Risky Business (8 page)

“Poor timing,” he murmured.

She needed a minute. “Yes.” But she meant it in a more general way. It wasn't a matter of time and place, but a matter of impossibility. She started to move away when Jonas's grip tightened on her. “What is it?” she began, but only had to look at his face.

Cautiously, she turned to see what he stared at. A woman in a skimpy red dress stared back at him. Liz recognized the shock in her eyes before the woman turned and fled, leaving her dance partner gaping.

“Come on.” Without waiting for her, Jonas sprinted through the crowd. Dodging, weaving and shoving when she had to, Liz dashed after him.

The woman had barely gotten out to the street when Jonas caught up to her. “What are you running away from?” he demanded. His fingers dug into her arms as he held her back against a wall.

“Por favor, no comprendo,”
she murmured and shook like a leaf.

“Oh yes, I think you do.” With his fingers bruising her arms, Jonas towered over her until she nearly squeaked in fear. “What do you know about my brother?”

“Jonas.” Appalled, Liz stepped between them. “If this is the way you intend to behave, you'll do without my help.” She turned away from him and touched the woman's shoulder.
“Lo siento mucho,”
she began, apologizing for Jonas. “He's lost his brother. His brother, Jerry Sharpe. Did you know him?”

She looked at Liz and whispered. “He has Jerry's face. But he's dead—I saw in the papers.”

“This is Jerry's brother, Jonas. We'd like to talk to you.”

As Liz had, the woman had already sensed the difference between Jonas and the man she'd known. She'd never have cowered away from Jerry for the simple reason that she'd known herself to be stronger and more clever. The man looming over her now was a different matter.

“I don't know anything.”

“
Por favor.
Just a few minutes.”

“Tell her I'll make it worth her while,” Jonas added before she could refuse again. Without waiting for Liz to translate, he reached for his wallet and took out a bill. He saw fear change to speculation.

“A few minutes,” she agreed, but pointed to an outdoor café. “There.”

Jonas ordered two coffees and a glass of wine. “Ask her her name,” he told Liz.

“I speak English.” The woman took out a long, slim cigarette
and tapped it on the tabletop. “I'm Erika. Jerry and I were friends.” More relaxed, she smiled at Jonas. “You know, good friends.”

“Yes, I know.”

“He was very good-looking,” she added, then caught her bottom lip between her teeth. “Lots of fun.”

“How long did you know him?”

“A couple of weeks. I was sorry when I heard he was dead.”

“Murdered,” Jonas stated.

Erika took a deep drink of wine. “Do you think it was because of the money?”

Every muscle in his body tensed. Quickly, he shot Liz a warning look before she could speak. “I don't know—it looks that way. How much did he tell you about it?”

“Oh, just enough to intrigue me. You know.” She smiled again and held out her cigarette for a light. “Jerry was very charming. And generous.” She remembered the little gold bracelet he'd bought for her and the earrings with the pretty blue stones. “I thought he was very rich, but he said he would soon be much richer. I like charming men, but I especially like rich men. Jerry said when he had the money, we could take a trip.” She blew out smoke again before giving a philosophical little shrug. “Then he was dead.”

Jonas studied her as he drank coffee. She was, as Luis had said, a knockout. And she wasn't stupid. He was also certain her mind was focusing on one point, and one point alone. “Do you know when he was supposed to have the money?”

“Sure, I had to take off work if we were going away. He called me—it was Sunday. He was so excited. ‘Erika,' he said, ‘I hit the jackpot.' I was a little mad because he hadn't shown up Saturday night. He told me he'd done some quick business in Acapulco and how would I like to spend a few weeks in Monte Carlo?” She gave Jonas a lash-fluttering smile. “I
decided to forgive him. I was packed,” she added, blowing smoke past Jonas's shoulder. “We were supposed to leave Tuesday afternoon. I saw in the papers Monday night that he was dead. The papers said nothing about the money.”

“Do you know who he had business with?”

“No. Sometimes he would talk to another American, a skinny man with pale hair. Other times he would see a Mexican. I didn't like him—he had
mal ojo.
”

“Evil eye,” Liz interpreted. “Can you describe him?”

“Not pretty,” she said offhandedly. “His face was pitted. His hair was long in the back, over his collar and he was very thin and short.” She glanced at Jonas again with a sultry smile that heated the air. “I like tall men.”

“Do you know his name?”

“No. But he dressed very nicely. Nice suits, good shoes. And he wore a silver band on his wrist, a thin one that crossed at the ends. It was very pretty. Do you think he knows about the money? Jerry said it was lots of money.”

Jonas merely reached for his wallet. “I'd like to find out his name,” he told her and set a fifty on the table. His hand closed over hers as she reached for it. “His name, and the name of the American. Don't hold out on me, Erika.”

With a toss of her head, she palmed the fifty. “I'll find out the names. When I tell you, it's another fifty.”

“When you tell me.” He scrawled Liz's number on the back of a business card. “Call this number when you have something.”

“Okay.” She slipped the fifty into her purse as she stood up. “You know, you don't look as much like Jerry as I thought.” With the click of high heels, she crossed the pavement and went back into the club.

“It's a beginning,” Jonas murmured as he pushed his coffee aside. When he looked over, he saw Liz studying him. “Problem?”

“I don't like the way you work.”

He dropped another bill on the table before he rose. “I don't have time to waste on amenities.”

“What would you have done if I hadn't calmed her down? Dragged her off to the nearest alley and beaten it out of her?”

He drew out a cigarette, struggling with temper. “Let's go home, Liz.”

“I wonder if you're any different from the men you're looking for.” She pushed back from the table. “Just as a matter of interest, the man who broke into my house and attacked me wore a thin band at his wrist. I felt it when he held the knife to my throat.”

She watched as his gaze lifted from the flame at the end of the cigarette and came to hers. “I think you two might recognize each other when the time comes.”

“A
lways check your gauges,” Liz instructed, carefully indicating each one on her own equipment as she spoke. “Each one of these gauges is vital to your safety when you dive. That's true if it's your first dive or your fiftieth. It's very easy to become so fascinated not only by the fish and coral, but the sensation of diving itself, that you can forget you're dependent on your air tank. Always be certain you start your ascent while you have five or ten minutes of air left.”

She'd covered everything, she decided, in the hour lesson. If she lectured any more, her students would be too impatient to listen. It was time to give them a taste of what they were paying for.

“We'll dive as a group. Some of you may want to explore on your own, but remember, always swim in pairs. As a final precaution, check the gear of the diver next to you.”

Liz strapped on her own weight belt as her group of novices followed instructions. So many of them, she knew, looked on scuba diving as an adventure. That was fine, as long as they remembered safety. Whenever she instructed, she stressed the what ifs just as thoroughly as the how tos. Anyone who went
down under her supervision would know what steps to take under any circumstances. Diving accidents were most often the result of carelessness. Liz was never careless with herself or with her students. Most of them were talking excitedly as they strapped on tanks.

“This group.” Luis hefted his tank. “Very green.”

“Yeah.” Liz helped him with the straps. As she did with all her employees, Liz supplied Luis's gear. It was checked just as thoroughly as any paying customer's. “Keep an eye on the honeymoon couple, Luis. They're more interested in each other than their regulators.”

“No problem.” He assisted Liz with her tank, then stepped back while she cinched the straps. “You look tired, kid.”

“No, I'm fine.”

When she turned, he glanced at the marks on her neck. The story had already made the rounds. “You sure? You don't look so fine.”

She lifted a brow as she hooked on her diving knife. “Sweet of you.”

“Well, I mean it. You got me worried about you.”

“No need to worry.” As Liz pulled on her mask, she glanced over at the roly-poly fatherly type who was struggling with his flippers. He was her bodyguard for the day. “The police have everything under control,” she said, and hoped it was true. She wasn't nearly as sure about Jonas.

He hadn't shocked her the night before. She'd sensed that dangerously waiting violence in him from the first. But seeing his face as he'd grabbed Erika, hearing his voice, had left her with a cold, flat feeling in her stomach. She didn't know him well enough to be certain if he would choose to control the violence or let it free. More, how could she know he was capable of leashing it? Revenge, she thought, was never pretty.
And that's what he wanted. Remembering the look in his eyes, Liz was very much afraid he'd get it.

The boat listed, bringing her back to the moment. She couldn't think about Jonas now, she told herself. She had a business to run and customers to satisfy.

“Miss Palmer.” A young American with a thin chest and a winning smile maneuvered over to her. “Would you mind giving me a check?”

“Sure.” In her brisk, efficient way, Liz began to check gauges and hoses.

“I'm a little nervous,” he confessed. “I've never done this sort of thing before.”

“It doesn't hurt to be a little nervous. You'll be more careful. Here, pull your mask down. Make sure it's comfortable but snug.”

He obeyed, and his eyes looked wide and pale through the glass. “If you don't mind, I think I'll stick close to you down there.”

She smiled at him. “That's what I'm here for. The depth here is thirty feet,” she told the group in general. “Remember to make your adjustments for pressure and gravity as you descend. Please keep the group in sight at all times.” With innate fluidity, she sat on the deck and rolled into the water. With Luis on deck, and Liz treading a few feet away, they waited until each student made his dive. With a final adjustment to her mask, Liz went under.

She'd always loved it. The sensation of weightlessness, the fantasy of being unimpeded, invulnerable. From near the surface, the sea floor was a spread of white. She loitered there a moment, enjoying the cathedral like view. Then, with an easy kick, she moved down with her students.

The newlyweds were holding hands and having the time of their lives. Liz reminded herself to keep them in sight. The policeman assigned to her was plodding along like a sleepy sea
turtle. He'd keep her in sight. Most of the others remained in a tight group, fascinated but cautious. The thin American gave her a wide-eyed look that was a combination of pleasure and nerves and stuck close by her side. To help him relax, Liz touched his shoulder and pointed up. In an easy motion, she turned on her back so that she faced the surface. Sunlight streaked thinly through the water. The hull of the dive boat was plainly visible. He nodded and followed her down.

Fish streamed by, some in waves, some on their own. Though the sand was white, the water clear, there was a montage of color. Brain coral rose up in sturdy mounds, the color of saffron. Sea fans, as delicate as lace, waved pink and purple in the current. She signaled to her companion and watched a school of coral sweepers, shivering with metallic tints, turn as a unit and skim through staghorn coral.

It was a world she understood as well as, perhaps better, than the one on the surface. Here, in the silence, Liz often found the peace of mind that eluded her from day to day. The scientific names of the fish and formations they passed were no strangers to her. Once she'd studied them diligently, with dreams of solving mysteries and bringing the beauty of the world of the sea to others. That had been another life. Now she coached tourists and gave them, for hourly rates, something memorable to take home after a vacation. It was enough.

Amused, she watched an angelfish busy itself by swallowing the bubbles rising toward the surface. To entertain her students, she poked at a small damselfish. The pugnacious male clung to his territory and nipped at her. To the right, she saw sand kick up and cloud the water. Signaling for caution, Liz pointed out the platelike ray that skimmed away, annoyed by the intrusion.

The new husband showed off a bit, turning slow somersaults for his wife. As divers gained confidence, they spread out a little
farther. Only her bodyguard and the nervous American stayed within an arm span at all times. Throughout the thirty-minute dive, Liz circled the group, watching individual divers. By the time the lesson was over, she was satisfied that her customers had gotten their money's worth. This was verified when they surfaced.

“Great!” A British businessman on his first trip to Mexico clambered back onto the deck. His face was reddened by the sun but he didn't seem to mind. “When can we go down again?”

With a laugh, Liz helped other passengers on board. “You have to balance your down time with your surface time. But we'll go down again.”

“What was that feathery-looking stuff?” someone else asked. “It grows like a bush.”

“It's a gorgonian, from the Gorgons of mythology.” She slipped off her tanks and flexed her muscles. “If you remember, the Gorgons had snakes for hair. The whip gorgonian has a resilient skeletal structure and undulates like a snake with the current.”

More questions were tossed out, more answers supplied. Liz noticed the American who'd stayed with her, sitting by himself, smiling a little. Liz moved around gear then dropped down beside him.

“You did very well.”

“Yeah?” He looked a little dazed as he shrugged his shoulders. “I liked it, but I gotta admit, I felt better knowing you were right there. You sure know what you're doing.”

“I've been at it a long time.”

He sat back, unzipping his wet suit to his waist. “I don't mean to be nosy, but I wondered about you. You're American, aren't you?”

It had been asked before. Liz combed her fingers through her wet hair. “That's right.”

“From?”

“Houston.”

“No kidding.” His eyes lit up. “Hell, I went to school in Texas. Texas A and M.”

“Really?” The little tug she felt rarely came and went. “So did I, briefly.”

“Small world,” he said, pleased with himself. “I like Texas. Got a few friends in Houston. I don't suppose you know the Dresscots?”

“No.”

“Well, Houston isn't exactly small-town U.S.A.” He stretched out long, skinny legs that were shades paler than his arms but starting to tan. “So you went to Texas A and M.”

“That's right.”

“What'd you study?”

She smiled and looked out to sea. “Marine biology.”

“Guess that fits.”

“And you?”

“Accounting.” He flashed his grin again. “Pretty dry stuff. That's why I always take a long breather after tax time.”

“Well, you chose a great place to take it. Ready to go down again?”

He took a long breath as if to steady himself. “Yeah. Hey, listen, how about a drink after we get back in?”

He was attractive in a mild sort of way, pleasant enough. She gave him an apologetic smile as she rose. “It sounds nice, but I'm tied up.”

“I'll be around for a couple of weeks. Some other time?”

“Maybe. Let's check your gear.”

By the time the dive boat chugged into shore, the afternoon was waning. Her customers, most of them pleased with themselves, wandered off to change for dinner or spread out on the beach. Only a few loitered near the boat, including her body
guard and the accountant from America. It occurred to Liz that she might have been a bit brisk with him.

“I hope you enjoyed yourself, Mr….”

“Trydent. But it's Scott, and I did. I might just try it again.”

Liz smiled at him as she helped Luis and another of her employees unload the boat. “That's what we're here for.”

“You, ah, ever give private lessons?”

Liz caught the look. Perhaps she hadn't been brisk enough. “On occasion.”

“Then maybe we could—”

“Hey, there, missy.”

Liz shaded her eyes. “Mr. Ambuckle.”

He stood on the little walkway, his legs bulging out of the short wet suit. What hair he had was sleeked wetly back. Beside him, his wife stood wearily in a bathing suit designed to slim down wide hips. “Just got back in!” he shouted. “Had a full day of it.”

He seemed enormously pleased with himself. His wife looked at Liz and rolled her eyes. “Maybe I should take you out as crew, Mr. Ambuckle.”

He laughed, slapping his side. “Guess I'd rather dive than anything.” He glanced at his wife and patted her shoulder. “Almost anything. Gotta trade in these tanks, honey, and get me some fresh ones.”

“Going out again?”

“Tonight. Can't talk the missus into it.”

“I'm crawling into bed with a good book,” she told Liz. “The only water I want to see is in the tub.”

With a laugh, Liz jumped down to the walkway. “At the moment, I feel the same way. Oh, Mr. and Mrs. Ambuckle, this is Scott Trydent. He just took his first dive.”

“Well now.” Expansive, Ambuckle slapped him on the back. “How'd you like it?”

“Well, I—”

“Nothing like it, is there? You want try it at night, boy. Whole different ball game at night.”

“I'm sure, but—”

“Gotta trade in these tanks.” After slapping Scott's back again, Ambuckle hefted his tanks and waddled off toward the shop.

“Obsessed,” Mrs. Ambuckle said, casting her eyes to the sky. “Don't let him get started on you, Mr. Trydent. You'll never get any peace.”

“No, I won't. Nice meeting you, Mrs. Ambuckle.” Obviously bemused, Scott watched her wander back toward the hotel. “Quite a pair.”

“That they are.” Liz lifted her own tanks. She stored them separately from her rental equipment. “Goodbye, Mr. Trydent.”

“Scott,” he said again. “About that drink—”

“Thanks anyway,” Liz said pleasantly and left him standing on the walkway. “Everything in?” she asked Luis as she stepped into the shop.

“Checking it off now. One of the regulators is acting up.”

“Set it aside for Jose to look at.” As a matter of habit, she moved into the back to fill her tanks before storage. “All the boats are in, Luis. We shouldn't have too much more business now. You and the rest can go on as soon as everything's checked in. I'll close up.”

“I don't mind staying.”

“You closed up last night,” she reminded him. “What do you want?” She tossed a grin over her shoulder. “Overtime? Go on home, Luis. You can't tell me you don't have a date.”

He ran a fingertip over his mustache. “As a matter of fact…”

“A hot date?” Liz lifted a brow as air hissed into her tank.

“Is there any other kind?”

Chuckling, Liz straightened. She noticed Ambuckle
trudging across the sand with his fresh tanks. Her other employees talked among themselves as the last of the gear was stored. “Well, go make yourself beautiful then. The only thing I have a date with is the account books.”

“You work too much,” Luis mumbled.

Surprised, Liz turned back to him. “Since when?”

“Since always. It gets worse every time you send Faith back to school. Better off if she was here.”

That her voice cooled only slightly was a mark of her affection for Luis. “No, she's happy in Houston with my parents. If I thought she wasn't, she wouldn't be there.”

“She's happy, sure. What about you?”

Her brows drew together as she picked her keys from a drawer. “Do I look unhappy?”

“No.” Tentatively, he touched her shoulder. He'd known Liz for years, and understood there were boundaries she wouldn't let anyone cross. “But you don't look happy either. How come you don't give one of these rich American tourists a spin? That one on the boat—his eyes popped out every time he looked at you.”