Risky Business (3 page)

“Is this all?” It seemed so little.

“I haven't been through the drawers or the closet yet. The police have.” Suddenly weary, she pulled the towel from her head. Dark blond hair, still damp, tumbled around her face and shoulders. Somehow her face seemed even more vulnerable. “I don't know anything about Jerry's personal life, his personal belongings. This is my daughter's room.” She turned her head until their eyes met. “She's away at school. This is where Jerry slept.” She left him alone.

Twenty minutes was all he needed. His brother had traveled light. Leaving the suitcase in the living room, Jonas walked through the house. It wasn't large. The next bedroom was dim in the early evening light, but he could see a splash of orange over a rattan bed and a desk cluttered with files and papers. It smelled lightly of spice and talcum powder. Turning away, he walked toward the back and found the kitchen. And Liz.

It was when he smelled the coffee that Jonas remembered he hadn't eaten since morning. Without turning around, Liz poured a second cup. She didn't need him to speak to know he was there. She doubted he was a man who ever had to announce his presence. “Cream?”

Jonas ran a hand through his hair. He felt as though he were walking through someone else's dream. “No, black.”

When Liz turned to offer the cup, he saw the quick jolt. “I'm sorry,” she murmured, taking up her own cup. “You look so much like him.”

“Does that bother you?”

“It unnerves me.”

He sipped the coffee, finding it cleared some of the mists of unreality. “You weren't in love with Jerry.”

Liz sent him a look of mild surprise. She realized he'd thought she'd been his brother's lover, but she hadn't thought he'd have taken the next step. “I only knew him a few weeks.” Then she laughed, remembering another time, another life. “No, I wasn't in love with him. We had a business relationship, but I liked him. He was cocky and well aware of his own charms. I had a lot of repeat female customers over the past couple of weeks. Jerry was quite an operator,” she murmured, then looked up, horrified. “I'm sorry.”

“No.” Interested, Jonas stepped closer. She was a tall woman, so their eyes stayed level easily. She smelled of the talcum powder and wore no cosmetics. Not Jerry's type, he thought again. But there was something about the eyes. “That's what he was, only most people never caught on.”

“I've known others.” And her voice was flat. “Not so harmless, not so kind. Your brother was a nice man, Mr. Sharpe. And I hope whoever… I hope they're found.”

She watched the gray eyes ice over. The little tremor in her stomach reminded her that cold was often more dangerous than heat. “They will be. I may need to talk with you again.”

It seemed a simple enough request, but she backed away from it. She didn't want to talk to him again, she didn't want to be involved in any way. “There's nothing else I can tell you.”

“Jerry was living in your house, working for you.”

“I don't know anything.” Her voice rose as she spun away to
stare out the window. She was tired of the questions, tired of people pointing her out on the beach as the woman who'd found the body. She was tired of having her life turned upside down by the death of a man she had hardly known. And she was nervous, she admitted, because Jonas Sharpe struck her as a man who could keep her life turned upside down as long as it suited him. “I've talked to the police again and again. He worked for me. I saw him a few hours out of the day. I don't know where he went at night, who he saw, what he did. It wasn't my business as long as he paid for the room and showed up to work.” When she looked back, her face was set. “I'm sorry for your brother, I'm sorry for you. But it's not my business.”

He saw the nerves as her hands unclenched but interpreted them in his own way. “We disagree, Mrs. Palmer.”

“Miss Palmer,” she said deliberately, and watched his slow, acknowledging nod. “I can't help you.”

“You don't know that until we talk.”

“All right. I won't help you.”

He inclined his head and reached for his wallet. “Did Jerry owe you anything on the room?”

She felt the insult like a slap. Her eyes, usually soft, usually sad, blazed. “He owed me nothing, and neither do you. If you've finished your coffee…”

Jonas set the cup on the table. “I've finished. For now.” He gave her a final study. Not Jerry's type, he thought again, or his. But she had to know something. If he had to use her to find out, he would. “Good night.”

Liz stayed where she was until the sound of the front door closing echoed back at her. Then she shut her eyes. None of her business, she reminded herself. But she could still see Jerry under her boat. And now, she could see Jonas Sharpe with grief hard in his eyes.

L
iz considered working in the dive shop the next thing to taking a day off. Taking a day off, actually staying away from the shop and the boats, was a luxury she allowed herself rarely, and only when Faith was home on holiday. Today, she'd indulged herself by sending the boats out without her so that she could manage the shop alone. Be alone. By noon, all the serious divers had already rented their tanks so that business at the shop would be sporadic. It gave Liz a chance to spend a few hours checking equipment and listing inventory.

The shop was a basic cinder-block unit. Now and again, she toyed with the idea of having the outside painted, but could never justify the extra expense. There was a cubbyhole she wryly referred to as an office where she'd crammed an old gray steel desk and one swivel chair. The rest of the room was crowded with equipment that lined the floor, was stacked on shelves or hung from hooks. Her desk had a dent in it the size of a man's foot, but her equipment was top grade and flawless.

Masks, flippers, tanks, snorkels could be rented individually or in any number of combinations. Liz had learned that the wider the choice, the easier it was to move items out and draw the customer back. The equipment was the backbone
of her business. Prominent next to the wide square opening that was only closed at night with a heavy wooden shutter was a list, in English and Spanish, of her equipment, her services and the price.

When she'd started eight years before, Liz had stocked enough tanks and gear to outfit twelve divers. It had taken every penny she'd saved—every penny Marcus had given a young, dewy-eyed girl pregnant with his child. The girl had become a woman quickly, and that woman now had a business that could accommodate fifty divers from the skin out, dozens of snorkelers, underwater photographers, tourists who wanted an easy day on the water or gung-ho deep-sea fishermen.

The first boat she'd gambled on, a dive boat, had been christened
Faith,
for her daughter. She'd made a vow when she'd been eighteen, alone and frightened, that the child she carried would have the best. Ten years later, Liz could look around her shop and know she'd kept her promise.

More, the island she'd fled to for escape had become home. She was settled there, respected, depended on. She no longer looked over the expanses of white sand, blue water, longing for Houston or a pretty house with a flowing green lawn. She no longer looked back at the education she'd barely begun, or what she might have been. She'd stopped pining for a man who didn't want her or the child they'd made. She'd never go back. But Faith could. Faith could learn how to speak French, wear silk dresses and discuss wine and music. One day Faith would go back and mingle unknowingly with her cousins on their own level.

That was her dream, Liz thought as she carefully filled tanks. To see her daughter accepted as easily as she herself had been rejected. Not for revenge, Liz mused, but for justice.

“Howdy there, missy.”

Crouched near the back wall, Liz turned and squinted against the sun. She saw a portly figure stuffed into a black-and-red wet suit, topped by a chubby face with a fat cigar stuck in the mouth.

“Mr. Ambuckle. I didn't know you were still on the island.”

“Scooted over to Cancun for a few days. Diving's better here.”

With a smile, she rose to go to her side of the opening. Ambuckle was a steady client who came to Cozumel two or three times a year and always rented plenty of tanks. “I could've told you that. See any of the ruins?”

“Wife dragged me to Tulum.” He shrugged and grinned at her with popping blue eyes. “Rather be thirty feet down than climbing over rocks all day. Did get some snorkeling in. But a man doesn't fly all the way from Dallas just to paddle around. Thought I'd do some night diving.”

Her smile came easily, adding something soft and approachable to eyes that were usually wary. “Fix you right up. How much longer are you staying?” she asked as she checked an underwater flash.

“Two more weeks. Man's got to get away from his desk.”

“Absolutely.” Liz had often been grateful so many people from Texas, Louisiana and Florida felt the need to get away.

“Heard you had some excitement while we were on the other side.”

Liz supposed she should be used to the comment by now, but a shiver ran up her spine. The smile faded, leaving her face remote. “You mean the American who was murdered?”

“Put the wife in a spin. Almost couldn't talk her into coming back over. Did you know him?”

No, she thought, not as well as she should have. To keep her hands busy, she reached for a rental form and began to fill it out. “As a matter of fact, he worked here a little while.”

“You don't say?” Ambuckle's small blue eyes sparkled a bit. But Liz supposed she should be used to that, as well.

“You might remember him. He crewed the dive boat the last time you and your wife went out.”

“No kidding?” Ambuckle's brow creased as he chewed on the cigar. “Not that good-looking young man—Johnny, Jerry,” he remembered. “Had the wife in stitches.”

“Yes, that was him.”

“Shame,” Ambuckle murmured, but looked rather pleased to have known the victim. “Had a lot of zip.”

“Yes, I thought so, too.” Liz lugged the tanks through the door and set them on the stoop. “That should take care of it, Mr. Ambuckle.”

“Add a camera on, missy. Want to get me a picture of one of those squids. Ugly things.”

Amazed, Liz plucked one from the shelf and added it to the list on a printed form. She checked her watch, noted down the time and turned the form for Ambuckle's signature. After signing, he handed her bills for the deposit. She appreciated the fact that Ambuckle always paid in cash, American. “Thanks. Glad to see you back, Mr. Ambuckle.”

“Can't keep me away, missy.” With a whoosh and a grunt, he hefted the tanks on his shoulders. Liz watched him cross to the walkway before she filed the receipt. Unlocking her cash box, she stored the money.

“Business is good.”

She jolted at the voice and looking up again stared at Jonas Sharpe.

She'd never again mistake him for Jerry, though his eyes were almost hidden this time with tinted glasses, and he wore shorts and an open shirt in lieu of a suit. There was a long gold chain around his neck with a small coin dangling. She recalled Jerry
had worn one. But something in the way Jonas stood, something in the set of his mouth made him look taller and tougher than the man she'd known.

Because she didn't believe in polite fencing, Liz finished relocking the cash box and began to check the straps and fasteners on a shelf of masks. No faulty equipment went out of her shop. “I didn't expect to see you again.”

“You should have.” Jonas watched her move down the shelf. She seemed stronger, less vulnerable than she had when he'd seen her a week ago. Her eyes were cool, her voice remote. It made it easier to do what he'd come for. “You have quite a reputation on the island.”

She paused long enough to look over her shoulder. “Really?”

“I checked,” he said easily. “You've lived here for ten years. Built this place from the first brick and have one of the most successful businesses on the island.”

She examined the mask in her hand meticulously. “Are you interested in renting some equipment, Mr. Sharpe? I can recommend the snorkeling right off this reef.”

“Maybe. But I think I'd prefer to scuba.”

“Fine. I can give you whatever you need.” She set the mask down and chose another. “It isn't necessary to be certified to dive in Mexico; however, I'd recommend a few basic lessons before you go down. We offer two different courses—individual or group.”

He smiled at her for the first time, a slow, appealing curving of lips that softened the toughness around his mouth. “I might take you up on that. Meantime, when do you close?”

“When I'm ready to.” The smile made a difference, she realized, and she couldn't let it. In defense, she shifted her weight on one hip and sent him a look of mild insolence. “This is Cozumel, Mr. Sharpe. We don't run nine to five here. Unless
you want to rent some equipment or sign up for a tour, you'll have to excuse me.”

He reached in to close his hand over hers. “I didn't come back to tour. Have dinner with me tonight. We can talk.”

She didn't attempt to free her hand but stared at him. Running a business had taught her to be scrupulously polite in any circumstances. “No, thank you.”

“Drinks, then.”

“No.”

“Miss Palmer…” Normally, Jonas was known for his deadly, interminable patience. It was a weapon, he'd learned, in the courtroom and out of it. With Liz, he found it difficult to wield it. “I don't have a great deal to go on at this point, and the police haven't made any progress at all. I need your help.”

This time Liz did pull away. She wouldn't be sucked in, that she promised herself, not by quiet words or intense eyes. She had her life to lead, a business to run, and most important, a daughter coming home in a matter of weeks. “I won't get involved. I'm sorry, even if I wanted to, there'd be nothing I could do to help.”

“Then it won't hurt to talk to me.”

“Mr. Sharpe.” Liz wasn't known for her patience. “I have very little free time. Running this business isn't a whim or a lark, but a great deal of work. If I have a couple of hours to myself in the evening, I'm not going to spend them being grilled by you. Now—”

She started to brush him off again when a young boy came running up to the window. He was dressed in a bathing suit and slick with suntan lotion. With a twenty-dollar bill crumpled in his hand, he babbled a request for snorkeling equipment for himself and his brother. He spoke in quick, excited Spanish as Liz checked out the equipment, asking if she thought they'd see a shark.

She answered him in all seriousness as she exchanged money for equipment. “Sharks don't live in the reef, but they do visit now and again.” She saw the light of adventure in his eyes. “You'll see parrot fish.” She held her hands apart to show him how big. “And if you take some bread crumbs or crackers, the sergeant majors will follow you, lots of them, close enough to touch.”

“Will they bite?”

She grinned. “Only the bread crumbs. Adios.”

He dashed away, kicking up sand.

“You speak Spanish like a native,” Jonas observed, and thought it might come in handy. He'd also noticed the pleasure that had come into her eyes when she'd talked with the boy. There'd been nothing remote then, nothing sad or haunted. Strange, he mused, he'd never noticed just how much a barometer of feeling the eyes could be.

“I live here,” she said simply. “Now, Mr. Sharpe—”

“How many boats?”

“What?”

“How many do you have?”

She sucked in a deep breath and decided she could humor him for another five minutes. “I have four. The glass bottom, two dive boats and one for deep-sea fishing.”

“Deep-sea fishing.” That was the one, Jonas decided. A fishing boat would be private and isolated. “I haven't done any in five or six years. Tomorrow.” He reached in his wallet. “How much?”

“It's fifty dollars a person a day, but I don't take the boat out for one man, Mr. Sharpe.” She gave him an easy smile. “It doesn't make good business sense.”

“What's your minimum?”

“Three. And I'm afraid I don't have anyone else lined up. So—”

He set four fifty-dollar bills on the counter. “The extra fifty's to make sure you're driving the boat.” Liz looked down at the money. An extra two hundred would help buy the aqua bikes she'd been thinking about. Several of the other dive shops already had them and she kept a constant eye on competition. Aqua biking and wind surfing were becoming increasingly popular, and if she wanted to keep up… She looked back at Jonas Sharpe's dark, determined eyes and decided it wasn't worth it.

“My schedule for tomorrow's already set. I'm afraid I—”

“It doesn't make good business sense to turn down a profit, Miss Palmer.” When she only moved her shoulders, he smiled again, but this time it wasn't so pleasant. “I'd hate to mention at the hotel that I couldn't get satisfaction at The Black Coral. It's funny how word of mouth can help or damage a small business.”

Liz picked up the money, one bill at a time. “What business are you in, Mr. Sharpe?”

“Law.”

She made a sound that might have been a laugh as she pulled out a form. “I should've guessed. I knew someone studying law once.” She thought of Marcus with his glib, calculating tongue. “He always got what he wanted, too. Sign here. We leave at eight,” she said briskly. “The price includes a lunch on board. If you want beer or liquor, you bring your own. The sun's pretty intense on the water, so you'd better buy some sun-screen.” She glanced beyond him. “One of my dive boats is coming back. You'll have to excuse me.”

“Miss Palmer…” He wasn't sure what he wanted to say to her, or why he was uncomfortable having completed a successful maneuver. In the end, he pocketed his receipt. “If you change your mind about dinner—”

“I won't.”

“I'm at the El Presidente.”

“An excellent choice.” She walked through the doorway and onto the dock to wait for her crew and clients.

 

By seven-fifteen, the sun was up and already burning off a low ground mist. What clouds there were, were thin and shaggy and good-natured.

“Damn!” Liz kicked the starter on her motorbike and turned in a little U toward the street. She'd been hoping for rain.

He was going to try to get her involved. Even now, Liz could imagine those dark, patient gray eyes staring into hers, hear the quietly insistent voice. Jonas Sharpe was the kind of man who took no for an answer but was dogged enough to wait however long it took for the yes. Under other circumstances, she'd have admired that. Being stubborn had helped her start and succeed in a business when so many people had shaken their heads and warned her against it. But she couldn't afford to admire Jonas Sharpe. Budgeting her feelings was every bit as important as budgeting her accounts.