Risky Business (6 page)

She backed up, fighting to maintain the calm she'd clung to. If she lost control, it wouldn't be in front of him, in front of anyone. “I want to be alone.”

He saw her hands tremble before she locked them tighter on the cup. “You can't always have what you want. I'll bunk in your daughter's room.”

“No!” After slamming the cup down, she folded her arms across her chest. “I don't want you here.”

With studied calm, he set his mug next to hers. When he took her shoulders, his hands were firm, not gentle. When he spoke, his voice was brisk, not soothing. “I'm not leaving you alone. Not now, not until they find Jerry's killer. You're involved whether you like it or not. And so, damn it, am I.”

Her breath came quickly, too quickly, though she fought to steady it. “I wasn't involved until you came back and started hounding me.”

He'd already wrestled with his conscience over that. Neither one of them could know if it were true. At the moment, he told himself it didn't matter. “However you're involved, you are. Whoever killed Jerry thinks you know something. You'll have an easier time convincing me you don't than you will them. It's time you started thinking about cooperating with me.”

“How do I know you didn't send him here to frighten me?”

His eyes stayed on hers, cool and unwavering. “You don't. I could tell you that I don't hire men to kill women, but you wouldn't have to believe it. I could tell you I'm sorry.” For the first time, his tone gentled. He lifted a hand to brush the hair back from her face and his thumb slid lightly over her cheekbone. Like the conch shell, she seemed delicate, lovely and damaged. “And that I wish I could walk away, leave you alone, let both of us go back to the way things were a few weeks ago. But I can't. We can't. So we might as well help each other.”

“I don't want your help.”

“I know. Sit down. I'll fix you something to eat.”

She tried to back away. “You can't stay here.”

“I am staying here. Tomorrow, I'm moving my things from the hotel.”

“I said—”

“I'll rent the room,” he interrupted, turning away to rummage through the cupboards. “Your throat's probably raw. This chicken soup should be the best thing.”

She snatched the can from his hand. “I can fix my own dinner, and you're not renting a room.”

“I appreciate your generosity.” He took the can back from her. “But I'd rather keep it on a business level. Twenty dollars a week seems fair. You'd better take it, Liz,” he added before she could speak. “Because I'm staying, one way or the other. Sit down,” he said again and looked for a pot.

She wanted to be angry. It would help keep everything else bottled up. She wanted to shout at him, to throw him bodily out of her house. Instead she sat because her knees were too weak to hold her any longer.

What had happened to her control? For ten years she'd been running her own life, making every decision by herself, for
herself. For ten years, she hadn't asked advice, she hadn't asked for help. Now something had taken control and decisions out of her hands, something she knew nothing about. Her life was part of a game, and she didn't know any of the rules.

She looked down and saw the tear drop on the back of her hand. Quickly, she reached up and brushed others from her cheeks. But she couldn't stop them. One more decision had been taken from her.

“Can you eat some toast?” Jonas asked her as he dumped the contents of the soup in a pan. When she didn't answer, he turned to see her sitting stiff and pale at the table, tears running unheeded down her face. He swore and turned away again. There was nothing he could do for her, he told himself. Nothing he could offer. Then, saying nothing, he came to the table, pulled a chair up beside her and waited.

“I thought he'd kill me.” Her voice broke as she pressed a hand to her face. “I felt the knife against my throat and thought I was going to die. I'm so scared. Oh God, I'm so scared.”

He drew her against him and let her sob out the fear. He wasn't used to comforting women. Those he knew well were too chic to shed more than a delicate drop or two. But he held her close during a storm of weeping that shook her body and left her gasping.

Her skin was icy, as if to prove the fact that fear made the blood run cold. She couldn't summon the pride to draw herself away, to seek a private spot as she'd always done in a crisis. He didn't speak to tell her everything would be fine; he didn't murmur quiet words of comfort. He was simply there. When she was drained, he still held her. The rain began slowly, patting the glass of the windows and pinging on the roof. He still held her.

When she shifted away, he rose and went back to the stove. Without a word, he turned on the burner. Minutes later he set
a bowl in front of her then went back to ladle some for himself. Too tired to be ashamed, Liz began to eat. There was no sound in the kitchen but the slow monotonous plop of rain on wood, tin and glass.

She hadn't realized she could be hungry, but the bowl was empty almost before she realized it. With a little sigh, she pushed it away. He was tipped back in his chair, smoking in silence.

“Thank you.”

“Okay.” Her eyes were swollen, accentuating the vulnerability that always haunted them. It tugged at him, making him uneasy. Her skin, with its ripe, warm honey glow was pale, making her seem delicate and defenseless. She was a woman, he realized, that a man had to keep an emotional distance from. Get too close and you'd be sucked right in. It wouldn't do to care about her too much when he needed to use her to help both of them. From this point on, he'd have to hold the controls.

“I suppose I was more upset than I realized.”

“You're entitled.”

She nodded, grateful he was making it easy for her to skim over what she considered an embarrassing display of weakness. “There's no reason for you to stay here.”

“I'll stay anyway.”

She curled her hand into a fist, then uncurled it slowly. It wasn't possible for her to admit she wanted him to, or that for the first time in years she was frightened of being alone. Since she had to cave in, it was better to think of the arrangement on a practical level.

“All right, the room's twenty a week, first week in advance.”

He grinned as he reached for his wallet. “All business?”

“I can't afford anything else.” After putting the twenty on
the counter, she stacked the bowls. “You'll have to see to your own food. The twenty doesn't include meals.”

He watched her take the bowls to the sink and wash them. “I'll manage.”

“I'll give you a key in the morning.” She took a towel and meticulously dried the bowls. “Do you think he'll be back?” She tried to make her voice casual, and failed.

“I don't know.” He crossed to her to lay a hand on her shoulder. “You won't be alone if he does.”

When she looked at him, her eyes were steady again. Something inside him unknotted. “Are you protecting me, Jonas, or just looking for your revenge?”

“I do one, maybe I'll get the other.” He twined the ends of her hair around his finger, watching the dark gold spread over his skin. “You said yourself I'm not a nice man.”

“What are you?” she whispered.

“Just a man.” When his gaze lifted to hers, she didn't believe him. He wasn't just a man, but a man with patience, with power and with violence. “I've wondered the same about you. You've got secrets, Elizabeth.”

She was breathless. In defense, she lifted her hand to his. “They've got nothing to do with you.”

“Maybe they don't. Maybe you do.”

It happened very slowly, so slowly she could have stopped it. Yet she seemed unable to move. His arms slipped around her, drawing her close with an arrogant sort of laziness that should have been his undoing. Instead, Liz watched, fascinated, as his mouth lowered to hers.

She'd just thought of him as a violent man, but his lips were soft, easy, persuading. It had been so long since she'd allowed herself to be persuaded. With barely any pressure, with only the slightest hint of power, he sapped the will she'd always relied
on. Her mind raced with questions, then clouded over to a fine, smoky mist. She wasn't aware of how sweetly, how hesitantly her mouth answered his.

Whatever impulse had driven him to kiss her was lost in the reality of mouth against mouth. He'd expected her to resist, or to answer with fire and passion. To find her so soft, yielding, unsteady, had his own desire building in a way he'd never experienced. It was as though she'd never been kissed before, never been held close to explore what man and woman have for each other. Yet she had a daughter, he reminded himself. She'd had a child, she was young, beautiful. Other men had held her like this. Yet he felt like the first and had no choice but to treat her with care.

The more she gave, the more he wanted. He'd known needs before. The longer he held her, the longer he wanted to. He understood passions. But a part of himself he couldn't understand held back, demanded restraint. She wanted him—he could feel it. But even as his blood began to swim, his hands, as if under their own power, eased her away.

Needs, so long unstirred, churned in her. As she stared back at him, Liz felt them spring to life, with all their demands and risks. It wouldn't happen to her again. But even as she renewed the vow she felt the soft, fluttering longings waltz through her. It couldn't happen again. But the eyes that were wide and on his reflected confusion and hurt and hope. It was a combination that left Jonas shaken.

“You should get some sleep,” he told her, and took care not to touch her again.

So that was all, Liz thought as the flicker of hope died. It was foolish to believe, even for a moment, anything could change. She brought her chin up and straightened her shoulders. Perhaps she'd lost control of many things, but she could
still control her heart. “I'll give you a receipt for the rent and the key in the morning. I get up at six.” She took the twenty-dollar bill she'd left on the counter and walked out.

T
he jury was staring at him. Twelve still faces with blank eyes were lined behind the rail. Jonas stood before them in a small, harshly lit courtroom that echoed with his own voice. He carried stacks of law books, thick, dusty and heavy enough to make his arms ache. But he knew he couldn't put them down. Sweat rolled down his temples, down his back as he gave an impassioned closing plea for his client's acquittal. It was life and death, and his voice vibrated with both. The jury remained unmoved, disinterested. Though he struggled to hold them, the books began to slip from his grasp. He heard the verdict rebound, bouncing off the courtroom walls.

Guilty. Guilty. Guilty.

Defeated, empty-handed, he turned to the defendant. The man stood, lifting his head so that they stared, eye to eye, twin images. Himself? Jerry. Desperate, Jonas walked to the bench. In black robes, Liz sat above him, aloof with distance. But her eyes were sad as she slowly shook her head. “I can't help you.”

Slowly, she began to fade. He reached up to grab her hand, but his fingers passed through hers. All he could see were her dark, sad eyes. Then she was gone, his brother was gone, and
he was left facing a jury—twelve cold faces who smiled smugly back at him.

Jonas lay still, breathing quickly. He found himself staring back at the cluster of gaily dressed dolls on the shelf beside the bed. A flamenco dancer raised her castanets. A princess held a glass slipper. A spiffily dressed Barbie relaxed in a pink convertible, one hand raised in a wave.

Letting out a long breath, Jonas ran a hand over his face and sat up. It was like trying to sleep in the middle of a party, he decided. No wonder he'd had odd dreams. On the opposing wall was a collection of stuffed animals ranging from the dependable bear to something that looked like a blue dust rag with eyes.

Coffee, Jonas thought, closing his own. He needed coffee. Trying to ignore the dozens of smiling faces surrounding him, he dressed. He wasn't sure how or where to begin. The coin on his chain dangled before he pulled a shirt over his chest. Outside, birds were sending up a clatter. At home there would have been the sound of traffic as Philadelphia awoke for the day. He could see a bush close to the window where purple flowers seemed to crowd each other for room. There were no sturdy elms, no tidy evergreen hedges or chain-link fences. No law books would help him with what he had to do. There was nothing familiar, no precedents to follow. Each step he took would be taken blindly, but he had to take them. He smelled the coffee the moment he left the room.

Liz was in the kitchen dressed in a T-shirt and what appeared to be the bottoms of a skimpy bikini. Jonas wasn't a man who normally awoke with all batteries charged, but he didn't miss a pair of long, honey-toned legs. Liz finished buttering a piece of toast.

“Coffee's on the stove,” she said without turning around.
“There're some eggs in the refrigerator. I don't stock cereal when Faith's away.”

“Eggs are fine,” he mumbled, but headed for the coffee.

“Use what you want, as long as you replace it.” She turned up the radio to listen to the weather forecast. “I leave in a half hour, so if you want a ride to your hotel, you'll have to be ready.”

Jonas let the first hot taste of coffee seep into his system. “My car's in San Miguel.”

Liz sat down at the table to go over that day's schedule. “I can drop you by the El Presidente or one of the other hotels on the beach. You'll have to take a cab from there.”

Jonas took another sip of coffee and focused on her fully. She was still pale, he realized, so that the marks on her neck stood out in dark relief. The smudges under her eyes made him decide she'd slept no better than he had. He tossed off his first cup of coffee and poured another.

“Ever consider taking a day off?”

She looked at him for the first time. “No,” she said simply and lowered her gaze to her list again.

So they were back to business, all business, and don't cross the line. “Don't you believe in giving yourself a break, Liz?”

“I've got work to do. You'd better fix those eggs if you want to have time to eat them. The frying pan's in the cupboard next to the stove.”

He studied her for another minute, then with a restless movement of his shoulders prepared to cook his breakfast. Liz waited until she was sure his back was to her before she looked up again.

She'd made a fool of herself the night before. She could almost accept the fact that she'd broken down in front of him because he'd taken it so matter-of-factly. But when she added
the moments she'd stood in his arms, submissive, willing, hoping, she couldn't forgive herself. Or him.

He'd made her feel something she hadn't felt in a decade. Arousal. He'd made her want what she'd been convinced she didn't want from a man. Affection. She hadn't backed away or brushed him aside as she'd done with any other man who'd approached her. She hadn't even tried. He'd made her feel soft again, then he'd shrugged her away.

So it would be business, she told herself. Straight, impersonal business as long as he determined to stay. She'd put the rent money aside until she could manage the down payment on the aqua bikes. Jonas sat at the table with a plate of eggs that sent steam rising toward the ceiling.

“Your key.” Liz slid it over to him. “And your receipt for the first week's rent.”

Without looking at it, Jonas tucked the paper in his pocket. “Do you usually take in boarders?”

“No, but I need some new equipment.” She rose to pour another cup of coffee and wash her plate. The radio announced the time before she switched it off. She was ten minutes ahead of schedule, but as long as she continued to get up early enough, they wouldn't have to eat together. “Do you usually rent a room in a stranger's house rather than a hotel suite?”

He tasted the eggs and found himself vaguely dissatisfied with his own cooking. “No, but we're not strangers anymore.”

Liz watched him over the rim of her cup. He looked a little rough around the edges this morning, she decided. It added a bit too much sexuality to smooth good looks. She debated offering him a razor, then rejected the notion. Too personal. “Yes, we are.”

He continued to eat his eggs so that she thought he'd taken her at her word. “I studied law at Notre Dame, apprenticed
with Neiram and Barker in Boston, then opened my own practice five years ago in Philadelphia.” He added some salt, hoping it would jazz up his cooking. “I specialize in criminal law. I'm not married, and live alone. In an apartment,” he added. “On weekends I'm remodeling an old Victorian house I bought in Chadd's Ford.”

She wanted to ask him about the house—was it big, did it have those wonderful high ceilings and rich wooden floors? Were the windows tall and mullioned? Was there a garden where roses climbed on trellises? Instead she turned to rinse out her cup. “That doesn't change the fact that we're strangers.”

“Whether we know each other or not, we have the same problem.”

The cup rattled in the sink as it slipped from her hand. Silently, Liz picked it up again, rinsed it off and set it in the drainer. She'd chipped it, but that was a small matter at the moment. “You've got ten minutes,” she said, but he took her arm before she could skirt around him.

“We do have the same problem, Elizabeth.” His voice was quiet, steady. She could have hated him for that alone.

“No, we don't. You're trying to avenge your brother's death. I'm just trying to make a living.”

“Do you think everything would settle down quietly if I were back in Philadelphia?”

She tugged her arm uselessly. “Yes!” Because she knew she lied, her eyes heated.

“One of the first impressions I had of you was your intelligence. I don't know why you're hiding on your pretty little island, Liz, but you've got a brain, a good one. We both know that what happened to you last night would have happened with or without me.”

“All right.” She relaxed her arm. “What happened wasn't
because of you, but because of Jerry. That hardly makes any difference to my position, does it?”

He stood up slowly, but didn't release her arm. “As long as someone thinks you knew what Jerry was into, you're the focus. As long as you're the focus, I'm standing right beside you, because directly or indirectly, you're going to lead me to Jerry's killer.”

Liz waited a moment until she was sure she could speak calmly. “Is that all people are to you, Jonas? Tools? Means to an end?” She searched his face and found it set and remote. “Men like you never look beyond their own interests.”

Angry without knowing why, he cupped her face in his hand. “You've never known a man like me.”

“I think I have,” she said softly. “You're not unique, Jonas. You were raised with money and expectations, you went to the best schools and associated with the best people. You had your goal set and if you had to step on or over a few people on the way to it, it wasn't personal. That's the worst of it,” she said on a long breath. “It's never personal.” Lifting her chin, she pushed his hand from her face. “What do you want me to do?”

Never in his life had anyone made him feel so vile. With a few words she'd tried and condemned him. He remembered the dream, and the blank, staring eyes of the jury. He swore at her and turned to pace to the window. He couldn't back away now, no matter how she made him feel because he was right—whether he was here or in Philadelphia, she was still the key.

There was a hammock outside, bright blue and yellow strings stretched between two palms. He wondered if she ever gave herself enough time to use it. He found himself wishing he could take her hand, walk across the yard and lie with her on the hammock with nothing more important to worry about than swatting at flies.

“I need to talk to Luis,” he began. “I want to know the places he went with Jerry, the people he may have seen Jerry talk to.”

“I'll talk to Luis.” When Jonas started to object, Liz shook her head. “You saw his reaction yesterday. He wouldn't be able to talk to you because you make him too nervous. I'll get you a list.”

“All right.” Jonas fished for his cigarettes and found with some annoyance that he'd left them in the bedroom. “I'll need you to go with me, starting tonight, to the places Luis gives you.”

A feeling of stepping into quicksand came strongly. “Why?”

He wasn't sure of the answer. “Because I have to start somewhere.”

“Why do you need me?”

And even less sure of this one. “I don't know how long it'll take, and I'm not leaving you alone.”

She lifted a brow. “I have police protection.”

“Not good enough. In any case, you know the language, the customs. I don't. I need you.” He tucked his thumbs in his pockets. “It's as simple as that.”

Liz walked over to turn off the coffee and move the pot to a back burner. “Nothing's simple,” she corrected. “But I'll get your list, and I'll go along with you under one condition.”

“Which is?”

She folded her hands. Jonas was already certain by her stance alone that she wasn't set to bargain but to lay down the rules. “That no matter what happens, what you find out or don't find out, you're out of this house and out of my life when my daughter comes home. I'll give you four weeks, Jonas—that's all.”

“It'll have to be enough.”

She nodded and started out of the room. “Wash your dishes. I'll meet you out front.”

The police car still sat in the driveway when Jonas walked out the front door. A group of children stood on the verge of
the road and discussed it in undertones. He heard Liz call one of them by name before she took out a handful of coins. Jonas didn't have to speak Spanish to recognize a business transaction. Moments later, coins in hand, the boy raced back to his friends.

“What was that about?”

Liz smiled after them. Faith would play with those same children throughout the summer. “I told them they were detectives. If they see anyone but you or the police around the house, they're to run right home and call Captain Moralas. It's the best way to keep them out of trouble.”

Jonas watched the boy in charge pass out the coins. “How much did you give them?”

“Twenty pesos apiece.”

He thought of the current rate of exchange and shook his head. “No kid in Philadelphia would give you the time of day for that.”

“This is Cozumel,” she said simply and wheeled out her bike.

Jonas looked at it, then at her. The bike would have sent a young teenager into ecstasies. “You drive this thing?”

Something in his tone made her want to smile. Instead, she kept her voice cool. “This thing is an excellent mode of transportation.”

“A BMW's an excellent mode of transportation.”

She laughed. He hadn't heard her laugh so easily since he'd met her. When she looked back at him, her eyes were warm and friendly. Jonas felt the ground shift dangerously under his feet. “Try to take your BMW on some of the back roads to the coast or into the interior.” She swung a leg over the seat. “Hop on, Jonas, unless you want to hike back to the hotel.”

Though he had his doubts, Jonas sat behind her. “Where do I put my feet?”

She glanced down and didn't bother to hide the grin. “Well, if I were you, I'd keep them off the ground.” With this she
started the engine then swung the bike around in the driveway. After adjusting for the added weight, Liz kept the speed steady. Jonas kept his hands lightly at her hips as the bike swayed around ruts and potholes.

“Are there roads worse than this?”

Liz sped over a bump. “What's wrong with this?”

“Just asking.”

“If you want sophistication, try Cancun. It's only a few minutes by air.”

“Ever get there?”