The Sea of Aaron (6 page)

“I don't know, Jas, this is so crazy. I mean, he revealed a lot and then nothing at all. What's crazy is why I find the whole thing upsetting. He did tell me that he was never married to his son's mother, and certainly if he couldn't even remember the color of her eyes he couldn't have been in love with her.”

“The color of her eyes?” Jasmine repeated, confused.

“Never mind. I'm tired and deranged.”
And jealous.
“Let's forget about Aaron for now.” She took a deep breath. “Have you seen my mother?”

“Yes. Your mother's fine. Just think, pretty soon this whole mess will be over and you can come home. I assume Aaron told you that they have a definite suspect and they're setting a trap so they can prove it.”

“I know,” Valerie lied. She didn't know that at all, and lying about it was even stranger. The truth was she'd been taken down a rabbit hole, or more accurately a sinkhole, and she was suffering from some kind of diver's euphoria. Part of her wanted to escape but another part wanted to remain. The crazy person who'd invaded her body didn't want to leave Caye Caulker and return to her own life until she unraveled the mystery of Aaron.

***

Lying flat on the deck floor, staring up at the stars and listening to the gentle whispers of
Saniyah
talking to the waves beneath her, Aaron focused on a particularly large twinkling star in the velvety expanse. The subtle flickering seemed to be transmitting an encoded message.

He was annoyed with himself, no question about that. Not in many years had he even remotely felt the urge to really talk to someone other than Noah. His art, his boat, his life, and his son were his business, and there was no clear reason to discuss them with anyone else, let alone her. But this woman actually seemed to care. She genuinely wanted to know what lay beneath his surface, and in prying, she'd probably discerned her truth about him—he was a cold, dark, uncompromising person. If indeed that was the truth, he was grateful that the evening had terminated so abruptly because he had uncharacteristically gotten way out of control and revealed more than he intended and might have revealed even more. It was not a performance he planned to repeat, and there was no reason to obsess over the lapse of judgment because the investigation would probably wrap up in a day or two and she could go back home. He wouldn't have to think about her anymore.

At sunrise Valerie had breakfast at La Isla café again. No one invaded her privacy this time. She lingered longer than she intended, but Aaron didn't show. She hadn't really expected him to, but she was disappointed anyway. As she made her way back to the inn, she kept her eyes to the sea, centered on
Saniyah II
anchored out there. The ship was at such a distance that she probably wouldn't be able to make out anyone on deck, but she shaded her eyes and tried anyway. Nothing.

When she returned to her room, she looked over some tourist brochures. There were water taxis and planes to transport her to areas of interest such as the Mayan ruins at Altun Ha. She definitely wanted to see those before she left, but seeing them without Aaron made her less enthusiastic.

It was her fault. She had been overwhelmed last night and deliberately shut him out. She should have told him in words and action that it was okay to kiss her goodnight. What was he supposed to take from her cold response? Rejection, of course, even though it couldn't be farther from the truth. So what if he had a son. Aaron wasn't a kid, for God's sake, and neither was the son. Of course he would have had a woman or two in his past—maybe several. The next time she saw him she would deal with the logistics of their circumstances. She would ask him about the investigation and nothing else. If he wanted to talk about other things, that would be nice, but she had no intention of prodding.

A gentle tap sounded at her door. She unlatched it to see the pretty young woman who sometimes doubled as a waitress at La Isla Café.

“
Buenos dias,
Miss Redmond. Mr. Weiss asked me to give this message to you.”

She handed Valerie an envelope.

Surprised, Valerie accepted it and thanked her. When she had gone, Valerie opened the envelope and read the printed message.

Valerie,

You will be pleased to know that Carolyn Allard, Gordon Allard's granddaughter, and an accomplice have been arrested. Ms. Allard has confessed, and when you get back home, a lawyer will probably be in contact with you to discuss the preliminaries. They may want you to appear in court at some point
. Valerie gasped. She couldn't believe what she was reading. But what really sent her through the roof was that the envelope contained fare for a charter plane to take her off Caye Caulker and a plane ticket—a ticket for a regular commercial flight back home, and it was for tomorrow afternoon. She stared, aghast, at his note again.
I assumed you'd like to leave Belize as soon as possible and that
you might be more comfortable on a commercial flight.

A.W.

He assumed. She hurled the note and the tickets across the room. The papers fluttered about like confused wrens, having lost their direction.
How dare you! You don't
even stop by to explain. Instead, you write me off like some raggedly Little Orphan Annie and then you have the nerve to send me back home on a commercial airliner with tickets you paid
for
. Did he think she was so impoverished she couldn't even afford her own plane ticket?

“My God,” she shouted aloud. “Am I really in love with that jerk? Never mind that. I'm going to kill him.”

***

What the—?
No one ever dared come uninvited out to the spot where
Saniyah II
was anchored. In the galley, Aaron stabbed out a cigarette and automatically seized a loaded Beretta from the shelf. Shaking off an initial wave of vertigo, he vaulted the stairs two at a time. The deafening roar of a speedboat was getting nearer. He crouched on the deck, half-hidden, alert, waiting.

The approaching craft was familiar, a flashy purple boat belonging to a grizzled lobster-red guy named Zack who often shuttled tourists around the island. Aaron relaxed, sliding the weapon into the waistband of his jeans, concealing it.

“Afternoon, Ray, mon, you got a visitor requesting permission to board,” Zack hailed him, his pitch laced with island Creole.

Ray
. Aaron smirked. That was one of the names the locals had given him, Ray as in Stingray. He strolled over to look down at the hovering boat. The visitor was Valerie, arms folded, glowering up at him. Glowering? What the heck was with her? She had her freedom back, why wasn't she busy in her room packing to leave?

“Permission granted,” he said, taking his time lowering the mechanized boarding ladder.

Zack tossed him a line; he caught it and secured it to
Saniyah II.
Aaron then stepped back a few feet and resisted giving Valerie a hand. She didn't need it anyway. She moved easily and gracefully up the ladder like a stalking tigress homing in on her prey. Her trim but curvaceous body was poured into a pristine white T-shirt, beige-colored jeans and white sneakers. Intrigued, Aaron remained silent, watching.

***

Intent on one purpose only, Valerie reached the deck and barely paused to take a breath. “First,” she began loudly, and then swallowed hard as she confronted and absorbed the object of her wrath towering above her in raw, unkempt, and sexy splendor. She had not prepared herself for the sight of him in a black-ribbed tank top, with hands on hips, legs slightly apart, encased in ragged jeans with a hole ripped in one knee. She had not prepared herself for eyebrows slanted dangerously over narrowed cobra eyes. Blue cobra eyes.

Get over it.
She struggled to regain her composure and momentum. “I came to thank you in person for having your people solve the case so quickly. Secondly, this is yours.” With fire flashing in her eyes, she thrust the envelope with the plane tickets at him.

Aaron made no move to take it.

She flung the envelope and the wind sent it skittering across the deck to wedge between a nearby storage bench and a fishing rod.

“I don't need your charity, Mr. Weiss. I
will
leave you alone as you wish, but seeing that you don't own Caye Caulker or Belize, I won't leave this island until I'm good and ready, and on whatever commercial
airline I
choose
to pay for.”

She spun on her heel and stalked back toward the boarding ladder, the sea breeze whipping her black hair angrily in her face.

“Valerie, wait,” Aaron said.

She ignored him and kept moving

“Please.”

Did he actually say please? She hesitated for only a split second, wondering why she extended him even that courtesy, but it was time enough for the cobra to spring, reach out and take her by the arm, assertively, yet without aggression.

“
Mizta' eret.
I didn't mean to offend you,” He said, planting both hands on her forearms, turning her gently so she was facing him again. “I thought you would be pleased to return home as quickly as possible.”

“You have no right to think or assume for me, Aaron. You don't know me, and even if you did, I haven't given you that permission.”

“Point well taken.”

He exhaled evenly, and she literally felt his exhalation, along with a tremor-inducing hot flash that definitely was not caused by the tropical breeze, but rather by the sensation of his hands gripping her, his eyes piercing into hers, and the way the corners of his mouth curved into a scintillating slow burn of a smile, the same smile that had mesmerized her two years ago.

Speechless, she allowed the sensation to draw her in and, the next second, her arms, as if controlled by some other worldly force, locked around his waist and her head tilted upward, her lips meeting his with all the magnetic power born of desire too long deferred.

Truly surprised by the nature and the timing of the kiss, Aaron reciprocated with matching intensity, drawing her closer and closer…until her hand rose and struck him sharply across the face.

Confused and teetering on the brink of anger, he stepped back.

“You fool,” she said, seething. “How can you be so stupid?”

“
Me?
” he spluttered. “Listen here, woman. You're the one who—”

Her voice rose. “Don't say anything you…you idiot. I can't believe it. I just can't believe you've been smoking. You had lung surgery a few weeks ago, and you're smoking?”

He blinked several times, as though just waking up, and then, somewhat contrite, he lowered his head and laughed, a deep throaty chuckle.

“Laugh all you want,” Valerie said. “The last one will be on you. I've watched way too many patients die from lung cancer, and, believe me, it's not pretty.”

“You're right,” he admitted finally. “It's a bad habit, but not one that can't easily be broken.”

Then break it,
she wanted to say, but decided to cut him some slack. Her head spun with confusion, frustration, and everything in between, while her heart pounded with smoldering desire. And, God help her, she no longer had a clue why she was on the deck of his boat or even what she intended to say next after having initiated such an ill-timed passionate kiss—stupidly passionate and right at the moment when she was furious at him.

“We have to talk,” Aaron said.

Understatement of the year
, she thought and plopped down on the bench, burying her face in her hands.

“Aren't you pleased that the threats against you are over?” Aaron asked, his voice gentle. He had squatted down to her level and was looking at her earnestly. He brushed her hair away from her face with his fingers.

Did he actually think she was crying? If so, how sweet, but she most certainly was not. Her posturing was more out of frustration. She moved her hands away and sat up straight. “Of course I'm pleased,” she said, “but since this…this ordeal was supposed to have been about me, I'd like details. Who? What? When? You know what I mean. How did the people involved get caught? I want to know everything.”

“I'll tell you,” he said. “But first let's dispense with Zack. Afterward, I'll take you back to the inn myself.”

She started to protest, but he stood up and went to the railing and yelled down to the man. She sat numbly as Aaron untied the tether line and Zack was soon off, roaring and zigzagging his way back to shore, probably eager to go out of fear that Aaron might shoot him.

Were his fears really so outlandish? Valerie's chill returned. When her arms had been around him, she'd distinctly felt the telltale outline of hard gunmetal. The man was packing some serious heat.

She stood up. “Before we start this conversation, could you get rid of the weapon?”

Without batting an eyelid, Aaron turned, reached back, and pulled the Beretta into view. He placed it on the bench.

“Jeez. Is that thing loaded?”

“Not much point in carrying one if it isn't,” he said.

“Why do you find it necessary to carry a gun off-duty?”

“Why don't we stick to the subject you want to hear?”

She bit her lip. He had her so flustered that she was the one stalling and drifting off base. She walked a few paces away from him and leaned over the deck railing to stare into the water as though gathering strength from its undulating blue waves.

“The box truck that tried to run you down was stolen, so it couldn't be traced,” Aaron began. “Anyway, we had the FBI set up a trap using a female agent who impersonated you, drove your car, and was living in your apartment. We had her and some friends bring fake cartons of books into your apartment.”

“Interesting setup,” Valerie said, still staring at the water. “Very sneaky,”

“Hardly ingenious,” Aaron said. “The perpetrator was a rank amateur. Had he been a professional, you wouldn't be here talking to me.”

She flinched.

He ignored her reaction. “Sure enough, soon after the books were brought in, someone broke into the apartment while our decoy was out. We allowed him to steal the fake books while surveillance took pictures. As suspected, he was Evan Michaels, a low-level drug dealer and boyfriend of Ms. Allard. The next day, after he realized the books contained nothing, he made an attempt on the life of our decoy.”

Valerie turned to face him now. “How did he do that?”

“Late in the evening she went out to your car and he assaulted her, demanding that she tell him where the money was. The police surrounded him and he was ordered to surrender, but he went for his gun and was shot dead.”

She squeezed her eyes shut and opened them again. “Did…did they really have to kill him?”

“Yes.” His eyes narrowed. “Am I missing something here? Why should you feel sorry for him when he would have killed you without a second thought?”

“I realize that,” she said slowly. “But it doesn't make the loss of a life—any life—less disturbing.”

Aaron's eyes bore holes into her. “I wouldn't feel too sorry for him if I were you. It turns out that Evan Michaels was an alias. He was really Daryl Bennett, who was wanted on other charges, including second-degree murder, which occurred during the holdup of a bank in Indiana two years ago. A hard-working family man was the victim.”