauge on my tanks.”

“My partner doesn't understand much about finesse,” Scott said easily. “I don't carry knives, and I don't know enough about your diving equipment to mess with the gauges. What I know about is you, and I know plenty. You work too hard, Liz, getting up at dawn and hustling until sundown. I'm just
trying to give you some options. Business, Liz. We're just going to talk business.”

It was his calm, reasonable attitude that had her temper whipping out. He could be calm, he could be reasonable, and people were dead. “I'm not Jerry and I'm not Erika, so keep that in mind. I don't know anything about the filthy business you're into, but the police do, and they'll know more. If you think you can frighten me by threatening me with a knife or damaging my equipment, you're right. But that doesn't stop me from wishing every one of you to hell. Now get out of my shop and leave me alone.”

He studied her face for a long ten seconds, then backed an inch or two away. “You've got me wrong, Liz. I said this was a business discussion. With Jerry gone, an experienced diver would come in handy, especially one who knows the waters around here. I'm authorized to offer you five thousand dollars. Five thousand American dollars for doing what you do best. Diving. You go down, drop off one package and pick up another. No names, no faces. Bring the package back to me unopened and I hand you five thousand in cash. Once or twice a week, and you can build up a nice little nest egg. I'd say a woman raising a kid alone could use some extra money.”

Fear had passed into fury; she clenched her hands together. “I told you to get out,” she repeated. “I don't want your money.”

He smiled and touched a finger to her cheek. “Give it some thought. I'll be around if you change your mind.”

Liz waited for her breathing to level as she watched him walk away. With deliberate movements, she locked the shop, then walked directly to her police guard. “I'm going home,” she told him as he sprang to attention. “Tell Captain Moralas to meet me there in half an hour.” Without waiting for a reply, she strode across the sand.

 

Fifteen minutes later, Liz slammed into her house. The ride home hadn't calmed her. At every turn she'd been violated. At every turn, her privacy and peace had been disrupted. This last incident was the last she'd accept. She might have been able to handle another threat, another demand. But he'd offered her a job. Offered to pay her to smuggle cocaine, to take over the position of a man who'd been murdered. Jonas's brother.

A nightmare, Liz thought as she paced from window to window. She wished she could believe it was a nightmare. The cycle was drawing to a close, and she felt herself being trapped in the center. What Jerry Sharpe had started, she and Jonas would be forced to finish, no matter how painful. No matter how deadly. Finish it she would, Liz promised herself. The cycle would be broken, no matter what she had to do. She would be finished with it so her daughter could come home safely. Whatever she had to do, she would see to that.

At the sound of a car approaching, Liz went to the front window. Jonas, she thought, and felt her heart sink. Did she tell him now that she'd met face-to-face with the man who might have killed his brother? If he had the name, if he knew the man, would he race off in a rage for the revenge he'd come so far to find? And if he found his revenge, could the cycle ever be broken? Instead, she was afraid it would revolve and revolve around them, smothering everything else. She saw Jonas, a man of the law, a man of patience and compassion, shackled forever within the results of his own violence. How could she save him from that and still save herself?

Her hand was cold as she reached for the door and opened it to meet him. He knew there was something wrong before he touched her. “What are you doing home? I went by the shop and it was closed.”

“Jonas.” She did the only thing she knew how. She drew him against her and held on. “Moralas is on his way here.”

“What happened?” A little skip of panic ran through him before he could stop it. He held her away, searching her face. “Did something happen to you? Were you hurt?”

“No, I'm not hurt. Come in and sit down.”

“Liz, I want to know what happened.”

She heard the sound of a second engine and looked down the street to see the unmarked car. “Moralas is here,” she murmured. “Come inside, Jonas. I'd rather go through this only once.”

There was really no decision to be made, Liz told herself as she moved away from the door to wait. She would give Moralas and Jonas the name of the man who had approached her. She would tell them exactly what he'd said. By doing so she would take herself one step further away from the investigation. They would have a name, a face, a location. They would have motive. It was what the police wanted, it was what she wanted. She glanced at Jonas as Moralas came up the front walk. It was what Jonas wanted. What he needed. And by giving it to him, she would take herself one step further way from him.

“Miss Palmer.” Moralas took off his hat as he entered, glanced briefly at Jonas and waited.

“Captain.” She stood by a chair but didn't sit. “I have some information for you. There's an American, a man named Scott Trydent. Less than an hour ago he offered me five thousand dollars to smuggle cocaine off the reef of Isla Mujeres.”

Moralas's expression remained impassive. He tucked his hat under his arm. “And have you had previous dealings with this man?”

“He joined one of my diving classes. He was friendly. Today he came by the shop to talk to me. Apparently he believed that
I…” She trailed off to look at Jonas. He stood very still and very quiet just inside the door. “He thought that Jerry had told me about the operation. He'd found out about the safe-deposit box. I don't know how. It was as though he knew every move I've made for weeks.” As her nerves began to fray, she dragged a hand through her hair. “He told me that I could take over Jerry's position, make the exchange in the caves near Isla Mujeres and be rich. He knows…” She had to swallow to keep her voice from trembling. “He knows about my daughter.”

“You would identify him?”

“Yes. I don't know if he killed Jerry Sharpe.” Her gaze shifted to Jonas again and pleaded. “I don't know, but I could identify him.”

Moralas watched the exchange before crossing the room. “Please sit down, Miss Palmer.”

“You'll arrest him?” She wanted Jonas to say something, anything, but he continued to stand in silence. “He's part of the cocaine ring. He knows about Jerry's Sharpe's murder. You have to arrest him.”

“Miss Palmer.” Moralas urged her down on the sofa, then sat beside her. “We have names. We have faces. The smuggling ring currently operating in the Yucatan Peninsula is under investigation by both the Mexican and the American governments. The names you and Mr. Sharpe have given me are not unfamiliar. But there is one we don't have. The person who organizes, the person who undoubtedly ordered the murder of Jerry Sharpe. This is the name we need. Without it, the arrest of couriers, of salesmen, is nothing. We need this name, Miss Palmer. And we need proof.”

“I don't understand. You mean you're just going to let Trydent go? He'll just find someone else to make the drops.”

“It won't be necessary for him to look elsewhere if you agree.”

“No.” Before Liz could take in Moralas's words, Jonas was
breaking in. He said it quietly, so quietly that chills began to race up and down her spine. He took out a cigarette. His hands were rock steady. Taking his time, he flicked his lighter and drew until the tip glowed red. He blew out a stream of smoke and locked his gaze on Moralas. “You can go to hell.”

“Miss Palmer has the privilege to tell me so herself.”

“You're not using her. If you want someone on the inside, someone closer to the names and proof, I'll make the drop.”

Moralas studied him, saw the steady nerves and untiring patience along with simmering temper. If he'd had a choice, he'd have preferred it. “It isn't you who has been asked.”

“Liz isn't going down.”

“Just a minute.” Liz pressed both hands to her temples. “Are you saying you want me to see Trydent again, to tell him I'll take the job? That's crazy. What purpose could there be?”

“You would be a decoy.” Moralas glanced down at her hands. Delicate, yes, but strong. There was nothing about Elizabeth Palmer he didn't know. “The investigation is closing in. We don't want the ring to change locations at this point. If the operation appears to go smoothly, there should be no move at this time. You've been the stumbling block, Miss Palmer, for the ring, and the investigation.”

“How?” Furious, she started to stand. Moralas merely put a hand on her arm.

“Jerry Sharpe lived with you, worked for you. He had a weakness for women. Neither the police nor the smugglers have been sure exactly what part you played. Jerry Sharpe's brother is now living in your home. The key to the safe-deposit box was found by you.”

“Guilty by association, Captain?” Her voice took on that ice-sharp edge Jonas had heard only once or twice before. “Have I had police protection, or have I been under surveillance?”

Moralas's tone never altered. “One serves the same purpose as the other.”

“If I'm under suspicion, haven't you considered that I might simply take the money and run?”

“That's precisely what we want you to do.”

“Very clever.” Jonas wasn't certain how much longer he could hold on to his temper. It would have given him great satisfaction to have picked Moralas up bodily and thrown him out of the house. Out of Liz's life. “Liz double-crosses them, annoying the head of the operation. It's then necessary to eliminate her the way my brother was eliminated.”

“Except that Miss Palmer will be under police protection at all times. If this one drop goes as we plan, the investigation will end, and the smugglers, along with your brother's killer, will be caught and punished. This is what you want?”

“Not if it means risking Liz. Plant your own pigeon, Moralas.”

“There isn't time. With your cooperation, Miss Palmer, we can end this. Without it, it could take months.”

Months? she thought. Another day would be a lifetime. “I'll do it.”

Jonas was beside her in a heartbeat, pulling her off the couch. “Liz—”

“My daughter comes home in two weeks.” She put her hands on his arms. “She won't come back to anything like this.”

“Take her someplace else.” Jonas gripped her shoulders until his fingers dug into flesh. “We'll go someplace else.”

“Where?” she demanded. “Every day I tell myself I'm pulling away from this thing and every day it's a lie. I've been in it since Jerry walked in the door. We can't change that. Until it's over, really over, nothing's going to be right.”

He knew she was right, had known it from the first moment. But too much had changed. There was a desperation in him
now that he'd never expected to feel. It was all for her. “Come back to the States with me. It will be over.”

“Will it? Will you forget your brother was murdered? Will you forget the man who killed him?” His fingers tightened, his eyes darkened, but he said nothing. Her breath came out in a sigh of acceptance. “No, it won't be over until we finish it. I've run before, Jonas. I promised myself I'd never run again.”